The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

"Some aspects of living there, yes," Anastasia replied with total candor. "I miss the people; they were lovely. I miss some of the freedom I had in Philadelphia that isn't possible now that I'm home. But most of all, I miss the essence of my life in the States: my parents." A reflective pause. "Actually, that's not a fair statement. I'd miss Mama and Papa no matter where I lived, possibly more so if I'd stayed on in America without them."

She dispe

lled the sober mood with a dismissive wave. "On the other hand, it's wonderful to be back in England. I longed for so many aspects of home; the bustle of London, the beauty of the countryside and, of course, Medford Manor and Breanna. It means the world to me that I'm with my cousin again. Breanna and I have always been more sisters than cousins."

"That's true." A half-smile touched Fenshaw's lips. "I remember the stories your grandfather used to regale me with—tales of your antics, of your deep attachment to each other. Even as tots, you girls were inseparable, whenever you had the opportunity, that is…" Fenshaw broke off, gave an uneasy cough, as if he realized he'd said too much. Frowning, he removed his spectacles, began polishing them furiously. "It would do the late viscount's heart good to see you and Breanna reunited after all these years. As for the ties you and your parents forged with the States, those will be sustained through the opening of this bank."

"I agree." Cunnings rubbed his palms together. "What's more, I think that launching an American bank will prove beneficial, not only on a personal level, but on a financial one, as well. Like Lord Sheldrake, I believe this investment is going to be a lucrative one."

"As do I," Booth concurred. His gaze flickered from Anastasia to Damen and back again. "It's also gratifying to see how amenable a partnership you're forming. Too many business associations are clouded by emotion. Clearly, you and Lord Sheldrake don't suffer from that problem—which is good, since it only gets in the way. Personal feelings of any kind have no place in business."

Anastasia squirmed in her seat, made distinctly uneasy by Booth's assessment. Why would he make such an odd, extraneous comment about her partnership with Damen?

Maybe it hadn't been extraneous. Maybe it had been deliberate. Maybe Booth sensed the attraction between her and Damen and was tactfully chiding her for it.

Or was she being overly sensitive, projecting her own feelings onto others since she herself was so vitally aware of the pull that existed between her and Damen?

She studied Booth carefully—a tactic that yielded no results. He was simply gazing at her politely, his hands clasped behind his back. Damen, for his part, seemed oblivious to the remarks, his attention focused on Graff, who now hovered in the doorway.

He signaled for the gatekeeper to enter. "You know what to do with these."

"Yes, sir." Graff collected both sets of documents. "One envelope will be secured right here in the bank. The other will be on its way to the States before nightfall."

"Excellent." Damen rose to his feet, nodding to each man in turn. "Thank you all. That completes everything we came here to do." He extended his hand to Fenshaw. "Thank you for your time and attention in preparing the documents."

"Not at all." Fenshaw clasped Damen's hand. "I'm glad things went so smoothly. If there's anything else I can do, just let me know."

"I will." Damen frowned as he saw Anastasia rise, shake out her skirts. "We have more business to discuss," he reminded her.

"I know, my lord."

Anastasia felt Damen's brooding stare, knew he wanted to continue their private talk, to work out how they should handle her uncle. But now was not the time, for a variety of reasons. First, she'd told Breanna she'd be away only a few hours; and second, she didn't want to arouse suspicions about the nature of her relationship with Damen—suspicions that, judging from Mr. Booth's reaction, might already have been kindled.

"I realize we still have some unfinished business," she said, meeting and holding Damen's gaze. "But it will have to wait. I must get home. As it is, I've been away far longer than I expected. I don't want Breanna to worry." Or to get in trouble with my uncle, she added silently.

As if reading her mind, Damen relented. "Very well. I'll drop by tomorrow then. Right after breakfast."

"That would be fine."

"I'll escort Lady Anastasia to her carriage," Booth offered, taking a step toward her.

"There's no need for you to inconvenience yourself," Fenshaw said, waving away Booth's offer before Anastasia could respond. "I'll be leaving now anyway, to return to my office. I'll personally escort Lady Anastasia to her carriage." He offered Anastasia his arm. "My lady."

"Thank you, Mr. Fenshaw." Anastasia complied, wondering why Booth was so eager to get rid of her. Was he anxious to get back to his work, or was he just trying to prevent her from being alone with Damen?

"It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady." John Cunnings interrupted her thoughts, bowed as he moved toward the doorway.

"I return the compliment, sir," she replied. "And I appreciate your belief in our venture." She turned to Damen, gave him a cordial, businesslike smile. "Lord Sheldrake—I look forward to a profitable association."

"As do I." Damen came around the front of his desk and kissed her gloved hand, his silver-gray gaze boring inside her, telling her he was far from happy with this abrupt departure. "I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning."

* * *

The noon hour came and went.

The skies remained gloomy, a fine drizzle dampening the London docks, turning the bank of the Thames to mud.

Still, activity was at a peak. Crewmen yelled back and forth to each other as they readied ships about to set sail. Cranes hoisted cargo from arriving vessels. Porters stood at wharfside, ready to unload incoming coal, and water—men adeptly rowed passengers out to catch departing ships they'd missed. Dock workers, their skin glistening with raindrops, strained as they jumped on and off ships, some loading, others unloading cargo. This all-important hustle and bustle dominated the wharf, and warehouse doors were flung wide as able-bodied men carried thick bags of cargo in for storage.