"A word here, a word there, sir," drawled the Duke of Buckingham, his heavy-lidded eyes resting with seeming ca-sualness on Lord Kincaid's face. "Sorry as I can be, Kincaid. 'Tis to be hoped you passed not too uncomfortable a sennight."

"I have been more comfortable," returned Nick with a dry, tight smile.

"And the incomparable Polly?" Buckingham smiled benignly. "I trust she made you welcome."

The king chuckled. "Aye, incomparable, indeed. Y'are a lucky dog, Kincaid, if you can keep her."

"I shall do my best, sir." Nick bowed, waited for a few moments until it became clear that His Majesty had said all he deemed necessary about the unfortunate misunderstanding, then faded into the background. He was angry, and he was puzzled. A word here, a word there. It was no convinc-

ing explanation; and what the devil had Buckingham to do with it?

He found out soon enough.

Polly stood amid the laughter and the chatter, a smile fixed upon her face, her eyes glazed. Lady Castlemaine knew. Nausea rose, urgent in her belly; she swallowed desperately, hearing again that spiteful little trill, feeling the malevolent eyes, stripping her bare.

"I trust you found ducal attentions as pleasing and as rewarding as those of a baron, my dear Mistress Wyat?" had been the question, uttered with blatant crudity and in no undertone. It had brought titters from those around; Polly had managed to produce a stare of total incomprehension before turning away. But there was no refuge anywhere, and she dared not leave before Nick reappeared.

"God's grace, but you have the mien of a sick cat!" Richard's fierce whisper came from behind her. "If you ignore it, there will be no sport, and they will let the matter drop. It will be put down as Barbara's malice. Everyone knows she holds you in enmity. But if you appear guilty as accused, the story will take hold."

"But Nick-"

"He has just come into the gallery. Pull yourself together."

Polly put up her chin, smiling a greeting as Nicholas pushed through the crowd toward them. "Was His Majesty pleased to favor you, my lord?"

Nick gave an acid laugh, although his expression remained blandly smiling. "He was pleased to bid me welcome, and trust that I did not suffer too much discomfort as a result of this misunderstanding whose genesis he cannot even remem-ber."

"Then 'tis over," Richard said swiftly. "Nothing will be gained by angry brooding."

"Ah, my Lord Kincaid. Pray accept my congratulations on your happy deliverance." Barbara Palmer's tinsel voice shimmered in the air, and Polly felt herself again in the grip of that numbing, poisonous spider's bite. Nick made some

careless response that made light of the incident, and the countess's laugh trilled. "How stoic you are, my lord." Her eyes turned to the frozen Polly. "Not so your mistress, I fear. She appeared to lose faith in your eventual release. But then, a wise woman always looks to her future, does she not, Mistress Wyat? It is always necessary to make provision. One cannot place one's trust in luck and fortune in this harsh world. And even actors must needs grow old-as must harlots." She smiled. " 'Tis wise to garner the fruit while it is on the tree, is it not? And the Duke of Buckingham's tree is rich and heavy. I am certain you were well paid for your services. He assures me that they were worth the payment."

A swish of satin, a wafting of musk, and the Lady Castlemaine had gone, leaving devastation in her wake. Nick looked at Polly's white face, then at Richard. Both told him all that he needed to know at this point.

"Put your hand on my arm, Polly," he instructed in an expressionless tone. "We are going to promenade the length of the gallery."

"Take me home," she whispered.

"Not yet. There are some friends I must greet, and we shall greet them together. Should we happen to meet Buckingham, you will make your curtsy."

Polly looked in desperate appeal at Richard, but he merely nodded at his friend's good sense and fell into step beside them.

It was the longest half hour that Polly would ever spend. Somehow she managed to keep the smile on her face, even to speak when spoken to, but it was for Nicholas and Richard to maintain the urbane flow of carefree wit that marked the courtier. At the end of the gallery, George Villiers stood, Lady Castlemaine beside him.

Nick felt Polly stiffen; her fingers on his arm quivered. He tightened the muscle of his arm beneath her hand in encouragement. She found herself curtsying to the duke, felt his eyes linger on her bosom as if in insolent reminiscence. There was a moment under that look when she felt what he would have her feel-soiled by use. Then she remembered

that, whatever he might think, Buckingham had not been the victor. She was, in essence, untouched by his violations. Her eyes met his; she smiled in bland friendliness.

"Good morrow, my lord duke. Lord Kincaid is returned to us, as you see."

"My congratulations to you both," he replied, a hint of admiration lurking in his eyes. "I am most eager to see your performance this afternoon, mistress. 'Tis said John Dryden's new play is monstrous amusing."

"I trust you will not be disappointed, Duke." Another curtsy, and she turned away, her escorts with her.

They left the palace, having demonstrated to all that any dealings with Buckingham that Kincaid's mistress may or may not have had during her protector's absence were accounted of no importance by any of the protagonists. The walk back to Drury Lane was undertaken in silence. At the door of Polly's lodging, Nick, his face chiseled in stone, turned to Richard. "My thanks for your support. You will understand if I do not ask you within."

"I have no desire to be importunate, my friend, but I think you have need of me," replied Richard easily. "If matters grow heated, clarity may be lost. I believe that I may provide the latter."

"Richard is right." Polly spoke for the first time. "He has been my supporter in all this, and 'tis only right he should bear a part in the explanation."

"Very well." Nick opened the door, gesturing politely that they should precede him. In the parlor, he dismissed Susan, who was setting out the platters for dinner, before saying, "Let me have the truth, Polly."

Polly looked helplessly at Richard. "I do not know how to begin."

"Then I will tell it," Richard said. "Pour us wine, child. You may interrupt me if I do not tell it correctly."

Nicholas listened to the bald narrative told in De Winter's unemotional tones. Since Richard did not know of the brothel, or any details of the seven nights, Nick did not hear of them, but what he heard brought an icy, fearsome rage to

fill and enfold him. There was no overt sign of it, however. When Richard finally fell silent, turning his attention to the Rhenish in his wine cup, Nick looked at Polly. She was standing by the table, as she had been throughout, her eyes fixed upon him with a painful intensity.

"Why did you not stop her, Richard?" Nick asked, still looking at Polly.

"The matter was in full flood before I knew of it," Richard answered quietly. "But, in any case, I would not have considered I had the right to stop her. To advise, yes, but not to direct."

"I would not have admitted anyone's right to prevent me." Polly spoke at last. "The matter was between myself and the duke. And it rests there."

"Ah… no," Nick said with finality. "It rests with me." He turned his cup between his hands, frowning. "Let us dine. You've to be at the theatre at four o'clock."

"I do not understand what you mean," Polly said, feeling distressfully for the right words. "I… I understand if you should feel I… I have betrayed you, but, in truth, I have not. It was not me he touched, Nick-"

"Enough!" Nick cracked. "How can you talk such foolishness? Do you imagine I do not know what hell you endured? You will put the matter out of your head, in as far as you are able. It now rests with me, and when I have dealt with it, I will do what I may to heal you." He went to the table, pulling out a chair for her. "Come, take your place. Richard." He gestured to the chair opposite Polly, then pulled the bell rope.