The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

Sheldrake gestured for her to join her uncle, then followed politely behind. "By all means. We'll continue this discussion later."

"My announcement will only take a minute, Sheldrake," George informed him. "After which I'm going to ask the musicians to strike up a waltz to commemorate the occasion. I'm sure Breanna would enjoy dancing with you. So feel free to interrupt and ask her."

With that, he guided Anastasia into the room, well aware that hundreds of eyes were upon them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, a polished smile on his face. "It's no secret why I've invited you all here. My niece, Anastasia, who's been living abroad for the past ten years, has returned to England. It was my late brother Henry's fondest wish that his only daughter be properly brought out and introduced to English society—a society that Henry so deeply missed and that Anastasia has yet to experience. Tonight is her first foray into that society, and she's eager to embrace it, to leave the colonies and all they represent behind." A pointed pause. "I'd appreciate your joining me in helping her do that, and in welcoming her back home to England. Everyone—my lovely niece, Anastasia."

There was a round of applause, accompanied by some heated whispers among the ladies and a healthy number of fervent nods among the gentlemen—gentlemen who were openly proclaiming their approval of George's tacit message; that is, relegating Anastasia to her proper place.

In response, Anastasia smiled and thanked her uncle, although she nearly had to bite off her tongue to manage it, so great was her outrage. She recognized only too well the less-than-subtle admonishment she'd just received, and she harbored no illusions as to why it had been given. Obviously, one or more of the gentlemen she'd approached with her business offer had gone to her uncle to complain. And Uncle George was furious at what he'd perceive as nothing short of flagrant disrespect and indignity.

Inwardly, Anastasia frowned, realizing that, in her haste to acquire financial backing, she hadn't fully considered this. Oh, she'd expected her uncle to be annoyed when he learned of her behavior. But after a ten-year separation, she'd forgotten just how severe his reaction could be.

In any case, she'd have to deal with this later.

The musicians struck up the promised waltz, and Anastasia found herself automatically glancing about for Damen. She spotted him without too much trouble, across the ballroom, watching her with an enigmatic expression.

"Well, Anastasia." Her uncle's voice cut into her thoughts. "I see you already have a captive audience." He drew her attention back to him—and away from Damen—gesturing toward the opposite wall. "There are three gentlemen on their way toward us, all arguing over who will have the honor of dancing with you first. I'll let you decide. It will keep that active mind of yours occupied with something useful."

Anastasia didn't pretend to misunderstand. Nor did she flinch. She simply nodded, seeing beyond her uncle's practiced smile, noting that his eyes were icy chips of jade. "I'm sure it will," she replied.

Fortunately, the three eager suitors reached her side at that moment—bickering among themselves about the order in which they'd dance with her ladyship—so Anastasia wasn't forced to contend with her uncle's antagonism any longer, at least for the time being.

She turned away from him, as one simpering fellow, Edward something-or-other, claimed her, bowing and grasping her gloved hand simultaneously, leading her onto the dance floor and into the waltz.

The second young man, fair-haired and thickset, whose name she didn't catch nor cared to, hovered nearby like a hungry lion, whisking her away the instant the waltz ended and a minuet began. And the third chap, Lord Percy Gilbert, a handsome, ebony-haired fellow whose opinion of himself had to exceed any plausible reality, swept her into a reel, his dark eyes glued to her, rife with promise.

Somehow, Anastasia managed to enjoy herself, more as a consequence of the dancing than the company. She did, however, find herself glancing about the room, involuntarily seeking out Damen, only to spy him dancing with Breanna.

She forced herself to look away, and to stifle the unwelcome surge of envy that welled up inside her.

"You dance magnificently, my lady," Lord Percy informed her as the music stopped.

"Thank you." Anastasia smiled. "I've always loved to dance. Then again, I love any kind of activity that involves physical exertion: climbing trees, racing horses. But dancing is a pleasure unto itself."

He gave a warm chuckle. "You must have learned to dance at the same time as you learned to climb trees—as a child."

A puzzled tilt of her head. "No. I learned at the customary age of thirteen or fourteen. Why would you think otherwise?"

Lord Percy looked utterly taken aback. "But you were in the colonies at that time. Do they actually teach English dances there?"

Anastasia wasn't sure whether to laugh aloud or shout in frustration. "The dances we're enjoying tonight weren't English inventions, my lord," she reminded him, rectifying his ignorance in as gentle a tone as she could muster. "That particular reel was Scottish, the minuet came to us from France, and the waltz originated in Vienna. We simply borrowed them. As did the States. Might I also remind you that America, too, is not an extension of the Crown. It's a country all its own now."

Gilbert stared at her, astonishment reflected on his chiseled features. "I stand corrected." He cleared his throat, a gleam of anticipation lighting his eyes. "You're a very frank and knowledgeable young woman, my lady. Also refreshingly unconventional. I hope to sample more of your free-spiritedness—and of you."

Before Anastasia could open her mouth to reply, a hard hand closed about her forearm. "Here you are, Lady Anastasia." Damen's deep baritone sliced the air. "That waltz you promised me is about to begin." He guided her firmly away from her companion. "Excuse us, Gilbert."

Whether or not Gilbert excused them was irrelevant, since they were already halfway across the floor. Damen signaled the musicians with a purposeful lift of his brows. In response, they commenced playing.

Anastasia began waltzing before her mind fully grasped what had just occurred.

When her thoughts finally caught up with her feet, she began to smile. "Why don't I recall discussing this particular dance?" she inquired. "In fact, why don't I think this waltz was planned at all, but, rather, was requested at the last minute—by you?"

"Because it was." Damen's expression was hard, and a muscle flexed at his jaw. "Your earlier scrutiny of the guest list might have told you who the investors were, but they didn't shed much light on the lechers. Gilbert is one of the latter."

Anastasia felt an irrational rush of pleasure. Was Damen being protective? Or was it just possible he was jealous? "Thank you for disclosing that bit of information. However, I'd already guessed as much."

"Really? Did you also guess that what he just suggested sampling wasn't another reel?"