The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

"Oh." Why did she have to sound so disappointed? Probably because she was. "Yes—go on."

The glitter in Damen 's eyes said he knew precisely what she was thinking, and that he shared her hunger. "Now for Breanna," he said, his lips hovering just above hers. "Breanna is like a beautiful flower: sweet, vivid, always pleasing to the eye, every petal perfectly in place. She's delicate, yes, but she's stronger than she appears to be—if she's cared for. When she's cared for," Damen amended. "Which she will be—by the right man." He framed Anastasia's face between his palms. "I'm not that man, Anastasia. I never will be. Breanna and I just aren't right for each other—not now, not ever."

Anastasia wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Does Uncle George know that?"

"No. He doesn't want to know that. And I've been reluctant to tell him—probably for the same reason you are."

She hesitated, then blurted out, "How well do you know my uncle—on a personal basis?"

Damen considered the question. "Not well. But the way a man conducts himself in business tells you a lot about the way he conducts his life."

"Business is Uncle George's life," Anastasia replied bitterly. "Business and the money it generates."

"I'd be a nice source of income, wouldn't I?" Seeing the startled look on Anastasia's face, Damen quirked a brow. "Did you think I was so arrogant—and naïve—as to believe your uncle wanted me for his son-in-law because of my outstanding character and kind heart?"

Anastasia's lips twitched. "I suppose not."

"My suspicions are that he's not faring as well financially as he would have liked. Frankly, he just doesn't have either your grandfather's business acumen or your father's innovativeness and flair with people."

"Are you saying he's having monetary problems?"

Damen shrugged. "I only know as much as George lets me know. Colby and Sons is doing fine. But as for your uncle's private investments—those he doesn't conduct through me—I have no idea. Still, it would certainly explain his eagerness for Breanna and I to wed."

Anastasia's laugh was humorless. "You don't know my uncle. He doesn't need a reason to crave money and power. He could be the second richest man on earth, and he'd still battle for first place. And you: the head of the House of Lockewood, rich, titled, renowned everywhere and by everyone; you're an asset that's far too desirable to let slip through his fingers—whether or not he's short of funds." She averted her gaze, her expression drawn with worry. "Uncle George is such a cold, hard man. My only fear is that…"

"You think he'll take out his anger on Breanna? That he'll blame her for not winning me over, so to speak?"

A chill permeated Anastasia's heart. "I don't know.

Nor do I know just how severe a form that anger might take. But I don't want to find out."

"At some point, we'll have to."

"Perhaps by then, Breanna will have met someone else—someone even wealthier and more influential than you." Anastasia sighed. "I don't suppose your scores of contacts could arrange that, could they?"

Damen gave a rueful chuckle. "They could summon extraordinary gentlemen from all four corners of the globe. But they couldn't ensure that one of those men would be right for Breanna."

"No, I suppose not."

Gently, Damen tilted up her chin. "Would you feel better if I spoke to your uncle? I could take full responsibility for not pursuing Breanna."

Anastasia's inner chill intensified. "And then do what, pursue me instead?" A hard shake of her head. "That would be the worst possible course to take. Rejecting Uncle George's daughter, then showing an interest in his brother's? You have no idea of the reaction you'd trigger. I shudder to think." She chewed her lip, chose her next words carefully. "The resentment Uncle George feels for Papa—for all three of us: Papa, Mama, and me—runs deep."

Again, Damen's eyes narrowed. "And you don't want to discuss why."

"No. I don't. But please, Damen, I need your word that you won't say anything to my uncle—not about what you don't feel for Breanna or what you might be feeling for me."

"I can't do that. Not when I fully intend to see you again. Not just once, but over and over." Damen's voice grew husky, and he threaded his fingers through her hair, that hot light flaring in his eyes. "We can't ignore what's happening between us. I won't ignore it."

A shiver ran through her. "Nor can I. But we'll have to be discreet about seeing each other. We'll have to say we're meeting just to discuss my inheritance."

"And our partnership," Damen reminded her.

She frowned. "I have to ask again, are you sure you want Uncle George to know about that?"

"He already does. I told him the morning of our race."

"You did?" Anastasia's eyes widened. "He hasn't said a word." She contemplated that fact. "Then again, I haven't seen him alone for a minute. He was with his guests until the final ones took their leave late last night. And this morning, he left right after breakfast." An uncertain look. "How did he react?"