The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)

Royce shuddered, his entire body going rigid as he shaped and caressed her breasts. Each caress grew hotter, more urgent, more intimate.

His trembling hands reached for the top of her bodice.

“Breanna.” He lifted his head slightly, his eyes molten with desire. “If I touch you, I'll take you. Right here. Right now. On this bench. With the entire ton carousing just inside those walls.” His hands made the return journey to her waist. “I've got to stop.”

“I know.” Her eyes slid shut, a shivering sigh es­caping her. “I know.”

Royce caught her chin between his fingers, and her lashes lifted to see him studying her face for a long, searching moment “Are you going to remember this later?” he demanded. “When the Regent's punch has worn off?”

A soft smile touched Breanna's lips. “I'll remember it,” she assured him. “And the punch wore off long

11

Stacie glanced over at the French doors for the tenth t i me i n the last half hour, nearly sagging with relief when she saw her cousin stroll in on L ord Royce's arm.

F i nally. Breanna was back. Back and safe.

Thank God. No one had hurt her.

Then again, her protector had been by her side.

Besieged by a rush of curiosity, Stacie met Brean­na's eyes, spied a definite sparkle that hadn't been there before, and had to fight the urge to rush over and ask what had happened during that stroll in the glittering winter moonlight.

Winter. And Breanna had stayed outside for thirty minutes without her mantle.

Interesting. She didn't look at all cold.

“Stacie?” Damen's voice was tender, but his grip, tightening ever so fractionally about her waist, was telling her in no uncertain terms that she'd better stay put.

Damn, the man knew her so well.

“Yes?” She gave him a sweet, innocent look, turn­ing her attention back to the small group surrounding them—a group that had, in the short minutes while her mind had wandered, expanded from Lord and Lady Dutton and the Earl and Countess of Geldrick to include the Viscount Crompton and Lord Arthur Landow.

“The viscount was just commenting on how radiant you look,” Damen prompted.

Anastasia felt a twinge of guilt when she saw the concern furrowing Lord Crompton's brow—and Lord Landow's, for that matter. Like Dutton and Geldrick, both these men had strong monetary ties to the House of Lockewood and both were uneasy about offending Damen. True, they'd rejected her re­quest for financial backing last summer—as had every other businessman she'd approached. Still, that did nothing to shed doubt on their integrity, only on their open-mindedness. Like all Damen's clients, these were honorable men—the viscount a retired military general who'd served in the Napoleonic Wars, and Lord Landow a wealthy manufacturer whose products were sold both here and abroad.

By nature, Stacie wasn't cruel. Needling these men for missing out on a superb business opportunity was one thing. Forcing«them to humble themselves, as they had been doing since the party began, was quite another. Enough was enough. The last thing she wanted was to add insult to injury by making Lord Crompton think he was being snubbed.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she told him, relieved to see the intense consternation on his face ease a bit. “I appreciate your gracious compliment.” Her mind raced, and she quickly came up with the ideal explanation for her rudeness and for Damen's constant presence at her side—a reason they'd like far better than their cur­rent belief: namely, that he was looming over them to retaliate, to make them squirm for offending his wife.

Sometimes the truth came in handy. Now was one of those times.

She shot Lord Crompton a grateful look. “Your kind words couldn't have come at a better time—especially when I know I look anything but radiant. I haven't slept in weeks, nor have I kept down a meal. That's actually why I missed hearing what you said. I was feeling light-headed.”

Crompton now looked concerned. “Have you seen a physician?”

“Every day on the ship home,” she replied with a smile. “Much to his dismay.” She inclined her head, turned her smile up at Damen, whose twinkle told her he knew exactly what she was doing—and that he approved. “My illness is for the most wonderful of reasons. Damen and I are expecting a child.”

“That's splendid.” The viscount relaxed, raised his glass. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Yes, congratulations,” Landow echoed, as pleased by the congeniality of her tone as he was by her news. “What a delightful announcement.” His good wishes—and his gaze—were clearly directed at Damen

“I agree,” Damen responded, drawing Stacie closer to his side. “I'm elated.”

“He's also exceedingly anxious and protective,” Stacie confided, tossing a you-understand glance at Lady Geldrick, in the hopes of eliciting the countess's support. It was well know n that she and the earl were very much in love, and that she had gifted her husband with their second son just five months ago.

“That poor doctor couldn't wait to see the last of us,” Stacie added, still speaking to Lady Geldrick. “Damen paid him three visits a day to verify that the symptoms I was experiencing were normal. And, as you can see, he refuses to budge from my side.”