The Gold Coin

  Breanna had eventually saved her, tactfully summoning her over to where the young women were clustered. According to her, the ladies were eager to make Lady Anastasia's acquaintance.

  Anastasia didn't care whether that were true or not. She was thrilled to escape Gilbert's bold innuendos and wanton stares.

  But as it turned out, it was true, and Anastasia had found herself the center of a hundred questions about life in the States, the gentlemen she'd met there, and the parties she'd attended.

  Sometime after midnight, Damen had wandered over, politely interrupting only to bid both Colby girls good night.

  Now it was morning—barely—and Anastasia wondered if Damen was even awake to keep their scheduled appointment. And if so, was he alert enough to race?

  She rounded the path leading to the stables and got her answer.

  There, leaning against the stable door, clad in a brown riding coat, beige breeches and black Hessian boots, arms folded across his chest as he awaited her arrival, was Damen.

  He straightened when he saw her, his lips curving with pleasure, and a touch of surprise.

  "I wasn't sure whether or not to expect you," he stated bluntly, walking toward her. "When I said good night, you were still very involved with your guests. I had visions of you dancing till dawn."

  "No, only till one," Anastasia assured him, smoothing the folds of her bottle-green riding dress. "And I must admit, I, too, wasn't sure I'd find you here this morning. I thought you might be exhausted from hours of dancing and dispensing business advice."

  Damen chuckled. "I don't tire that easily." He stopped, mere inches away from where she stood, his gaze sweeping over her appreciatively. "You look beautiful this morning. As you did last night, by the way. I never had the chance to tell you so. Not one man in your uncle's ballroom could tear his eyes away from you."

  "Including you?" Anastasia asked boldly.

  "Yes," Damen replied without the slightest hesitation. "Including me." With that, he gestured toward the stable door. "I took the liberty of having two horses saddled, in the event that you did arrive as planned."

  "Really?" Anastasia baited. "And are they equally matched? Or can I expect you to be riding Uncle George's swiftest stallion while I'm on a sweet old nag?"

  "Now how did I know you'd ask that?" he questioned with a wry grin. "Don't worry. I specifically asked the head groom to choose two well-matched, exceedingly swift mounts for our race." A grand sweep of his arm. "You're welcome to verify it for yourself."

  "That won't be necessary." Anastasia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, studying Damen as she spoke. "Any man who's as honorable in business as you wouldn't resort to cheating in a race. Besides, if you recall, I did promise never to question your integrity again."

  "So you did." Damen glanced up as a leathery-faced groom led two horses out—both alert, both sleekly beautiful, their tails flicking in anticipation.

  "This here is Sable, on account of her being all black." The groom indicated the first horse. "She's yours, m'lord. And this is Whisper, 'cause she's real quiet, likes to keep her ears up and listen to the other horses. She's for Miss Stacie here. Both these mares can run like the wind."

  Anastasia looked at Whisper and frowned.

  "What is it?" Damen asked.

  "I intend to win this race. And I won't do that if I ride sidesaddle." She inclined her head at the groom. "Hughes, would you mind very much switching saddles for me? I'm going to race astride."

  Hughes's gaze widened, but he nodded, dragging a forearm across his brow. "Whatever you say, Miss Stacie." He led Whisper back into the stable.

  A corner of Damen's mouth lifted. "A wise decision."

  "One that might cost you the race."

  "I'll take my chances, and I'll take them with fair odds." His gaze narrowed quizzically. "I notice people call you Stacie."

  "Only those who have known me since I was a child." A fond smile touched her lips. "When we were little, Breanna couldn't pronounce my name. Not that I blame her. It was hard enough for me to pronounce. Anyway, she shortened it to Stacie when we were three. The staff seemed to like it, so the name stuck. Those household members who are still here now—Wells, Hughes, Mrs. Rhodes, and a handful of others—seem to have reverted back to it since I returned. It makes me feel a little more at home." Anastasia's smile faded, and a wistful look crossed her face. "Grandfather called me Stacie. He said it suited me because I never stood still long enough for anyone to say Anastasia."

  "An astute observation," Damen replied, his tone curiously gentle. "Then again, your grandfather was an astute man."

  "Yes. He was."

  "Here you are, Miss Stacie." Hughes led Whisper out, a standard saddle strapped on her back. "Just make sure to tuck those fancy skirts of yours out of the way," he advised, averting his face, which had gone beet red.

  Anastasia's smile returned. "Don't worry. I will." She tossed Damen a challenging look. "Ready?"

  "Ready."

  They led the horses down the path to the open, grassy fields where the Medford horses were exercised. There, they stopped.

  "You choose our course," Damen offered, gripping Sable's reins and squinting to assess the area. "Since you obviously know Medford Manor better than I do."

  "Do I? You've probably spent more hours here than I have."

  "That might be true, but my hours here have been spent in your uncle's library and study, while yours were spent racing horses and climbing trees. So you're far more familiar with the grounds than I."

