Page 76 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

‘Do you think Percivale will?’ Stepan was not entirely comfortable with the idea of being defenceless. Deloping left one without any protection.

‘I do not know,’ Illarion said solemnly. He did not know if he would if he’d been Perivale. True, Percivale had behaved abominably last night in words and deeds. But it was Percivale who was defending his honour on the field today because Illarion had called him a liar. Striking Dove had been an accident, but it had certainly added to the gossip. Illarion could still see those moments in slow motion: Dove’s head going back so hard, he’d feared for her life. She’d not been braced for the blow and her head had snapped ferociously. She’d crumpled into his arms, unconscious as she fell. He’d held her for a few precious seconds before she’d been taken from him. Percivale had leapt for him then and fisticuffs ensued. Illarion had no compunction about defending himself. He’d landed a few blows before Hathaway had intervened.

His first thought then, his first thought this morning, had been for Dove. As soon as the duel was over, he would go to her. He would demand entrance, he would take it if need be. Nikolay would go with him. He pushed the thoughts back. He could not let them run ahead of the moment.

‘All of my papers are in order.’ He turned to Stepan. ‘There wasn’t much.’ It had been relatively simple, much easier than the last time he’d duelled in Kuban. There had been palaces and fortunes, and things to account for. ‘There was only the money. I’ve given permission for Ruslan and you to handle my account.’ He reached into his coat pocket and passed an envelope to Ruslan. ‘This is for her. The deed for the town house is in there.’ If he fell, Dove would have somewhere to go.

‘I’ll hold it for now.’ Ruslan transferred it to his pocket without any protestations over how unnecessary the preparation was. Ruslan understood duels were always serious. ‘She will be taken care of, I promise. Stepan and I will see to it.’

Illarion nodded his thanks, not trusting his voice. He’d done the best he could for Dove. No matter what happened this morning, she need not marry Percivale, need not feel forced to it. He’d given her freedom. With luck, she wouldn’t have to fight to claim it. With more luck, he’d be there to claim it with her.

Nikolay came back across the green, his step purposeful. ‘The second has asked one last time for your apology. If you choose to apologise, the challenge will be withdrawn.’ This was all protocol, of course, proof that one last effort at peace had been made.

‘No,’ Illarion said smoothly before Stepan could be tempted to argue for it. ‘However, if Percivale would like to apologise to me, I would be happy to forgo the duel. I have pen and paper in the carriage for him to write out his retraction of the rumours.’ Nikolay bowed respectfully and went back across the field. It was an exercise only. He was back a minute later. As expected, Percivale had refused. A man’s honour was a damnable thing.

Illarion shook Ruslan’s and Stepan’s hands very formally. Anything more and the emotion would undo him. These were the best friends a man could ask for. They stood by him even when he’d cost them their country, even when they might disagree with his choices. He walked out on to the field. He gave Percivale first choice of pistols. Percivale chose swiftly, confidently, his gaze solemn and steady when their eyes met over the duelling case. Illarion tried to read the other man. What did that gaze mean? Would Percivale aim to kill? To maim? Or would Percivale delope, feeling honour was satisfied simply by showing up? But there was something else in Percivale’s gaze that Illarion recognised all too well: the need to protect Dove, the need to vindicate himself and society.

Percivale spoke in low tones, checking his weapon one last time. ‘I would marry her, even now with the scent of scandal about her.’ Would. That most telling of words. It spoke volumes. Percivale had given up his hopes. He knew Dove was beyond his reach, that she would never have him now and, even if he could in some way possess her body, he would never own her soul, never own her mind. He’d come to realise those things mattered. ‘She is too good for you.’

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