to burn.
But he was not in the drawing room when she joined the dowager duchess before their grand entrance to the ballroom. A few select guests had assembled, and Anya felt all eyes upon her as she paused in the doorway.
“Princess!” Dorothea came forward to take her hand. “You look wonderful, my dear. Come and meet everyone.”
A tall man with sandy hair and a friendly face stepped forward.
“Princess Denisova, allow me to present my eldest great-nephew. This is Geoffrey, Marquis of Cranford.”
Sebastien’s half-brother.
The man bowed low over her hand. “Delighted to meet you at last, Princess.”
Anya studied him. There were few physical similarities between the two men, apart from their height. Geoffrey’s hair was a lighter brown. And unlike Wolff, who only had to look at her to melt her into a puddle, Geoffrey’s eyes were soft and unthreatening. His ready smile reminded her of Dmitri, and Anya felt an instant affinity.
“I hear you like to ride?” he said. “Seb tells me you’re an excellent horsewoman.”
Her stomach twisted at the thought that Wolff had complimented her, albeit in her absence. “Yes, I do.”
“Then perhaps you’ll do me the honor of meeting me in the park sometime? We can exercise our mounts together.”
“I would like that very much.”
He presented her with a small box wrapped in ribbon. “It is customary to give young ladies a token on the eve of their first official ball.” He smiled. “I’m aware that this is not your first ball, Princess, but it is your first English ball, and I hope you’ll accept it in the spirit of friendship.”
Anya tugged open the ribbons to reveal an exquisite silver beaded evening bag.
“It’s a reticule,” Geoffrey said unnecessarily. “I’m sure you’ve a hundred already, but I’m told ladies can never have enough. You can keep coins in it, or handkerchiefs, or whatever else it is you like to cart about with you.”
Anya smiled up at him in genuine pleasure. “Thank you! It matches my dress. But I do hope you’ve already placed a coin inside?”
“A coin?”
“It’s a Russian superstition. If you give someone a purse or any other kind of money holder as a gift, you must put some money inside. If it’s empty, it’s said to cause bad financial luck.” She shrugged wryly. “It’s ‘seed money’—the belief is that it grows and attracts even more money.”
“That’s a nice theory.” He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, pulled out a gold sovereign, and handed it to her solemnly. “Here you go. May it multiply into a vast fortune for you, my lady.”
The dowager chuckled at their antics.
“Any more superstitions I should know about?” Geoffrey asked with a smile. “Have I, perhaps, been putting my feet into my boots in the wrong order this whole time? Should rice pudding only ever be eaten during a full moon?”
Anya laughed. His dry sense of humor was rather like that of his brother. “Oh, there are hundreds. We Russians are a superstitious lot.” She gestured toward a vase of flowers on the side table. “For example, while it’s never a mistake to take a bouquet of flowers when invited to someone’s home, you must make sure that bunches for festive occasions have an odd number of flowers. Bouquets with an even number are reserved for funerals.”
“Heavens!” the dowager said lightly. “I had no idea. One, two, three—” She began counting the blooms then let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness, fifteen. I feel so much better now. Our ball is a guaranteed success.” She turned toward a shadow in the doorway. “Ah, Sebastien. There you are.”
Chapter 30.
Seb’s gaze found Anya the moment he stepped into the room, and all the air left his lungs in a rush. He’d had the same sensation when he’d taken that artillery blast at Waterloo: a roaring in his ears and a squeezing of his chest that almost knocked him backward.
She was wearing some silver concoction and smiling up at his brother, and Seb had never seen anything so blindingly beautiful in his life.
The past week had been hell. The Tricorn—usually his one place of comfort and repose—had been dull and empty without her. She’d breathed life into it, despite the short time she’d been there. He’d found evidence of her occupation everywhere: a stack of papers piled haphazardly in the library, half-read books left lying, spine up, on tables. The tantalizing scent of her perfume in the air. Every time he entered a room, he was haunted by images of her defying him, teasing