  "Agreed." Anastasia blew yet another loose strand of hair off her cheek, considering Damen's words. "In which case, I'll not only lay out our course, I'll deliberately alter it from the one I used to take as a child. That way, you won't be at a disadvantage." A sparkle danced in her eyes. "You see, my lord, you're not the only fair and ethical adventurer."

  "So I see."

  Giving up on her stubborn wisps of hair, Anastasia pointed across the field. "Do you see that fence? The one way down near the stream? We'll ride from here to there. Then, we'll veer left and make our way across to that line of hedges over there." She pivoted, drawing an imaginary line with her forefinger. "From that point, we'll race back to our starting point. How would that be?"

  "Excellent. We'll use my coat as our makeshift finish line." Damen shrugged out of his coat and lay it on the ground, stretching the sleeves out to reach their maximum span. He gazed across the field intently, visually reviewing their path. Then, he turned and eyed Anastasia with a hint of a grin. "Can I offer you my assistance in mounting? You're going to have your hands full tucking those skirts out of the way."

  She conceded, reluctantly, turning toward Whisper and frowning at the notable distance between the ground and the saddle. "This is not going to be one of my more graceful maneuvers."

  "It won't be so bad. Watch." Damen came up behind her, his hands anchoring her waist. "Go ahead and put your left foot in the stirrup." The instant she complied, he lifted her off the grass, gently rotating her frontward as he did. "Now swing your right leg over. Gather up your skirts first. You'll worry about rearranging them once you're settled." A teasing note crept into his voice. "I won't peek. I promise."

  Anastasia was laughing as she followed his instructions—a fact that slowed down the process considerably.

  At last, she sank into the saddle, taking the handfuls of muslin she'd gathered up and shoving them beneath her.

  "You don't look particularly comfortable," Damen noted, his gaze traveling up her bare legs and settling on the bulky cushion that separated her and the saddle.

  "I thought you weren't going to peek."

  His teeth gleamed. "That was when you were mounting. I couldn't resist watching this preparation ritual of yours."

  Anastasia tossed him a saucy look. "Fine. Then, to answer your question—I don't feel particularly comfortable. However, I do intend to win."

  "That remains to be seen." Damen walked around to Sable's left and mounted her in one sm
ooth motion. "Shall I act as starter or would you like to?"

  "By all means, my lord, you do the honors." Anastasia gathered up her reins. "I trust in your integrity." She leaned forward, her eyes straight ahead, her heels pressed close to Whisper's sides.

  "Very well." Damen followed suit, a fine tension permeating his body as he leveled his stare at the fence. "On your mark … get set … go!"

  The two horses took off like bullets, tearing down the path, Sable just a neck ahead of Whisper.

  Sable reached the fence with two seconds to spare, then veered to the left, heading toward the line of hedges. Anastasia picked up speed, and she and Whisper caught up just as Damen rounded the hedges, prepared to make a break for their goal.

  They galloped the last lap neck-and-neck.

  Itching to glance over and see Damen's expression, Anastasia fought the impulse to do so. Even a small gesture like that would break her concentration and cost her precious seconds. And that could cost her the race.

  Blood thrummed through her veins as she urged Whisper on, feeling the mare's instantaneous response. Her gallop increased, her legs literally flying off the ground, propelling her forward.

  The problem was, Damen had the same idea.

  Crouching low and forward, he and Sable moved as one, tearing toward the finish line, undaunted by Anastasia and Whisper's remarkable show of horsemanship.

  Two pairs of front hooves struck the jacket simultaneously, one pair on the left sleeve, one pair on the right.

  "Well, what do you know—a tie," Damen observed, his breath coming rapidly as he brought Sable around.

  "Yes. It was." Anastasia sounded not only winded, but positively stunned. Patting Whisper's neck, she gave Damen a look of grudging respect. "You're a splendid rider, my lord. I didn't expect such fine competition."

  Damen chuckled, gripping the front of the saddle as he dismounted. "What you really mean is, you expected to win." He walked over, inclined his head. "Right?"

  Anastasia didn't hesitate. "You're right."

  Laughter rumbled from Damen's chest. "Candid, if not modest. Then again, given your skill in the saddle, modesty would be misplaced." Idly, he stroked Whisper's muzzle, his brow creased in thought. "You do realize that our dilemma remains: the christening of our partnership and our bank."

  "No," Anastasia corrected at once. "Only half our dilemma remains. With regard to our partnership, it will be Lockewood and Colby, just as I would have declared it had I won."

  Damen looked startled. "But I thought…"

  "You thought wrong. You assumed that, like most women, I'd be swayed by emotion. I'm not. The truth is, your family name carries a great deal more weight in the financial community than mine does. Colby and Sons is a trading company. The House of Lockewood is the most influential merchant bank in England, if not the world. The power of its name is invaluable. I'd be stupid not to use it to promote our bank. And, just as you claimed about yourself, I'll echo about me: I'm never stupid." An impish smile curved her lips. "However, I'm not entirely magnanimous either. I do demand equal say in naming our bank—just as a tie commands."

