Page 22 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

‘Percivale is a smart man,’ her father joined in, stretching his long legs. ‘He knows there’s nothing more than conversation down that road. He needs more than an earl’s granddaughter can provide to have the influence he wants.’ Her father’s tone was smug with confident satisfaction. ‘He won’t stray from the Redruth fold.’

‘I don’t like him.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could rethink the wisdom of them.

Her mother didn’t even blink before she responded, a soothing smile on her lips. ‘How could you like him? You hardly know him. You have your entire life to know him and in the knowing, respect and affection will grow. Those are things that come with building a life together, sharing experiences together. That’s what will bind you together. You will make a family together, raise children together, weather life’s storms together.’

Dove looked down at her hands, two thoughts coming to her simultaneously. First: they had already decided, then. It was indeed to be Percivale as she’d suspected. That filled her with a dreaded sense of finality. Her life had been predetermined for her. The enormity of what that meant swept her. She was being ushered from the shelter of Cornwall to the shelter of a husband’s home without time to experience the world on her own, to test herself, to know herself, to find out who she was. Second: she was an ungrateful daughter for wanting to reject such care.

Her mother’s arguments were not without merit. She’d been raised in privilege. She would marry into even greater privilege from which she could influence enormous good. How dare she find fault with that? And yet, Illarion’s words whispered the temptation to do just that. ‘I kissed you so you would know what you would be missing.’ There were other phrases, too, that rolled through her mind—‘the expense of your own happiness.’ How did she weigh her happiness against loyalty to her family?

Her mother squeezed her hand, taking her silence for acceptance and understanding. ‘You may rely on us, Dove, to guide you safely.’ She should be grateful for such parents, for the wealth that permitted such a lavish Season, but the hopelessness swamped her again. Wasn’t there a way both could coexist without one harming the other? A way that didn’t involve marriage to a man she felt nothing for? A man she had not chosen? She was not entirely naïve. She knew that the purpose of coming to London was to find a husband. But she’d always imagined that search would involve her, that she’d have a voice.

At the town house, the butler waited by the door despite the late hour, lamp in hand to light the dark hallway. ‘A note came for you, Lady Dove.’ He held out the silver letter salver with his other hand. She took it, studying the firm, dark handwriting in the light. Her pulse sped up as she opened the note and scanned the lines. Coolly, she handed the note to her mother. ‘Prince Kutejnikov would like me to accompany him to Somerset House to the view the paintings tomorrow afternoon.’

Her mother exchanged a look with her father. Her father hesitated before giving the slightest of nods to her mother. ‘Olivia, you will go with her, of course, to chaperon.’

Dove breathed a sigh of relief, not realising until then how much she equated Illarion’s invitation with escape. She’d be out of the house, away from Percivale and she’d be in her element, surrounded by art. She fingered Illarion’s note, a suspicion coming to her. Had the choice of Somerset House been intentional, perhaps a thoughtful apology for the shocking nature of their outing today, or had he chosen it arbitrarily because it was simply a popular public venue? After tonight, his reasons hardly mattered to her. She was grateful for the escape regardless of what form it took or what motives had prompted it. For a few hours tomorrow, she was going to be free.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Illarion…’

The whisper echoed in his sleep. He was dreaming, of Katya and Kuban, of the caves of Maykop near his summer palace.

She was calling to him. ‘Illarion, come…’ She materialised in the darkness of the caves, vibrant and alive, with violet eyes that flashed and laughter that could captivate a room.

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