"If I do not know what lay behind it, love, I'll never be sure it will not happen again," he pointed out, kneading the firm, rounded flesh beneath his hands. "Nay, some game is being played, and I must discover it. Tis possible Richard will have some inkling. Have you seen him?"

"Yes, every day," she said, sliding her hands beneath his coat again, feeling the warmth of his skin against her fingertips. "Must we talk of this now? I have been so afeard for you." She pressed her lips against his chest as her fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of his shirt.

"I have not been entirely sanguine, I'll confess," he said, his fingers raking through her wet hair. "Why do you bathe at this early hour, moppet? You are not accustomed to doing so."

"I have been unable to sleep, and I thought it might refresh me," she extemporized, reflecting that it was not entirely an untruth. "But what of you? Have you breakfasted? Will you bathe, sleep-"

"There is but one thing I wish to do," he interrupted, a changed note in his voice, a purposeful smile playing over his lips. "And I shall not be able to do it, foolish jade, if you

catch an ague, standing around in your wet skin on a bitter winter's morn."

"My joy at the sound of your voice would not admit of such mundane considerations," Polly returned, with a haughty snifF. "And I take it mighty ill in you, my lord, that you should find fault when… Ouch!"

"Cease your railing, shrew!" Nick swept her up into his arms, the gem-bright eyes laughing down at her mock indignation. "I had thought, after such an absence, to woo you with soft words and tender kisses, but it seems you'd liefer have a tumbling match!" So saying, he strode with her into the bedchamber, tossing her unceremoniously onto the bed.

Picking up the towel that Susan had left beside the bath, he set to work on Polly's wriggling body, rubbing her dry until her skin glowed and the blood ran swift in her veins. Laughing and squirming helplessly beneath the hands that lost no opportunity to explore, tickle, probe, that tossed her and turned her as if she had no more resistance than a straw doll, Polly thought of those other hands that had rendered her as helpless as these were doing. But here she was helpless with pleasure, in thrall to the magic of one who knew and cared how to pleasure her. There was no comparison, even if the fundamental act had been the same. She let the thoughts and images slide away from her, sloughed like an outworn snake's skin.

"Have I missed anywhere?" Nick mused, hovering over her, towel still in hand.

"I think you forgot my toes," Polly responded, wriggling them invitingly. "They are all damp 'twixt and 'tween."

Nick grinned. He knew well how sensitive were Polly's feet. "How remiss," he murmured, slipping an arm beneath her knees and sweeping up her legs, circling the narrow ankles between thumb and forefinger.

"No!" Polly squealed as his tongue licked along the sole of each foot, stroking into the high-arched instep. "Oh, you know I cannot bear it!" She thrashed wildly on the bed as the delicious torment continued, and he took her toes into his mouth, suckling on each one, his thumb massaging her

heels and soles, setting up a chain of sympathetic reaction all over her body. It was as if every nerve in her feet was connected to some other part of her. Finally exhausted, she ceased her struggles and protests, abandoning herself to the wickedly skilled arousal, the slow sensitizing of each nerve and pleasure center.

"Monster!" she whispered, defeated by delight.

"You asked for it, my love," he replied in perfect truth, smiling, still holding her legs as he looked down on her flushed face and heavy eyes, the rise and fall of her breasts in response to the thudding of her heart and her swift breath. He moved his hands to the insides of her legs and slipped slowly down their length, spreading them wide as he caressed the tender satin of her inner thighs, approaching with tantalizing delicacy the throbbing cleft, while Polly lay, breathless in expectancy, poised for the touch that she knew would send her surging over the edge to which he had brought her with such demonic knowingness.

Her eyes implored him, her tongue ran over her lips, her body became as molten wax, a formless puddle on the featherbed, centered only on that nerve-stretched apex. Hot tears of near unbearable delight scalded her cheeks. The muscles in her belly tightened, sending little flutters across the surface of her skin; and then, when there seemed nothing in the world but the tension of expectancy, he touched her.

Her body leapt as if beneath a burning brand, and she thrummed like a string of a plucked lute. It was as if, after an eternity of denial, she had been given back what she had lost. The loving touch of bodily joy, the turbulent plane of ravishing bliss were hers again.

"Come to me, love," she whispered, "inside me," desperate in her urgency for the fusion that would make them both whole again.

Nick stripped, careless of buttons and hooks in his haste, then he gathered her against him and, as she lifted her hips, pressed deep within her. Her body closed around him, holding him within her silken toils; he exhaled slowly, smiling in

soft satisfaction. "Such honeyed delight, love," he whispered, bending to kiss her eyes. "Velvet and honey, you are."

"No spice?" she murmured. "Such a concoction sounds a trifle sickly."

"There's salt enough upon your tongue to add savor to marchpane," he said. "Shall I punish you for that?" Slowly, he withdrew to the edge of her body.

"Quarter, my lord," she begged. "Indeed, 'twas a thoughtless impertinence." Her legs curled around his hips, pulling him toward her again.

"To respond to compliments in such fashion is, indeed, impertinence," he said gravely, tightening his buttocks in resistance against the pressure of her heels.

"I crave pardon, and will accept any penance except this." Her hips arced as her heels increased their pressure, and Nick chuckled, yielding with a show of reluctance.

Then the laughter died from his face, and his eyes burned into hers. "As you love me, sweetheart, do not move. I would have you with me, but one wriggle and I shall be lost."

She smiled. "And I would have you lost. I shall be with you, never fear." Slowly, she tightened her inner muscles around him, saw his face dissolve with joy, tried to keep at bay her own tempest the longer to enjoy his pleasure; and then was engulfed herself.

"God's grace, but I have missed you." Nick opened his eyes, his heart slowing against the still rapid beat of the one below. "I have missed being angered by you, as I have missed being entranced." He kissed the corner of her mouth, the cleft of her chin. "Tell me what you have been doing this sennight."

"Apart from worrying?" Polly asked, feeling her heart race again, a light sweat misting her palms. Stage fright, she told herself sternly.

Nick frowned. "You look worn to a frazzle, love,"

' 'Tis nothing, now that you are back. I could not sleep, and there has been the playhouse… Oh, what is the

time?" She sat up in a panic not entirely feigned. "We are to rehearse this morning." She sprang to her feet.

"Is there a play this afternoon?" Nick rolled off the bed, since clearly the moment for softnesses and cuddling was past.

"Nay, but tomorrow we are to perform Master Dryden's new play, Secret Love. 'Tis monstrous funny in parts. Melissa becomes Master Florimell." She struck a pose, beginning to mime the combing of a full peruke. " 'Save you, Monsieur Florimell! Faith, methinks you are a very jaunty fellow.' '

Nick laughed at the absurdity of her naked femininity and the very masculine swagger she produced. "Does Edward play opposite you?"

"Aye, as Celadon, my lover. 'Tis very awkward, as he challenges me to fight at one point." She twinkled mischievously.