Chapter 196: It Is A Good Day
They stood there, trapped in the moment. Henry’s gaze dropped to her mouth. It was a mistake. He knew it the moment it happened, but knowledge did nothing to stop the hunger that moved through him.
He leaned down, slowly enough to pretend he was asking, selfishly enough to know he was not. Just a little taste. One brush of her lips. One stolen proof that the woman beneath the anger still remembered the heat between them.
Livia stepped back sharply, putting distance between them with a speed that shamed him. The cold air returned between their bodies. "I told you, Your Majesty...You will only have me against my will."
Henry straightened, the remnants of desire turning bitter. He had frightened her again. She gathered the robe tighter around herself, and walked out of the library with her head high. The candlelight followed her to the door, then lost her to the corridor beyond.
Henry remained where he was. The great library seemed to mock him with all its learning. Rows upon rows of books, centuries of wisdom, and still not one volume could teach a king how to be forgiven by the woman he had wounded. He groaned softly and dragged a hand over his face.
It was going to be a long road.
*****
The next morning, Lionel arrived at the King’s apartments to inform him that he was ready to escort Livia back to the house in Covent Garden.
Stephen was dressing Henry when he entered, fastening the final buttons of the King’s coat. Morning light streamed through the windows, spilling pale gold over the chamber, the furniture, and the crown resting nearby.
Henry looked lighter. There was colour in his face, life in his eyes, an energy Stephen had not seen in months. Even after Livia’s refusal, even after the ache of the night before, she had been near.
To Henry, that was enough.
"Lionel," he said, turning with a smile. "It is a good day, is it not?"
Lionel bowed, studying him with quiet relief. "Yes, Your Majesty. It is refreshing to see you well."
"Do you know what would make me feel even better, Lionel?" Henry asked.
Lionel bowed his head. "You need only command it, Your Majesty."
"I want every girl who lived under Beaumont’s roof found and taken into custody before the day is out," Henry said. "Every one of them."
Lionel lifted his eyes. "Your Majesty?"
Henry smiled then, but it carried no warmth. "Including your mistress, Jane. I have finally received the proper account of what happened on that roof...The day Livia fell." He turned slightly, allowing Stephen to finish fastening his coat, then looked back at Lionel. "They shoved her. They let whatever poison Beaumont had bred into that house drive them to put their hands on her."
"And I, fool that I was, had them rescued. Given coin and protection."
"Your Majesty," Lionel said carefully, "there may be more to this story."
"Then they may say so before the court."
Lionel lowered his gaze.
"I want them taken today," Henry continued. "They are to be held in the gaol until proper charges are brought, and they will answer for what they did."
Lionel’s throat moved. "Of course, Your Majesty." His mood had soured completely now. Whatever private affection or lust he had for Jane, he was wise enough not to let it stand openly against a royal order. "I will see to it."
"Thank you," Henry said.
"Will Your Majesty be attending council?" Lionel asked.
"Yes," Henry said. "I have been absent too long."
Stephen stepped back with a bow.
"The Lord Chancellor is already here." Lionel said.
"I will join him," Henry said. "But first I must take leave of Livia."
"About that, Your Majesty..."
Henry closed his eyes for a moment. "Lionel."
"Allow me some latitude, please."
Henry opened his eyes and gave him a weary look. "Go ahead."
Lionel chose his words with care. "If Miss Valenti is to become a regular presence near Whitehall, then we must consider how she is to be presented." Lionel continued, "The palace is already whispering. Names matter...If curious people begin digging, they may find stories we would rather bury."
"Diana Bellamy, however..." Lionel added. "Respectable enough, vague enough, and tied to no inquiry that need lead anyone toward Beaumont’s. It gives her cover. Since she will be a regular presence at Whitehall now, I believe we should keep introducing her as Miss Bellamy. Curious people will want to look into the origins of her name."
"No," Henry said simply.
"Your Majesty," Lionel said carefully, "please consider—"
"No."
Lionel pressed on, someone in that room had to think beyond the heat of the King’s attachment. "She will be vulnerable under the name Livia Valenti. The court knows nothing of her. That ignorance will breed curiosity."
Henry turned fully toward him. "She is Livia. My Livia," he added. "And she will remain so."
"His Grace, the Duke of Kingsmere, did a clever thing when he fashioned the Bellamy identity for her. It gave her distance from her former circumstances. If she is to be near you, if she is to move through Whitehall, if the court is to see her come and go, then her reputation matters. Not only for her sake, but for the honour of the Crown. The Bellamy name protects her from whispers."
Henry’s eyes narrowed. "And Livia Valenti does not?"
"I only mean," he said, choosing his words too late, "that no one will know she was a—"
Henry’s eyes fixed on Lionel with a danger so cold that even Stephen stilled beside him. "She was a what?"
Lionel’s mouth closed.
Henry took one step closer. "Finish the sentence."
Lionel lowered his gaze. "I misspoke, Your Majesty."
"That had better be the case."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Henry’s voice dropped, quiet and lethal. "Because if I ever hear you, or any man in this palace, reduce her to what was done to her, I will make an example of you so memorable that no one will dare drag her through the mud again."
Lionel bowed his head lower.
"Are we clear?" Henry asked.
"Yes, Sire." Lionel bowed.
Henry adjusted the front of his coat and left his apartments before Lionel could offer another argument he had no desire to hear.
The morning corridors were already awake. Henry acknowledged none of it properly. His mind had gone ahead of him, toward the courtyard where Livia waited to be taken back to Covent Garden.
Back out of Whitehall. Back beyond his easy reach.
He hated letting her go. He found her in the courtyard, standing near the covered passage while a groom called for the carriage to be brought round. She was dressed more modestly now. Her hair had been arranged simply. "Livia," he called.
She turned at once and curtsied. "Good morning, Your Majesty."
Henry stopped before her, close enough to speak privately but not so close that she would feel trapped. "When shall I see you again?" he asked.
Livia’s gaze remained lowered. "Whenever I am summoned."
His jaw tightened. "That is not going to happen again."
She looked up then, cautious.
"I mean it," he said. "You will not be summoned. You may come and go as you please."
"Then I shall not come."
Henry forced a faint smile. "Not even if I have a bed placed in the palace library for you?"
Livia’s eyes flickered, just briefly. There. The smallest crack. He held on to that flicker like a starving man. "Not even..."
"Tough," Henry said, and despite himself, he smiled. "I am learning more and more about you."
Livia’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The carriage came around then, wheels crunching softly over the courtyard stones. A groom guided the horses to a halt, while another servant stepped forward to open the door.
Henry looked past her, searching the courtyard. "Where is your lady’s maid?"
"She was sent back last night, Your Majesty. The Queen Mother did not want her in the palace."
"I see," he said and gave a measured nod, filing the matter away for later. His mother would learn, slowly or violently, that Livia was no longer to be handled. "Well," he continued, "when next you visit, bring her with you. I would prefer you always to have a woman of your own choosing in attendance."
Livia lifted a brow. "As I said, only when I am summoned."
Henry laughed softly and stepped closer. He could not resist lowering his head, letting his voice fall into the private space between them. "Deny it as much as you like, Livia." His breath brushed her ear. He saw the small reaction. Her body remembered him even when her eyes refused to soften.
"You and I were made for each other," he said, his voice low and certain.
She turned her face slightly, just enough for him to see the sharp warning in her eyes. Henry held it.
"Anyone else?" he continued. "A distraction. A passing shelter from the storm. But you will realise it someday. Perhaps in a week. Perhaps in a year. Perhaps in ten." His mouth curved faintly. "I shall be here."
