Chapter 16
Payton stumbled along the hallway outside Joy’s bedchambers, her fingers pressed to her hot, swollen lips, and glanced up and down the hall.
Lord Ashford had disappeared. Somewhere deep in the townhouse, a door shut with more force than was necessary.
Had he fled to his study, the library, or his private chambers?
She exhaled the breath she’d held since he—Damon—had pulled away from their kiss.
What had she been thinking?
Blood rushed through her veins as the knot in her stomach loosened. She hadn’t been thinking…not at all.
She’d kissed the baron.
Kissed him while his daughter slept just out of view…after nearly drowning in a pond.
While her heart slowed, her lips still pulsed in time with the beat.
They’d shared a private, emotional experience, and she’d misread his intentions. His desires. His wants.
The last thing she’d been thinking about was her evening plans.
For once, Payton hadn’t been dwelling on departing Ashford Hall to find a gaming house, nor escaping the baron and his children.
She’d actually longed for him to hold her close, even if it were only for a short time.
Instead, he’d pulled away and told her to leave.
She hadn’t wanted to leave with Joy in such a state—the child was her responsibility. She should be at her bedside.
When she made no move, he’d fled.
Her time in the baron’s household had finally become bearable.
She and the children had come to understand one another.
She’d settled into a companionable relationship with the other servants.
And the baron had blessedly begun to spend more time with his children; which they desperately needed.
And through all of this, she was earning a decent wage.
And she’d ruined it all.
There was no way she could stay in the baron’s household now.
It would be surprising if he didn’t release her by morning.
She’d known the time would eventually come for her to move on, but she wasn’t ready.
Hadn’t thought this moment would happen so soon.
What had happened to her? She’d been planning her departure from Ashford Hall since the day she’d been given the post. Never was the thought of what was to come next far from her mind.
When had she stopped looking toward her future?
Perhaps Damon was correct. She should continue as she’d planned, act as if their kiss meant nothing. They’d both been overwhelmed with fright over Joy. They’d both shared a piece of themselves. They’d both found themselves lost in their own vulnerability.
It was as simple as that. Their intimacy wasn’t born of any innate connection, but their own personal hurt and anguish.
Perhaps an evening away from Ashford Hall was exactly what Payton needed. She could only hope that by morning, the baron would have put behind him what happened and not release her from her position.
She hurried to her chambers to retrieve her cloak and her meager stash of coins. She had no urge to find a gaming table. Not this night. The distraction of the baron’s kiss would be enough to have her so unfocused she’d risk losing what little she’d saved that week.
No, she would return home.
Craven House.
A sound night’s sleep in her familiar, childhood bed would bring everything into clear focus. The heat that had gathered within her was nothing more than a base need and had nothing to do with her feelings—or her lack thereof—for Damon.
The baron and his children did not belong to her. Would never belong to her.
She was a hired servant in the Ashford home.
The only place she could always count on returning to was Craven House. No matter where she went in life, no matter how many situations she ran from, that was her true home—despite her need to escape, it was the place she was always drawn back to.
She would never be a part of Damon’s family, beyond her usefulness as a governess—just as the many men her mother had taken to her bed had never become part of her family. Time passed, and people moved on.
Her kiss with Lord Ashford meant nothing. Promised nothing.
There was no unspoken declaration on his part, as she would proclaim none herself.
Payton slipped her small purse of coins into the hidden pocket in her skirts and made her way downstairs.
Mr. Brown only nodded to her and opened the front door.
Stepping into the early evening twilight, Payton walked away from Ashford Hall, her footsteps not the confident ones from the evening before but slow and hesitant.
She didn’t want to leave the baron’s townhouse; however, after their embrace, the decision might not belong to her any longer.
At the corner of Saint George and Grosvenor, Payton paused before hailing a hackney.
Instead of returning home, she could walk the short distance to Regent Street and settle in an alehouse until the gaming house on Mill Street opened for the evening.
At least if she were surrounded by strangers, she would be able to forget the disastrous predicament she’d created at Ashford Hall.
But, no, while there was much she was willing to risk, losing her meager stash of coin was not one of them. She might very well need the money sooner than she thought if she were cast from the baron’s employ as she feared.
Raising her hand, she signaled a passing driver, who pulled quickly to a stop but made no move to assist her into the conveyance.
“Where ye be headed, miss?” the driver called from his seat, the reins hanging loosely in his grip.
“Leicester Square.” When the man frowned, she continued, knowing her family home was nestled close to the edge of the respectable district. “Craven House, if you don’t mind the long drive.”
He nodded agreement, and Payton took hold of her skirts, climbing into the back of the hack.
As the driver sped toward the only place she knew as home, Payton didn’t fret over the dust coating her cloak from the filthy streets, she didn’t dwell on what was to come next for her, and she couldn’t allow herself to think about the baron’s lips pressed to hers.
It had apparently been a moment of pure yearning for Damon.
He had been overwrought with concern for his daughter, worried to utter exhaustion, and she’d been there.
Payton had been there with him through it all.
It had created some invisible bond between them, but not one that would last. Come tomorrow, she’d need to forget the few private moments she’d had with Lord Ashford—not Damon—and return to the townhouse ready to serve as Joy’s and Abram’s governess. Nothing more.
She was not part of their family.
Blazes, the baron and his children were barely a family themselves.
But she suspected that they’d begun to heal if their day at the menagerie and the park were any indication. However, Payton had no place in their trio. That she knew.
Even in her own home, she was the odd sibling out. Marce had Garrett. Sam and Jude, as twins, had one another. And that left her…
Yes, living within but never truly a part of a family was something Payton knew very well.
Tears stung her eyes, and she told herself it wasn’t her self-pity taking over but the wind whipping at her face that caused her eyes to moisten.
