Page 40 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

Dove gasped at the roughness, but Klara assured her, ‘It’s always like this, Nikolay and Illarion against Ruslan and Stepan. The two hotheads against the two cooler minds.’

Dove shaded her eyes. ‘They do this often?’ She’d never seen men behave like that before.

‘More often than you think. They’ve been friends since childhood, inseparable, Nikolay tells me.’ Klara grew serious. ‘They’re all each other has, you know. They left everything behind in Kuban except each other. They couldn’t bear to be parted. I think leaving was hardest on Nik and Illarion. They had no choice.’ Klara paused, perhaps waiting for her to understand that what was being shared was important. ‘Nik had done things in Kuban, things that could not be forgiven.’

Dove waited for Klara to say more, but Klara Baklanova was no gossip. She guarded her husband’s back in all ways. ‘And Illarion?’ Was Klara implying that Illarion, too, had done things that could not be forgiven? By whom? What?

Klara would not tell. ‘They can’t go back, Lady Dove. You should know that.’

Questions swarmed through Dove’s mind. Why? Why couldn’t they go back? Why did Klara think she needed to know? There was no time for questions. The wrestling had ended as suddenly as it had begun. The four men tramped over, arms draped across each other’s shoulders.

Illarion’s hair had come loose and he was smiling, looking at ease and terribly handsome. ‘I’m starved. Let’s eat.’

They sat on the rugs beneath the shade of the canopy. Dove helped Klara unload the baskets, Illarion narrating each of the treats brought forth: tomatoes, cucumbers, bread, cold salmon, cheese… ‘And my favourite, mushroom piroshki.’ Illarion took a pastry and unwrapped it, handing it to her. ‘Take a bite.’

Dove bit in to the flaky pastry, letting the rich insides fill her mouth. Her eyes went wide as she savoured it. ‘I’ve never tasted anything so good.’ She could see her response pleased him and she was touched. Illarion had wanted her to like it.

‘Now try these.’ Illarion assembled her a plate with two delicate crêpes. ‘Blinchiki.’

Her plate was never empty. Illarion kept it full, selecting a little of everything, serving her tiny bites. ‘So you can taste it all without getting too full,’ he explained, casting a mock scold in Nikolay’s direction. Nikolay had piled his plate high and was plowing through quantities of food at record speed. ‘There’s an art to picnicking, one must slowly graze and discuss.’ Everyone laughed. It was the most pleasant afternoon Dove had ever spent, sitting under the canopy, eating and talking as Illarion and his friends regaled her with tales of Kuban and sometimes St Petersburg, where Klara had grown up.

‘So this is a real holiday?’ Dove asked, finishing her third blinchiki. She’d suspected Illarion had made it up as an excuse to have a picnic with her.

‘We only have eighty days of summer up north.’ Klara settled against Nikolay, getting comfortable. The look on her husband’s face suggested he was growing tired of lunch and had other things on his mind. ‘We celebrate every one of them. White Nights, we call them, because the sun doesn’t set until after midnight. The celebrations go back to Peter the Great, he’s the one who started the tradition. One year, I was allowed to stay up for a midnight river cruise to watch the sunset.’

‘Sunset at midnight? I don’t believe it.’ Dove was incredulous. Under the circumstances she might have felt like an outsider. They all had Russia in common. She’d never left Cornwall. But they weren’t telling the stories to leave her out. They were telling her the stories to draw her in, to give her a piece of them. A yearning started to blossom. This was what life could be like, not merely a life of freedom, but a life with Illarion, among his friends.

Nikolay shifted and got to his feet, helping Klara rise. ‘I think we’ll take a walk.’ Stepan and Ruslan rose, too, making noises about a walk of their own. Dove noticed they went in a different direction. Nikolay was not in the mood for company.

‘Your friends are nice,’ Dove said once they were alone. After a day spent surrounded by others, there was a slight awkwardness to the aloneness.

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