Chapter 26
The room felt hollow and empty despite Damon’s nearly two dozen guests.
His coat stretched too tightly across his shoulders, his evening shoes cramped his toes until they were numb, and the strings holding his black and orange mask in place cut into the tender flesh above his ears.
Why had he thought hosting a gaming night would take his mind off the dire circumstances that were his life?
He found himself scrutinizing every female guest that arrived—was her hair the right length and color, was she tall enough, did she hold her chin at that precise, defiant angle that was unequivocally Payton?
Damon nodded to his servant, signaling that the gaming should commence.
She wasn’t coming. Why had he deluded himself into believing she would?
Neither had Catherton arrived, despite the acceptance of Damon’s invitation. Having the pair at Ashford Hall at the same time was both unwise and reckless. The duke had been searching for Payton for over a week, and he’d no doubt spot her no matter what disguise she donned.
That did not deter Damon from watching the door for her arrival.
“My lord,” a man with a solid blue mask and neatly trimmed golden hair called to him. “Join us.”
Damon waved off the invite. He was no more interested in hazard than he was any card game.
He inclined his head to a couple as they took their seats at the whist table. Thankfully, the foursome was complete, and they wouldn’t ask him to join them.
Mr. Brown appeared at the double doors of the ballroom, scanning the crowd until his eyes met Damon’s.
They nodded at one another, and the butler pulled the doors closed.
The servants delivering refreshments entered through a side door that led to the servants’ hallway and stairwell.
When his Grosvenor Square townhouse had been built, the architect paid particular attention to making certain servants could come and go throughout the house without being noticed.
All it did was make Ashford Hall appear deserted when it was only he and the children in residence.
Since Payton had left him and the children, the house had been too quiet.
Too still. Too somber. He longed to hear Abram bickering with Joy, teasing her, or the pair playing a jest on their governess.
But the children had remained above stairs, quietly attending to their studies until Payton returned.
Damon sighed, gaining the notice of a man at the table before him who tucked his cards close with a scowl.
Why hadn’t he allowed her to handle telling the children?
Payton would have had the courage to tell them, she would have spoken the truth in a way they could’ve understood, and he’d never have had to lie to them.
In her short time at Ashford Hall, she’d made everything better—including him.
Damon had spent years hiding: from his life, his future, and his children; unable to accept losing Sarah.
He’d built a wall so thick to guard his heart, he hadn’t realized that he’d forgotten to breathe at some point.
Payton had been a breath of fresh air to his stale, cumbersome existence.
At some point, he’d taken his first deep inhale in four years. And he’d survived.
Moving forward without Sarah had been something he’d been unwilling to even contemplate. He’d set about remaining in the dark, empty place he’d entered after losing the mother of this children…and he’d done a marvelous job of it, too.
Until Payton.
She’d been the spark that set his darkened life ablaze—and he hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t fathomed it was what he needed, what his life was missing.
She was what their lives were missing.
He was glad for the mask covering his face because if any of his guests caught sight of him, they’d realize the pain he’d kept buried for too long. He’d hoped to avoid further heartbreak, but all he’d managed to do was keep the pain and anguish inside so long that it had festered within him.
A group of men chuckled at the faro table near the doors, and Damon’s stare lingered there.
His way to escape. No one would notice if he slipped from the room.
He could be in his study within moments, free of the watchful eyes of his guests, free to sink into his favored chair and lose himself in the dancing flames that licked the logs in the hearth.
Too many times, he’d lost hours—days even—watching the fire.
It had been nearly a month since he’d fallen into such despair.
Again, he could only blame Payton.
Blame or praise the woman?
She’d brought about a change neither his children, his sister, nor his servants could trigger, despite their years of trying.
And she’d done it swiftly, without Damon even realizing it.
Yes, she deserved praise, not blame.
In his own way, he’d tried to show her the appreciation she deserved by settling her debt with Catherton. How did she not see that he’d done it to help her, not to control or restrain her in any way?
The voices around him were made unintelligible by the pounding in his head.
He had been so bloody wrong—about everything.
