Andrea Kane (13 page)

Determined to find answers, he turned his attention to the note.

Your last shipment was of poor quality and insufficient quantity,
it read.
As a result, the agreed upon price of three thousand pounds is reduced to fifteen hundred pounds. Draft enclosed. Next shipment best arrive in a fortnight, prompt and up to previous standards, or no payment will be made and our association will be terminated.—M. Rouge

“Goddammit.” George crumpled the note into a ball and flung it into the fireplace. Broodingly, he watched it fray, then burn, turning to ashes before his eyes.

Raking a hand through his hair, he began pacing the room, sweat beading on his brow.

This was the last complication he’d expected. First Lyman, then Meade, now Rouge. The obstacles were closing in on him like steel walls.

He’d be damned if he’d get crushed.

He
had
to regain control. And to do so, he had to get his hands on some money. Now.

Time was running out.

D
AWN WAS SLICING THE
sky in wide streaks of orange and yellow when Anastasia made her way down to the stables the next morning.

She wasn’t sure what to expect. Damen hadn’t specified a time, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask. In fact, they hadn’t had a minute alone after their waltz together had ended. Immediately after the strings fell silent, a group of businessmen had cornered Damen, and Lord Percy Gilbert had whisked Anastasia into the next dance. After that, Gilbert had monopolized her attention, relinquishing her only when one of his persistent friends wedged his way between them, demanding a dance.

Breanna had eventually saved her, tactfully summoning her over to where the young women were clustered. According to her, the ladies were eager to make Lady Anastasia’s acquaintance.

Anastasia didn’t care whether that were true or not. She was thrilled to escape Gilbert’s bold innuendos and wanton stares.

But as it turned out, it was true, and Anastasia had found herself the center of a hundred questions about life in the States, the gentlemen she’d met there, and the parties she’d attended.

Sometime after midnight, Damen had wandered over, politely interrupting only to bid both Colby girls good night.

Now it was morning—barely—and Anastasia wondered if Damen was even awake to keep their scheduled appointment. And if so, was he alert enough to race?

She rounded the path leading to the stables and got her answer.

There, leaning against the stable door, clad in a brown riding coat, beige breeches and black Hessian boots, arms folded across his chest as he awaited her arrival, was Damen.

He straightened when he saw her, his lips curving with pleasure, and a touch of surprise.

“I wasn’t sure whether or not to expect you,” he stated bluntly, walking toward her. “When I said good night, you were still very involved with your guests. I had visions of you dancing till dawn.”

“No, only till one,” Anastasia assured him, smoothing the folds of her bottle-green riding dress. “And I must admit, I, too, wasn’t sure I’d find you here this morning. I thought you might be exhausted from hours of dancing and dispensing business advice.”

Damen chuckled. “I don’t tire that easily.” He stopped, mere inches away from where she stood, his gaze sweeping over her appreciatively. “You look beautiful this morning. As you did last night, by the way. I never had the chance to tell you so. Not one man in your uncle’s ballroom could tear his eyes away from you.”

“Including you?” Anastasia asked boldly.

“Yes,” Damen replied without the slightest hesitation. “Including me.” With that, he gestured toward the stable door. “I took the liberty of having two horses saddled, in the event that you did arrive as planned.”

“Really?” Anastasia baited. “And are they equally matched? Or can I expect you to be riding Uncle George’s swiftest stallion while I’m on a sweet old nag?”

“Now how did I know you’d ask that?” he questioned with a wry grin. “Don’t worry. I specifically asked the head groom to choose two well-matched, exceedingly swift mounts for our race.” A grand sweep of his arm. “You’re welcome to verify it for yourself.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Anastasia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, studying Damen as she spoke. “Any man who’s as honorable in business as you wouldn’t resort to cheating in a race. Besides, if you recall, I did promise never to question your integrity again.”

“So you did.” Damen glanced up as a leathery-faced groom led two horses out—both alert, both sleekly beautiful, their tails flicking in anticipation.

“This here is Sable, on account of her being all black.” The groom indicated the first horse. “She’s yours, m’lord. And this is Whisper, ’cause she’s real quiet, likes to keep her ears up and listen to the other horses. She’s for Miss Stacie here. Both these mares can run like the wind.”

Anastasia looked at Whisper and frowned.

“What is it?” Damen asked.

“I intend to win this race. And I won’t do that if I ride sidesaddle.” She inclined her head at the groom. “Hughes, would you mind very much switching saddles for me? I’m going to race astride.”

