Chapter 13 #4
The baron, fully visible now, slipped his hands into the deep pockets of his coat while his stare settled somewhere below her eyes. “I saw you depart without a footman. It worried me—”
“And you followed me?” It was what she’d left her home to avoid.
The constant watchfulness of her elder siblings, each thinking they knew what was best for her.
At least at Craven House, they made their actions known.
It was far more upsetting to realize the baron had been following her, keeping track of her whereabouts, without her notice.
How closely had he kept watch on her since she’d joined his household?
A chill ran down her spine, and she stopped herself from reaching up to pull her collar higher. “My lord, I do not need a caretaker.”
He shuffled closer, his regret visible. “I did not mean to insinuate that; however, as a member of my household, I was justified in my concern for your safety.”
Her relief quickly dissipated as her anger took over.
She clenched and unclenched her fists, and her skin heated despite the cold air.
“I am a grown woman,” she snapped. “During the hours when I am not overseeing the children, I am free to come and go as I please. Was that not our agreement when I took the position in your household?”
He nodded, but his green eyes flared. What right did he have to be angry with her?
Never would she have left her home and taken a post as a governess, only to find the freedom she sought elusive once more.
“Mayhap we should return to the townhouse and have this discussion.”
For the first time, Payton noticed the baron’s breath in the frigid night at the same time her nosed ached with the cold.
“There is nothing to discuss, my lord. Yes, I am a servant in your household. However, that does not give you the right to question my whereabouts at every turn.” She paused in an attempt to collect her thoughts, to express what truly angered her.
“My duties for the day were done, the children are abed, and it was my understanding that I am free to do as I wish in the evenings.”
He took the final step, coming to a halt before her, and she glanced up into his remorseful face.
His cheeks were hollow, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes as his gaze begged for her forgiveness.
He was exhausted—barely standing, if she were to guess.
She’d often noticed his disheveled appearance, even suspected nights of fitful slumber, but it appeared the man before her had not slept for a long, long time.
“I think it best we return to Ashford Hall,” she mused, refusing to allow all her anger to slip away. “Seek our beds. Tomorrow will be a busy day for the both of us.”
Lord Ashford, his light brown hair falling to cover one sparkling green eye, stood so close, she caught the scent of the Albany: a blend of lavender and citrus mixed with something wholly unfamiliar.
Her eyes drifted shut as she attempted to place the aroma.
Every instinct in her told her to retreat, make haste for the townhouse, find her room, and bar the door until morning—or at least until her good sense returned.
He was not a lord to be trifled with—or a man she should allow to trifle with her emotions.
Everything about the baron was confusing, vexing, and continuously changing.
One minute, he was aloof and quiet; the next, he was inviting her into his private study only to push her away before inviting himself to dine with her and the children…
even dangling the prospect of an entire day together.
She’d lost track of how she felt about it all.
Her path, only a few short weeks prior, had been set in stone: gain her independence, earn enough funds to support herself, and live any life she wanted.
At that moment, Payton could think of nothing beyond the present, these precise few minutes alone in the London night with the scent of the baron carried on the breeze.
His green eyes holding hers, asking an unspoken question that she had no answer for before she lowered her lids, fearing what he might see in her gaze.
Surely, her good sense would return come morning light.
Her eyes still closed, his hand brushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, and she felt the warmth of his touch through his glove.
If she concentrated, she could almost imagine the feel of his flesh against hers.
In her mind, his skin was smooth, his touch tender, and his words nothing more than a whisper.
His ragged breath broke the silent hold the moment had encapsulated her in, and Payton’s eyes sprang open to see the baron’s soft stare taking in the sight of her.
Pivoting, Payton pushed her muff higher on her arm and gathered her skirts, her winnings still heavy against her thigh.
Without a backwards glance as her heart beat erratically, and her pent-up breath rushed from her lungs, she hurried back toward Ashford Hall.
The baron’s footsteps trailed behind her, keeping pace but not daring to come any closer.