His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Her eyes narrowed then widened. "Your Grace!"

Damn.

"What happened to you?"

"What?"

"Your face."

"My face?"

"Yes, your face! The one attached to your head."

"Oh, that face."

"Richard."

"Just roughhousing with some of the farmers. It was fun."

"Do you do that often with your tenants?"

"Now and then."

Livia folded her arms. Richard immediately decided it was time to move.

"Come along, Duchess. Before Lady Cresswell comes out and asks why you are interrogating your future husband."

"I am not done."

"I know. That is why I am fleeing." He led her to the horse and helped her up, careful with her skirts, then mounted behind her. The moment he settled, she fit against him with a familiarity that undid him. Her back against his chest. Her warmth. The soft scent of her hair. He gathered the reins and spurred the horse into a slow trot.

Having her this close to him was heaven itself and Richard was not in the mood to rush heaven. The road stretched ahead, quiet beneath the afternoon light. Cresswell House faded behind them, and Kingsmere waited, home waited.

Then Livia said, "I told Lady Bella we are engaged."

"Oh... Let me guess," he said, forcing lightness into his voice. "She advised you against it."

Livia laughed. "No. But she was surprised that you would want to get married."

"Yeah," Richard said lightly. "A lot of people will be."

Some already are.

He kept that last part to himself. There was no reason to put Henry between them again.

"When will you tell the king?" Livia asked.

Richard’s fingers tightened around the reins. Nothing ever worked in his favour. He thought of Henry’s face. The hurt. The fury. The way his oldest friend had looked at him. "I sent him a message."

"Oh." Livia relaxed a little. "Then I do not have to feel bad anymore asking Lady Bella to keep the news from the king. She seemed so genuinely excited."

He smiled though the ache beneath it remained. God, he loved her. "Are you..." he began, and hated how careful his voice became. "Are you excited?"

For a terrible moment, Richard wished he had not asked. Silence had become a cruel thing lately. It carried too many possible deaths.

Then she whispered, "Yes."

She shifted, resting herself properly against his chest as they rode slowly. Her body relaxed into his, trusting his arms, trusting the rhythm of the horse, trusting him. Richard drew in a quiet breath and ran his free hand up and down her arm.

He was grateful and yet terrified.

*****

Henry arrived in Lady Bella’s room that evening. The place had already been prepared for his presence.

The small table near the fire had been arranged with sugared almonds, spiced cakes, sliced fruit, roasted meat, little pastries, bread still warm beneath a cloth, and wine.

Bella stood as soon as he entered. "Your Majesty." She had ensured the bed was made.

The linens had been changed, fresh and white, smoothed so perfectly there was not a single crease. A light fragrance had been sprayed across the pillows and coverlet, floral and soft. The candles had been arranged too. A small fire burned in the grate, low and golden, casting a gentle glow over the chamber.

Bella had dressed for the occasion. She had chosen a gown that flattered her figure. Her hair had been brushed until it shone. She and the king had not had the opportunity to be intimate since Thomas’s death. But now, perhaps, they were healing. Perhaps this visit meant something. Perhaps the king remembered that she had once been desired.

Now that they were both healing, maybe things would return to normal. Maybe she would still have a place near him. Maybe she would still be useful to her king.

When Henry entered, however, he saw the room and instantly understood. He said nothing as she bowed. He could not bear to embarrass her, and he could not bear to encourage her either.

So he moved to the chair near the fire and made himself comfortable.

"I was quite surprised when you sent a message, my lord. I didn’t think that..."

"I only came to talk about your lessons, Bella," Henry interrupted gently. "How was it?"

"Oh." She straightened, gathering herself. "Uh... it was fine." She moved to sit adjacent to him. Taking the wine jug, she poured him a cup with careful hands. "I did learn to greet and exchange pleasantries." Bella handed him the wine. "I have a few notes here. My head is foggy. I cannot seem to remember everything off the top of my head."

She reached for a folded parchment on the small table. "There...She began with greetings. Then she taught me how to ask for common things politely and a few other phrases."

Henry gestured toward the notes. Bella handed them over without hesitation. The king studied it. He held the page delicately. His eyes moved slowly over the words and translations, pausing now and then.

Bella watched him over the rim of her wine cup. She did not understand why the king had taken such keen interest in her learning French.

But who was Bella to question the King of England? Henry’s thumb brushed the edge of the parchment.

The handwriting was neat.

"Hmmmm..."

Bella leaned forward at once. "What?"

"Nothing." He looked down again at the page. "Nothing. Nothing, it is all perfectly serviceable."

"Serviceable?" Bella repeated, offended on Diana’s behalf.

"It is not bad." Henry tapped one line lightly. "But this—Je ne comprends pas—sounds basic."

Bella frowned. "It means, ’I do not understand.’"

Henry lifted his gaze to hers. "You are a member of a royal court. You are not allowed to be ignorant."

Bella reached for a fresh sheet of paper and another quill, settling herself. "Oh? What is the proper phrase, then?"

"A better response would be, Pourriez-vous répéter, s’il vous plaît?" Henry repeated carefully, "Pourriez-vous répéter, s’il vous plaît? It means, ’Could you repeat that, please?’"