His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Tears slid down her face. Richard stepped back. Now he truly looked at her. He looked at the way her fingers trembled. The way she held herself too still.

This was not disgust. This was fear. This was definitely not what he had expected. Richard had expected the pride he saw in her on the first day, the sharp tongue hidden behind lowered lashes.

He had not expected a frightened mouse. Richard softened his voice. "How long have you been here?"

Livia swallowed and whispered, "Three years."

"You don’t look any older than seventeen," Richard said, his brow lifting with curiosity. "You’ve been doing this for that long?"

Livia flinched slightly at the question. "No," she said quietly. "I was a servant here. I just recently..." Her voice trailed off.

Richard understood enough. His jaw tightened. "Beaumont was waiting for you to grow older."

Livia nodded. The small movement said more than any speech could have. Beaumont, he recently found out was a greedy rat, but apparently the rat had depths. Whole underground tunnels of filth.

"Let me guess," Richard said, turning back to her. "Last month was your first time with a man."

Livia nodded once more. Richard sighed. Great. Of course. Of all the women in Beaumont’s establishment, he had chosen the one with the most complicated misery attached to her. He was always doing this. Other men had simple tastes. Richard, apparently, subconsciously preferred trouble.

All the women in this place he could have been drawn to, and he had chosen the one most difficult to touch without feeling like a villain.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Relax," he said. "I am not going to bite."

She did not look convinced.

"I mean, not unless properly invited." He winked then gained better sense and stepped back, creating more space between them. "Alright," he said at last. "I’ll just go."

Livia’s eyes widened. "No! No, please, you cannot." Panic rushed back into her voice so quickly it startled even her. "Beaumont will kill me. Please... just stay."

Richard paused and turned slowly, looking at her like she had just asked him to shoot the archbishop. "Uh..." He glanced around the room, then back at her. "Look, Diana, I’m not a gentleman. In fact, I am well known for my very ungentlemanly nature. I have disappointed tutors, priests, family, bishops."

"If you do not want me to touch you," Richard continued, "you will have to let me walk out that door."

She lifted her eyes fully to his. "I think you are, actually."

Richard’s brows rose.

Livia swallowed. "I think for some reason, you let the world see a version of you that is unflattering. And I think it is because you do not want to live by rules."

His expression changed slightly.

"Any other man that frequents here would not have cared about the tears in my eyes," she continued. "They wouldn’t have even noticed. But you did. I think you are a gentleman. You just don’t want others to see it. Why?"

Inside, Richard looked as if she had aimed an arrow at some private place and struck cleanly.

"Remind me again, how old are you?"

"Do you always answer questions with questions?"

"Only to women—sorry, girls—who think they know me enough to tell me who I am."

"I did not say I know you."

"No, you merely thought you could undress my soul after five minutes of conversation. Very immodest of you, I must say. Why don’t we focus on undressing my body?"

A small spark of irritation entered her face.

"I only said what I saw."

"Then you should look less closely," he replied.

"Does it scare you that I am right?" Livia asked, and to Richard’s irritation, there was the faintest thread of amusement in her voice now. "That little ol’ me can see through you?"

"I’m not scared of anything!"

Livia raised a slow, condescending little arch of her brow that made him feel, absurdly, as though he had been judged and found wanting.

Richard pointed at her. "You," he snapped, searching for a word and finding none. "You are... I’ll let you know when I find a word!"

This time, Livia did smile genuinely. It was small, but it changed everything. The fear did not vanish from her completely, but it loosened its grip. Her eyes still mocked him, bright with defiance, but her lips curved softly, beautifully, and God help him, Richard felt himself pulled toward that smile like a fool.

"You have very... very pretty lips," he said.

Livia’s eyes widened. She slapped a palm over her mouth and stepped back.

Richard gave an incredulous laugh. "Oh, come now. I only complimented them. I did not say I was going to kiss them... or fuck them." He added

She kept her hand firmly in place. His amusement faded slightly as he watched her retreat. The fear was back.

Then a thought crossed his face.

"The man from last month," Richard said slowly. "You let him touch you."

Livia’s fingers lowered from her mouth. "Yes."

It bothered him. With this mysterious man, had there been terror like this.

"I’m guessing you let him fuck you."

Livia nodded in response.

"So..." he said.

"He’s coming back for me," Livia said quickly.

The words came out with fierce belief.

He chuckled. "What’s the plan here? You have some kind of loyalty to him?"

Livia lifted her chin. "He promised to get me out of here."

"Ah...If I promise to get you out of here," he asked, voice turning dry again, "can I fuck you then?"

"No," Livia said quickly.

Richard’s brows rose. "Ah," he said again, this time with far more accusation. "You like this man."

Livia’s face tightened.

"So you gave him special access."

"I didn’t have much of a choice!" she snapped. "It was either him or whatever drunk Beaumont can drum up!" she continued.

Richard rubbed a hand across his jaw. "This man. Does Beaumont know he means to take you?"

"No."

"Does he know about the arrangement made today?"

Her face fell. That answered him.

"When is he coming to get you?"

"I don’t know," she sighed. Livia looked away as she said it.

"Has he sent a message?"

"No."

Richard inhaled slowly, weighing his next words. "Do you want me to say it?"

"No," she whispered at once. She knew where he was going. She could see the shape of it in his eyes—the ugly suggestion he had not yet spoken. That Henry had abandoned her. That the man with the promises had finished his curiosity and disappeared back into whatever fine life he truly belonged to. That she had mistaken a brief tenderness for salvation.

No. She could not bear to hear it.

"He’s always travelling," she said quickly, clutching the explanation. "He is a merchant."

Richard gave her a look. "How many of the men Beaumont sends your way will you be able to hold off, Diana?"

Livia’s mouth tightened. "You do know my name is not Diana."

"You’re Diana to me. The first time I saw you, I walked into the tavern and it was like a light drew my eyes to you." Richard looked toward the window for a moment, irritated by his own honesty and searching for somewhere to put it. "I watched you for a long time before I ever took those stairs to talk to you."

Her brows drew together. "Why?"

"There is something about you." He looked back at her.

Then, because he was still Richard, he added, "And I am not saying that because I have a certain urge to pull at those strings holding your breasts together."

"Do you always just spill your thoughts no matter how filthy?" Livia asked.

Richard looked around the room with exaggerated consideration. "I am standing in a brothel," he said. "Filthy is allowed."

Livia rolled her eyes. "I guess I better get used to it," she muttered.

His amusement faded slightly. "Used to what?"

"Men talking as if my body is a plate of food they are considering ordering. Because if Henry doesn’t come soon, Beaumont will be marrying me off. Not that it matters anyway," Livia continued bitterly. "Apparently, the suitor has the backing of the royal family."

"Hmmm... must be someone influential then."

"If by influential you mean a quarter till the grave."

The laugh burst out of him. It came unprepared, unbidden, completely unsuited to the misery on her face and the wretchedness of the situation. But God help him, the phrase caught him so cleanly that he bent forward slightly with it.

Livia stared at him, horrified. "It’s not funny!" she cried.

"I’m sorry!" Richard held up a hand, trying and failing to compose himself. "I’m sorry."

"You’re laughing!"

"I know. I am ashamed."

"You do not look ashamed."

"I am ashamed internally. It is a private shame."

She glared at him.

He turned away, pressing his knuckles briefly to his mouth. "You’re right. It is not funny."