"Mistress Wyat." The coachman's insistent voice parted the mists of sleep, and she struggled up, heavy-limbed, to climb out of the carriage, heedless in her fatigue of the correct management of skirts and train. She dragged herself up the stairs, thinking wishfully that maybe Sue had waited up for her and would help her with her clothes. But she had not asked her to do so. Wearily she pushed open the parlor door and was shocked by a stab of dismay at the sight of Nick drowsing by the fire. She wanted to be alone tonight, alone with her exhausted body and overstretched mind, alone to find oblivion for the both, out of which would come the strength necessary for the morrow.

Nick came awake the moment she stepped into the room. "Y'are late, sweetheart." Smiling, he stood up, stretched, and came toward her.

"I had thought you intended staying at home this night." She stepped away from him as he would have reached for her, and headed for the door to the bedchamber.

"I have had warmer welcomes," Nick mused, following.

"Your pardon, but I am awearied beyond thought," she said shortly, reaching to loosen her hair from its pins. "If I do not find my bed instantly, I will be asleep on my feet."

"Then let me aid you." He came up behind her, reaching over her shoulders for the creamy swell of her breasts, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

She pushed his hands away with an impatient gesture that stunned them both. "I do not wish for that, Nick."

"Now, what the devil is this?" There was anger in his puzzlement, and he spun her round to face him, catching her chin, pushing her face up to meet his scrutiny.

"Oh, why will you not let me go to bed?" she cried, tears of frustration sparkling in her eyes. "I am just tired. I have been playing this wretched game all evening… I think you are right; it would be better if I surrendered to Buckingham-" Now, why had she said that? Why did words just say themselves sometimes?

"Nay," Nick said fiercely. "I'll not have that."

"Why not?" she demanded. "Until recently, you were quite prepared for it."

"That is true." Nick released her chin and ran his hands through his hair in an uncharacteristically distracted gesture. "But I made an error in assuming that I could tolerate it."

"An error in assuming that we could be of service to each other?" Dear God, she had said it. She looked at him, aghast, searching his face for denial. But it was not there. He had gone very still, the emerald eyes shaded with the truth. The angry words of contradiction that she wanted to hear more than anything, this time did not come.

She turned away from him, cold and empty. "So it does

go back to the beginning, then. I did wonder." She shrugged. " 'Tis not important, 1 daresay. But I could wish you had been honest with me." With careful concentration, she began to unthread the freesias from her sleeve lace.

Nicholas searched for words. Had he been less than honest with her? He had intended to be, certainly; had intended to use her as an unwitting tool; but so far back, it was surely no longer relevant. He had not wanted her to draw the correct conclusion, though, to remember that long-ago statement. Now he must somehow find the way to put all right, to repair the shattered trust.

"Look at me, Polly," he said quietly.

Reluctantly, she did so. "Nick, I am too weary for this tonight. 'Tis not important." But the bleak misery in those hazel eyes gave the lie to the words.

"I am sorry, but it is important, and we will resolve it before we sleep." He knew now what had to be said and spoke with quiet determination. "It is true that in the very beginning I had thought-"

"That you had rescued a would-be whore who could be put to a whore's work to your advantage," she broke in flatly.

"That is the last time you will say such a thing with impunity," Nicholas told her, his voice as quiet and determined as ever. "It was you, if you recall, who first propounded the plan to find your way to the theatre via my bed. After which, as I remember, you were kind enough to inform me that if I no longer wished to be your protector, you would find another one." He noted her sudden confusion with some satisfaction. "It struck me at the time that your plan could very well mesh with my own. So yes, your present work with Buckingham was planned at the beginning of our association."

"Why did you not tell me?" she asked in a low voice.

"Because I thought the truth would hurt you, as it has. I have been on the rack!" He spoke now fiercely. "I had promised you to my friends long before I came to love you. I had made a commitment, one I could not in honor renege

upon. To ask for your cooperation seemed the only possible way of resolving such a dilemma. But I have never pressed you, have I?"

Polly shook her head in silence as she struggled to make sense of the confused tangle of thoughts and emotions twisting in her weary brain.

"Now, I want you to answer me honestly." Striding toward her, he took her chin again. "Loving you, I would never have asked this of you if I had not already, in another life, made the commitment. Is it not more unpleasant a thought that I might have decided you could serve our purpose after I came to love you? That, knowing your revulsion for Buckingham, I could callously demand of you that you share his bed?"

Polly swallowed. Why had she not thought of that? She had feared only manipulation from the beginning, had not questioned the kind of person who could cold-bloodedly conceive the use in such a fashion of one he purported to love.

"Answer me," he insisted, his fingers tightening on her chin.

"Aye, 'tis a much more repugnant thought," she murmured.

"Do you believe that I love you?"

She nodded.

"And have we done with this now?"

Again she nodded.

"And there's to be no more talk of whores and a whore's work."

Polly shook her head.

Nick smiled suddenly. "Lost your tongue, moppet?" he teased gently.

Polly returned the smile tremulously. The relief she felt could not be described. It was as if the weight of the world had rolled from-her shoulders. She knew now that she could manage this business with Buckingham, if not with a carefree heart, at least in businesslike fashion. It was simply a task that

she was supremely fitted to perform. That was all. It was perfectly simple.

She surrendered herself to the embrace that would provide shield and buckler against the hurts of the world, to the love that would render all arrows harmless, that would drain her of all but the promise of the morrow.

Chapter 15

Ah, Buckingham, are you come to watch the thespians at work?" Lord Kincaid greeted the duke with a flour-ish of his plumed hat as the two men met at the front entrance of the Theatre Royal some two weeks later.

"In my humble capacity as playwright, I think to see how Master Killigrew will have my lines spoken," Buckingham responded with a politely self-deprecating smile. " 'Tis an irresistible curiosity, I fear. Or mayhap I mean an irresistible conceit."

Nick laughingly demurred, and the two entered the building, going directly into the auditorium-to be confronted with tumult. The small stage was packed with a milling crowd of actors, scene-setters, painters, and carpenters. Thomas was bellowing in an effort to restore order, but his words were drowned in the general cacophony. Everyone seemed to be shouting at once, and Mistress Polly Wyat's voice rose above them all. She was clutching something to her bosom; tears stood out in her eyes and trembled in the distraught tones.

"They have nearly drowned it, Thomas! How could you have let them do such a thing?"

"Polly, I did not give permission. It was never asked of