The Gold Coin

  "Ah, Breanna." Clearly, Lord Sheldrake didn't suffer from the same affliction. He stepped forward and walked straight to Breanna, bowing and kissing her hand. "Good morning. You look lovely, as always." He turned to Anastasia, his expression altering from cordial to assessing. "Good morning, my lady. I trust you slept well and are ready for our meeting?"

  Staring into those probing silver-gray eyes, Anastasia wondered if he was taunting her or merely making light conversation. "I slept soundly, my lord," she assured him. "I'm quite rested and ready to discuss my inheritance."

  "Good. Then let's get started." The marquess turned to George. "Where can your niece and I meet in private?"

  The viscount's jaw dropped. "In private? I don't think…"

  "You know very well how I do business, George," Lord Sheldrake broke in quietly. "My discussions with my clients are confidential. As of yesterday, Lady Anastasia is my client. Now, where can she and I meet?"

  George inhaled sharply, then gave a terse nod. "Why don't you stay right here? Breanna and I will busy ourselves elsewhere and meet you in the dining room in, say, an hour."

  "Fine." The marquess moved back to his chair, gathered up his portfolio and removed some papers, placing them on the end table alongside the sofa. That done, he drew himself up, hands clasped behind him, and shot George an expectant look.

  Reluctantly, the viscount signaled Breanna, then strode out of the salon. Breanna followed suit, but hovered in the doorway for an instant, tossing Anastasia an I-can't-wait-to-hear-the-details look. Then she followed her father into the hallway, shutting the door in her wake.

  Lord Sheldrake waited until the quiet click heralded the privacy he'd sought.

  "Have a seat," he instructed Anastasia, gesturing offhandedly at the mahogany settee opposite the sofa. Brow furrowed, he resumed perusing his stack of papers. "This shouldn't take long. I'll explain all your father's assets to you as simply as I can, then give you my recommendations with regard to investments. Or, if you'd prefer, I can just take care of things myself, and not trouble you at all. Whatever your preference, I will, of course, keep records of all the transactions I conduct on your behalf in the event you want to see where your inheritance has been invested and how its value grows."

  "Stop." Anastasia held up her palm, certain she'd scream if he continued for one more moment. "First, you needn't exert yourself searching for simple words of explanation. I am very familiar with financial terms. I'm also well acquainted with the options available to me—especially those I'd be interested in pursuing. In addition, given that the money in question is mine and not yours, I insist not only on being apprised but on approving each and every investment decision involving my inheritance. And last, I have some recommendations to offer you."

  Damen Lockewood's head came up, and he stared at her, utter astonishment written all over his face. "Do you now?" he murmured at length. Abruptly, his lips twitched. "I suppose that shouldn't surprise me."

  "But it does."

  "Yes, it does—this time. Which is quite a coup for you, given that I'm rarely caught off-guard. However, what I never am is stupid—stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. So, from here on in, I won't be surprised."

  He tossed down his papers and folded his arms across his chest—scrutinizing her in a way that indicated he was abandoning his customary tactics. Then he advanced toward her, a challenging gleam in his eye. "Very well, my lady. I suggest we try a different approach. You tell me what you already know of your assets, what additional information you need, and how and where you suggest investing them. First, I'll listen. Then I'll give you my input, after which decisions will be made. How would that be?"

  Anastasia's brows rose. "You'd really agree to that kind of exchange? You'd actually hear me out?"

  "I would." A slow smile spread across the marquess's face. "It appears that now I've surprised you."

  "I have to admit you have. Somehow, I didn't expect you to be so … so…"

  "Open-minded?" he supplied.

  Anastasia nodded. "Yes. Open-minded."

  "Well, I am—sometimes. Other times, I'm every bit as rigid as you anticipated I'd be. Which quality I demonstrate depends upon the wisdom of what I hear. Fair enough?"

  "I suppose it will have to be."

  One dark brow shot up. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning you were careful to say that decisions would be made. I notice you didn't qualify who would make those decisions."

  A corner of Lord Sheldrake's mouth lifted. "No, I didn't, did I?" He chuckled, gesturing toward the sofa. "Nonetheless, I did agree to listen to your ideas, if not to defer to them. So, can we sit down, or must we continue to do battle standing up?"

  Reluctantly, Anastasia gathered up her skirts and crossed over, perching at the edge of the settee and waiting, stiff-backed, until the marquess had followed suit. Only after he'd lowered himself to the adjoining sofa did she relax. Bad enough that the man towered over her when they were both on their feet. But with him standing and her seated, she felt dwarfed by his size and power—a perception that made her feel at a distinct disadvantage, something she was unwilling to allow.

  "I'm neither armed nor dangerous," he interrupted, as if reading her mind.

  "I realize that." Anastasia started, taken aback by the magnitude of his insight. She eyed him intently. Armed? Dangerous? That was a matter of opinion. This man needed no weapon to be a formidable adversary. He was intelligent, powerful, and self-assured. He also had an impressive array of contacts and an unrivaled level of success—both of which she intended to profit from, and which had factored heavily into the amended strategy she'd devised last night.

