Page 59 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

‘Nikolay’s riding school is there on the left.’ Illarion directed her attention to a large home still entirely intact, turning his team towards the kerb where other carriages had begun to line up, some of them personal, but most of them were city hacks. Even more people came on foot. ‘It looks like he has a good turn-out for the exhibition tonight.’

Illarion had been cryptic about the outing. His invitation had indicated that Prince Baklanov was hosting a riding event, chaperoned by Klara Baklanova. The credentials of the evening were as impeccably presented as those for the picnic.

‘Will you tell me what the exhibition is?’ Dove demanded playfully as he swung her down.

‘It’s a demonstration of Russian horseback riding, mostly military in nature. Nikolay stands on a horse’s back, rides two horses at once, things like that.’

‘You are teasing me! No one can do those things.’ Dove laughed. ‘I am not that gullible. What are we really seeing?’

‘You are seeing exactly what I told you.’ Illarion chuckled at her disbelief. He was at ease tonight and that put her at ease. Any awkwardness over last night’s intimacy vanished in the wake of his good humour. Perhaps there was no need for awkwardness, which would imply an embarrassment and regret she did not feel. She’d awakened pleasantly sore, but she was not sorry, even if she wasn’t sure what it meant. If she’d thought making love would settle the question, she’d been wrong. The question was still there.

Inside, the viewing gallery was full of spectators, but Nikolay had set aside seats for them beside his wife in the front row. As they made their way down front, Illarion’s hand always at her back, Dove noted the audience. These were not the ton. These were horsemen, expatriates of varying occupations. Certainly, there were likely some gentry among them, country baronets with an interest in horses, in town for a few weeks for horse racing before returning to their farms. No wonder Illarion had been sparse with his details. A suspicion began to take bloom. Illarion had brought her here for a reason.

The show was all Illarion had predicted and more. Never had she seen such skills performed on horseback. Nikolay and his riders had been incredible and Dove was loath to see the evening end. This was far more fun than a Mayfair ball. When she said as much to Illarion, he bent close to her ear. ‘There’s more to come. Do you want to go to a party?’ Ah, Dove thought. He was still testing her. Did he think she’d refuse? Did he think he could frighten her off with this glimpse into his ‘Russian life’? Or, came the wicked thought, did he think to entice her? Was this another layer of seduction?

* * *

The experiment was…enlightening and deuced enjoyable, as the English would say. When Illarion had come up with the idea of showing Dove what life would be like outside the ton, he’d not been sure of the reaction he’d get. Part of him feared it would frighten her away, even as much as he knew the necessity for it. Better for her to know now than to find out too late. But Dove had not scared. She’d embraced the evening from the moment he’d driven out of Mayfair. She was still embracing it as they joined Nikolay’s group at Mikhail’s, a bistro that served Russian food. She’d devoured the piroshki, much to Mikhail’s delight, and drank down vodka at a rather alarming rate. She’d joined the dancing without hesitation, letting him lead her through the steps of the country dances. She twirled now with a wide smile on her mouth, laughing with her partner, a young Russian officer attached to the embassy.

Nikolay took a seat next to him and slid him a glass of vodka. ‘You’re generous.’ He nodded to where Dove danced.

Illarion shrugged. ‘Being with me all night will not help her see the world I intend to show her.’

Nikolay chuckled at that. ‘Did you really bring her here to talk her out of her decision or to talk her into it? Why would anyone want tonnish life when they could have this? I tried this with Klara and it didn’t work. It only encouraged her, thank goodness.’ He grinned happily.

‘A life in between, you mean?’ Illarion said seriously. Nikolay had opted for that: a life split between the upper-class living offered by Klara’s father, Alexei Grigoriev, and the streets of Soho where he could be his own man.

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