Page 78 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

Beside him, Nikolay put a hand on his shoulder. ‘We can try around back.’

‘Like a servant? We are Princes, we will not go the servants’ door.’ Illarion was angry now. His head was starting to spin. The world was fuzzy at the edges. He hit the door again and this time it opened. A harried footman stood there, barring the way. The door was open, but the path was shut. Illarion would get no further than this without force.

‘I am here to see Lady Dove.’

The footman’s face was blank. ‘She’s not here. The family has gone.’

His face felt strangely wet at his temple. The world spun again. He saw black at the edge of his vision. ‘Where have they gone?’ Illarion had the impression he was running out of time. He needed answers. Fast. He grabbed the footman by the pristine collar of his livery. ‘Tell me where’s she gone and why.’ Beside him, Nikolay fingered his sword.

‘C-Cornwall, sir. They’ve gone to Cornwall,’ the footman stammered.

‘And Lady Dove, is she all right?’

The footman hesitated and Illarion shook him hard. The hesitation confirmed Illarion’s fear that not all was right. ‘I don’t know, sir. That’s the truth, she was carried out in her nightclothes, sir, all wrapped in blankets. All I know is that there’d been an accident.’ His eyes darted wildly between Illarion and Nikolay’s blade.

Illarion released him, his own strength wavering. He tugged at his waistcoat. ‘Thank you.’ There was nothing more to be got here. They were gone. He would follow them. He made the carriage, stumbling only once, Nikolay catching him and helping him inside.

‘Cornwall,’ he called up to the driver.

‘Are you nuts?’ Nikolay exclaimed. ‘Cornwall is four days away.’ He leaned forward, touching Illarion’s temple, digging through the thick depths of his hair, his hand coming away red. ‘You, my friend, are going home. You’ve been shot.’

‘Grazed,’ Illarion corrected, putting his own hand to his head for proof. ‘I didn’t realise.’ He had not felt it at the time, but he felt it now, heard it in the slur of his speech. ‘It’s just a graze,’ he murmured before he slumped forward.

But grazes bled and often looked worse than they were. This one leaked and looked deceptively better than it was. After a day of unrelenting dizziness and a continuous drip of blood, Illarion allowed Stepan to call the doctor. He was no good to Dove, if he couldn’t sit a horse or at the very least ride in a carriage. One could not get to Cornwall if one was unconscious.

‘Shrapnel is what I’d call it, if this was military action,’ the doctor deduced after painfully poking around Illarion’s head. He was a white-haired veteran of medicine known for his discretion and who had come highly recommended by a friend of Nikolay’s at the stable. ‘Since there’s no military action around these parts, perhaps you gentlemen might tell me what really happened?’

‘It’s possible it might be a shard of lead bullet,’ Nikolay supplied.

The doctor raised an eyebrow at Illarion. ‘Duelling, were you, son? You ought to know better.’ He bent forward and took another look. ‘Well, it’s on the surface and we can get it out with tweezers. It’s not deep, but I’m not saying it won’t hurt.’

It was, however, deep enough to require cutting away a patch of hair at his temple, dousing his head and himself with some of Stepan’s homemade samogan for sterility, stitches, wrapping his head in an enormous white bandage and committing him to rest and absolutely no travel for a week. Cornwall was out of the question.

He was the world’s worst patient. As soon as he could sit up, he begged for writing materials and when that was denied, he resort to having Ruslan write for him. If he couldn’t be with her in person, he’d be with her in spirit. When he wasn’t begging for letters, he was begging for news. He hated being trapped inside, unable to go to the club for the latest news, and Stepan made a terrible gossip.

It was Ruslan who brought the first real news of use. ‘I talked to a maid from Redruth House. I tracked her down to her sister’s inn in Cheapside. The house is entirely closed now.’ He offered the details, removing some books from the spare chair in Illarion’s room. ‘I’m not sure you’ll want to hear this, though. She said Dove was unconscious when she left the house.’ He paused and Illarion waited for more. That was not news. They’d been told as much by the footman. ‘She had a fever and she’d been given laudanum for her nerves. Apparently, she had an outburst and had to be restrained.’ Ruslan hesitated.

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