His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 118: It Suits You Terribly Well

"I am trying it on for size." He teased.

"And?"

"It suits you terribly well."

She smiled. Richard lay beside her, one arm tucked beneath his head, looking far too pleased with himself.

"You would be surprised the things a duchess are entitled to," he continued.

"Oh?"

Richard reached out and brushed his fingers lightly over her hair. "A duchess’s life is almost as grand as a queen’s."

"Well then," she said, lifting her chin with mock arrogance, "bring it on, Your Grace. This duchess likes to be spoiled."

Richard groaned. "I do hope by that you do not mean more books."

"If you would pick one up and read, you would find what makes it such a bliss."

"I read. I read a lot of estate reports."

"They do not count."

Richard smiled lazily. "I would rather watch my love story on your face than read love stories of others."

That stole her laughter. Livia could only look at him. There he was again. The man beneath the jester. The man who frightened her more than his desire ever could, because his tenderness left her nowhere to hide. She could fight flirtation. She could roll her eyes at vulgarity. She could pretend not to be moved by arrogance.

But this? This devotion in his eyes? It made her heart unsteady. She leaned in and kissed him. When she pulled back, her hand remained against his cheek.

"Are you this way with every woman," she asked, "or is it just me?"

"Just you, Cherub," he said. "Just you," he repeated. "Never before has this happened. Not like this. Not with anyone." Richard gave a small, helpless laugh, as if even he did not know what to do with himself anymore. "You are quite the little shocker, aren’t you?"

She snuggled into him then, her body softening against his. Livia rested her cheek against his chest and pressed a kiss there, light and devastatingly tender.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he asked.

Livia lifted her head slightly. "Yes..."

His heart settled.

Then she added, "I will miss my books though."

"I will get you your damned books," he said, already resigned.

She laughed. Her fingers began tracing idle lines up and down his bare chest.

Then, softly, she said, "Love found me feeble then and fenceless all, open the way and easy to my heart."

Richard opened his eyes. "What’s that?"

"Petrarch."

He tilted his head to look down at her. "What does it mean?"

Livia’s fingers slowed. For a moment, she said nothing. The words had come to her without thought, but now that he had asked, she felt their truth. "It means..." She swallowed. "It means you found a way to ease into my heart."

He lifted her face gently, making her look at him. God, he hoped that was how she truly felt. He wanted her heart freely, wildly, honestly. He wanted it so badly it frightened him. His breath shook.

For once, the right words did not come. So Richard did what he always did when feeling threatened to tear him open.

He reached for humour. "I should buy you more books," he said instead.

******

The next afternoon, the carriage from Whitehall arrived for Livia. It came with all the importance of the palace: polished black wood, royal markings, liveried men sitting stiffly, and horses that looked as if they too understood they belonged to the Crown. The sight of it in front of Kingsmere Manor made Richard’s stomach tighten.

Livia stood beside him on the front steps, dressed neatly for travel. Her veil was pinned in place, her gloves fitted, her small bag packed. A maid had been assigned to accompany her.

He held Livia’s hand too tightly.

"It’s just for a night, Your Grace," she said softly. "I will attend to Lady Bella at first light. On my way back, I will stop at the Creswells, teach the girls, and then head back home."

Home.

Richard’s lips thinned at the word. Home. Kingsmere. Him. The bed they had shared. The future they had touched but not yet dared to hold with both hands.

Fear of heartbreak was a bastard. It reached into a man’s chest and made an insecure peasant of him, crown, title, pride, and estate be damned.

He wanted to say, Do not go. He wanted to say, If you see him, remember me. He wanted to say, Come back still mine.

But none of those words were fair. So he breathed in, forced his fingers to loosen, and stepped back.

Livia looked at him for a moment, as if she understood every word he had swallowed. Then she offered him a gentle smile. She turned toward the carriage.

The maid climbed in after her. One of the footmen shut the door. The driver gave the horses a soft command, and the carriage began to move.

Richard stood there. He watched, still as stone, while the carriage rolled down the drive, past the iron gates, and into the road beyond.

Only when it disappeared into the distance did he realise how badly his hands were shaking. He looked down at them.

Ridiculous.

This was no way for a man to live. He turned back inside, heading toward his room. Halfway down the corridor, he stopped.

His room suddenly felt too large, too empty so he turned instead and headed to her room. Her books had been arranged back on the dresser.

Neatly, too. Diana had clearly placed them with care, each volume stacked. He made a mental note to have a bookshelf made with enough room for every ridiculous book she loved and the dozens more he would inevitably buy.

Then he scoffed.

A bookshelf.

Wonderful.

He was planning furniture for a woman he was not even certain would return. His jaw tightened, and he crossed the room. He picked up the first book on the pile, mostly to spite it, and glanced at the title.

The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia.

He sat on her bed and opened it. At first, he only meant to mock it. Truly. He intended to read three lines, decide the whole thing was dramatic nonsense, and later tell Diana that her beloved books were merely court gossip.

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