The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

"Fine. May we talk?"

"Right now." He gripped her arm, led her across the floor, through the rear door, and directly into his office. He shut and locked the door.

"What happened?" he demanded, turning to face her. "I've been watching the clock and worrying since I got up this morning. Actually, I worried all night, too. I didn't shut an eye. I never should have agreed to this. The risk is too great."

"But well worth it." Anastasia rushed forward, clutched his forearms. "Damen, I got results. At least I think I did." She blurted out everything she'd discovered, from the odd discrepancy in the receipts to the entries in her uncle's appointment book, to the most damning information of all: Bates's visit and the fact that it had been his name she'd overheard in her uncle's conversation with Lyman yesterday—all of which added up to the fact that the magistrate was somehow involved in these shady dealings.

Damen's scowl deepened with each passing word. "That's it," he declared the minute she was finished. "Your part in this is officially over. Whatever your uncle is involved in is more serious than I thought, and even more dangerous. Magistrates and affluent businessmen who risk their positions in society are desperate men. When they're backed into corners, they react like trapped animals. They attack when threatened. As do unscrupulous viscounts who already despise their nieces and find out those nieces have played a major role in bringing them down. I'll take it from here, Stacie. I mean it."

Anastasia sucked in her breath. "What will you do?"

"I'll have Bates investigated. It should be easy enough to find out if George is compensating him in some way. My guess is it's with power, not money—being that your uncle has none of the latter to offer. But he does have influence, or at least his title does. I wouldn't be surprised if he's had a hand in broadening Bates's area of jurisdiction."

"That makes sense," Anastasia concurred. "What about Rouge? How do we get information on him?"

"I'll notify one of my contacts in Paris, see what they can dig up. Whoever this Rouge is, he can't be too hard to find, especially if he doesn't know we're looking for him." Damen considered the rest of what she'd told him, and his lips thinned into a grim line. "As for the companies you mentioned—the ones whose prices were higher than the others—my guess is that either your uncle's cohorts padded those receipts and split the difference with him, or that the companies in question have investments in his seedy operation, in which case, he's giving them a percentage of what he's making by paying their inflated bills."

"In other words, he's embezzling from Colby and Sons—my grandfather's company." Anger flared deep within Anastasia's gut.

"Yes. He's nothing but a common criminal—he and his despicable partners. A common criminal, and a dangerous one."

The anxiety in Damen's voice dispelled Anastasia's ire, supplanted it with concern. "You're worrying about me," she stated quietly.

"I bloody well am. As your grandfather would be if he were alive. Funds can be recouped. People can't. Besides, I know firsthand that Colby and Sons is in no financial danger. You, on the other hand, are another matter entirely. As of this moment, you're to stay as far away from your uncle as the walls of Medford Manor permit. I'd recommend the same for Breanna—although I doubt George would be suspicious of her. Just steer clear of him. Live there, eat there, but keep your distance. No more visits to Colby and Sons, no more inflammatory confrontations. And no more deceptions."

That brought Anastasia's head up. "If you're referring to Breanna and me switching places, the only way we can end that deception is if you stop visiting me. Is that what you want?"

A muscle worked in his jaw. "You know it isn't." He dragged her against him, buried his lips in her hair. "I can't—won't—stay away from you."

"Nor I from you." She rested her forehead against his chest. "We'll just have to make sure Uncle George doesn't figure us out. Because until you gather enough evidence to have him thrown into jail, he's a threat to Breanna. Especially now, when your supposed preoccupation with her is my uncle's main source of hope. If he were to discover there's to be no future between Breanna and you…" Anastasia sighed. "I shudder to think what he'd do."

"And if he discovered the lengths you and she are going to to deceive him into believing that lie? What would he do to her then?"

Silence.

Damen's embrace tightened. "I've got to get that evidence—fast. It's the only way to ensure your and Breanna's safety, and allow us the future I intend us to have."

Anastasia inhaled sharply and broke away, crossed over toward the desk.

* * *

Her abrupt movement startled the shadowy figure that hovered outside the office door.

Tension rippling through him, he pressed close to the wall, waiting to see if bolting would become a necessity. It didn't. The office door remained shut. Better still, the voices from inside, until now too muffled to discern, loomed within clear, distinguishable range.

"Stacie? What is it?" Unaware he was being eavesdropped upon, Damen walked over, turned Anastasia about to face him.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could explain how badly she needed the balm Damen's words provided, how impossibly thrilling a future with him sounded. "Tell me about our future together."

He seemed to understand, because his hand stroked her hair, moved it out of the way so he could caress the nape of her neck. "Later. For now, I'd rather show you."

"That would be heaven," she breathed, feeling shivers go up her spine. "Far more wonderful than telling me. Certainly better than talking about my uncle and whatever criminal activities he's involved in. And much, much better than your lecturing me about the dangers Breanna and I are flirting with by switching places."

Damen tilted back her head, his hot gaze probing hers with burning intensity. "I wish I didn't want you so damned much," he muttered. "Because, despite your insistence to the contrary, my every instinct is screaming that I should continue lecturing you. It's time for you and Breanna to stop this insanity, to stop pretending to be each other during my visits. Sweetheart, you're playing with fire."

"M-m-m," Anastasia murmured, only half-listening to Damen's words. She was still contemplating his vow to show her what was in store for them. She turned her head, brushed her lips against his th

roat. "Playing with fire—well, maybe I am. Fortunately, I only burn when I'm with you."