Hughes’s gaze widened, but he nodded, dragging a forearm across his brow. “Whatever you say, Miss Stacie.” He led Whisper back into the stable.

A corner of Damen’s mouth lifted. “A wise decision.”

“One that might cost you the race.”

“I’ll take my chances, and I’ll take them with fair odds.” His gaze narrowed quizzically. “I notice people call you Stacie.”

“Only those who have known me since I was a child.” A fond smile touched her lips. “When we were little, Breanna couldn’t pronounce my name. Not that I blame her. It was hard enough for
me
to pronounce. Anyway, she shortened it to Stacie when we were three. The staff seemed to like it, so the name stuck. Those household members who are still here now—Wells, Hughes, Mrs. Rhodes, and a handful of others—seem to have reverted back to it since I returned. It makes me feel a little more at home.” Anastasia’s smile faded, and a wistful look crossed her face. “Grandfather called me Stacie. He said it suited me because I never stood still long enough for anyone to say Anastasia.”

“An astute observation,” Damen replied, his tone curiously gentle. “Then again, your grandfather was an astute man.”

“Yes. He was.”

“Here you are, Miss Stacie.” Hughes led Whisper out, a standard saddle strapped on her back. “Just make sure to tuck those fancy skirts of yours out of the way,” he advised, averting his face, which had gone beet red.

Anastasia’s smile returned. “Don’t worry. I will.” She tossed Damen a challenging look. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

They led the horses down the path to the open, grassy fields where the Medford horses were exercised. There, they stopped.

“You choose our course,” Damen offered, gripping Sable’s reins and squinting to assess the area. “Since you obviously know Medford Manor better than I do.”

“Do I? You’ve probably spent more hours here than I have.”

“That might be true, but my hours here have been spent in your uncle’s library and study, while yours were spent racing horses and climbing trees. So you’re far more familiar with the grounds than I.”

“Agreed.” Anastasia blew yet another loose strand of hair off her cheek, considering Damen’s words. “In which case, I’ll not only lay out our course, I’ll deliberately alter it from the one I used to take as a child. That way, you won’t be at a disadvantage.” A sparkle danced in her eyes. “You see, my lord, you’re not the only fair and ethical adventurer.”

“So I see.”

Giving up on her stubborn wisps of hair, Anastasia pointed across the field. “Do you see that fence? The one way down near the stream? We’ll ride from here to there. Then, we’ll veer left and make our way across to that line of hedges over there.” She pivoted, drawing an imaginary line with her forefinger. “From that point, we’ll race back to our starting point. How would that be?”

“Excellent. We’ll use my coat as our makeshift finish line.” Damen shrugged out of his coat and lay it on the ground, stretching the sleeves out to reach their maximum span. He gazed across the field intently, visually reviewing their path. Then, he turned and eyed Anastasia with a hint of a grin. “Can I offer you my assistance in mounting? You’re going to have your hands full tucking those skirts out of the way.”

She conceded, reluctantly, turning toward Whisper and frowning at the notable distance between the ground and the saddle. “This is not going to be one of my more graceful maneuvers.”

“It won’t be so bad. Watch.” Damen came up behind her, his hands anchoring her waist. “Go ahead and put your left foot in the stirrup.” The instant she complied, he lifted her off the grass, gently rotating her frontward as he did. “Now swing your right leg over. Gather up your skirts first. You’ll worry about rearranging them once you’re settled.” A teasing note crept into his voice. “I won’t peek. I promise.”

Anastasia was laughing as she followed his instructions—a fact that slowed down the process considerably.

At last, she sank into the saddle, taking the handfuls of muslin she’d gathered up and shoving them beneath her.

“You don’t look particularly comfortable,” Damen noted, his gaze traveling up her bare legs and settling on the bulky cushion that separated her and the saddle.

“I thought you weren’t going to peek.”

His teeth gleamed. “That was when you were mounting. I couldn’t resist watching this preparation ritual of yours.”

Anastasia tossed him a saucy look. “Fine. Then, to answer your question—I don’t feel particularly comfortable. However, I do intend to win.”

“That remains to be seen.” Damen walked around to Sable’s left and mounted her in one smooth motion. “Shall I act as starter or would you like to?”

“By all means, my lord, you do the honors.” Anastasia gathered up her reins. “I trust in your integrity.” She leaned forward, her eyes straight ahead, her heels pressed close to Whisper’s sides.

“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.”