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Damen shrugged. "Much as you'd expect. He wasn't happy—not with the partnership, nor with the fact that a portion of your inheritance will be leaving the country. But he'll get over it. He'll have to. He has no choice." A quick glance at the clock. "Speaking of our partnership, Fenshaw is due here any minute. I'm afraid our private moments together are running out, for now."
That brought a sparkle to Anastasia's eyes. "Tell me, Lord Sheldrake, now that we've enjoyed this half hour alone, what would you have done if I'd brought my lady's maid with me? May I remind you that most women don't travel to London alone?"
"True. Most women don't, but you do." Damen's teeth gleamed. "You would never allow a chaperon to attend this meeting, or any other business meeting that involved you, for that matter. Even if your uncle insisted, you'd have asked your maid to wait in the carriage." A cocky look. "Another splendid insight?"
"Definitely."
Damen snapped open his gold pocket watch and realized Fenshaw's arrival was imminent. "We'll decide later how to handle your uncle—and what the best strategy is for seeing each other. In the meantime…" He buried his lips in hers for a brief, heated kiss that singed her down to her toes. "As I said before—only the beginning," he muttered as Graff's knock sounded. "Remember that, Anastasia. We're going to find out where this fire blazing between us is going to lead. Soon."
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Damen sat back in his chair, nodding as he scanned the final page of the document he held. "Excellent," he praised Fenshaw. "You've put in all the terms we discussed."
"I'm glad you're pleased." Mr. Fenshaw, seated on the other side of the massive desk, pushed his spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose, and gestured at Damen's quill. "Shall we summon Cunnings and you can begin signing…?"
"Not yet." Damen held up his palm, glancing at Anastasia, who sat beside Fenshaw. "There are two of us involved in this partnership. I have yet to hear Lady Anastasia's final word on these papers."
Fenshaw's red cheeks grew redder. "Forgive me. I'm just not used to … I'm not in the habit of…"
"I understand, Mr. Fenshaw," Anastasia soothed him. With a twinkle, she turned back to Damen, sliding her copy of the document onto his desk. "The terms are not only fair, they're even readable to those of us who are new to the world of finance. I thank both you and Mr. Fenshaw for being so considerate." She inclined her head. "One question: once we sign, what's the procedure?"
"Before we sign, John Cunnings will be joining us. He's my senior officer, and my right-hand man. He's also in charge of the House of Lockewood's overseas investments. He'll be joined by another officer of the bank. Together with Mr. Fenshaw, those gentlemen will witness our signatures. Graff will then see to it that one copy of the sealed document is sent by courier to Mr. Carter in Philadelphia. Authorized funds from both my account and yours will be transferred to the States, after which, the building of our new bank will commence." A corner of Damen's mouth lifted. "Any other questions?"
"Not for now." Anastasia folded her hands primly in her lap. "I'll let you know if that situation should change."
"I'm sure you will." Damen rang for Graff, who hurried in, the essence of professionalism.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Tell Cunnings we're ready for him. Ask Booth to join him."
"Right away." Graff rushed off, leaving the door ajar.
Not a minute later, two men entered; one an older fellow with a round face and a full head of white hair, the other—who led the way—younger, in his mid thirties perhaps, tall and broad, with dark, close-cropped hair, a square jaw, and intelligent blue eyes.
"You're ready for us?" the younger man asked Damen, waiting respectfully just inside the office.
"Yes. Come in." Damen rose to his feet. "You both know Mr. Fenshaw, of course. And this is Lady Anastasia Colby, my partner in the business venture we're consummating today. Anastasia, may I present John Cunnings and William Booth."
"A pleasure, my lady." Mr. Cunnings bowed, kissing Anastasia's hand and clearly trying not to stare.
"Yes, she is beautiful and yes, she does bear a remarkable resemblance to Lady Breanna," Damen supplied, as if Cunnings had spoken.
"She certainly does." If Cunnings was embarrassed by Damen's remark, he gave no indication of such.
"It's uncanny." Mr. Booth—who upon closer inspection was not old as Anastasia had first thought, but rather prematurely white-haired—shook his head in amazement, assessing her thoroughly as he bowed, brought her hand to his lips. "Are people actually able to tell you apart?"
"Not most people, no." Anastasia fought the urge to look at Damen who, thus far, was one of the few people who seemed never to confuse her and Breanna. "Often not even our parents."
"I'm not surprised." Booth made another sound of disbelief, then recovered himself. "Forgive me for staring. I've seen your cousin only twice, but she has such vivid coloring, such striking beauty—suffice it to say she's not easy to forget. And the resemblance between you two is staggering." Roughly, he cleared his throat. "I apologize for rambling on like that. I hope I haven't embarrassed you."
"Not at all," Anastasia assured him. "Actually, your compliment was lovely; sincere enough to be appreciated, yet indirect enough to avoid making me feel self-conscious." A smile. "After all, it was Breanna you were describing, not me."
Damen interrupted the exchange with a purposeful rustle of the papers that were the subject of today's meeting. "Now that we've completed the introductions, let's get our signatures on these, shall we?" He produced a second quill from his desk drawer, handed it to Anastasia. "Ready?"
A definite nod. "Ready."
Ten minutes later, the papers were ready to dispatch. "Do you miss America?" Cunnings asked conversationally as they awaited Graff's return.
