His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Henry glanced at Lionel. "Find her, please."

"Now," he continued, his voice tightening. "Anything you have to do, do it. Give a description and assign guards to search every inch of the city."

Lionel nodded once. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"If anyone remotely looks like her, I want them brought to me."

"Understood." Lionel bowed and headed out.

*****

It had been two days since Richard rescued her. Though, at this point, he was not entirely sure he could call it a rescue. It was beginning to look a little too much like a kidnapping.

No one knew he had her. No one had seen him ride off with her. And if Beaumont decided to make a formal report to the watch, Richard might find himself in more trouble than even his charming self could get him out of.

But then again, the prospect of trouble had never stopped him before. If anything, trouble usually poured him a drink and pulled out a chair.

The nurse had been coming in regularly to check on her. A widow named Mistress Albright.

"She is young," the nurse had said, adjusting the cloth at Livia’s forehead. "Young bodies are stubborn. She struck her head badly. But she breathes well. Her pulse is steady. If God is kind, she will wake."

Livia had not twitched in the two days she had been there. She simply lay in the bed, pale and still, her hair spread over the pillow.

Every night, Richard visited her bedroom. He told himself it was to check on her condition. A man could not steal an injured woman from an alley and then fail to supervise the result. That would be irresponsible.

The truth was he was afraid. Every night, he searched for the faintest movement. A twitch of her fingers. A shift in her breathing. A flutter beneath her eyelids.

There was nothing. So he would do the same thing. He would pull the sheets higher over her body. Then he would stand there for a couple of minutes.

Then, before leaving, he would whisper, "Good night, Diana."

Tonight, the routine was the same. The fire burned low. The house was quiet. Richard stood beside her bed, tugged the sheet gently over her shoulder, and stared down at her face.

"Good night," he whispered. He turned to leave.

Then he heard it.

"Richard..."

He stopped. His whole body went still. He turned back quickly, wondering if he had heard wrong or maybe imagined it.

"Richard?"

This time it was stronger.

"Oh my goodness, Diana!" He rushed back to the edge of the bed. "Diana?"

Her eyes were open. For two days, he had stood in that room staring at her still face, bargaining with God. And now she was looking at him with dry confusion and the faintest crease between her brows.

"That’s not my name," she whispered.

Richard let out a breathless laugh. "Ha! You’re back."

Livia blinked, her gaze drifting past him to the ceiling above. It was painted with pale flowers and curling gold trim, the sort of thing rich people placed overhead so even sleep could be reminded of their money. "What happened?" she asked.

Richard’s smile faded. "You don’t remember?"

She tried to push herself up, and he immediately reached for her.

"Easy," he said, sliding an arm behind her shoulders.

Livia winced as she settled against the pillows, one hand moving slowly to her head. "Ah... I don’t..." Her memory came back in pieces.

The roof. The girls. Jane’s eyes. Hands in her hair. The edge. The fall. Her breath stopped.

"Oh my God." Her eyes widened instantly.

The fear entered her face all at once, wiping away the sleepy confusion. She looked around then, truly seeing the room for the first time.

It was grand. A large bed with carved posts. Thick curtains. A fire burning in the hearth. A polished table with a basin, folded cloths, and little bottles the nurse had left behind. There were rugs on the floor, tapestries on the wall, and more comfort than Beaumont’s entire establishment could have produced.

But none of that mattered. Livia clutched the sheet to her chest and stared at Richard.

"They tried to kill me!"

"Who did?!" Richard asked.

Livia swallowed, still clutching the sheet to herself. "The other girls at the tavern."

She remembered Jane. The betrayal sliced through the fog in her mind more cleanly than the fall. She had thought Jane was a friend. Someone who understood the rotten little world they were trapped in.

But apparently Jane had only seen her as competition.

A bitter laugh pushed up Livia’s throat. "God, I’m a fool."

Livia closed her eyes briefly, breathing through the hurt. "How... how did I get here?"

"I heard the crash," Richard said. "I found you in the alley. And I brought you here."

Her eyes opened again, wary now. "Where is here?"

"You are in my house in Kingsmere," Richard said.

"Uhn?" Livia’s eyes widened. "Why?"

"I haven’t heard you say thank you," he said.

"You kidnapped me!"

"I can always return you to Beaumont if you want," Richard shot back.

That shut her mouth. Return her to Beaumont. Back to that house. Back to the old man waiting to purchase her future. Back to the girls who had dragged her by the hair and shoved her into the night.

Her grip loosened on the sheet. She was being unreasonable. Richard had saved her. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"That’s better. I’ll get the nurse to take care of you. Thank God the other girl broke your fall," Richard said more gently, "but you still have a head injury."

"Ah," Livia murmured, touching the side of her head and immediately regretting it. "That explains the headache."

"If you need anything, pull the bell rope above your head. A servant will come. Or the nurse. Or me, if you simply need someone to irritate you."

She watched him turn toward the door. "Richard?"

He stopped. "Hmm?"

"Thank you for saving me," Livia said.