  Rather than bantering back, Damen sobered, an odd expression flitting across his face—one that made Anastasia's own banter fade and caused her throat to tighten. "You're astonishing," he murmured.

  "Is that a compliment?" she managed to ask.

  "Yes." His gaze intensified, and he reached up, indicating his desire to help her dismount. "May I?"

  Nodding, Anastasia leaned toward him, her breath catching as he lifted her up and out of the saddle.

  She swung her right leg over to join her left, letting the damp folds of her gown flow free as Damen lowered her to the ground.

  Their gazes caught—and held.

  His hands lingered, and she could feel the pressure of his gloves, generating a heat that seeped through her clothes and into her skin, which was moist from the exertion of the race.

  "Your riding is extraordinary," he told her. "As is your candor, your determination—and you."

  "I'm also a mess." Anastasia couldn't believe those words had just popped out of her mouth. When had she ever been preoccupied with her appearance? When had it ever mattered to her how she'd looked after a wild dash on horseback?

  Only now.

  Tearing her gaze from Damen's, Anastasia regarded herself; the ruined gown flowing around dirt-stained stockings, not to mention her hair, which now tumbled free, cascading over her shoulders and back and sticking to her perspired neck and cheeks. She considered trying to rearrange it, then gave up the idea as hopeless. "It seems to me I'm in a perpetually rumpled state."

  Damen shook his head slowly from side to side. "Not rumpled. Genuine. Uninhibited. Free-spirited. There's a big difference." He tugged off one of his gloves, capturing a strand of her hair and rubbing it between his fingers.

  "You embrace life, live it to its fullest. Never make light of that. It's a great blessing."

  Anastasia's heart began hammering against her ribs. "You're speaking from experience."

  "Um-hum." His knuckles caressed her cheek, his forefinger slipping beneath her chin to tilt it upward. "I'm much the same way. I seize life with both hands, savor every opportunity it hands me." His gaze fell to her lips. "Every one."

  He lowered his head, capturing her mouth beneath his.

  This kiss was nothing like the one he'd given her last night; nothing like anything she'd ever experienced. It was intense, commanding, his lips molding and shaping hers, urging them apart, his hands gripping her shoulders, gliding down the sleeves of her gown, then settling on her waist, tugging her closer as he deepened the kiss.

  Anastasia shivered as his tongue touched hers, then claimed it in a slow, purposeful melding she felt down to the soles of her feet.

  She moaned, torn between dizziness and drowning, and clutched at Damen's waistcoat, much more for balance than resistance. The truth was, resistance was the farthest thing from her mind. Not when what was happening was so unbearably exquisite.

  "Put your arms around me," Damen instructed hoarsely, seizing her arms and bringing them up and around his neck. "Yes. Like that." His own grasp tightened, one arm anchoring her at the waist, the other tangling in her already disheveled hair. "Now give me your mouth."

  "Damen, I…"

  "Kiss me." He gave her no time to reply before swallowing her words, tasting and awakening her in a way that made her entire body start to tremble.

  She sank into the kiss, her fingertips feathering over the nape of his neck, discovering the damp strands of hair that lay against his cravat, and exploring their silky texture. In contrast, his body was hard and powerful, his muscles flexing beneath her touch, his entire frame taut even through the confines of his shirt and waistcoat.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Damen sharpened her awareness of him, drawing her closer, then crushing her fully against the unyielding wall of his chest. Anastasia's breath expelled in a rush, her breasts tingling beneath the onslaught, her entire body shimmering to life.

  The kiss burned on and on.

  When they finally broke apart, it was long minutes later, and they stared at each other in mutual astonishment, their breath coming in harsh rasps.

  "God," Damen muttered, half to himself. His fingers, of their own volition, continued sifting through her hair, letting damp strands trail across his palm, between his fingers, then watching as they feathered slowly to her shoulders. "I expected fireworks. But that—that was…" He shook his head, as if words escaped him.

  Anastasia licked her lips, trying desperately to gain control of herself. She felt wobbly, as if she'd run a great distance, and her heart was racing its accord. Her skin felt hot and shivery all at once, and there was a dull ache inside her—one that made her feel strangely empty and yet simultaneously full. Worst of all was her reeling mind, which seemed unable to grasp even a thought, or much of anything else for that matter.

  Damen framed her face between his palms, his expression still refle
cting amazement, his tone husky. "Are you all right?"

  Reflexively, she nodded, although she doubted it was true. "I … yes."

  A corner of his mouth lifted. "I'm not either."

  "I'm not sure what just happened," Anastasia blurted out. A bright flush stained her cheeks. "I mean, I realize what happened, I just don't…"

  "I understood what you meant." Damen's thumbs stroked her cheeks. "And I felt it, too."

  Swallowing, Anastasia tried once again to collect herself, to right her upended emotions. "Our bank," she said, grabbing hold of the first coherent thought that flitted through her brain. "We should name it."

  "Coward," Damen teased gently. But he followed her lead, letting his arms drop to his sides and taking a deliberate step away. "Very well, do you have a suggestion?"