His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Still, there was the height. The hair. The eyes. The delicate build. Livia looked at her again.

Seraphina smiled. "I am the English you. Is that not sad?"

"You are making it terribly difficult to despise you, Lady Seraphina," Livia said.

Seraphina’s mouth curved. "You will be the first to say that. My mother says I should have been born a man."

"That may be a compliment."

"She does not mean it as one."

"Look," Livia said, lowering her voice, "I promise to speak with the duke if you promise to make an effort for his attention."

"And look desperate? To a man staring at another woman? Why?"

"Can you get out of this marriage?" Livia asked.

"Unless either the duke or I miraculously drops dead, I do not see how."

Livia softened. "Then make an effort to win him over."

Seraphina’s brow lifted.

"I know how that sounds," Livia said. "But the duke is an amazing man. He has merely had the worst luck."

"And yet you chose the king."

"Yes."

"Then he cannot have been that amazing."

Livia’s lips parted, but no answer came quickly enough. "I will speak with Richard."

Seraphina looked at her steadily. "Let him go, and then he should make the effort."

Before Livia could answer, Seraphina turned and walked away. Livia watched her disappear into the crowd.

She had no idea what to make of the conversation. She did not know whether Seraphina was jealous, or simply honest. Perhaps she was both.

God, it was one entanglement after another. When had her life become this madness? She was supposed to be winning people over with a debut. That had been the plan.

The night continued. After a while, the heat of the ballroom and the weight of constant attention pressed too heavily against her. Livia excused herself and withdrew to the privy chamber to relieve herself and gather her thoughts.

For a few blessed minutes, she was alone. Then she returned. She had barely stepped back into the corridor when a hand caught her wrist.

Before she could cry out, Richard drew her sharply into an alcove half-hidden behind a fall of tapestry, away from the main passage and the movement of servants.

"Richard!!!" Livia snapped.

"I told you I needed to speak with you," Richard said. He stood before her, too close for comfort.

"Should you not be more concerned about your intended out there?" she demanded.

"Yes. I saw you speaking with her. What did she say?"

"This," Livia snapped. "This, Richard. She asked me to let you go. I have no hold on you. Why do you give anyone the impression that I do?"

"Because you do. Because what we had was not nothing." Richard looked at her as if he were trying to memorise her and accuse her at the same time. It hurt to see him like that. It hurt more because some part of her had helped make him so. "What we had was nothing like anything I have ever had. You were mine in every way that mattered."

"I am not going to stop loving you, Livia," he said. "And I know this is not what you want."

"It is. It is, Richard," she said. "I love Henry." Livia drew in a breath. "I have always loved him."

"You..." Richard’s voice broke around the word. "What?"

"I know I said the same thing about you. Now I think..." Livia swallowed. "Now I think I was grateful to you."

Richard looked as if she had struck him. "Grateful?" he demanded. "Grateful? That is what you call it now? Gratitude?"

"I am sorry."

"You cheapen what we shared so easily?"

"I am not trying to cheapen it. You mattered to me. You still matter. What you did for me mattered. I will never deny that. But I cannot call it the same thing as what I feel for Henry because that would be another lie, and I am tired of living inside lies. I am sorry. I am, Richard. I know it is not fair."

Beyond the alcove, footsteps passed, then faded. A pair of women laughed somewhere down the passage.

Richard dragged a hand through his hair. "We do not have time. I have to tell you something."

"What?" she asked.

"The man you claim to love has blood on his hands." Richard’s eyes held hers. "Henry stood by and watched his mother murder his brothers. He knew. He knew what she was doing, and he did nothing. Then he helped cover it up."

"That is not true."

"I asked him. I asked him, and he said it was not true."

"You asked the king whether he was guilty, and you expected him to hand you the blade? Do you truly think he would tell you the truth?" Richard’s certainty lodged beneath her ribs. He leaned closer. "Ask him again. And this time...tell him I told you myself."

"And why would he tell me the truth this time?" Livia asked. "That is, if what you are saying is true at all."

"Because he told me himself, Livia. The King of England is a murderer."

"No. Why are you telling me this? Do you think I will hear this and run into your arms?"

"I tell you this to set you free. I am going to bring everything to light."

Livia’s blood chilled. "Richard."

"I need only one thing. I found the late king’s valet. He served the old king on the night he died. He told me that, shortly before the king was found dead, a maid sent him a letter."

Tabitha’s story moved through her mind.

"What are you saying?" she asked, though she feared she already knew.

"The valet saw the letter delivered," Richard said. "He did not know the contents. But he said Henry entered the chamber. After that, the letter was gone." Richard’s eyes held hers. "Now that you know what you know, will you help me find it?"

She could not even speak. He had truly lost his senses. He was not merely angry at Henry for taking her. He had built a cause around his pain.