Mellors opened it.
“Good morning, my lord.” The corner of his mouth curved upward in a most uncharacteristic smirk. “I hope you’re ready.”
He stepped back to reveal Dorothea stationed in the hallway seated on a straight-backed chair in front of the staircase, her skirts spread around her like some mythical Greek gatekeeper. His brother, Geoffrey, stood guard next to her, a broad smile on his face.
“Sebastien!” she beamed. “About time! We’re all ready for you.”
Seb glanced up the stairs. Elizaveta was waiting for him halfway up the first flight, and he spotted a grinning Benedict and Georgie on the first landing. Alex was leaning over the second-floor balcony railings.
“You must ascend the stairwell,” Dmitri said. “And pass all the tests. Anya’s on the very top floor.”
“Of course she bloody is,” Seb muttered.
“I’m the first obstacle,” Dorothea crowed. “As head of the family, I demand that you offer something of value, to show you prize her.”
Seb pulled a flat leather box from inside his jacket. “Well, that’s easy. Look. I bought her a wedding gift.”
He opened the catch and Dorothea sucked in a breath at the sight of the necklace, bracelet, and earrings he’d bought.
“Sapphire and diamond, to match her tiara!” she said in a congratulatory tone. “Clever boy.” She glanced at the gilt name stamped on the interior silk. “Bridge and Rundell, eh? I hear their waiting list is months’ long for new commissions.”
Seb felt a flush rise on his cheeks. The answer revealed that his love for Anya had existed even before he’d admitted it to himself. But what was the point in denying it? He’d probably been in love with her from the moment he’d rescued her in the rain. Maybe even before that.
“I ordered them at the same time I ordered the tiara.”
Dorothea sent him a pleased, knowing smile. “A lovely choice. You may pass.”
Seb kissed her hand, returned the box to his jacket pocket, and ascended the first few steps to Elizaveta. The pretty Russian smiled and bobbed a curtsey.
“My lord.”
“Mrs. Reynolds,” Seb said with a smile. Anya’s friend had recently married the sandy-haired barrister, Oliver Reynolds, the one Seb had threatened on the night of the ball. Both he and Anya had attended the small service in St. Martin-in-the-Fields only a fortnight ago.
Seb had managed to sit next to Anya in the church, despite the strict seating protocol. He’d enjoyed the feel of her shoulder pressing into his as they sat squashed in the uncomfortable wooden pews, and his heart had pounded with anticipation of repeating those same solemn marriage vows to her. The fact that he was so desperate for even the slightest touch from her was something he accepted with dry resignation. He doubted he’d ever get enough of her.
“As Anya’s oldest friend, I have a series of questions to see how well you know your intended.” Elizaveta said. “Firstly, what’s her favorite color?”
Seb frowned, trying to recall the dresses Anya had worn since she’d been staying with his aunt. She’d ordered a whole new wardrobe, as befitting her newly elevated status, but there was no one color she favored. In truth, he’d rarely noticed her dresses, except to note the number of buttons and hooks to estimate how long it would take him to remove them once they were alone.
Then he remembered her favorite cape, the one she’d brought from Paris, and the sapphires and diamonds in his pocket.
“Blue and silver-white,” he said confidently. “Ice colors.”
Elizaveta beamed. “Yes! Next question, where did you meet your fiancée?”
Seb was beginning to enjoy himself. “Well, if you must know, in a brothel.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and Seb distinctly heard Dorothea gasp and Benedict snort. He chuckled. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all some other time.”
“You will indeed,” Dmitri growled from his shoulder.
“Next question.”
“All right. What’s her favorite book?”
Seb’s mind went blank. He and Anya had discussed many things, but her preference for literature hadn’t been one of them. He cast around and recalled the illustrated volume in his study. “I know she’s very fond of Russian fairy tales,” he hedged. “Especially ones that involve wolves and princesses.”
He couldn’t wait to recreate some of those in the privacy of their bridal bedchamber tonight.
Elizaveta narrowed her eyes, but seemed satisfied. “Close enough. Last question. When did you kiss for the first time?”
“Also the brothel. Haye’s in Covent Garden.” Seb ignored Dorothea’s grumble of disapproval and tilted his head up toward Benedict. “I think it’s only fair to point out that you, Benedict Wylde, once assured me