Page 68 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

‘Have you thought of why such a man would want to marry you, want to tempt you without coming to me first? He knows I would turn him down. He knows I will see him for the charlatan he is. Don’t be naïve, Dove. He is using you!’ She’d seldom seen her father this angry. ‘The Prince sees a susceptible mark in you, Dove. He needs your wealth, your connections to live in the manner to which he is accustomed. Percivale is eager to protect you, to make sure the Prince does not embroil you in scandal.’

She wanted to scream her father was wrong. The enemy wasn’t Illarion, it was Percivale and them, people who claimed to care for her but who would imprison her in their attempts to do their best by her. But she could not bring herself to it. There was too much heartache down that path; for them and for her. She looked appealingly at her mother, but her mother’s face was a polite mask.

‘I am sure that the Prince’s attentions were very flattering, Dove. He is a handsome man. Every girl should have a brief crush before she settles down.’ Were. A single word relegated Illarion to the past in the span of a heartbeat. ‘The Prince must be dissuaded. His attentions cannot be courted any further. If he calls again, your father can explain to him how it is.’ She smiled tremulously and held out her hand. ‘You and I will need to start shopping for your trousseau. It will be exciting. Just think, we have a wedding to plan, a household to set up.’ It was the same strategy that had led up to her debut—distract and entertain, dazzle her with the fairy tale so that she would forget the reality.

Her father was stern. ‘You will make a fine match with Percivale. He is the finest husband of the year, perhaps even the best catch of the decade.’ He softened. ‘You’re simply too young to appreciate what he offers. But your mother and I know best in this. You must trust us. You will thank us for it later when you are the toast of London. You can accept Percivale tonight.’

Tonight. The night of Illarion’s much-anticipated poetry reading. Everyone would be there. Dove looked at her parents, each in turn, these people who had treasured her, nurtured her, loved her. She could not bear the idea of disappointing them. They had suffered so many other disappointments. She was the one dream left to them. Her heart was breaking, but her decision was made. She knew what she had to do. Somehow, she’d find the strength to do it.

* * *

Not in the recent history of the Season had a single person captured the imagination and attention of the ton the way Illarion Kutejnikov had. He’d always been a romantic figure with his long hair and handsome looks. But now, with the rumours of his questionable heritage surfacing, that romanticism took on an edge of danger.

Illarion was well aware that it was his notoriety that accounted for the enormous crush at Hathaway House. People wanted to hear the poems that had been the cause of his exile, giving fuel to the rumours that he’d been expelled from Kuban. That particular rumour was true. But others were not and those others had begun to run wild, all of them lies. He had not murdered anyone, he had not been stripped of his title and he most certainly had not left a woman in disgrace. Perhaps he should thank Heatherly and Percivale for the boost in popularity—it would sell poems—but he didn’t deal in lies. They—Heatherly because he had started the rumours, Percivale because he had stood by and allowed the rumours to help his cause—had slandered him with their half-baked truths, creating a misleading image that was ultimately more damaging than good. For a man who had nothing but his honour, his good name was everything. He understood full well that making a scandal of him made it all that more difficult for Dove to come to him.

Illarion searched the crowd for her. Tonight was his chance to persuade London to accept him. Tonight, he could put the rumours to rest. More than that, he could persuade Dove to accept him. Tonight, on the stage, he could show her his heart, and hers.

‘Your Highness, it’s time.’ Lord Hathaway had a hand at his elbow, ushering him up on the stage and calling the audience to attention. Illarion scanned the crowded grand salon of Hathaway House for her face one last time. He only partially listened to the introduction being given by Lord Hathaway, his host and the organiser of his reading. Surely Dove had come. Everyone who was anyone was here. This was the event of the early half of the Season. Redruth wouldn’t miss it. Besides, he couldn’t afford to. Absenting himself and his family would give credence to the rumours that there was tension between him and Redruth—yet one more set of rumours started by Percivale in the last week.

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