Page 80 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

Illarion opened the folder and studied the deed. The deed? ‘You bought it?’ What would he or Ruslan ever do with an estate that close to Redruth if he was refused? ‘Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?’

Ruslan shrugged. ‘Not really. You are the most persuasive man I know.’ He appreciated his friend’s confidence.

‘Does London believe we are still princes, Ruslan?’ he asked, referring to the rumours Percivale had tried to spread.

‘Yes, we are still princes. You have Nikolay’s father-in-law to thank for that—it helps to have friends in high places in the diplomatic service. He’s assured everyone we have not been disavowed by Kuban.’ Even though they had tried to renounce their titles, Kuban still recognised them, unlike Dimitri Petrovich’s situation. They had one last tie to the old country. It hurt less to think of Kuban these days. Illarion might miss it, might always miss it, but everything he wanted was in England. More specifically, everything he wanted was in Cornwall. He would go as soon as he could.

Which wasn’t soon enough for his taste. His body betrayed him. The doctor’s worry over infection setting in, a worry prompted by a slight fever, kept him at home another frustrating week during which he wrote letter after letter and waited impatiently for a response. By week three, when he was cleared for travel, there’d been no word from Dove. Doubt and worry pricked at him over the lack of response. Had she not written because she couldn’t or because she didn’t want to? Had she, as Ruslan suggested, put London behind her, including him? The moment the bandage was off, he threw his deeds and a change of clothes into a valise, saddled his horse and set off. A carriage would only slow him down. He had to make good time. He was already three weeks late to make the most important argument of his life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Redruth manor was impressive and imposing with its Gothic architecture and turrets. It looked more like a castle than a house, but Illarion could see why Dove loved it. The gardens were spectacular and he knew that was where he’d find her, pencil in hand. There were those who would have gone straight to her father, but he had not travelled at breakneck speeds for three days to see the Duke. He’d come for Dove and he’d be damned if he was going to wait a second longer.

His instincts were correct. He found her in the rose garden, her bright head bent over a tablet, pencil in hand. He took a moment to look his fill before announcing himself. A month away had not dimmed his memory of her or distorted her beauty. ‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he drawled from the trellised entrance, his eyes fixed on her, watching the surprise take her face like the sun spreading across the dawn sky. But it was not the look of surprise he’d expected and he knew instantly that something was wrong. Surprise usually looked like pleasure, unadulterated elation. Her surprise held an element of stunned disbelief and an element of fear.

Her drawing tablet dropped to the ground and she ran to him. ‘Illarion! You’re alive!’ Her hands framed his face as if she couldn’t believe it, her eyes filling with tears. She began to laugh and sob all at once. ‘You’re alive,’ she repeated.

She hadn’t known. All this time, he’d been trapped in London and she hadn’t known. How was that possible? His heart went out to her and his arms closed about her, holding her close. ‘Yes, I am alive. Didn’t you get my letters?’

She looked up at him, a furrow on her brow. ‘No, there were no letters.’ Her eyes darted across his face. ‘You’ve been hurt!’ She saw the stubbly patch at his temple, the red scar for the first time. Her hand went to it, recognition shadowing her face. ‘Is this from the duel?’

‘It’s why I didn’t come immediately. I went to your house, but you were already gone and then…’ he gestured to the small scar ‘…I had a piece of lead wedged in there. I couldn’t travel. For such a small wound, it made quite a difficulty. I came the moment I was cleared to ride. I wrote every day.’

The fear was back. ‘Does my father know you’re here?’ So that was the source of concern. Her father was keeping his daughter on a tight rein.

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