Andrea Kane (22 page)

“But you
are
me.” Breanna grinned. “Remember?”

Anastasia couldn’t stifle a smile. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. I’ll enjoy it even more when I see you and Lord Sheldrake go off for a private stroll. I wonder what he’ll say when you tell him who he’s really strolling with.”

That brought an impish spark to Anastasia’s eyes.
“When
I tell him who he’s really strolling with. I plan to savor my secret, wait until the right moment to disclose it. I’m looking forward to outwitting Damen Lockewood. So far, I’ve managed only to equal him—in intelligence, in inventiveness, even on horseback. It’s time I won at something.”

Breanna rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. I hope the marquess is up for the challenge he’s about to face. He might be a financial genius, but no transaction he’s concluded has prepared him for you. Of that, I’m certain.”

A knock at the door interrupted their chatter.

“Yes?” Anastasia called out, given that it was Breanna’s room—supposedly
her
room—in which they were dressing.

Lizzy poked her head in. “Pardon me, m’lady,” she said, her gaze fixed on Anastasia. “But your father asked me to tell you that the marquess has arrived. They’re awaiting you and Lady Anastasia in the dining room.”

“Thank you, Lizzy,” Anastasia replied serenely. “We’ll be down in a moment.”

“Very good, m’lady.” The door shut behind her.

“Now
that
was a good start,” Anastasia commented. She gathered up her skirts in Breanna’s customary graceful manner.

“Indeed,” Breanna agreed. She tied her hair back with a ribbon, making sure to let one or two burnished strands tumble onto her cheeks. “Come, Breanna,” she urged with a twinkle. “Your suitor awaits.”

Damen rose the minute the girls entered the room, his keen silver gaze shirting from Breanna to Anastasia and back again. “Good morning, ladies. If s a pleasure to see you both.”

“And you, my lord,” Breanna returned immediately. She smiled, then walked over to Anastasia’s seat, giving her rather a measured look. “Good morning, Uncle George.”

George’s nod was customarily aloof. “Anastasia.” He turned to the girl he presumed to be his daughter. “Breanna.” With that, he reseated himself, signaling for the footmen to serve their meal.

“Anastasia, I was just telling your uncle about our meeting yesterday,” Damen said, sipping at his tea. “But it seems you’d already spoken to him about it.”

“Yes, I did,” Breanna replied, choosing the strawberry jelly rather than her customary apple, just as Anastasia would have. “Right after I returned. Actually, I should have told him about my plans before I left Medford Manor. As it was, he was terribly worried about me. I’m going to have to learn to curb my independent streak. As Uncle George rightfully pointed out, this is England, not the States.”

“True.” Damen bit into a biscuit, chewing it thoroughly, men swallowing before he spoke. “But you were hardly in danger. The viscount’s carriage took you directly to my bank, where my entire staff had been alerted to your arrival.” A pointed look at George. “Your niece was in good hands.”

“I’m sure she was.” George’s jaw tightened as he spoke. “Nevertheless, we have her reputation to consider—even though her business with you was just that— business. She still should have secured my permission and taken her lady’s maid with her.” He dismissed the matter with an adamant flourish, his shoulders stiff as he commenced eating his meal.

Anastasia and Breanna exchanged glances.

Silence descended, punctuated only by the clinking of china and crystal—and a few undisguised, meaningful glares by George, aimed at the girl he thought to be Breanna.

Anastasia shifted uncomfortably in her chair, fully aware what she was being ordered to do—what
Breanna
was being ordered to do. But how did one initiate a courtship? More important, how would her cousin do so?

The truth was, she wouldn’t.

Weighing that knowledge against the unspoken command in her uncle’s eyes, Anastasia wracked her brain for a solution. Deliberately, she avoided her uncle’s blistering stare, choosing instead to toy with her breakfast as she pondered how on earth to approach Damen in a manner that even remotely fit her cousin’s more reserved demeanor.

“Breanna, what did you do yesterday while your cousin and I were hard at work?” Damen inquired, breaking the silence and providing just the opening Anastasia needed.

