Chapter 18

You have recovered from this morning's mishap, I trust, Mistress Wyat." Buckingham took snuff, smiling blandly at Polly. They were in one of the small drawing rooms that evening where card tables had been set up; voices rose around them in laughter and occasional exclamation.

Polly looked at her interlocuter, and for a moment was deprived of the power of speech. The duke was regarding her with a look of contemptuous amusement, radiating menace. The cheerful buzz around her seemed to fade under the inescapable conviction that this man was going to hurt her. Without thought, her eyes darted in a desperate search for Nicholas, needing the certainty of his presence as shield.

The duke's smile grew blander as he absorbed her confusion. "I appear to have said something to upset you," he murmured. " 'Twas but a polite inquiry."

Polly licked her lips and found her voice. "I do beg your pardon, my lord duke. My mind was elsewhere. I am quite recovered, thank you. It was a most minor mishap."

"Your… uh… protector seemed not to consider it minor."

"I do not know what you mean, sir." Why did she feel as if she were dancing at the end of a string being manipulated

by those long, beringed fingers? Her gaze raked the room again, wildly searching for Nicholas.

"Why, I mean simply that Kincaid appeared monstrous disturbed," replied the duke casually. "Most flatteringly concerned for your safety."

"I cannot imagine why that should surprise you, Duke." From somewhere came the strength to resist the creeping paralysis produced by those drooping, hooded eyes and the soft tones where some as yet undefined threat lurked, barely masked.

He gave a little laugh. "Oh, it did not surprise me in the least, bud. Not in the least." He watched her as she struggled to make sense of this. "Love is a most demanding master," he murmured.

Involuntarily, she gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "It is, of course, not at all a fashionable emotion," continued the soft voice dripping its honey-coated menace. "But we shall keep it as our little secret, shall we?" Seeing Polly for the moment incapable of response, he offered a mocking bow and sauntered over to a table where an intense game of three-handed Gleeke was in progress.

Polly stood for a minute trying to shake herself free of the enveloping dread. What was going on? What had he seen? What did he mean? She must find Nicholas.

Gathering up her skirts, she hastened from the room, then stopped. What was the point in describing that exchange to Nicholas? It could not possibly mean anything. Why should it matter that Buckingham now knew that Polly and Nick were not simply two individuals involved to their mutual benefit in a perfectly ordinary liaison? Her own association with the duke was over, so nothing was lost by his knowledge. What did matter was that she had betrayed her fear even as she had confirmed his words with her shocked silence.

With determination, she returned to the card room, taking her place with a laughing group around the shuffleboard.

"Something appears to have pleased you mightily, duke," observed Lady Castlemaine, her eyes gleaming through the slits in her black silk mask.

"Perhaps I, also, should adopt the fashion of the vizard," drawled His Grace. "I'd not have my every thought broadcast upon my countenance."

"Only broadcast to those who have the code and can therefore read," responded her ladyship. "You are uncommon satisfied by something. Confess it."

The duke smiled and reposed himself elegantly upon the scroll-ended chaise longue beside her. He straightened an imaginary wrinkle in his aquamarine hose, turning his calf for further inspection, thus offering his companion the opportunity to admire the fine shape of his leg.

"Has Lord Kincaid's little actor at last come to appreciate your manifold attractions?" hazarded Lady Castlemaine, her baleful gaze wandering to where the subject under discussion sat at the shuffleboard. Polly wore no vizard, her own having been removed by the king himself, on the grounds that beauty such as hers had no right to be concealed beneath a mask. Such a statement had done little to improve Lady Cas-tlemaine's disposition, and her mouth thinned spitefully.

Buckingham read her expression correctly, despite the mask. He chuckled. "Do not let your ill will show, my dear. Malice is not a pretty emotion. Its manifestation wreaks havoc with the complexion; such hard lines as it produces."

Lady Castlemaine managed a wan smile. "I am indebted to you, my lord duke, for your advice. I will make certain to heed it. But, pray, will you not answer me? Does your present complacence have aught to do with the actor?"

"Well," the duke murmured, "I think you could say that I have justification for feeling satisfaction." His eyes rested on Polly, and he nodded pleasantly to himself. "I have found both the currency and the price, my lady."

The countess closed her fan, tapping the ivory sticks against the palm of her hand. "Will you say no more, sir?"

"If I may count upon your assistance," the duke replied, "you shall be a party to the entire plan."

"Gladly," the lady agreed. "I will render whatever assistance I may."

"I shall need you to plant a few seeds in the king's ear," Buckingham explained, his voice low, a smile on his lips, his eyes still upon Mistress Wyat. "Easily done in the privacy of the bed curtains."

"On what subject?"

"Why, treason, my dear, and my Lord Kincaid."

"You talk in riddles." Barbara momentarily forgot the need for caution, and her voice rose above an undertone. "What has Kincaid to do with treason?"

Buckingham shrugged, smiled. "I am sure I can find a connection if I look hard enough, madame; sufficient to impeach him and lodge him in the Tower."

"But how would such a manufacture assist your cause with the actor? She does not appear to hold him in ill will, for all that they do not live in each other's pockets."

"Ahhh, now there is the nub," the duke said, his smile broadening. "The facade they present for public consumption is precisely that-a facade presenting the complacent protector and the kept woman with an eye to the main chance. In fact, matters run much deeper." He shook his head in mock wonder. "So beautifully they play it, too. But I tell you, Barbara, if aught were to be amiss with my Lord Kincaid, I'll lay any odds you choose to name that his mistress will make whatever sacrifice demanded of her to buy his safety."

"And you will name the price," said Lady Castlemaine, her eyes brightening as comprehension dawned. " 'Twill be a high one, I imagine."

"By the time I have finished with the little whore, she will never want to show that glorious countenance at court again." The vicious words, spoken in a soft, pleasant tone, fell from smiling lips. Barbara Palmer shivered in sudden chill. "She will know herself for what she is-a slut whose place is on her back in Mother Wilkinson's brothel."

Indeed, reflected Barbara with a renewed shiver, one did not refuse the patronage of the Duke of Buckingham with

impunity. The wench would suffer well for such presumption; for imagining that a creature coming from nowhere, with a little talent and a moderately pretty face, could dare to play fast and loose with the most powerful man in the land.

"When do you begin?" she asked, taking a cheese tartlet from a tray presented by a bowing page.

"There is no time like the present." Buckingham waved the tray away and took snuff. "You will begin to make little murmurs about Kincaid, which I will follow up with graver doubts. By the time we are returned to Whitehall, the crop should be ripe for harvesting."