Page 44 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

They weren’t going to resolve the Percivale situation today. Or ever. The thought brought an uneasiness to Illarion’s gut. He would not lose her. The refrain had taken up residence in his mind after his declaration to Stepan. Only now, he wondered if it meant something different. Once, it had meant encouraging her to stand up for herself so that another woman did not suffer Katya’s fate. Percivale would not hurt her the way Ustinov had hurt Katya. Was it possible he wanted her to reject Percivale for more personal reasons, selfish reasons? Was it possible he wanted her for himself?

He studied her from his paper. The goodness in Dove would be her undoing. She would sacrifice herself for her family. Is that what her family expected of her? Had her parents been an arranged match as well? Did they know nothing of love and its importance? That conclusion didn’t ring true. Dove had been well loved, well raised, most definitely cherished. She had not learned the art of agape on her own. How ironic that parents who had loved her would force her to make a loveless marriage. It might do to learn a bit more about the Duke of Redruth’s own marriage. Perhaps there was a clue in that to help Dove with her decisions. Or, a clue to help him with his. He would have to ask Ruslan to assist.

‘You’re staring at me,’ Dove caught him out.

‘You’re lovely,’ he answered easily. ‘You’re my muse.’

She blushed at that, thinking he was teasing her. ‘I think you say that to all the girls.’

Illarion grinned. ‘No, Dove, just to you. You’re the only one.’ And for the first time ever, Illarion realised he meant it. Now what the hell did he do about it?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The best aspect of Venetian breakfasts were the sweets. Dove bit into a delicious bigne cioccolato and let the chocolate crème fill her mouth. Other than that, however, Lady Camden’s Venetian breakfast was hard pressed to compete with yesterday’s Russian picnic. For one, Illarion wasn’t here, at least not physically. That he was on her mind constantly, however, was a sign of how thoroughly yesterday’s experience had shaken her. Even a day later, it took only the slightest effort to call forth the echoes of passion—her heart racing, her body throbbing in remembrance of how it had felt to shatter, to feel herself come apart and then slowly come back together again. She would remember that feeling, those moments, always. She loved him for the memory and she hated him for it. He’d given her very intimate pleasure quite deliberately so that she would remember. Remember it or remember him?

This was where the confusion began. He’d called her his muse. He’d given her intimacy. He’d urged her to speak up for herself, to refuse a marriage not of her own making. Why? Because he wanted to pursue her? Or because he simply wanted her to recognise the possibilities? The costs? Originally, she’d assumed the latter, but after the picnic and the Hamptons’ gardens and all that he’d shared about himself, she felt there was something more. Or was it just her? Was she imposing more on the situation because of how she felt? Did she think he felt something more simply because she did?

That confusion spawned more confusion. How did she feel about Illarion? Did her growing affections stem from how she felt about him personally or from what he represented to her? This was to say nothing of how she perceived his feelings for her. Dove reached for a second bigne. If one couldn’t resolve one’s confusion with logic and clear thinking, perhaps it was possible to confound the confusion with chocolate instead. In the end, did answers to those questions even matter? What if she decided she was falling for the Prince? What if he decided he was falling for her? It had already been established by her parents that he was not an eligible suitor. A future between them wasn’t possible.

He wasn’t Percivale. In society’s eyes he was only a handsome man with a reputation that bordered on rakishness. He would be popular for a while, a novelty. Those sorts of men weren’t entitled to dukes’ daughters, especially if they were outsiders, no matter how much money they had. Never mind that he made her laugh, made her think, made her feel valued, made her aware of herself, made her feel, all of which were very dangerous reactions. She wasn’t supposed to feel, wasn’t supposed to question the order of her life. But Illarion had made her do both.

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