Polly smiled, giving him a look of complete comprehension. Killigrew nodded and continued. "In this early scene, Flora's suitor, Alberto, commits the grave error of telling a

story about the lady that is not entirely to her credit. Flora overhears and treats her would-be lover to a tongue-lashing of some considerable eloquence." He handed her the pages. "Read it through for yourself first."

"May I ask how Alberto reacts to this upbraiding?" Polly nicked through the pages, praying that the words would be easily made out.

"He decides that this is a lady worthy of serious respect." It was Nicholas who answered her. "It is for you to convince the audience that a railing female is not simply a scold in need of bridling, but one who is entitled to object to mockery, and to speak her mind." He took her elbow. "Come, let us go into a corner and read it through together. I have never ventured to try myself in such a matter, and have need of a few moments reflection."

Polly felt such a surge of gratitude that threatened to overcome her already frail equilibrium. But she said only, "By all means, sir. I would welcome the opportunity to familiarize myself with the text."

"I will sit in the pit." Killigrew stepped off the stage into the auditorium, lit by the gray afternoon light filtering through the cupola. "Begin whenever you are both ready."

"Read it for yourself first," Nick instructed in an undertone. "If there is a word you cannot make out, just point to it."

Polly concentrated with frowning intensity on the scrawled pages, her anxiety that she might stumble over the text superseding the fear that she would be unable to act the part. But as she read, she could hear in her head how the lines should sound, could picture Flora-pretty, witty Flora with a sharp tongue and a firm belief that she was second to none. She looked up at Nick with a grin. "I find myself in some sympathy with this lady."

He nodded. "If you are ready, then, let us engage in this duel for Master Killigrew's benefit."

Thomas Killigrew sat forward on the bench as the two came to the front of the stage. One hand rested lightly on the lacquered knob of his cane, firmly planted upon the

floor; his other lay upon the hilt of his sword. He was quite motionless. After three lines he knew he had been offered a female actor who would make the most of the spirited love game that so entranced his audiences. With every vivacious toss of her head, every ringing accusation directed at the hapless Alberto, every provocative movement, she spun a web of excitement and titillation that could not fail to entertain even the most abysmally ill-behaved audiences-and there were plenty of those. Add to that the peerless beauty of face and form, contemplate her in the deliriously provocative breeches parts, and Mistress Polly Wyat was destined for greatness.

"I thank you both," he said at the end of the scene. "I do not think that Nicholas will ever make an actor, I fear." He sauntered across to the stage. "Mistress Wyat, on the other hand…" Pausing, he smiled up at her. She returned the smile with a somewhat vague and distracted air. It was an air with which he was familiar, and of which he approved. It denoted complete involvement in the part she had just been playing. "Do you wish to join the king's company, mistress?"

"Of all things," she replied, with a fierce intensity. "May I?"

"I see no reason why not. You will have to gain His Majesty's approval, of course, but we will not seek that just yet."

"What do you have in mind?" Nicholas, accepting with considerable relief that his brief venture into the thespian arena was over, took snuff.

Killigrew came up onto the stage. "A short spell in my Nursery at Moorfields first. There are skills and practices to be learned, and even a natural talent is the better for honing. Then I will put on The Rival Ladies here. It is one of the king's favorites and provides ample scope for an actor to show to advantage all that she may have to show." He and Nicholas exchanged a comprehensive glance at this. Polly looked between them in some bemusement.

"I do not quite understand. What is your Nursery, Master Killigrew?"

"A training school," he replied. "I put on plays for the people in a theatre at Moorfields. It is not the most appreciative audience, but one that provides valuable experience for a novice. You will learn much-not least how to win distracted and possibly hostile playgoers."

"I would rather start here," Polly said, indicating the theatre around her. "Why can I not learn here the skills and practices of which you speak?"

"Because you would do so at the expense of the experienced actors. They do not care to perform with a tyro, my dear, however talented she may be, or however much she may feel she has nothing to learn."

Polly swallowed this unpalatable statement with a grimace. Nick, though he recognized the justice in the snub, and appreciated Killigrew's need to establish mastery at the outset, felt a stab of sympathy for her discomfiture. "You will have but one chance to win the king's approval, Polly. It is surely wiser to take that chance when you are properly prepared."

"Yes. I understand. I do beg your pardon, Master Killigrew, if I seemed of an overweening conceit." Those great eyes were raised to his face, a tremulous smile hovered on her lips, and Thomas felt an overpowering remorse for his harshness.

He smiled warmly. "No, no, my dear. I did not think that. It is quite natural for you to be impatient of delay. But you must trust me, you know."

"Oh, but I do!" she averred passionately, her hands clasped to her bosom. "I will do whatever you suggest. I am so grateful-"

"That will do, Polly," Nicholas put in hastily, sensing that Killigrew was about to slide into a hypnotized trance under the full force of that melting gaze and the impassioned plea of her penitence.

Killigrew blinked, startled by this interpolation. Polly turned on Nicholas reproachfully. "I meant it! I was not

playing. I am truly regretful if I seemed vain and importunate-except that I do not think I was being."

Nick's lips twitched. "You are a most beguiling jade! You will become accustomed to her tricks, Killigrew. She is possessed of more wiles than a barrel-load of monkeys. You fall for them at your peril, I can promise you."

"I begin to see that," Thomas murmured, stroking his chin. "It clearly behooves me to be on my guard." He chuckled. "I am an old hand at this game, Mistress Wyat, so have a care before you lock swords with me."

"Why, sir, I would not be so impertinent as to hazard such a thing." Polly sank into a deep obeisance, twitching her skirts to one side, bending her head so that the slender column of her neck was presented, bared as the honeyed ringlets fell forward. It was a posture of perfect submission, yet every line of her body radiated a coquettish impudence.

Killigrew gave a shout of laughter. "Ah, Mistress Wyat, I foresee that in the stage curtsy you will excel. It is by far the most important pose for a female actor to master, and you appear greatly proficient already, even without the assistance of a corset. You have had an accomplished dancing master, I gather."

"Most accomplished," agreed Polly, rising gracefully. She cast a covert glance at Nicholas, struggling with his mirth at the idea of a dancing master in the Dog tavern. "My governess was monstrous strict in matters of deportment, sir," she continued blithely. "I shall always be grateful for her care."

Nicholas, having no idea how far Polly's inventiveness would take her if she were allowed free rein, decided that matters were drawing too close to the brink of danger for comfort. The one thing that was abundantly clear was that she was enjoying every wicked minute, and he could almost hear Killigrew's mental calculations as he tried to fit her into some recognizable social background.