The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

"Very well." Damen followed suit, a fine tension permeating his body as he leveled his stare at the fence. "On your mark … get set … go!"

The two horses took off like bullets, tearing down the path, Sable just a neck ahead of Whisper.

Sable reached the fence with two seconds to spare, then veered to the left, heading toward the line of hedges. Anastasia picked up speed, and she and Whisper caught up just as Damen rounded the hedges, prepared to make a break for their goal.

They galloped the last lap neck-and-neck.

Itching to glance over and see Damen's expression, Anastasia fought the impulse to do so. Even a small gesture like that would break her concentration and cost her precious seconds. And that could cost her the race.

Blood thrummed through her veins as she urged Whisper on, feeling the mare's instantaneous response. Her gallop increased, her legs literally flying off the ground, propelling her forward.

The problem was, Damen had the same idea.

Crouching low and forward, he and Sable moved as one, tearing toward the finish line, undaunted by Anastasia and Whisper's remarkable show of horsemanship.

Two pairs of front hooves struck the jacket simultaneously, one pair on the left sleeve, one pair on the right.

"Well, what do you know—a tie," Damen observed, his breath coming rapidly as he brought Sable around.

"Yes. It was." Anastasia sounded not only winded, but positively stunned. Patting Whisper's neck, she gave Damen a look of grudging respect. "You're a splendid rider, my lord. I didn't expect such fine competition."

Damen chuckled, gripping the front of the saddle as he dismounted. "What you really mean is, you expected to win." He walked over, inclined his head. "Right?"

Anastasia didn't hesitate. "You're right."

Laughter rumbled from Damen's chest. "Candid, if not modest. Then again, given your skill in the saddle, modesty would be misplaced." Idly, he stroked Whisper's muzzle, his brow creased in thought. "You do realize that our dilemma remains: the christening of our partnership and our bank."

"No," Anastasia corrected at once. "Only half our dilemma remains. With regard to our partnership, it will be Lockewood and Colby, just as I would have declared it had I won."

Damen looked startled. "But I thought…"

"You thought wrong. You assumed that, like most women, I'd be swayed by emotion. I'm not. The truth is, your family name carries a great deal more weight in the financial community than mine does. Colby and Sons is a trading company. The House of Lockewood is the most influential merchant bank in England, if not the world. The power of its name is invaluable. I'd be stupid not to use it to promote our bank. And, just as you claimed about yourself, I'll echo about me: I'm never stupid." An impish smile curved her lips. "However, I'm not entirely magnanimous either. I do demand equal say in naming our bank—just as a tie commands."

Rather than bantering back, Damen sobered, an odd expression flitting across his face—one that made Anastasia's own banter fade and caused her throat to tighten. "You're astonishing," he murmured.

"Is that a compliment?" she managed to ask.

"Yes." His gaze intensified, and he reached up, indicating his desire to help her dismount. "May I?"

Nodding, Anastasia leaned toward him, her breath catching as he lifted her up and out of the saddle.

She swung her right leg over to join her left, letting the damp folds of her gown flow free as Damen lowered her to the ground.

Their gazes caught—and held.

His hands lingered, and she could feel the pressure of his gloves, generating a heat that seeped through her clothes and into her skin, which was moist from the exertion of the race.

"Your riding is extraordinary," he told her. "As is your candor, your determination—and you."

"I'm also a mess." Anastasia couldn't believe those words had just popped out of her mouth. When had she ever been preoccupied with her appearance? When had it ever mattered to her how she'd looked after a wild dash on horseback?

Only now.

Tearing her gaze from Damen's, Anastasia regarded herself; the ruined gown flowing around dirt-stained stockings, not to mention her hair, which now tumbled free, cascading over her shoulders and back and sticking to her perspired neck and cheeks. She considered trying to rearrange it, then gave up the idea as hopeless. "It seems to me I'm in a perpetually rumpled state."

Damen shook his head slowly from side to side. "Not rumpled. Genuine. Uninhibited. Free-spirited. There's a big difference." He tugged off one of his gloves, capturing a strand of her hair and rubbing it between his fingers.

"You embrace life, live it to its fullest. Never make light of that. It's a great blessing."