The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,102
quality he found desperately appealing. And she kept her head in a crisis—an excellent skill both in battle and for dealing with the ton. She would be an unshakeable ally and a stalwart friend.
The door to the bedroom opened, and his heart pounded against his ribs exactly as it had when the order to advance had come at Waterloo. He could almost hear the tinny thud of the drums.
She’d commandeered one of his shirts—he could see the white linen peeking out from the edges of his robe—and brushed her hair. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink, except for the purple bruise on her cheekbone where Petrov had walloped her.
Seb crossed the room until he stood in front of her.
He dropped to one knee.
He took both her hands in his, and cleared his throat.
“Anya. Anastasia. Miss Denisova.”
God, he wished he’d taken a tumblerful of brandy from the decanter from the sideboard. He forced his tongue to work.
“I love you. With everything I have and everything I am. I don’t deserve even the smallest piece of you, but—” He took a steadying breath. “Will you do me the very great honor of—”
Her fingers tightened on his. “No,” she said firmly.
He stiffened and lifted his head to look at her face. Her expression was almost pitying.
“I am a Russian princess,” she said. “You’re an English earl. This is not—”
He flinched as if absorbing a blow and felt his shoulders slump in defeat.
“I’m sorry,” she said briskly. “It’s protocol. I outrank you. There are rules.”
He almost laughed. Rules. He was sick of bloody rules. But she was still speaking, and he forced himself to listen, even if he only had one working ear. Oddly, she sounded far more composed than him. Perhaps she was so used to receiving and dismissing propositions that this was nothing new.
“You can’t propose to me,” she was saying. “A person of lower rank is not permitted to propose to a royal princess.”
“Yes. I understand. I should never have—”
She tugged at his hands to make him look up again. She was smiling, but there was a suspicious sheen in her eyes, as if she were on the verge of tears.
“No, you don’t understand.” There was a breathless laugh in her voice. “It is I who must do the asking.”
His heart definitely stopped. “What?”
Her voice quavered in a most un-royal way as she lowered herself until she was kneeling too. “Lord Mowbray. Sebastien. I love you. Will you do me the very great honor of—”
Seb pulled her toward him with a sound that was half laugh, half growl. “Yes! God, yes. I will.”
She threw her arms around his neck and plastered herself against his chest, almost knocking him to the floor. He tightened his arms around her, then cupped her face and fused their mouths together for a kiss that made his blood pound and his head spin.
After several heated moments, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. Her breath fanned against his lips as he let out a deep, relieved exhale mingled with a shaky incredulous laugh.
“Bloody hell, woman, you nearly stopped my heart with your refusal.”
She gave a soft chuckle. “One must observe the formalities.”
“Of course,” he said, mock-stern. “Never let it be said that we failed to observe the formalities.” He cocked a brow, his assurance returning in a rush. “So, does this mean I get to be a prince?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Will you have to give up the title of Princess if you marry me? You’ll still be the Countess of Mowbray, of course, but compared to Princess of Russia, I know it’s not—”
She pressed her fingers over his lips to silence him. “No. I’ll still be a princess. But being your countess will mean a great deal more.” She lowered her head until her lips hovered teasingly over his. “Being called your wife will be the very best title of all.”
He kissed her again to reward this excellent sentiment, and she groaned as his tongue slipped inside to tangle and taste. Then he pulled her upright, caught her behind the knees, and lifted her high against his chest.
“Come here, Princess mine. I’m sweeping you off your feet. Like they do in all the best fairy tales.”
He shouldered his way through to the bedroom and deposited her gently on the bed. As he looked down at her, he was filled with a whole jumble of emotions, foremost of which was a sense of disbelief. It mingled with pride and a relief so sharp,