must pay a ransom for your bride. A contribution to my favorite charity.”
“The one she set up with her brother,” Alex added helpfully. “The Danvers Benevolent Fund. It helps wounded veterans find meaningful employment instead of being reduced to begging in the streets.”
“A worthy cause,” Seb murmured. “So what do you want, my lady?”
Emmy’s twinkling gaze dropped to the stick pin adorning his cravat. “Well, I do love diamonds.” She smiled. “And that is a particularly fine solitaire, Lord Mowbray. I will accept it as payment for your passage.”
With an inward groan, Seb lifted his hand to surrender the pin, but Emmy stopped him.
“Oh, you can give it to me after the ceremony. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your cravat.”
“Decent of you,” Seb growled sarcastically.
“All right. Last challenge,” Alex said. “Everything ready, Mellors?”
“Indeed it is, sir,” Mellors replied calmly.
The butler ascended the staircase, as stately as ever, and offered forward a porcelain bowl. Seb peered inside. It held what appeared to be a fist-sized lump of ice. A dark shape, like a tiny fish, was suspended in the center.
“What’s that?”
“The key to my sister’s rooms.” Dmitri chuckled, indicating the closed door behind them. “You have to open the door and claim your bride.”
Seb scowled, wondering if it was supposed to be symbolic, a chipping away of the ice to reach the vital heart. He knew what it was like to shield himself by cloaking his heart in a protective layer. His mother had died of smallpox when he was a child, and he’d lost numerous friends and colleagues during the war. He’d found it easier to keep an emotional distance to lessen the potential hurt. He’d given a little less of himself away each time.
Until Anya.
“Maybe you can lick it?” Alex’s cheerful suggestion cut through his introspection. “You’ve got to melt it somehow.”
“Or bash it with a hammer,” Benedict added.
“That’s Anya’s preferred method,” Elizaveta said slyly.
Seb picked up the slippery, icy lump. Pain shot along his fingers and throbbed in his palm as his skin reacted to the cold. He held his hands out in front of him so the water didn’t ruin his boots as it began to drip.
“Hurry up!” Alex chuckled. “You’re making a puddle on the carpet!”
“Why not take off your shirt and put it under your armpit?” Ben suggested.
Seb scowled at him. “Do you know how long it took me to perfect this cravat? Six tries. I’m not undoing it for anyone. Unless it’s my wife,” he added with a grin.
Mellors offered forward the bowl and held it while Seb cupped the ice and moved it around in his hands like a bar of soap. Then he breathed on it, using the warmth of his exhale to melt the ice chunk even faster. His fingers throbbed, but he persevered, and when it got small enough, he put the whole thing in his mouth. Cheeks bulging, he sucked it like a throat lozenge until he tasted a metallic tang.
He withdrew the key with a shout of triumph and elbowed Alex out of the way of the door.
“Anya?” he called through the wooden panel. “I’m coming in.”
The key turned in the lock with a satisfying click and he pushed it inward. He stepped inside, caught a brief glimpse of Anya standing across the room, and turned to face the crowd in the hallway. They were all assembled: Dorothea and Geoffrey, Benedict and Georgie, Alex and Emmy, Dmitri, Elizaveta, and Mellors. His family, by blood or by friendship. He loved them all dearly.
Seb sent them a wide smile—and slammed the door.
Chapter 42.
Seb turned to face Anya and his breath caught in his throat. She was a vision in pale blue and white. Her hair was pinned in elaborate curls and her eyes sparkled almost as much as the diamonds in her tiara.
“You passed all the tests!” She laughed. “I knew you could do it!”
“You look stunning,” he croaked.
She crossed the room and fell into his arms. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” She lifted her face for a kiss, and he took her lips greedily.
“God, I’ve missed you so much,” he breathed. “I can’t wait to marry you.” He pulled back and reached into his jacket. “Here, I got you a gift.”
“Another one?” She sent him an amused, quizzical smile. “You’ve given me hundreds of gifts already. Gloves, scent bottles, fans. You know I don’t need things like this, Sebastien. I only want you.”
“I know. But I like giving them to you, so you’re just going to have to