Chapter 15 #2
Damon opened his eyes to find Payton intently watching him, her focus on the set of his jaw before moving to his eyes.
He couldn’t go on, couldn’t admit his failures aloud.
Not here, and not to the woman standing before him.
Their recently established relationship would dissipate and disappear before he even had the chance to finish telling his story—Sarah’s story… his family’s story.
The resolve in Payton’s stare pushed Damon on.
“We walked in the storm for hours with no shelter and only the warmth of our coats and huddled bodies. Until first light crested, breaking through the storm. By the time we found our way home, the chills had already begun to wrack Sarah’s body.
Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. And then the fever set in.
The doctor was summoned, but it took nearly a day for him to make his way through the snowfall to reach the estate. By that time, it was...”
Damon swallowed the final words—too late.
He’d thrown himself into the pond because he refused for it to be too late for Joy. And in the depths of his mind, he knew he’d followed Payton the other night for the same reason.
He reached out and took hold of Payton’s hand—her bare hand—when she looked away, her brow knitted.
The feel of her skin against his warm palm was unlike anything he’d experienced in years.
It felt right, yet so very wrong. Why was it so important to him that she understand the magnitude of his past failures, his damage?
He pulled her toward the door and the safety of the hallway beyond.
“My lord—”
“Damon,” he corrected, halting only when they stood outside Joy’s chambers, the child blocked from view. “I think here—with just the two of us—you can call me Damon.”
Her blue eyes widened before she looked away again, pulling at her single long, dark curl with her free hand.
She did not pull her hand from his or put distance between them.
Surprisingly, her skin warmed within his grasp.
“My children are blessed to have you as their governess.” Damon took a step closer. Payton’s willowy height made her nearly as tall as he was. “And I will be forever grateful that you came into our lives when you did.” Before it was too late, he thought.
She blushed and turned to stare at their clasped hands.
“I think your siblings are wrong to believe they know what’s best for you,” he murmured. Just as Flora had been wrong to think she knew what was best for him and his children after Sarah’s passing.
The memory of Payton, masked and elegantly gowned, losing to the duke at his gaming table pushed into Damon’s thoughts. He’d taken care of her debt, and she’d have nothing to fear from Catherton. He’d made so many mistakes over the years, but settling Payton’s gaming debts was not one of them.
That was something he would never regret.
As he looked into her deep blue eyes, her long, ebony lashes lowered, threatening to break the connection between them.
Damon suspected that he might regret not releasing her hand in that moment, saying his good night, and fleeing to the solitude of his private chambers.
At least if he did that, he’d have this small memory to relive without remorse of what came next.
Instead, his fingers held fast to hers, his thumb massaging a circle on her palm.
How had he never appreciated her beauty before this?
Of course, he had noticed her stunning eloquence and graceful poise.
How had he never observed that her floral aroma had invaded every inch of his home?
How had he resigned himself to such a desolate future without considering all he’d be missing?
She nibbled at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth.
Their thoughts—and longings—seemed to align, and she took the final step toward him, bring her soft, delicate body against his rigidly tense chest.
Damon knew he should pull back, put distance between them, apologize for his ungentlemanly behavior; however, the simple comfort of her against him had the tension draining from him.
It was as if he’d taken a deep breath four years ago and held it until he could do nothing but focus on the burning within him.
The raging fire he held inside was suddenly not so unbearable.
For once, he wanted to surrender to the flames, not extinguish them.
In her eyes, he saw certainty, a confidence that had fled him years before. No longer did she glance away in doubt. She held his stare as if they were both in a raft, adrift in a sea that threatened to rip them from safety and send them both tossing and turning into the midnight waters.
“I want to be ripped away,” he sighed.
She tilted her head to the side, and her tongue darted across her plump lower lip.
Her eyes closed before she lifted the mere few inches to press her lips to his.
Damon yielded to her, allowed her control.
And bloody hell, it was everything he needed.
Her soft, insistent, rhythmic kiss set the pace, allowing Damon to revel in the feeling of her pressed against him, the heat of her mouth covering his, the security of her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
The years of pain, guilt, and remorse within him broke, shattered, and he sensed the pieces within him fusing back together, creating a deep longing, a desire, the unmistakable need to hold Payton close and not let go.
Not fail her.
In this moment, and the many to come.
A groan escaped him as her fingers tightened on his shoulders, digging into his coat.
Damon brought his hand to her cheek, his fingers trailing down her neck as she inhaled sharply.
He thought she’d pull away, but instead, she pushed close to him, her slender body fitting perfectly against his.
Intoxicating need gathered at his manhood, the rigid length hardening until pain shot into his stomach. He hadn’t experienced such heady desire since…
Much like an ocean of water extinguishing a single flame, Damon’s hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped away from Payton. Cold air rushed between them, smothering the final remnants of their brief but fiery passion.
What was he doing?
Miss Samuels was his children’s governess. His heart, all his desires, belonged to Sarah—and no one could replace her.
Payton stared up at him, hurt and confusion furrowing her brow, the appearance of an unvoiced question upon her lips.
Damon cleared his throat as he took another large step back, fisting his hands at his sides.
“I think it is time I retire.” His voice was thick with an emotion he couldn’t identify. Didn’t want to name.
Desire, longing—need.
Or remorse, regret—and betrayal?
“Good evening, Miss Samuels,” he stuttered. “I am sorry I kept you. I can care for the children for the afternoon and night. Do continue with your evening plans.”
He stared over her shoulder and down the deserted hall, not daring to meet her eyes and see the hurt he’d created. It was not enough that his children were growing attached to Payton, now he was falling under her spell. They would all suffer the loss when she left them.
Damon could not risk losing another person he cared for.
He felt lighter, an increasingly prevalent weight having been lifted from his burdened shoulders. Yet, at the same time, his past collided with their kiss. Payton had offered him a piece of herself, and he was faltering, terrified to accept it for fear of what might come of it.
“Good evening.” He gave her a stiff bow and brushed past her, his stare trained down the corridor and focused on his escape.