Nearly sagging with relief, she folded her napkin neatly in her lap. “I have to admit, I was lonely.”
Good start, Anastasia,
she commended herself.
It makes you sound wistful. Keep it up and Damen will have no choice but to gallantly offer you some time in his company.
“The truth is, I’ve grown accustomed to having Stacie home,” she confessed in Breanna’s quiet, vulnerable tone. “I never realized until now how seldom I’m among people, and how much I enjoy sharing my thoughts with a sympathetic listener.”

Self-consciously, she broke off, pausing to sip at her tea. “In any case, that’s not what you asked. Let’s see. I took an early morning walk, before it became too hot. Then I went to the library and read. That helped the morning pass. And Stacie returned before lunch.”

Damen nodded, giving her a warm smile. “After which, I’m sure you spent the afternoon together.”

“We usually do.” Anastasia smiled back, responsively but demurely. “Stacie and I have a lot of years to catch up on, my lord.”

“And you’ve come alive since she returned,” he noted, polishing off the last bite of his breakfast. “You’re like another woman these days. It’s wonderful to see—a beautiful butterfly emerging from its cocoon.”

“Goodness, I hope that doesn’t mean I was a caterpillar before.”

“Not at all.” Damen chuckled. “Just a shyer butterfly.”

George shoved away his plate—his food only half-eaten. “I have a splendid idea,” he declared, looking decidedly more cheerful than he had a few minutes earlier. “Breanna, I recall your mentioning something about wanting to seek Lord Sheldrake’s advice on that trust fund your grandfather left you. Why not do so now, right after you finish breakfast? I have some papers to go through before I’m ready to meet with the marquess. And it’s a shame for him to sit here idle, especially given that it’s such a beautiful day. Why don’t you walk down to the stream, stroll through the gardens?”

Anastasia gave her uncle an obedient smile. “Of course, Father. That’s a good idea.” She inclined her head uncertainly at Damen. “If Lord Sheldrake wouldn’t mind, that is.”

“Mind? I’d enjoy the company.” Abandoning his own meal, Damen pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Gracefully, Anastasia rose, resisting the urge to do her usual bolting to her feet. “Would you excuse us, Father?”

“Of course. Anastasia and I still have to finish our meal. So take your time.”

The real Anastasia shot her cousin a questioning look. “You don’t mind, do you, Stacie?”

“Of course not,” Breanna retorted in her cousin’s bold tone. “You two go and enjoy yourselves.”

It took all Anastasia’s restraint not to succumb to laughter. Instead, she took Damen’s arm and let him lead her from the dining room through the hallway, toward the entranceway door.

From his post, Wells watched their approach, straightening in surprise. “Miss Breanna. Are you leaving?”

“No, Wells. Lord Sheldrake and I are just going for a walk. We’ll be back soon.”

“I see.” The butler frowned. “Your father knows this?”

“Of course.”

“Very well then.” He opened the door. “Don’t wander far.”

Anastasia stifled another grin. “We won’t.”

“Your butler is very protective,” Damen commented, tucking Anastasia’s arm through his as they headed away from the manor.

“Yes, he is.” She kept her stare fixed on the path. “I don’t often leave the manor—certainly not unchaperoned and escorted by a gentleman.”

“I suppose not.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “So, where is it George ordered us to go—to the stream?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “It’s on one of the more remote sections of the estate.”

“Giving us the maximum amount of time alone.” Damen chuckled. “Why am I not surprised? And why don’t I believe you had any plans of asking my advice about your inheritance?”

“Because I didn’t.” Anastasia peeked up at him through the fringe of her lashes. “Although perhaps I should. You know how little I understand about money or how to invest it.”

“Would you like to learn?”

She pretended to consider the notion. “I don’t think I’d enjoy it very much. Nor would my father approve. Business is a man’s forte.”

“Anastasia would disagree.”

“You’re right. Then again, Stacie’s not a typical woman.”

“I can’t argue with you there.” Damen fell silent, and Anastasia would have given anything to be able to read his thoughts.

They continued walking, and when Anastasia couldn’t bear the silence for another instant, she blurted out, “Have I offended you?”

“No, of course not. Why would you think so?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not enthused by business. Or maybe it’s because I said what I did about Stacie,” she added, unable to resist the urge to probe.