The stark circumstances of her life had never been more apparent than in that moment. It was the reason she was determined to make a life of her choosing, even if she had to do it alone and leave the baron, his children, and her siblings behind.
Damon watched out his bedchamber window for what seemed like hours after Payton had disappeared down Saint George Street.
He’d wanted to go after her, to tell her to stay, beg her to sit with him in his study or perhaps return to their places on either side of Joy’s bed.
And yet, he stood in his darkened chambers and watched as the sun completely set and the evening dusk turned to full night.
She did not return.
Without his noticing, Mrs. Brown had delivered his evening meal. It remained untouched on the table close to the hearth.
At some point, his valet had turned down his bed and stoked the fire.
Still, Damon watched for the woman’s return.
She would return. She must return, he repeated silently.
He glanced at the hearth, the fire waning but still enough to keep the room warm, before glancing back outside to the street below. In the hall outside his study, the tall clock chimed twice.
Two in the morning.
Where had the hours gone? Had Abram fallen asleep? Had Joy awoken to find him gone from her bedside?
And where in the bloody hell had Miss Samuels disappeared to?
He’d stopped himself several times from going to 10 Mill Street. Indeed, that must be where she was. Gambling.
He wondered if it were a habit or an addiction for her. Did she gamble out of necessity or was it merely for the thrill of it?
It didn’t matter why she did it—or even that she gambled at all.
It was none of his concern, as she’d pointed out to him quite bluntly when she caught him following her the other night.
She was a servant in his household. However, he could not forget the memory of her plunging into the water alongside him.
She had been affected by the incident with Joy as much as he had.
If it didn’t matter—if she didn’t matter—why had he settled her debts with the Duke of Catherton?
Far more than that, why hadn’t he told her that he’d paid her debts?
Payton hadn’t any notion that he knew she was the mysterious, masked woman at this gaming nights.
Hell, until the previous week, Damon hadn’t known either.
If it weren’t for his children’s horrid prank and the dye that had stained her arm, he might never have made the connection. Perhaps that would have been better for everyone involved.
Damon pulled the cord, releasing the drapes, and they fell over the window, blocking out the street below. If she didn’t return by morning, it was his own fault.
Kissing his children’s governess.
He tensed, remembering the desire that had coursed through him at the mere touch of skin against skin.
He’d forgotten how all-consuming a physical connection could be.
Add to that the empathy in her eyes when he spoke of his past, and everything within him craved her—the connection of an honest conversation, the press of her soft body against his, the security of his arms holding another.
What had come over him?
But it hadn’t only been that moment. No, something had drawn him to her even before he learned her secret. He’d known when she stood before him dripping blue-tinted water all over the expensive rug in his study.
He shook his head, clenching his fists at his sides. He stalked toward the hearth, past his waiting meal, and back toward the covered window.
He could never betray Sarah in such a way, yet he knew he’d done precisely that when Miss Samuels had appeared at his door with references in hand.
He hadn’t done his due diligence when hiring her to care for his children.
Her letter of recommendation and references still resided in Mrs. Brown’s care, and though he’d read them, Damon hadn’t been in a place to be overly fastidious with his selection.
He’d neglected his responsibilities where the governess was concerned, similarly to many other aspects in his life.
It had been only Payton who applied for the position.
It was little wonder the woman had turned out to have unsavory habits not fit for a governess.
If he dared tell her about paying her debts, she would demand to know why, just as she’d questioned why he followed her to Mill Street. Could he convince her that it was for his children that he’d done it and not for himself? Hell, he wasn’t wholly convinced either way.
No, he couldn’t tell her. Wouldn’t tell her.
If he did, she’d expect an explanation to follow—and he had none.
He slumped into the chair facing the fire and stared into the flames, allowing them to soothe his aching chest and calm his pounding head while begging for sleep.
For years, he’d been tortured by nightmares of losing Sarah all over again.
But, for some reason, he suspected when he did find sleep, the terrors would be new… and not what he would expect.
His worst nightmare, that of losing one of his children, would roll through his mind over and over again…overshadowed only by his absolutely horrifying lack of sense when he dared kiss Payton.
…and liked it.
No, he more than liked it, he’d been devastated by it. It changed everything, yet nothing.
After all his years with Sarah—their love, their companionship, their joys and heartbreak—this dalliance with Payton was different.
It hadn’t held the comfortable familiarity of an intimate moment shared with a woman he knew innately, likely as well as he knew himself, but that did not mean it was any less poignant.
But it had only been a kiss, their bodies pressed close for no more than several breaths.
It shouldn’t have happened, nor affected him in such a way that he couldn’t bring himself to find his bed until she returned for the night.
Damon scrubbed at his face, his eyes strained and dry from exhaustion.
Sleep would be impossible.
He pushed to his feet and exited his chambers. If he were going to feel trapped in a disaster of his own making, he would at least do it in a room with plenty of scotch.
On his way to the study, he paused briefly at Joy’s door and pressed his ear close, listening for any signs that she was awake or finding sleep difficult, but the silence that greeted him was deafening. Next, he opened Abram’s chamber door, but his son was similarly asleep.
Damon stepped into the room, noticing that one of the drapes had been left partially open, allowing a stream of moonlight into the room. Before long, the light would reach Abram and awaken the child.
Something about the sleeping boy drew Damon to his bedside.
His sleep had been restless from the tousled, tangled nature of his bedsheets.
He moved to the window, releasing the drape to cast the room into shadows.
Abram shifted, turning onto his side to fully face Damon and settled with a contented sigh.
Damon longed for even a mere speck of his son’s newfound peacefulness.
Unfortunately, that was something he feared he would never have.
Though peace and serenity, safety and security, were the few things he would always work toward giving his children.
He turned, departing Abram’s room and making his way downstairs to his study.