George's head jerked around, and he stared at Anastasia as if she were a loathsome insect. "I'm glad your morning was exciting. Mine wasn't." He drowned his bitterness in two deep swallows of brandy, clearly trying to squelch his obvious hostility toward his niece—hostility rooted in something far harsher, more deep-seated than mere disapproval over her business acumen. "Have you seen enough for one day, or are you intent on further upsetting my filing system and my schedule?"
Anastasia chewed her lip in apparent distress. "I didn't mean to be disruptive. But perhaps you're right. Perhaps I did overstay my welcome a bit, especially in the case of poor Mr. Roberts. He's been waiting on me all morning, probably to the exclusion of his other work." She glanced over her shoulder at the outer office, a rueful expression on her face. "The more I think about it, the more I think I'll be going."
A spark of relief flickered in George's eyes. "I'm sure Roberts would appreciate that. We still have quite a bit of paperwork to review today."
"Then I'll be on my way."
"Fine. Take the carriage."
"But how will you get home?"
"I'll find a way," George snapped. "Just go."
"All right." Anastasia wasn't waiting for her uncle to change his mind. "I'll thank Mr. Roberts and be off."
* * *
A half hour later she walked into the House of Lockewood.
Impatiently, she looked around for Graff, eager to have him announce her to Damen.
She needn't have bothered.
Damen himself was pacing about the bank, his gaze flickering from his customers to the entranceway and back.
The instant he saw Anastasia, he broke away from the crowd, making his way to her side.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine. May we talk?"
"Right now." He gripped her arm, led her across the floor, through the rear door, and directly into his office. He shut and locked the door.
"What happened?" he demanded, turning to face her. "I've been watching the clock and worrying since I got up this morning. Actually, I worried all night, too. I didn't shut an eye. I never should have agreed to this. The risk is too great."
"But well worth it." Anastasia rushed forward, clutched his forearms. "Damen, I got results. At least I think I did." She blurted out everything she'd discovered, from the odd discrepancy in the receipts to the entries in her uncle's appointment book, to the most damning information of all: Bates's visit and the fact that it had been his name she'd overheard in her uncle's conversation with Lyman yesterday—all of which added up to the fact that the magistrate was somehow involved in these shady dealings.
Damen's scowl deepened with each passing word. "That's it," he declared the minute she was finished. "Your part in this is officially over. Whatever your uncle is involved in is more serious than I thought, and even more dangerous. Magistrates and affluent businessmen who risk their positions in society are desperate men. When they're backed into corners, they react like trapped animals. They attack when threatened. As do unscrupulous viscounts who already despise their nieces and find out those nieces have played a major role in bringing them down. I'll take it from here, Stacie. I mean it."
Anastasia sucked in her breath. "What will you do?"
"I'll have Bates investigated. It should be easy enough to find out if George is compensating him in some way. My guess is it's with power, not money—being that your uncle has none of the latter to offer. But he does have influence, or at least his title does. I wouldn't be surprised if he's had a hand in broadening Bates's area of jurisdiction."
"That makes sense," Anastasia concurred. "What about Rouge? How do we get information on him?"
"I'll notify one of my contacts in Paris, see what they can dig up. Whoever this Rouge is, he can't be too hard to find, especially if he doesn't know we're looking for him." Damen considered the rest of what she'd told him, and his lips thinned into a grim line. "As for the companies you mentioned—the ones whose prices were higher than the others—my guess is that either your uncle's cohorts padded those receipts and split the difference with him, or that the companies in question have investments in his seedy operation, in which case, he's giving them a percentage of what he's making by paying their inflated bills."
"In other words, he's embezzling from Colby and Sons—my grandfather's company." Anger flared deep within Anastasia's gut.
"Yes. He's nothing but a common criminal—he and his despicable partners. A common criminal, and a dangerous one."
The anxiety in Damen's voice dispelled Anastasia's ire, supplanted it with concern. "You're worrying about me," she stated quietly.
"I bloody well am. As your grandfather would be if he were alive. Funds can be recouped. People can't. Besides, I know firsthand that Colby and Sons is in no financial danger. You, on the other hand, are another matter entirely. As of this moment, you're to stay as far away from your uncle as the walls of Medford Manor permit. I'd recommend the same for Breanna—although I doubt George would be suspicious of her. Just steer clear of him. Live there, eat there, but keep your distance. No more visits to Colby and Sons, no more inflammatory confrontations. And no more deceptions."
That brought Anastasia's head up. "If you're referring to Breanna and me switching places, the only way we can end that deception is if you stop visiting me. Is that what you want?"
A muscle worked in his jaw. "You know it isn't." He dragged her against him, buried his lips in her hair. "I can't—won't—stay away from you."
