A faint, helpless smile touched her mouth. Richard would have looked at her with that wicked brightness in his eyes, said something entirely improper. He would have praised the dress, then ruined it while removing it.
It would not have lasted long on her body. Her smile trembled. It had been only a day since she had last seen him, and yet she missed him with a violence that frightened her. She missed his laughter, his teasing. She missed the boyish duke beneath the title.
Seated there, arranged for a king, her body yearned for a duke. She remembered their quarrels. His inappropriate jests.
And tonight, another man would be taking her in a way she had only promised to Richard.
The King's arrival was announced. Livia rose reluctantly, smoothing her hands over the front of the gown.
She felt hollow.
The door opened and she sank into a curtsy, keeping her head lowered as Henry entered. She did not look at him. She fixed her gaze on the floor and held herself still.