  "Is it true you privately convene with kings all over the Continent to offer them financial counsel?" she blurted out, inspired by the possibilities her own thoughts had conjured up. "Is your courier system really faster than that of any sovereign? Is that one of the reasons for your success? Do you get advance information that gives you an edge in determining your own investments, as well as those of your clients'?"

  At first, amusement flickered in his eyes, but as the questions continued to be fired, it faded, eclipsed by a hint of wariness. "What inspired this deluge of questions?" he asked when she'd paused for air. "Is it idle curiosity? Or is it more? Because if you're prying, I don't discuss my clients or the nature of their business ventures with anyone. And if you're verifying my credentials, I assure you, I'm as qualified as your father deemed me to be."

  Anastasia couldn't help but feel a grudging admiration for the marquess's integrity. "Part harmless curiosity, my lord," she assured him candidly. "And part personal interest. I wasn't doubting you, nor was I prying. I'm simply fascinated by how extensive your dealings are, and how notable your contacts. As I told you yesterday, your reputation precedes you."

  The wariness vanished as quickly as it had come. "In that case, I'll merely say thank you." A twinkle. "I'm glad I've piqued your interest—and equally glad I've impressed you."

  "I didn't say I was impressed," Anastasia amended, her own eyes dancing. "Not yet, anyway. You'll have to work harder to accomplish that feat."

  To her surprise, Lord Sheldrake laughed aloud. "You, Lady Anastasia, are quite a handful. Physical resemblance aside, it's hard to believe you and Breanna are related."

  "Breanna has had more restrictions than I," Anastasia said, defending her cousin swiftly. "I was fortunate. I lived in America, and my parents encouraged my curiosity and, to a great extent, my independence. Breanna's situation is quite different."

  "Yes, I know. Quite different." The marquess pursed his lips, diverting the subject before Anastasia had a chance to figure out his underlying meaning. "Tell me, what makes you think I meant that as a compliment?"

  "Pardon me?"

  "You rushed to Breanna's defense, and I commend you on your loyalty. Still, what makes you think I find being a handful an admirable trait?"

  "You might not, my lord, but I do."

  Again, laughter rumbled from Lord She
ldrake's chest. "I rather expected as much."

  "Good. I'm glad I didn't surprise you," she returned with a perky grin. "That would have violated your one-surprise-per-person rule."

  "True." Schooling his features, Lord Sheldrake leaned back and crossed one long leg over the other in a deceptively casual stance. "Tell me what you had in mind for your father's inheritance."

  Anastasia realized instantly that the abrupt change in subject was meant to catch her off-guard. Well, it wouldn't. She was too well-prepared with this particular response. She'd rehearsed it half the night, modifications and all.

  Gripping the folds of her gown, she raised her chin, met the marquess's gaze head-on. "What I have in mind is twofold: to invest directly in America's expanding industry, and to open a bank that will meet a growing nation's demands—one that will make an enormous profit in the process."

  Lord Sheldrake's expression never changed. "Were these your father's ideas?"

  "I believe they were his wishes. But the ideas are mine."

  "I see." He cleared his throat. "There are already banks in America."

  "Not like the one I have in mind. Mine would be as vital to America as the House of Lockewood is to Europe. Which is why I want your cooperation—not only as my adviser, but as my partner."

  Dead silence.

  Then: "You want me to co-invest in this endeavor?"

  "Yes. Although, to be blunt, I never considered the idea until yesterday. I intended to do this on my own. Then, when I found out that Papa had appointed you to oversee my funds, my mind began to race. Your insights, your contacts, my firsthand knowledge of the States; abruptly, it struck me that my bank—our bank—would be twice as successful, twice as quickly, if we combined our resources. Surely you can see what a splendid opportunity it is?"

  Lord Sheldrake rubbed his palms together, contemplating his answer. "Lady Anastasia," he said at last, "part of being a sound investor is avoiding putting all your eggs in one basket. Another is determining which ventures have a higher percentage of success, and which have greater risks and somewhat uncertain rewards. England and the Continent offer both stability and proven opportunities. The colonies are still a vast unknown."

  Anastasia's jaw set. "They're not colonies anymore, my lord. They're states. And just because you've always done things one way doesn't mean there isn't a better way to do them. It only means you have yet to find that other way. Reluctance breeds complacency, which often leads to failure."

  An astute glance. "You've rehearsed this argument well."

  "I had all night to do so. I anticipated your reluctance since yesterday afternoon when Mr. Fenshaw proclaimed you my financial adviser. I just didn't know whether that reluctance would extend only to investing your own money or whether you'd be dubious of the entire notion. I suppose now I have my answer."

  Lord Sheldrake raised his head, met her stare. "I suppose you do. But I want you to understand why I'm reluctant. It's not because I refuse to explore new avenues, nor because I resent your suggestions. It's because I'm not convinced this is the right time to do what you're suggesting. In a few years, maybe. But not now. Not with a country that's still as wobbly on its legs as a new colt—a country, I might add, with whom we've just been at war."

