Afterward, spent and at peace, Polly slept in the crook of Nick's arm, while he lay looking into the darkness, trying to rationalize the deep foreboding that had rushed into the void left by the retreat of bodily bliss.

Chapter 13

Where are your wits this morning, Polly?" demanded a puzzled Killigrew the following day as she stumbled for the tenth time over her lines. "You had the part word-perfect yesterday."

"I seem to have forgotten it," Polly said apologetically, stepping to the front of the stage. "Will ye grant me some time to con the lines anew?" She smiled at him, but the smile was really directed over his head to where the Duke of Buckingham sat in the dim light of the auditorium. His Grace was not the only courtier in the theatre this morning, although Nick was absent. Watching rehearsals was one of the favorite activities of those who enjoyed the play, and often enough dabbled in the art of the playwright themselves.

Thomas sighed. "I suppose I must, since we can achieve nothing while you stumble and stutter in this manner."

Polly gathered up her skirts and stepped lightly into the pit. "Mayhap Your Grace will assist me?" She gave Villiers the lodestone of her smile. "If you would read with me, sir, then the task will be all the easier."

Buckingham rose immediately to his feet. "I can imagine nothing that would give me greater pleasure, Mistress Wyat."

"Then let us repair to the tiring room, where we may

have a little privacy." She turned back to the stage, still smiling at him over her shoulder. It was not an unusual service she was requesting; indeed, it was one eagerly performed by those gentlemen fascinated by the theatre and its actors. But this was the first time that Mistress Wyat had requested the help of any but her protector.

Buckingham hid his satisfaction. It was as he had expected. The lady had decided it was time to move onward and upward, and was delicately indicating her willingness to accept the invitation that he had issued at court the previous evening.

He reposed his elegant frame on the scroll-ended couch in the tiring room. "I am honored to be singled out in this fashion, my dear."

Polly merely smiled again, an enigmatic smile that hinted at much. "If you would read the other lines, my lord duke, I will test my memory." She handed him the script before sitting upon the couch beside him, carefully arranging her skirts, using the movements to conceal the quick look she cast up at him. Had he grasped the message? He would have to be a fool not to; and George Villiers, in matters such as these, was no fool.

She had the part by heart, but she made sufficient errors to add credence to her ploy, and to give her companion the satisfaction of correcting her and receiving her blushing thanks in return. Members of the company wandered in and out of the tiring room while Polly played her game. The lack of complete privacy suited her purposes perfectly. At no point did she wish to find herself in the position of having to declare herself openly as interested in the duke's patronage. With hints and innuendo she would intrigue him, and it was much easier to offer these tantalizing clues on a public stage than in private, where he might reasonably expect more openness.

"I am so grateful to you, sir." At the end of an hour, she stood up. "I think I now have it to Thomas's satisfaction. You have been most helpful."

"May I, perhaps, ask a small favor in return?" He took snuff, the eyes beneath drooping lids searching her face.

Polly curtsied. "How may I serve you, my lord duke?"

"I am having a small card party this evening. Just a few of my friends. Dare I be so bold as to hope that you might join us?"

He did not waste any time, reflected Polly. But then, why should he? Once the game had been started, why delay its conclusion?

"I am desolated, sir, but I am pledged to a supper party given by Lord De Winter," she said smoothly.

"Not an arrangement you could break?" he asked, the heavy eyelids drooping even lower.

"I am afraid not. I could not be so discourteous, Your Grace." She showed him a face free of guile, an expression of genuine regret in her eyes, an apologetic smile upon her lips.

There was a moment's silence while the duke considered her with narrowed eyes, his displeasure undisguised. Her heart began to speed. Did she truly know what she was doing by deliberately risking so much more than his simple displeasure? Then he smiled, shrugged, dropping his snuffbox back into his pocket.

"I can see I must ensure in future that my invitation is received early enough to take precedence, Mistress Wyat."

"That would please me greatly, sir," she responded, putting a wealth of promise into the soft voice, the inviting curve of her lips.

That naked hunger leapt into Buckingham's eyes, was for a moment etched upon that dissolute countenance. He bowed, raising her hand to his lips. "Your servant, madame."

"Polly!" Thomas strode into the room, then paused. "Your pardon, Buckingham, but if this play is ever to be performed, I need Mistress Wyat's presence onstage straightway."

"I am quite ready," Polly said, moving past the duke toward the door. "His Grace has been infinitely patient with me, and most helpful."

"Then I am in his debt," Thomas said somewhat caustically. "I do not know what came over you, to forget the part in that fashion."

And I trust you never will, thought Polly, fervently hoping that she would not again have to incur Master Killigrew's annoyance with a display of professional ineptitude. He was not inclined to the long-suffering and had no scruples about fining any member of the company for failing to perform to standard, regardless of excuse.

The duke returned to the auditorium, settling down to watch the remainder of the rehearsal, not a flicker disturbing the smooth impassivity of his expression. But when Thomas at midday released the company, Buckingham appeared at Polly's side.

"You will permit me to escort you to your lodging, Mistress Wyat." There was no question mark, and Polly did not make the mistake of pretending that there had been one.

"You are too kind." She returned the formal platitude, allowing him to help her with her cloak. "Your company will be most welcome, sir, although 'tis but a step."

They went out into the fresh spring day. Drury Lane was busy and bustling, women crowding around the stalls selling fresh meat and fish, haggling vociferously with the baker over his price to bake their own dough. Doors and windows stood open to the street in honor of the sun. Children tumbled in the kennels. Scrawny dogs yapped. It was London town on an ordinary March Tuesday, and Polly could force herself to relax, to talk naturally to her companion as they strolled through this familiar scene.

At the door of her lodging, she turned smiling to her escort. "I must bid you farewell, sir." It was at this moment that Lord Kincaid stepped through that same door onto the street.

Nicholas stood for a bare second, making rapid assessment. He could detect nothing out of the ordinary in Polly's face, as radiant as ever, upturned toward the duke as she placed her hand in his. "I give you good day, Buckingham," he said casually, drawing on his gloves. "It is rare to see you

on foot, but for such company, what would a man not sacrifice?"

"What, indeed?" replied Buckingham, brushing the fingers he held with his lips.

"Why, my lord," Polly said with a cool smile, turning her attention toward Nicholas. "You did not say you would visit this morning. Are you come to dine?"

"No, I cannot. I had a commission to execute, but now I must be on my way."

"Oh." Polly frowned. "What commission?"

"You will see," he said, moving out of the door. "If you go to the Strand, Buckingham, I will bear you company."