Page 79 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

‘What? Tell me, man?’ He was genuinely worried now. Dove had been ill, been restrained. The very idea concerned him, plagued him with guilt. He’d been the cause of it, he and Percivale with their notions of honour.

Ruslan held his gaze. ‘You have to promise me not to do anything crazy. You’re not out of the woods yet with your own injury.’

He was going to crawl out of his skin and strangle Ruslan in a minute. ‘I promise,’ he ground out. He would have promised anything to get this last piece of news.

‘She called for you. The maid said she asked for you and when she was refused, she started calling for you.’ Ruslan was watering it down heavily. Illarion could read between the lines. He could imagine Dove waking, sick and remembering, knowing there would be a duel and being helpless to stop it. Worse, now she was miles away in Cornwall with no news until his letters arrived.

‘I have to get to her.’

‘And we will, when you’re able. The doctor’s not given you clearance to travel yet,’ Ruslan soothed, but Illarion sensed he was holding back.

‘You’d better spill the rest of it, Ruslan.’

‘You’ve sent your letters. She’ll know you survived when she sees the letters. If she wants to see you, she’ll write back.’

‘If she wants to see me?’ Illarion was incredulous. ‘What kind of statement is that?’ He’d proposed. He’d bought a house. She’d called out for him in her need.

‘It’s just that the maid said the family left for Cornwall to put the scandal behind them, to give her a fresh start. Things may have changed. She may not want to see you now. I think you have to be prepared for that.’ Ruslan put a hand on his arm in commiseration. ‘This is not the way to make friends, as Stepan would say.’

‘I suppose I am cast out of London society for good now?’

Ruslan laughed. ‘Hardly. You, my friend, are more exciting than ever. A publisher has written, asking for the rights to print a book of your work. Everyone is clamouring for another performance of “Snegurochka”, and the Countess of Somersby is planning a Russian-themed midsummer ball. She plans to dress as Snegurochka. Dressmakers cannot keep enough white fabric on the shelves. I think you may be the only fellow I know to be more popular after a duel than before.’

Except with Dove’s father, Illarion thought ruefully. ‘I doubt Redruth will appreciate that.’ Illarion sank back against the pillows. He didn’t want loving him to cost Dove her family.

Ruslan smiled. ‘I may be able to help you with that.’

Illarion cocked an eyebrow and his friend. ‘Like you did with the house? I do wonder how you spend your days.’ In Kuban, Ruslan had led a secretive life, associated with a shadowy underground or secret society, Illarion had never quite understood.

‘Even better than the house. Do you remember asking about Redruth and how he met his wife?’

Illarion nodded.

‘I happened to sit down one night at the club with one of Redruth’s old friends, actually one of Redruth’s father’s old friends.’ Very old indeed, then. Illarion wondered just how that had interview had ‘happened’, what research and arrangements Ruslan had made. He was touched by his friend’s efforts.

‘Turns out, it was quite a love story. Her father, the current Duchess’s, didn’t think so much of young Redruth. He had not inherited yet and was a bit on the wild side as a young buck, a bit too wild for a duke’s daughter. But Redruth was madly in love with Lady Olivia Huntington. He settled down and worked hard to prove himself.’ Ruslan leaned back in his chair with an air of satisfaction. ‘The moral of that story is, love wins the day.’ And practicality, Illarion thought. Love and practicality. Perhaps, if he could show Redruth both?

‘Did you ever come up with a nice farm in Cornwall?’ Illarion asked, thinking back on their earlier conversation, the one about making him respectable.

Ruslan reached inside his coat pocket. ‘I thought you would never ask.’ He put a folder in front of Illarion. ‘Not just a farm, an estate. A prince does not settle for farms, it is entirely beneath you.’ And would impress no one, especially a future father-in-law.

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