He’d pushed his children away, denied them the love and affection they so desperately needed after Sarah’s death. He’d limited his own emotions to the point where he lived in a constant state of despair. He knew no other way to make it through each day.
Yet, that wasn’t wholly true.
Payton had shown him what things could have been like, had he not taken the path he’d chosen.
Anger, laughter, love…they were all possible, if he’d just give himself a chance.
Was it too late? Would Joy and Abram forever blame him for Payton’s disappearance?
He needed to go to them now; tell them the awful truth and see where they stood.
Damon glanced at the closed ballroom doors, the panels sealing off his easy escape, closing him in, keeping him from doing what he longed to do: make amends with his children, and give them what they deserved.
Days spent strolling the museum. Nights at the playhouse.
Endless winters at Falconcrest. Holidays in Bath or Cornwall.
Afternoons horseback riding in the meadow by his country estate or promenading in Hyde or Regent Park.
Evenings by the fire, books in hand as the warmth from the hearth enveloped them.
Morning meals in the salon overlooking the gardens while Abram and Joy bantered and bickered about their lessons, while he and Payton took pleasure in the children’s passion for learning.
Payton? Tension laced his shoulders, tightening the fabric of his shirt across his back.
“My lord?” Mr. Brown had materialized at his elbow.
Damon glanced at his servant out of the corner of his eye, not taking his focus off the crowd milling about the room even though his idle musings still pushed for his attention. “Yes.”
“Is all as it should be?”
“Of course,” Damon huffed. “Why would it not be?”
“My lord, may I speak frankly?” the butler whispered.
Damon turned to face the man. “I always expect you to speak as such.”
Mr. Brown’s brow pulled low, and he lowered his chin, avoiding eye contact. “You are scowling, my lord.”
Damon let loose a gruff chortle. “You cannot possibly know that. I am wearing a bloody mask.”
“Yes, however—”
“Mr. Brown,” Damon sighed, keeping his voice low to avoiding being overheard. “I have had a very difficult few days.”
“I agree, my lord.” The butler pivoted slightly to stand next to Damon, drawing far less attention from his guests than if they saw their host speaking privately in hushed tones.
“Has Catherton arrived?” Damon asked.
“No, my lord.”
“No other uninvited guests either?”
When Mr. Brown stiffened at his question, Damon needed no further proof to know the servant had known about Payton’s masquerading ways all along, or at least during her time employed at Ashford Hall.
Before the butler could respond, Damon continued, “Please inform me immediately if either occurs. Continue to make certain my guests enjoy their evening. I will be in my study if you have need of me.”
He was in a distracted mood, and there was no reason to subject his guests to it. He was at Ashford Hall, yet longed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, as long as Payton was close.
Making his way across the room, Damon didn’t pause to speak with anyone, nor did he look away from the ballroom doors until he arrived at them as a servant swung the thick wooden door open for him to depart.
He pressed his palm to his forehead once he was alone—the noises from the ballroom muffled—and hurried toward his study. He didn’t need to see to find the room. It was like a beacon that called him forward. A siren who sang until he was captured in her embrace.
Why had he thought a gaming night would work to distract him from Payton’s absence? To diminish his feeling of responsibility for his current situation? To reduce his guilt over the loss his children would soon be forced to face—for the second time?
Discarding his mask, Damon slumped in his chair before the hearth, his head falling into his hands, all the while, his shoulders straining for freedom under the confines of his evening coat.
He’d loved Sarah, and she’d left him. Payton had come into his household and won the children’s hearts and brought light to Damon’s life… and now she was gone, too.
His chest ached with emptiness.
It shouldn’t hurt so much to be right.
Nothing in Damon’s life had gone as it should.
He would do what needed to be done—for his children.
Come morning, he’d hire one of the women he’d spoken with at Flora’s, or perhaps speak to the children about attending school away from London.
Maybe they would thrive in an environment with other children, away from their disaster of a father and the shadowed memory of their mother.
Even as his plan formed in his mind, the darkness that had encapsulated him so entirely before threatened to descend on him again, blocking out the light that had come with Payton’s appearance in their lives.