"The Duke of Buckingham promised… nay, threatened that he would find my price," Polly told him, staring fixedly into her mug. "It would appear that he has done so."

De Winter whistled softly. "You think he would have Nick accused for such a reason?"

Polly shrugged. "I am certain of it. Let me tell you what transpired between us at Wilton House."

Richard heard her out in attentive silence, then spoke firmly. "Buckingham is a cunning bastard, my dear. A great deal more cunning than you." He leaned forward to poke the fire. "I would have you do nothing until I have had a chance to smell the wind. It may be that you are mistaken, that this is nothing, that the king will lose interest and will be persuaded to rescind the order-"

"And while we wait for such an illusion to take shape, Nick languishes in the Tower, in God knows what conditions!" Polly interrupted, impassioned, leaping to her feet. "Tread softly, lest ye rouse the devil! Is that it, my lord?"

"It seems to me that the devil is already roused," Richard said dryly. "Moderate your tongue. Nick may allow you uncommon license in your badgering, but I will not."

Polly flushed and resumed her seat. The rebuke, as had been intended, served to bring under control the sudden surge of panic that had led to her outburst.

Richard permitted himself a smile, lifting her chin. "I understand your fear. Indeed, I share it. But nothing will be gained without due thought and care. Trust me."

"I do." Polly offered a wry smile. "But I should warn you that I will act on my own if you will not assist me."

"That were foolish in you. I will not deny you assistance, but I ask that you let me do what I can first."

Polly looked into the calm, strong face. Richard would have no chivalrous scruples about permitting her to make whatever sacrifice she chose, if that was the only path open to them. Had he not already asked such a thing of her? But beside his deep and abiding friendship for Nicholas, he also had a fondness for her. She could count on him to behave

with pragmatic realism, but he would take no unnecessary risks.

"Very well," she agreed. "But you will not ask me to wait overlong?"

He shook his head. "How should I? But Nick would prefer that you not make this sacrifice, so let us see if we can obviate the necessity."

"He must not know," Polly said. "If it is necessary, he must never know of it."

Oh, the naivete of the young, thought Richard. But he would not enter that murky arena-not yet, at least. "Now, listen carefully, Polly. You must, for the moment, behave as if you are quite unaffected by this. Puzzled, certainly, but not unduly disturbed. You can always find another protector, can you not? That is what the world must think."

"Yes." She nodded. "The play must go on, must it not?"

"Good girl." He released her chin. "Go to the theatre and give the performance of your life. Can you do that?"

"Of course," she said simply, getting to her feet. " 'Tis to be Rule a Wife and Have a Wife. I shall be the most wicked, defiant Margarita imaginable, and hint to the entire playhouse that, like Margarita, I conduct my love affairs where I choose, accepting no man's authority-be he husband or keeper; and the absence of my keeper at the king's pleasure makes little difference to my roving eye. We will see what my lord duke makes of that." Then the spark faded from her eye, the challenge from her voice. "Can you discover if Nick wants for anything, Richard?"

"He'll be lodged as a lord, child. He will not suffer discomfort."

"But 'tis a dark and gloomy place, the Tower." Polly shuddered. "Damp with the river slime, and lonely, with only the ravens for company."

"He'll have the governor for company," Richard reassured. "And they'll not put him to the torture without cause; which cause must be declared for all to hear."

Polly's pallor increased, and Richard realized with annoyance that he had planted a thought hitherto not conceived.

"Be not afeard," he said swiftly. "We will not permit such a thing."

"I wonder how you would prevent it," she said in dull truth. "I would sell my soul to Buckingham first."

Richard, for once, had no answer, but he bade her wait beside the fire while he dressed; then he would escort her home, where she should try to repair the broken night.

That afternoon Buckingham sat in his box at the king's house and watched her performance with cold admiration. He had been given a detailed account of the dawn events at the lodging in Drury Lane; he knew that Kincaid's mistress had not reacted to his arrest with equanimity. Yet here she was, investing the part of the amorous, designing Spanish heiress, intent on cuckolding a foolish husband, with such flagrant provocation as to make it a challenge to every man in the audience. It was almost as if she herself were saying, you may have me if I choose to be had, but let no man think to rule me. It was a clear statement that the abrupt removal of her present protector-a piece of gossip on everyone's lips-was not causing her any grave unease.

Thomas Killigrew, better attuned to the actor's skills, sensed the brittle edge to the performance. It was an edge that sharpened her act, but increased its fragility. It would take little to fragment the coherence of the part she played, and he found himself biting his lip in anxiety, for once feeling the play drag as he wished it to a speedy conclusion before disaster struck. It was not a wish shared by the audience, who were responding with gusts of laughter and shouts of encouragement when Leon revealed himself as far from the fool Margarita had believed him, and set about the task of bringing his errant wife to heel.

Polly alternately appealed to and challenged the spectators until they did not know what outcome they wanted in this particular duel of the sexes. Edward Nestor, as Leon, had no doubts at all and played better than he had ever done, a fact duly noted by Killigrew. One of Polly's great attributes was

her ability to bring out the best in her fellow players. However, it was with a deep sigh of relief that Thomas heard the epilogue spoken.

As Polly came off the stage, the strain of the act she had just put on showed clear in her eyes, in the tautness of her mouth, the tension in her body. Thomas called her, and she came over to him, expecting his usual words of approval and the inevitable constructive criticism. "How often do you think you can do that?" he demanded bluntly.

"I do not know what you mean." She found herself avoiding his eye. "Was there something wrong? They did not think so, at all events."

"You know well what I mean. It is because of Nick, is it not?" He laid a compassionate hand on her arm.

"I will not let you down, Thomas," she said, ignoring the question. "If that is your concern, you may rest easy."

"My concern is for you. You will not be able to continue at such a pitch ot desperation for very long. You will break, and you will take everyone down with you."

"I will not fail you," she reiterated. "I have matters well in hand, Thomas."

It was a statement that Thomas had some difficulty accepting, but before he could say anything, a noisy, laughing, chattering throng of courtiers, the Duke of Buckingham at their head, came into the tiring room, exclaiming and congratulating, waving perfumed handkerchiefs in emphasis, quizzing Polly through monocles as they called her a wicked jade, a sorceress who knew too well how to enslave the poor male with her charms and her wit.

Polly smiled, disclaimed prettily, flirted with accomplished ease, and gave them exactly what they wanted, except that she singled out no one for a special smile or unspoken promise. Suggestions were made, some overt invitations, but she deflected them all, conscious all the while of the unwinking scrutiny of Buckingham, who did not add his own voice to the chatter, but seemed to be watching her for something. It required every last effort to keep her voice from faltering, her smile from vanishing as if it had never been. It was as if