"Nor I from you." She rested her forehead against his chest. "We'll just have to make sure Uncle George doesn't figure us out. Because until you gather enough evidence to have him thrown into jail, he's a threat to Breanna. Especially now, when your supposed preoccupation with her is my uncle's main source of hope. If he were to discover there's to be no future between Breanna and you…" Anastasia sighed. "I shudder to think what he'd do."
"And if he discovered the lengths you and she are going to to deceive him into believing that lie? What would he do to her then?"
Silence.
Damen's embrace tightened. "I've got to get that evidence—fast. It's the only way to ensure your and Breanna's safety, and allow us the future I intend us to have."
Anastasia inhaled sharply and broke away, crossed over toward the desk.
* * *
Her abrupt movement startled the shadowy figure that hovered outside the office door.
Tension rippling through him, he pressed close to the wall, waiting to see if bolting would become a necessity. It didn't. The office door remained shut. Better still, the voices from inside, until now too muffled to discern, loomed within clear, distinguishable range.
"Stacie? What is it?" Unaware he was being eavesdropped upon, Damen walked over, turned Anastasia about to face him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could explain how badly she needed the balm Damen's words provided, how impossibly thrilling a future with him sounded. "Tell me about our future together."
He seemed to understand, because his hand stroked her hair, moved it out of the way so he could caress the nape of her neck. "Later. For now, I'd rather show you."
"That would be heaven," she breathed, feeling shivers go up her spine. "Far more wonderful than telling me. Certainly better than talking about my uncle and whatever criminal activities he's involved in. And much, much better than your lecturing me about the dangers Breanna and I are flirting with by switching places."
Damen tilted back her head, his hot gaze probing hers with burning intensity. "I wish I didn't want you so damned much," he muttered. "Because, despite your insistence to the contrary, my every instinct is screaming that I should continue lecturing you. It's time for you and Breanna to stop this insanity, to stop pretending to be each other during my visits. Sweetheart, you're playing with fire."
"M-m-m," Anastasia murmured, only half-listening to Damen's words. She was still contemplating his vow to show her what was in store for them. She turned her head, brushed her lips against his th
roat. "Playing with fire—well, maybe I am. Fortunately, I only burn when I'm with you."
Damen's muscles went rigid. "You're trying to distract me."
"And if I am?" She slipped her fingers into the knot of his cravat, untied it. "It's working, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's working. Too damned well."
"Good," she breathed, kissing the strong column of his throat. "Because I don't want to talk about my uncle anymore, at least not now. In fact, I don't want to talk at all."
With a rough groan, Damen tugged back her head, lowering his mouth to hers. "You make me crazy," he muttered against her lips. "I want to protect you and throttle you all at once. And I want to strip away every last barrier between us and make love to you until neither of us can breathe."
"Um-m-m, the last sounds spectacular," Anastasia murmured, sliding her hands beneath his waistcoat, gliding them up the fine linen of his shirt. "Terribly improper, but spectacular."
"This discussion is not over," he warned, his fingers automatically reaching around, dispensing with the buttons of her gown. Hungrily, he tugged the bodice down to expose the upper slope of her breasts. "Understood?" His lips blazed a path to her chemise, dipping lower as he untied the ribbons, one by one. "We have to come up with a different plan for us to be together—one I can live with."
Anastasia urged him closer, welcoming his caresses, the all-encompassing surge of heat that claimed her, obliterated all else from her mind. "Understood," she managed. "We'll fight this battle out—later." She shifted restlessly, eager to free herself from the confinement of her chemise. "Much later."
* * *
Outside the door, the eavesdropper straightened, stepped away. He'd learned all he had to. He didn't need to tarry any longer—not when every moment meant risking discovery. Besides, it didn't take a scholar to guess what was about to take place behind that door.
Glancing around to confirm he'd remained undetected, he made his way toward the privacy he sought. His mind was racing, reminding him that time was of the essence. He'd send a message off right away, arrange for a meeting tonight.
What he'd just heard explained everything. He was pleased to discover his instincts hadn't failed him, contrary to what Medford claimed. He'd been right about Lady Anastasia and Lord Sheldrake.
As for Medford—well, the viscount certainly wasn't going to be happy with the news he was about to receive. Especially since the courier was already en route to his lordship's residence with that letter from the Continent he'd been dreading.
Two pieces of bad news in one night.
The man scowled. Ah, well. Making the viscount smile wasn't his job. Giving him information was.
With that, he stepped into the empty room and quietly shut the door.
* * *
Inside Damen's office, Anastasia, oblivious to anything but what was happening between them, lost patience. She reached around, untying the final ribbon of her chemise and shrugging the garment off her shoulders.
Damen drank in her beauty, his eyes darkening to that smoky gray that made her heart pound. "You're pushing me to a dangerous brink," he whispered roughly, bending his head to draw one aching nipple into his mouth. "Perhaps too dangerous."
"I don't care." She arched, offering him more of herself, quivering as he took it. "For once, I don't want to think. I want to go wherever this takes us. And when we get there—I don't want you to stop."
