Richard escorted Diana through Kingsre the next morning with a maid walking several steps behind them.
For propriety.
Any other man could walk through his own town with a young woman and no one would raise an eyebrow, provided they were not caught alone with half their clothes missing. But Richard Montague, Duke of Kingsre, had the reputation that entered rooms ten minutes before he did.
Kingsre was not as grand as the city. Narrow lanes curved between stone cottages and timbered shops.
As they walked, Livia noticed the people were free with him. Richard listened. He asked questions. He crouched to speak to kids.
Livia watched him, surprised. He even gave tax rebates to a struggling farr. She looked at Richard then and saw, perhaps for the first ti, why Kingsre loved him. She also noticed sothing else.
Richard was not always the one throwing himself at won. They did their fair share. They would touch his sleeve and hold it a mont too long, brush his arm, swoon into him and blad the heat, though the sky was grey and the breeze had teeth.
Livia learned a lot about him that morning more than she had expected to. By the ti they had walked through half of Kingsre, she had quietly reached a conclusion she found both inconvenient and undeniable: Richard Langford was a good man through and through.
A shaless flirt, yes. A man whose mouth should probably be locked in a chapel and prayed over by several exhausted priests, definitely.
But a good man. The people loved him. A blacksmith complained about road repairs and Richard promised to send n before the next rain. Children ran to him without hesitation.
Apparently, Kingsre had lost its last duke with no surviving close relatives. The land had fallen into disorder, rents poorly collected, roads neglected, tenants struggling, and the manor itself half-drowning in old debts. The king had later bestowed the title on Richard and asked him to fix Kingsre.
Before that, he had been the Lord Chancellor’s son. Noble by blood, privileged by birth, but not a duke. The dukedom had been given to him by the king, and sohow, against every expectation Livia had of him, Richard had taken the responsibility seriously.
"You look surprised," he said as they walked.
"I thought you spent your days drinking and flirting."
"I do all that too."
They walked until they got to the market, and Livia was soon swept up in window shopping. Stall to stall, basket to basket, colour to colour.
She stopped in front of a small shop and gasped.
Richard leaned toward her ear at once. "Was that a mini orgasm?"
At this point, she had received countless comnts like that throughout their walk, and each one had stolen a little more of her ability to be scandalised.
She simply shook her head. "It is a bookshop," she said, eyes fixed on the window.
"Books gave you an orgasm?" Richard asked, raising a brow.
"Isn’t that the best kind?"
Richard chuckled, low and wicked. "I haven’t fucked you yet, Lady Diana Bellamy. So no, you do not know the best kind."
She turned her head slowly and looked at him. He looked terribly pleased with himself. "I give up on thinking of responses to you."
"At least you did not say, ’over your dead body.’" He smiled and offered his arm with exaggerated gallantry. "Progress, my lady. Progress."
Livia rolled her eyes, but she took his arm. He led her into the bookshop. The mont they stepped inside, Livia was gone. She stood there in the doorway, veil pinned just enough to keep her respectable. But her eyes had widened. Her breath softened. The entire world outside seed to fall away.
The shop was small but well-kept, with shelves crowded from floor to ceiling. A narrow counter stood near the front, where the bookseller looked up, prepared to greet Richard first, then paused when he saw the woman beside him.
Livia stiffened for half a second, waiting for suspicion, for judgent, for soone to look at her and decide she did not belong among books.
But the bookseller only bowed politely.
"Your Grace. My lady."
My lady.
Richard glanced at her, saw the flicker of emotion cross her face, and for once said nothing foolish.
Livia moved slowly from one shelf to another. She ignored the section filled with prayer books, sermons, and heavy family Bibles. Her attention went straight to poetry, fiction, histories, translations, anything with a world inside it. Her fingertips hovered over the spines without touching at first.
She rembered she was not in Cheapside with hunger in her belly and no coin in her pocket. She was not stealing. She was not running. No one was shouting. She was simply looking.
A lady dressed like a lady. At least now, no one looked at her like she did not belong. She did not have money yet to buy the books. Not until she received her first pay from the Cresswells. But at least now she knew where she could get them when she could afford it.
"Books, uhn?" Richard said from behind her. "Way to your heart?"
"God, yes!" Livia laughed.
The answer ca without thought, bright and honest, as she carefully picked up a book from the shelf and opened it. Her fingers moved over the pages with such tenderness that Richard felt jealous of the damn paper.
He rembered Henry telling the story of their first eting. Richard’s lips thinned. Books were the way to her heart. Henry had found the door first.
The thought irritated him enough that he stepped away before she saw it on his face. Livia was too busy reading the first few lines of whatever had captured her attention, her brows drawn together in concentration, her mouth slightly parted.
Richard moved toward the bookseller and pulled him aside.
The man bent his head at once. "Your Grace?"
"Keep an eye on every book she seems interested in," Richard said quietly.
(Brought to you by Missy Dionne)
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