His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

By the time she stepped out of the tavern, Stephen was waiting beside the carriage. The horses shifted impatiently, their breath pale in the cool air. The vehicle itself stood plain but respectable, not grand enough to invite gossip from every window, but not so humble as to insult the man paying for it. Stephen, steady as ever, stepped forward the moment he saw her and extended a hand.

"My lady," he said simply.

Livia gave him a small smile, grateful for the plainness of him, for the mercy of a man who asked no questions. She placed her hand in his and climbed in.

The ride from Pudding Lane to Wood Street felt endless. The carriage rolled over the uneven streets.

Her mind refused to settle. When at last they arrived at the house, she did not wait to gather herself. She hurried inside, and the familiar interior swallowed her up at once.

Henry was waiting in the living area this time. A flask of ale Lionel had handed him earlier to help him lighten up was sitting beside him on a table. He still did not understand why Lionel had suddenly pressed the flask into his hand with such grave insistence. But Henry had accepted it anyway.

He sat dressed once more in disguise. To anyone who did not know him, he was merely a gentleman with money. He still sat like royalty, even when trying very hard not to.

"Henry..." she breathed, and a wide smile broke over her face.

"I thought you would never arrive," Henry said.

Livia stepped forward, her eyes bright. "You were eager to see me."

Henry let one brow lift. "Does it sound surprising?"

"Yes... yes, really."

That amused him.

"I did miss you," he said, and found that it cost him nothing to say it aloud. "And I couldn’t wait to hear what you thought about the book."

"Honestly, I haven’t been able to read but a few pages. I haven’t had the time. I was afraid you wouldn’t come."

Henry rose to his feet and crossed the room slowly. He stopped in front of her. "Sometimes," he said, the word came with a small pause, as though he were choosing how much truth to offer, "my... duties may keep me away for a while."

She wondered what it must be like to belong to obligations so large they could swallow entire days and weeks.

Very gently, he reached for her face and brushed a strand of hair back from her cheek.

"You look magnificent," Henry said. "I’m tempted," he went on, "to have you look exactly the way you did the first time I saw you so other men will not notice you."

Livia blinked, then laughed softly despite herself. "But how will I look good enough for you then?"

He touched one finger lightly to her forehead. "I know what lies in here," he said, and his tone had gone low and certain in a way that made her heart behave most unhelpfully. "And that’s enough for me."

No man had ever said anything to her that way before. About her face, yes. Her body, endlessly. Her mouth, her eyes, her hair, her legs, her walk. But this? This was different.

In the meantime," Henry continued, "I am making plans to get you out of that brothel. No woman of mine should be in a place like that."

That made her lift a brow at once.

"Your woman?"

"Yes," he said, with no trace of apology. "My woman. Is that a label you are against?"

There it was again, that boldness he seemed not to realize he possessed. He said possessive things like a man used to claiming land and title.

Livia’s smile came slowly. "In a much fairer world, yes," she said. "But being your woman and being traded, I think the former is a gift. One that I should be grateful for."

"You have no idea the things you deserve," he said matter-of-factly.

In his eyes, she was meant for jewels. For silks that whispered when she walked. For chambers with carved beds and warm fires and women to brush her hair at night. She was meant to be admired openly, not hidden away behind rented doors. And yet the cruel trick of it was that the very beginning of her life had marked her unworthy of him in the eyes of the world he came from. Whatever he saw when he looked at her, the palace would see something much uglier.

Livia the whore. Nothing before. Nothing after. No one there knew her story, and even if they did, he doubted it would matter. So she had to remain hidden—not only from their judgement, but from slander, from curious eyes, and, perhaps most of all, from his mother.

"Would you like something to eat?" Henry asked.

"No," she said. "I’m quite satisfied."

"But," she went on, "tell me how you plan on getting me away from Beaumont." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

At once he reached for her hand and drew her toward the chair. He sat first, then settled her on his lap. Livia let herself be arranged, not without noticing how absurdly comfortable he seemed with the idea of having her in his arms.

"I do not have the entire details yet," Henry said.

"That does not inspire confidence."

He smiled, pleased with himself, then let a teasing lilt slip into his voice. "I think... I think..." He paused just long enough to be annoying. "Nicholas can be bought."

And he smiled even as he said it, because he knew with complete certainty that Nicholas Beaumont was a slave to his greed.

"What exactly do you do?" Livia asked. "How can you afford so much?"

Of course she would ask. A man did not speak of buying freedom and futures as though they were simple things to be arranged with a wave of the hand, unless he had either too much money or too little sense. Henry possessed the first and was trying very hard not to display the second.