With a harsh shudder, Damen caught her about the waist, backing her up until she collided with the edge of his desk, then lifting her onto it. Urgently, he pushed up her skirts and wedged himself in the cradle of her thighs. "I won't stop," he vowed huskily. "I can't." His forefinger lifted her chin, and he lowered his head again, sealing their lips in a kiss that was slow and hot and deep. His tongue slid across hers, taking it in blatant possession, and his fingers tangled in her hair, cradling her head so she couldn't move away.
Moving away was the farthest thing from Anastasia's mind.
She moaned softly, wriggling closer to the warmth of Damen's body, knowing she was testing his control and half-hoping it would shatter.
It nearly did.
He gripped the bunched muslin layers of her gown, pushing them higher, gliding his palm up her stocking-clad inner thighs. He kept kissing her, his mouth eating at hers, devouring her with an intensity he'd never before allowed. He muttered her name, his fingers shifting higher, finding the spot where her stockings left off and her bare skin began.
"Damen." Anastasia clutched at him, sensing what he was about to do, frantic for him to do it.
"Do you want this?" he rasped against her mouth.
"Yes. Please. Yes." She nodded wildly, her hips lifting instinctively toward him, silently begging for his touch.
His palm climbed that last tantalizing inch, grazed the burnished nest between her thighs. Then, his fingers parted her, stroked the delicate flesh that screamed for his touch.
Anastasia's breath lodged in her throat. Time seemed to stand still, all sensation concentrated beneath Damen's heated caress. She heard him groan, felt the tremor that racked his body. But all she knew was the unbearable stirring inside her, the rush of wet warmth that surged through her core, the tight knot of need that coiled inside her, an awakening and an emptiness all at once.
"Silk," Damen breathed into her lips. "Hot, flawless silk. God, I want to be inside you." His fingers responded to his command, gliding into her warm wetness, caressing and exploring her, only to emerge, circle the tight bud that throbbed with yearning.
Anastasia whimpered into Damen's open mouth, parting her thighs shamelessly and moving against his hand, unable to get close enough, to deepen his presence in her body fully enough.
Somehow he understood.
His fingers withdrew, then entered her again, only this time they began an unbearable rhythm of plunge and retreat, moving faster and deeper, reaching high inside her, pushing toward that unendurable tightness curled in her very center. At the same time, his thumb found that tight little bud, circled it enticingly, first once, then again and again and again.
Abruptly, bright colors exploded inside Anastasia's head, and her entire body clenched and convulsed, shimmering and shattering into a million fragments of sensation. She tore her mouth from Damen's, burying her face against his shoulder as spasms racked her body. She cried out, the sound muffled by Damen's woolen coat, and he held her as she came apart in his arms, his fingers heightening her pleasure until the final spasm had subsided and she sagged against him, everything inside her melting and sliding away into nothingness.
From a distance, the faint sounds of the bank trickled back into consciousness, and gradually, Anastasia became aware of her surroundings again. Damen was holding her, stroking her back in slow, soothing motions, gently kissing the crown of her hair, his own breath emerging in harsh, shallow rasps.
With a herculean effort, Anastasia raised her head, gazed into the blazing inferno of Damen's eyes. "God," she whispered, her voice as unsteady as her heartbeat. "That was…"
"Inconceivable," Damen supplied, smoothing damp tendrils of hair off her cheeks. "It defied words, surpassed even my wildest fantasies. And it was only the beginning, Stacie. There's more—so much more."
Anastasia heard the strain in his voice and her gaze fell reflexively to his trousers, noting the obviously rigid contours of his body and, despite her innocence, realizing precisely what they meant. "But you…"
"…will survive—at least for the time being." Damen smiled at the stricken expression on her face. "I'm not being selfless, sweetheart. Trust me. I intend to succumb to this relentless craving inside me, to pour myself into you until every last drop of me is spent. But I want more than a few stolen minutes in my office. Once I make you mine…" A profound light flickered in his eyes. "I don't intend to let you go. Not ever. You asked me to tell you about our future. Well, now I will. I'm going to marry you, Anastasia. I'm going to place my ring on your finger and declare my love for you before God and all mankind.
And I'm going to do it the instant this insanity is behind us—after which, nothing and no one is going to stop me."
Tears glistened on Anastasia's lashes. "Have I any say in this new partnership you're describing?" she asked in a small, quavery voice.
"One word. That's all the say you have."
A tremulous smile. "Very well. Then here's that word: yes. Yes to everything you just described. Yes to everything you want but have yet to describe. Yes."
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
It was the first time George had ever arrived at this filthy establishment before his contact. Then again, he was early. Ordinarily, he kept a close eye on his pocket watch, never riding off to their meeting place one moment sooner than was necessary. But tonight, he hadn't so much as glanced at his timepiece. He'd been too preoccupied with Rouge's message.
It couldn't have come at a better time.