“Ah. That.” He gave an offhanded shrug. “Well, neither comment offended me. I don’t expect everyone to share my fascination for investments. As for Anastasia, she is different.
Very
different.”

“Is that approval or disapproval I hear?”

“Neither. It’s captivation. Anastasia intrigues me in a way no other woman ever has.” He shot her a questioning look. “Now I hope
I
haven’t offended
you.
”

“H-m-m? No, not at all.” Anastasia had to firmly remind herself that it was Breanna he was addressing, not she. Therefore, emitting a gleeful shout would be totally out of place.

“Are we headed in the right direction?” Damen asked, slowing his steps as their path wound its way into a thick grove of trees.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He guided her through the profusion of oaks, walking steadily until the sun and the grounds were eclipsed by greenery.

Abruptly, he slopped, lush branches enveloping them as he tugged her around to face him.

Anastasia blinked in the filtered daylight. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No.”

She looked puzzled, studying his nondescript expression, cast in the shadows of the encompassing trees. “Then why are we stopping?”

“To talk.” He brushed a leaf off the top of her smoothly coiffed hair. “You did say you were lonely, didn’t you?”

Anastasia didn’t have to feign the astonishment that flashed across her face. “Well, yes. But…”

“I’d like to eliminate that loneliness.”

“By talking?” she asked cautiously.

“Among other things.” He traced the delicate curve of her jaw with his fingertips. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

“
That’s
what you want to talk about?” Anastasia’s surprise rapidly transformed to anger. “My beauty?”

“Um-hum.” He caressed her cheek, her chin. “That, and everything else about you.”

“Such as?”

“Such as—you said Anastasia’s forte was business. What are
your
interests?”

Retreating from his touch, Anastasia rubbed the folds of her gown between her fingers, frantically trying to sort out what was happening here.

The problem was, she knew
exactly
what was happening. There was no mistaking this flagrant a seduction.

But Damen Lockewood—the
principled
Damen Lockewood—was not only trying to seduce an innocent woman, but trying to seduce Breanna.
Breanna.
After promising Anastasia he felt nothing for her cousin but friendship; after, just moments ago, proclaiming how captivated with Anastasia he was.

She didn’t know whether to strike him or scream.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, clasping his hands behind his back—as if he were exercising great restraint—“what is it
you
like to do?”

Slap you,
she thought furiously. “My interests?” she repeated instead. “Reading. Drawing. Ah, and collecting porcelain figures. Nothing you’d find exciting.”

“Never make assumptions.” His tone was as intimate as a caress. “What type of porcelain figures?”

“All types—people, animals, flowers, objects. I began my collection when I was a child. It’s grown to be quite extensive at this point.”

“Really? You’ll have to show it to me sometime.”

When?
she wanted to blurt out.
When you carry me—
r
ather,
Breanna—
off to your bed?
“Don’t tell me you’re actually interested in examining little statues.”

A quizzical lift of his brows. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. I never imagined a man like you would enjoy such a thing. Then again, I never imagined a man like you would stoop to …” She snapped her mouth shut before she said something that would give her away.

“Would stoop to what?” Damen inquired. Undeterred by her obvious distress, he stepped closer—much closer—reaching out to capture her hands in his. “And a man like me—tell me, what type of man is that?”

“An honorable one. One who’s absorbed in investments rather than …” Her breath caught as he brought her hands to his lips, and simultaneously eased her deeper into the shelter of the trees.

“Rather than …?” he prompted, tugging off one of her gloves and pressing his open mouth into her palm.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Damen tugged off the other glove, tossed them both aside. Then, he drew her closer, and planted his hands firmly on her waist.

“Lord Sheldrake, really.” Anastasia twisted free, her fury as genuine as if she were truly being violated. How
dare
he? Given what was supposedly happening between him and Anastasia, how dare he make blatant advances toward Breanna? “I think you’d better take me back to the manor,” she instructed sharply.

“I’d rather not.”

“Fine. Then I’ll take myself.” She attempted to walk around him.

“No—you won’t.” His arm snaked out, caught her around the waist, and dragged her back to him. “Not when I’ve sat through an entire breakfast in order to get you alone.”