Chapter 199: There Is No Time
"Yes," she whispered. "Please."
Richard’s mouth went to her neck, kissing the tender skin beneath her ear, then lower, where her pulse beat wildly beneath his lips. His fingers found the ties of her bodice and worked them loose.
The bodice loosened. When her breasts spilled free, His fingers brushed over them first. Livia gave a long, wanton sigh.
Her own hands dropped between them, fumbling for the fastening of his breeches, but Richard caught her wrists and drew them behind her back to hold her open to him.
He kissed her chest, his tongue grazing one nipple, then the other, while she arched helplessly in his lap.
"Richard," Livia gasped. "There is no time." Her voice broke. "Please... now."
Richard pulled her close again, one hand sliding beneath her skirts, his mouth still hot against the curve of her breast, when the drawing-room doors flew open.
Livia gasped, pushed back from Richard’s mouth and fumbled quickly with the loosened bodice of her gown, dragging the fabric over her breasts with trembling hands. Her body was still caught between desire and dread as she turned toward the intrusion.
Then she saw Henry in the doorway. Behind him, Tabitha struggled, her face tight with alarm, but Lionel held her back with one arm across the threshold.
No one spoke. Livia’s breath caught in her throat. Henry’s gaze moved over the room calmly. The disordered gown. Richard’s loosened clothing. Livia still seated astride the Duke of Kingsmere’s lap. The intimacy of it was impossible to explain away, even if there had been any lie clever enough to attempt it.
She tried to rise. Richard’s arm tightened around her waist. He kept her where she was, not allowing her to scramble away. She was his intended, she had been his intended and he wasn’t going to just sit back and let Henry walk over them. His gaze lifted to the King’s recklessly, and in that instant Livia knew he had abandoned every thought of caution.
Her heart lurched. Richard was not thinking. He was thinking only that Henry had found them, and that he would rather be damned than look ashamed for loving her. Livia looked back at Henry. She could not read his face.
He stood there in his royal dark coat. Only his eyes betrayed that something had gone violently wrong inside him. They were fixed on Richard with a coldness so deep it seemed to empty the air from the room.
Livia swallowed. Her fear was not for herself. Henry’s gaze dropped briefly to Richard’s defiant posture.
"I see you no longer remember how to bow in the presence of your King."
Livia pulled herself from Richard’s lap with haste, the heat of his body vanishing from beneath her as cold fear rushed in to replace it. Her fingers flew to her bodice, tugging, fastening, smoothing, making certain no part of her remained exposed before the King’s eyes.
The moment she was covered, she lowered into a curtsy. "Your Majesty."
Henry did not look at her. He could not. If he looked at her, he would see the flush still clinging to her cheeks, the swollen softness of her mouth.
So Henry kept his gaze fixed on Richard. Richard rose, fastening what he could of his own clothing before bowing.
"Did you really think me stupid, Richard? That excuse you gave your father," Henry continued, "about forgetting something at the house. Perhaps Geoffrey was worried enough to believe it. Perhaps he wanted to believe it. I did not." Henry stepped farther into the room, and Lionel followed behind him.
"What could you possibly have forgotten?" Henry asked. "Your honour? The moment Lord Langford told me you had turned back before reaching the palace, I knew. And when he said you wished to apologise, it sealed my suspicion."
Livia looked between them, panic growing with every word. This had never been a surprise. Henry had followed the thought before Richard had even reached Covent Garden.
"I have nothing to apologise for, Your Majesty," Richard said.
Henry’s eyes darkened. "Surely. Of course. You do not." He turned away from Richard. Then his gaze shifted to Lionel. "Take him away."
Livia’s eyes widened. "Take?" she repeated, stepping forward. "Take him away? Take him away where?"
"It is fine, Diana," Richard said as Lionel stepped farther into the room.
"No." She moved, stepping directly in front of him and placing her body between the Duke of Kingsmere and the King of England. "Your Majesty...Please. Do not do this."
Henry barely looked at her. He kept his gaze cold and fixed beyond her. "Step aside, Livia."
"No."
Richard’s hand touched her waist from behind. "Diana."
She shook her head.
Lionel stopped beside the duke. "Your Grace," he said to Richard, his voice carefully respectful, "do not make this harder than it needs to be."
Richard stepped around her and closed the distance between himself and Henry. He came to a halt directly before the King and bowed his head. He leaned in, close enough that his words would not carry beyond Henry’s ears. "She will never love you...Not when she finds out who you truly are. The man behind the mask. The one that does not let you sleep at night. I will show that man to the world and rip the throne from beneath you, so you have no foot on which to stand."
Henry smiled. "I would give up the throne in a heartbeat if I could, Richard...Do you want me to prove it? Here? Now?" He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Do you think I keep secrets for my own sake? Do you think I wear this crown because it pleases me?"
Uncertainty flickered in Richard’s face.
"I keep what I keep hidden for England. Not for myself. If you believe you can rip the throne from beneath me and leave the realm standing, then take your best shot."
Richard held his gaze. Henry did not look frightened. He did not even look threatened. He looked almost relieved, as if the thought of losing the crown tempted him more than it should have. And that made Richard hesitate.
Was he bluffing?
"You will be held in the Tower until your ship sails," Henry said. "I hope the rest of your affairs are in order."
Livia’s breath caught. "What is the Tower?"
Richard turned to her at once, and the hardness in his face melted. "It is all right, love. It is only the Tower of London...A royal fortress for Highborn men. I shall be fine."
She stepped toward him, but Lionel was already there.
"Your Grace," Lionel said quietly.
Richard looked back at Henry one last time. Whatever passed between them then had no words. Richard allowed Lionel to escort him out.
Tabitha followed after them leaving only the echo of retreating footsteps behind. The room emptied of everyone and yet Henry wouldn’t look at her.
"You are determined to make a murderer of me, are you not?" Henry said. He had his back half-turned.
Livia watched him with her heart still hammering from Richard’s removal.
"Would you be satisfied then?" he asked. "When you have finally replaced me with the monster inside me?"
"Are you truly making yourself the victim right now?" she asked. "You are not the victim, Your Majesty. I am. Richard is."
"Right," he said, turning his head slightly. "Richard is the victim."
"He did nothing but love me."
That made him turn fully.
His eyes fixed on hers, and the pain in them was raw. "I searched all of London for you...Do you understand that? I sent men into every alley, every house. I followed whispers until they turned to nothing. I woke each morning with no news and lay down each night imagining every terrible thing that could have happened to you."
"My best friend looked me in the eye," Henry continued, "and told me he had no idea who you were."
"He was trying to keep me safe."
"He was keeping you from me. Because he wanted you." Henry stepped closer. "I risked my friendship with him because I felt it here." He pressed a hand briefly to his chest. "I knew he was lying. I knew he knew something. And still, I tried to believe him because he was Richard. Because once, before you, before all this, he was the one man in England I trusted without question."
His mouth twisted. "I even apologised to him. Can you imagine that? I stood before the man who had hidden you from me and apologised for suspecting him. All the while, he had you. He must have laughed himself breathless behind my back."
"Richard would never—"
"Do you know why he finally told me the truth?" Henry cut in. "Because he realised he could not hide you anymore. Not because honour moved him. Not because friendship mattered. Because the lie had begun to collapse around him. I did not sleep while you were missing. Nothing mattered. Not even the fact that I had just buried my son." His eyes burned into hers. "So yes, you both are the victim."
