Page 9 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

Dove scanned the room, wondering. To whom in this room had she become only a trinket to be added to their social cache? It was a bitter pill to think that some of the gentlemen were only here because she was the Season’s Diamond of the First Water and they would benefit from association with her. They had no intentions of getting to know her. Just of using her.

Such assessment had never been part of the fairy tale she’d grown up on. How splendidly everyone filling her drawing room pretended to be themselves and how disgusting it was. Her newly awakened sense of injustice rose again. People were basing life-long decisions on these façades. Coupled with the ridiculous rules of courtships and calls it was downright farcical; a gentleman might stay no longer than a half-hour, preferably somewhat less, and he might certainly not be alone with the subject of his affections.

How did one get to know anyone in the confines of a large group and conversation limited to the weather and the previous night’s entertainment? Lord Fredericks laughed at something said in his small group by the window and she heard his standard reply: ‘Quite so, quite so.’ Perhaps the rules weren’t so limiting after all. She already knew she couldn’t spend a lifetime with him, or any of the gentlemen present for that matter. It had only taken one ball and one at-home to make that clear. Maybe the rules had done her a favour, after all, by sparing her any more of Lord Fredericks’ company.

* * *

At the stroke of half past four, the last group of gentlemen dutifully began to take their leave and Dove began to hope. She crossed her fingers for good luck in the folds of her skirt as she smiled politely and accepted goodbyes. She could almost feel the charcoal in her hand, she was that close to freedom. She was working on a drawing of a mare in the mews, bought for her riding pleasure. The mare had a soulful face and she was eager to capture it on paper. She’d already done several sketches in the attempt. But something was missing. Perhaps if she took the mare outside where the light was better?

The last two gentlemen had just left, the door barely shut behind them, when disaster arrived.

‘His Royal Highness, Prince Illarion Kutejnikov,’ the butler intoned.

He was dressed in dark blue superfine and buff breeches and cream waistcoat, far more English today than he’d been last night, but no less tempting. Dove’s pulse sped up in a turmoil of anxious excitement. Just this morning she’d wanted to see him again and now he was here. Lesson learned. One needed to be careful with what one wished for, because wishes could end up in one’s drawing room.

‘Prince Kutejnikov.’ Dove nodded politely as he presented her with a pretty bouquet of lilies of the valley. ‘How kind of you to call and what a surprise.’ What sort of man called on a girl who’d left him on the dance floor? Two options came to mind: obtuse or arrogant. Perhaps the Prince was one of those men who thought every woman was dying of love for him. Only in this case, he might be right.

‘These reminded me of you,’ he murmured with a smile. She waited for the usual accolades to follow—‘you are like springtime in bloom, you are fresh, innocent’. She’d heard them all today. But none of the usual came. Instead, he leaned close and whispered, ‘Beautiful on the outside, poisonous on the inside.’

‘What a lovely concept.’ She forced a smile to match his, but hers was nowhere near as convincing. What did a girl say to a man she’d rejected the night before? He knew he had her cornered. He was laughing at her. She could see it in his eyes—cobalt and merry. The chandeliers last night had not done them justice. ‘I’ll find a vase. I know just the one I want.’ Any vase that took a half-hour to find. The search would let her escape the drawing room for a little while. Perhaps he’d made his point and he’d be gone by the time she returned.

In the hallway, she drew a calming breath. The Prince was outrageous. Another gentleman would have taken her rather broad hint last night and not bothered to call. At least he’s not boring, a small, perverse part of her mind whispered for the sake of argument. True, but what he was might be worse: a temptation, handsome, different, a diversion from the disappointments of the Season. He lit up a room with his presence, where the other gentlemen merely filled up a room with theirs. A footman hurried up to her, a vase in hand, cutting short her search. Her parents’ servants were too well trained. Dove took her time walking back to the drawing room, only to make two discoveries. First, that leaving had been her first mistake. Second, not even her mother was insusceptible. The Prince, it seemed, was not as easily dismissed in person as he had been over breakfast.

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