  "A few years? That makes the issue rather moot, since I won't need to consult with you then. Nor will I need to do so in a few months, for that matter." Anastasia's hand balled into a fist, pressed into the brocaded cushion of the settee. "But I don't want to wait a few months. I intend to get started right away—for my father. He was a man of great foresight; he welcomed new, creative business challenges. Several times we talked about expanding the role of Colby and Sons in the States, finding a way to lend capital to the growing number of merchants we did business with. He would have been the first to applaud my endeavors."

  "I agree that Henry was very enterprising. But he was also smart. He wouldn't have suggested throwing away money. Nor would he have poured all his assets into one risky investment."

  Anastasia bit back her disappointment, reminding herself that this was only a setback, not a defeat. "We could argue this point all day. You see things one way; I, another." She rose. "You've given me your answer. You won't be taking part in my venture. Very well. I'll manage it alone. Father's estate is worth over a hundred fifty thousand pounds, and that's not including his home in England and his home in Philadelphia, nor his shares in Colby and Sons. Tell me exactly how much of the estate is in cash assets which are, therefore, immediately available to me."

  "None of it."

  Anastasia's head jerked around, and she stared at the marquess. "Pardon me?"

  "Your father's cash assets total close to two hundred thousand pounds—none of which is available to you." Calmly, Lord Sheldrake unfolded himself from the sofa and came to his feet. "My job is to advise you—and to manage your funds. I can't, in good conscience, allow you to squander away your inheritance."

  Twin spots of color stained Anastasia's cheeks. "Are you saying you're refusing me access to my own money?"

  "No, I'm merely saying I'm refusing to let you invest that money in an American bank." He regarded her intently, clearly aware that she was angry and, therefore, trying to soften the blow. "I'm not doing this to be cruel or tyrannical. I hope you believe that. But if you don't…" A shrug, "…that's something we'll both have to live with. I won't compromise my integrity just to convince you that my intentions are honorable. Think of it this way: I can't stop you forever. Starting in October, you'll be overseeing your own funds, and you can invest as you choose. I only hope that three months gives me enough time to influence your thinking; that, with a little financial guidance from me, you'll have regained your senses by then."

  "Or perhaps I'll have used those three months to influence other businessmen, those who aren't afraid to try something new by financing my venture," Anastasia shot back, feeling angry and frustrated and resentful—more so because she wasn't wholly sure where those emotions stemmed from. Oh, she was furious at being thwarted, at having someone else in control of her life. But she was also bothered by Lord Sheldrake's rejection, more bothered than she'd anticipated. And she couldn't help but feel a grudging surge of admiration at his utterly principled way of doing business—even if she did loathe the outcome.

  So who was she angry at, him or herself?

  An intrigued spark had lit the marquess's eyes. "You intend to seek out other investors?"

  "Given your negative response, yes."

  His lips twitched. "I wish you luck."

  Damn, the man was arrogant.

  "This meeting is over, my lord." Anastasia gathered up her skirts and started to walk by him. "I appreciate your time, and your integrity. I don't share your opinions."

  Unexpectedly, he caught her arm as she passed. "And I respect your passion for this venture. Can we agree to disagree, or is that too unconventional a notion, even for you?"

  Anastasia froze, uncomfortably aware of the strong hand gripping her forearm, more aware of her own powerful, if confusing, reaction to it. Half of her wanted to yank herself away, the other half to stay precisely as she was, to explore the odd sensations elicited by Lord Sheldrake's touch. Both reactions were too extreme, too irrational, given the inconsequence of the contact, the casual nature of their acquaintance. Perhaps it was just the fervor of their discussion, the intensity of their differing opinions. And yet…

  Slowly, her gaze lifted to meet his. "No, my lord," she replied, trying to read his thoughts, and to understand her own. "It's not too unconventional for me. As of now, we agree to disagree."

  "Excellent."

  Was it her imagination, or did his grip tighten? She wasn't certain. What she was certain of was that his gaze narrowed, probed hers, and that despite the finality of his tone, he made no move to release her.

  A heartbeat later, he spoke. "I, in return, promise that I won't interfere with your efforts to win over England's businessmen. If you find someone eager to invest—wonderful. I
not only won't stand in his way, I'll applaud your abilities of persuasion."

  Anastasia felt an unwilling smile tug at her lips. "Is that a challenge, my lord?"

  His teeth gleamed. "And if it is?"

  "Then I accept." Her gaze shifted back to her arm, where she could actually feel the warmth of his fingers seeping through her gown, singeing her skin with an unknown and strangely disconcerting heat. "We'd best go to lunch," she suggested, her tone oddly strained.

  Slowly, he nodded. "Yes. We'd best."

  * * *

  Chapter 4

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  Lunch was an hour and a half of delicious food, fine wine, and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.