The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

Pensively, she studied the marquess's face, puzzled and curious all at once. What had prompted this total turn-around? she wondered. Certainly not some absurd sense of gallantry. Not with a man like Damen Lockewood, who regarded business above all else.

Except perhaps loyalty. Was that it? Did the marquess feel a sense of commitment to her father, a responsibility not to let Henry's daughter falter?

If that was the case, she wanted no part of his charity.

"Why?" she demanded, giving voice to her thoughts. "Why would you change your mind so suddenly and completely? Out of duty? Pity?"

One dark brow shot up. "Neither. To begin with, I don't pity you. Doing business means experiencing disappointment, sometimes even coping with failure. What's more, even if I did feel sorry for what you're going through, I don't allow emotions to dictate my business decisions. And that includes loyalty to fine men like your father. Henry would laugh in my face if he heard me suggest investing in something I didn't believe in just out of respect for him. So, no, put those foolish notions out of your mind. I'm reversing my decision because it's prudent to do so." Sheldrake lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "As it turns out, I spent the better part of last week researching your ideas. I made some inquiries, pored over long columns of numbers. And I discovered that you were right. I didn't give your proposal a fair chance. Well, now I'm ready to. If you're still interested."

Anastasia eyed him skeptically. "Why didn't you mention this change of heart before an hour ago when I went on my futile crusade to solicit backers?"

"Because I wanted you to explore all your options before I made my offer. After all, there was every chance you'd reject it at this point, given my initial response. Especially if you'd found someone else to finance your venture."

"Which I didn't." Anastasia frowned, contemplating another, equally important, question. "Let me ask you this: what if I say no? Will that preclude me from using my own funds to finance the bank? Will I have to wait until October, when you're no longer managing my inheritance, to get started?"

Lord Sheldrake's jaw tightened fractionally. "What you're effectively asking is whether or not I'd resort to blackmail. The answer is no. I don't do business that way. You'll have access to your funds immediately, whether or not we form a partnership. I'll sign the necessary documents at my bank on the morning after this party ends. No strings attached."

"I see." Anastasia wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Forgive me if I insulted you. But I had to be sure."

"No insult taken—this time. However, I don't expect my integrity to be questioned again."

"Fair enough." The first ray of hope she'd experienced all evening dawned inside her. "You really believe in my bank?"

"Our bank," Sheldrake corrected with a cocky grin. "At least if you accept my offer. And, yes, I do."

With visible relief and excitement, Anastasia extended her hand. "Then consider us partners."

"Splendid." Solemnly, he shook her hand, his fingers lingering far longer than necessary. "Tell me, now that we're partners, do you think we might dispense with the formalities?"

Anastasia swallowed, her pulse picking up speed. "Which formalities in particular, my lord?"

"The ones you just employed." His gaze held hers. "I believe it's fitting for partners to call each other by their given names."

"I suppose that makes sense."

"Good." Abruptly, his grip tightened, refusing to let go, and his stare delved deep inside of her. "When I first walked out here, you weren't only thinking about the bank, were you? There was far more on your mind."

Anastasia blinked—startled by the abrupt change of subject, taken aback by the marquess's boldness and his insight. She had no idea what prompted her to answer. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the past few minutes; perhaps it was the vulnerable state in which he'd found her or the compassion she heard in his voice.

Or perhaps it was the heat that emanated from their joined hands.

In any case, she stared at his strong fingers wrapped around her slender ones and replied, "Yes, I was pondering far more than the bank. I was thinking about many things—my grandfather, my father, how much I missed Medford Manor while I was away, how much I still…" She bit her lip, then blurted out, "Is it possible to miss home even when you're right there in it?"

"Yes," the marquess responded without pause. "When that home is no longer the same as the one you remember. And the one you remember is the one you miss."

Slowly, Anastasia tilted her face up to his. "You're a very perceptive man, Lord Sheldrake."

"Damen," he corrected. "And you're a very intriguing woman, Anastasia."

Without any warning, he stepped closer, caught her chin between his fingers, and lowered his mouth to hers. Anastasia had no time to think, no time to prepare. She only had time to feel.

Damen's lips brushed hers in a whisper of sensation, a warm, fleeting caress that sent tiny shivers up her spine. He repeated the motion, and Anastasia caught her breath, her eyes sliding shut as she reeled with newfound awareness.

She'd been kissed before—on the hand, an occasional peck on the cheek, even one tentative sampling of her mouth, given by a brazen though unimpressive suitor. But never before had she felt this tingling sensation, this quivering that rippled from her head to her toes.

The odd thing was that Damen's kiss was no less chaste than those that had preceded it. It was a mere grazing of the lips—the only difference being that it lingered, its motion retraced in slow reversal—first right to left, then left to right.

And then it ended.