Page 21 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

Stalling time for him to reassess his bearings, Damon lowered his head and inspected the crystal decanters on his sideboard. Scotch whiskey, gin, cognac, arrack, rum. No wine or sherry. Why did his servants not stock his sideboard with an appropriate drink for female company?

The answer was glaringly obvious. After Sarah’s death, there hadn’t been another woman in his study. After several months, Damon had noticed that his space no longer had his wife’s favorite drink, a honeyed wine that he’d imported from France. It had been a relief at the time. He wasn’t reminded of her absence every time he sought out his study. She would never curl up on the lounge close to the fire while he worked late into the night, nor would she join him early in the morning before the household woke for pastries pilfered from Mrs. Eleanor’s kitchen pantry.

He’d lied to the bloody governess, too.

There hadn’t been any reason for the deception except that he longed to hold the memory to himself…a secret that only he knew about.

The book, Love in Excess, was not, in fact, the favorite of a past relation but Sarah’s cherished novel.

How many nights had they lain in bed or secluded themselves in this very room as she read aloud from the book?

Of all the thousands of titles precisely arranged in the library, why had Miss Samuels selected the one novel he never wanted to set eyes on again?

His fingers shook, causing two decanters to clink together.

He listened as the rustle of the governess’s skirts revealed her position across the room. She seemed as hesitant to enter the study as he’d been to invite her.

Closing his eyes and steadying his rapidly beating heart, Damon gripped the edge of the sideboard. There had been no reason for his invitation, except Miss Samuels had appeared so alone and lost in the library, dwarfed by the massive shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling with the impressive Italian chandelier hanging unlit overhead. He’d watched her as she ran her fingertips along the spines of the books closest to the hearth, but then she’d spied the low row of books that had belonged to Sarah. Only Sarah.

He’d needed to be away from that shelf, out of the room entirely; yet here they were, in another room the governess had no place in.

His children’s rooms, yes. The breakfast hall, of course. The schoolroom, absolutely. But in the library, and his study, no. One thousand times no.

There was no need to learn anything about the woman—her history, her intentions, her dreams. They belonged to her, not him.

After discovering her last night, adorned in gold and red, sitting at his gaming tables, Damon couldn’t help but wonder about the woman. He couldn’t so much as remember her given name. Something starting with a P. Prudence. Penelope. Pricilla. Pearl.

None of them fit the dark-haired, confident woman who’d escaped his townhouse the night before without settling her debt. Neither did the names fit the quick-tongued, reserved beauty he’d hired to look after Joy and Abram.

Just that afternoon, he’d requested Mrs. Brown collect the governess’s paperwork—including her references; however, she’d yet to deliver them to his study.

He cleared his throat as his eyes focused on the wall behind the sideboard. “I must apologize, my selections are not what I thought. I have everything from cognac to gin, but nothing suitable beyond that.”

“I will have scotch.” Though spoken quietly, her words were not hesitant in any way.

The drink was entirely unsuitable for a governess, but did it fit the masked woman who’d been attending his gaming evenings? When had he seen her for the first time? He could not recall a party she hadn’t attended, not that he allowed himself the freedom of noticing her or any woman.

He poured scotch into two tumblers and turned, freezing where he stood.

Miss Samuels had taken a seat on the very chaise Sarah had favored. Damon needn’t even close his eyes to imagine the way she’d cast her slender body across the lounge, her blond waves cascading over the edge of the backrest and almost touching the rug below. Even heavy with Joy, she’d taken her place on the low-slung seat, and he’d had to assist her to stand.

But this woman, Sarah’s children’s bloody governess, sat upright, her single long, rich brown curl hanging over her shoulder, her hands relaxed in her lap as her gaze traveled about the room—landing on everything but him.

Miss Samuels and Sarah were like night and day.

Bright light and midnight darkness.

Sarah had been easily read and even simpler to love.

This woman had secrets that teased at far deeper things.

However, Miss Samuels could not hold even a portion of the depth her exterior hinted at. She was a governess, a servant in his home. He had no knowledge of her background besides her letters of recommendation that she’d brought with her when they first met. Damon had no reason to know anything beyond her qualifications to care for and teach his children.

She wasn’t a mystery to be solved or a woman who should hold any amount of his attention.

“Your drink.” He stepped forward, and she took the tumbler from him.

Settling in the chair across from the lounge, he brought his own glass to his lips but did not drink as he watched her over the rim, the firelight bringing out the red in her dark brown hair.