His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 237: Do Not Be Mistaken

"Do not be mistaken, Livia," he said, smoothing the last edge of fabric into place. "I will have you. I will take you into my bed and learn every sound you make when you forget to fight me. But only when you become my queen."

"Then I suppose you will wait a very long time."

Henry smiled. Perhaps he would. Perhaps she would keep him waiting until his hair greyed. "You said you wanted freedom," he murmured. "This is the only kind of freedom I can afford you, my love." He stepped close once more and brushed his lips over her temple. "And when you take it," he whispered, "I will make love to you so thoroughly that the sky itself will weep at the sight."

"You have been reading far too much poetry," Livia accused.

Henry’s smile was slow, made dangerous by the fact that he knew exactly what he had done to her composure. "How else am I meant to keep up with you?"

Despite herself, Livia nearly smiled. "I cannot become your queen," she said. "For your sake and mine."

"Let me worry about both our sakes." He took one careful breath. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"I..."

"Livia," he said softly, "I am asking for your company. Nothing more." Henry lifted one hand in surrender. "I promise I shall keep myself in my breeches. I have learned that lesson in the most ruinous manner possible."

"You mean with the princess?"

"Yes," he said, and the humour faded. "With Madeleine."

Livia looked away. Madeleine had been his betrothed. The woman had been intended to become his wife. Henry owed Livia no explanation. "You do not have to justify lying with a woman who was promised to you."

"Stay," he said. "Please."

Livia’s resolve wavered. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said at last. "But I must change into something suitable for sleep."

"Never mind that. I shall send for Tabitha."

"I can return to my chamber."

"And risk you reconsidering halfway there? Absolutely not."

"Henry."

"I said I was learning patience. I did not say I had become stupid." He crossed to the bedside and pulled the bell cord.

Stephen entered moments later and bowed.

"We are retiring," Henry said. "Send word to Mrs Crowe. Have suitable preparations made. Miss Valenti will remain here tonight."

Stephen glanced at Livia. It was only the briefest look, but it contained enough concealed satisfaction to light a chapel. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Stephen."

"Sire?"

"Remove that smile from your soul."

Livia looked down quickly, pretending to examine the floor before laughter betrayed her. Stephen bowed again and withdrew to send the message to Tabitha.

The moment he was gone, Livia bent to gather the discarded sketches from the floor, smoothing the crumpled sheets one by one. There were several attempts at Thomas’s face, some no more than faint outlines, others darkened by frustrated chalk strokes. She handled them gently.

"You do not have to keep those," he said.

"I know."

"They are terrible."

Livia laid the sketches carefully upon the desk, arranging them beneath the slate so they would not scatter. It gave her hands something to do while her mind tried to make peace with the fact that she had agreed to sleep in the king’s chamber.

Not with him, she reminded herself.

Near him.

Entirely different.

Probably.

Stephen returned soon after. He informed them that Tabitha was coming with the necessary garments and then began preparing Henry for the night.

Henry submitted with unusual obedience. Stephen removed the king’s doublet first, then loosened the points and fastenings. The rich fabric was set aside, followed by the outer garments. Henry stood quietly through it.

Livia kept her eyes on the papers.

Mostly.

She did sneak a peek once or twice as Stephen helped the king change into his sleepwear. Soon after, Tabitha entered carrying a small travelling coffer filled with Livia’s things.

Inside were a night rail, a fresh gown for the morning, combs, ribbons, powders, a little pot of cream scented faintly with roses, and several bottles whose purpose Henry did not know but suspected all women understood by birthright.

Henry had already climbed into bed. He lay against the pillows in a nightshirt, the bed curtains partly drawn, and made a very noble effort not to watch Livia. Unfortunately, his eyes were not noble.

Tabitha crossed the chamber and began arranging everything near the brass tub that had been brought in behind the dressing screen. She pulled the heavy curtain into place, separating the bathing area from the room.

The candlelight caught the fabric from behind, turning the curtain into a treacherous veil of shadow. Through it, Henry could see the softened outline of Livia’s figure as she stepped closer to Tabitha, the curve of her shoulders, the tilt of her head as her maid began unfastening her gown.

There was a whisper of fabric. The faint fall of a gown. The soft murmur of Tabitha’s voice. Then Livia’s silhouette became bare beneath candlelight, and Henry knew with terrible certainty that the night had become an instrument of torture personally designed by God.

Why had he invited this upon himself? He had asked her to stay for company.

The water stirred as Livia stepped into the tub. Through the curtain, her shape lowered into the bath. Her hair was gathered over one shoulder. Tabitha bent beside her, sleeves rolled, pouring water carefully over Livia’s skin. The sight was maddening.

His body reacted as expected. Henry bit back a groan. Tabitha’s hands moved over Livia’s shoulders. She washed her arms, her back, the long line of her neck. He wished, with a desperation both holy and thoroughly unholy, that those were his hands passing over her. His palms against her wet skin. His fingers tracing between her breasts, sliding down the curve of her waist, and inside her, drawing little gasps from her mouth until she forgot every man’s name that was not his.

He remembered too much. He remembered the taste of her heat in his mouth. The way her breath had caught when his hand slid between her thighs. The startled, frozen gasp she gave the first time his fingers entered her. He remembered her nails digging into his shoulder.