Page 95 of The Princess and the Rogue

The feeling of buoyant happiness had surrounded her ever since he’d accepted her proposal. It was so unusual, so different from the state of anxiety she’d had for months, that she’d hardly dared to believe it at first. Butthe longer it remained, the more she believed it could become a permanent state.

Sebastien loved her. He’d shown her with his body when they’d made love, and with words and actions in the weeks since. Even though they hadn’t managed to do more than steal a few heated kisses, he’d been a most attentive fiancé. He’d danced every permissible dance, flirted outrageously with her at every function they’d attended, and made love to her with honeyed words so effectively that she’d been on the verge of throwing herself into his arms and doing something decidedly scandalous on any number of occasions.

Now, at last, the torture was over, and she was thoroughly impatient to give herself to him. And to claim him in return.

They entered the drawing room and she smiled in delight to see so many of her loved ones there. The dowager had stoutly declared that all of Anya’s friends, irrespective of their profession, were welcome in her house. Which was why Charlotte, looking utterly ravishing in seafoam silk, was seated next to Dmitri, and a shameless Jenny was flirting outrageously with Prince Trubetskoi.

“I can’t believe you managed to persuade Father Barukov to perform the service,” Anya whispered to Seb.

He chuckled. “I’ve paid for his passage home to Moscow. It’s the least he could do. And besides, I thought it only sensible to have our wedding sanctioned by both the Church of Englandandthe Russian Orthodox church. I want to know you’re my wife on every single continent.”

Anya accepted a bouquet of white roses from a beaming Jenny. The priest began the service, and her heart swelled with happiness as she and Seb exchanged rings and made their vows. She almost burst with pride whenTess stepped forward and in a wavering but clear voice read aloud a passage from the Song of Songs.

She slid a glance over at Elizaveta, who sent her a supportive smile even as she swiped at her tears of happiness with Oliver’s oversized handkerchief.

The dowager duchess, seated on Elizaveta’s other side, sent Anya a conspiratorial smile. Her satisfied, cat-who-got-the-cream expression suggested she considered herself fully responsible for orchestrating this particular happy ending.

Dmitri, Anya noted with a secret smile, was barely paying any attention to the service; he seemed completely enraptured by Charlotte. He’d barely taken his eyes from her, and the two of them were deep in hushed conversation.

Anya mentally crossed her fingers for them. That would be a sweet match. Both of them deserved to find happiness after everything they’d experienced. Dmitri would care nothing for Charlotte’s less than spotless past, being no angel himself. And Charlotte, for her part, would be the very best wife, loving, caring, and worldly wise. She would be just the person to help Dmitri heal.

The priest cleared his throat and Anya returned her attention to the final part of the ceremony. Father Barukov placed a twisted crown of laurel leaves on her head, then gestured for Sebastien to bend down so he could do the same to him.

Then Sebastien took her hand and extended it in front of them. His fingers clasped hers tightly as the priest wrapped the material of his stole around their joined hands, symbolically binding them together. With one last benediction, they were officially proclaimed husband and wife.

A rowdy cheer broke out from the assembled guests,and Anya laughed up at Seb, glowing with happiness to see him looking so proud. His eyes caught hers and her stomach fluttered at the promise she read in them. She hoped he would bend down and kiss her, but everyone stood and crowded around to offer their congratulations. Mellors directed several footmen to distribute bubbling glasses of champagne.

Dmitri came forward, holding a fresh loaf of bread in his hands, and Seb glanced at him in confusion.

“Russian tradition.” Dmitri grinned. “Before we begin the toasts.”

Anya let out a chuckle of delight.

“This bread,” Dmitri declared loudly, “provided by the excellent Chef Lagrasse, will settle the delicate matter of who will give the orders at home.”

A chorus of amused cheers and dry comments erupted from the crowd. Dmitri held the round loaf out at head height between Anya and Seb, forcing them to step apart.

“Our newlyweds must bite off a section without using their hands. The one who takes the biggest bite will be the one who wears the breeches in the household.”

Sebastien lifted his brows at Anya in distinct challenge. “I rather like you in breeches,” he murmured.

Anya sent him a saucy smile. Keeping her hands by her side, she leaned in and bit into the loaf, taking the biggest mouthful she could manage. Seb did the same, and she could barely stop herself from laughing as their eyes met over the domed crust. He twisted his head to tear off a giant piece and she did the same, her cheeks bulging comically as she started to chew.

She couldn’t possibly consume such a huge chunk. She caught it in her hands, recalling the way she’d swallowed her diamonds, back in Paris. How long ago that seemed. And what an unforeseen end to her journey.

Dmitri inspected the bread to give his verdict.

“It’s a close-run thing,” he said solemnly.

Anya leaned forward. “Nonsense. My bite is clearly bigger.”

“It isnot,” Seb countered.

Dmitri slanted them a teasing smile. “Oh dear, the first argument.” Everyone laughed. “But I’m afraid he’s right, sister dear. His bite is definitely bigger.” He shot Seb a laughing glance and thumped him on the shoulder. “I wish you luck, my friend.”

All three of them took a glass of champagne from Mellors’s proffered tray. “And now,” Dmitri declared. “The toasts.”

Seb caught her eye and they shared a secret smile that brought heat to her cheeks and a flush to her entire body. “Oh, I know how important toasts are to you Russians,” he drawled.

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