Castlemaine to add to his seraglio one who would infuriate them both.
"The men do not make game of you," Nicholas said now, watching her. "Perhaps therein lies your answer."
Polly frowned. "Lady Castlemaine could not possibly be jealous of me. She is the wife of an earl and the king's mistress, while I am nothing. True, she does not know exactly how much of nothing I am, but unless she wished to be your mistress also, I cannot imagine why she should be envious." She offered him that mischievous, heart-stopping smile, and chuckled. "Of course, I could hardly blame her for wishing such a thing. You are a great deal more handsome than either the king or the Earl of Castlemaine. But I should tell you that I will not permit it. Should you succumb to blandishment, sir, you will take damaged goods to another's bed."
"Why, you ferocious shrew!" exclaimed Nicholas. "I had not thought you bloodthirsty!"
"Merely careful of mine own, my lord," she said sweetly. Then the laughter died from her eyes. "Methinks His Grace of Buckingham follows my Lady Castlemaine's lead. Since he arrived from his country estate two days ago, he has had barely a word for me, civil or otherwise. I have done as you said and behaved as if that last meeting had not occurred, but he has not forgotten it. I know it." She shivered in the warm summer air. "Have you marked the way he looks at me sometimes?"
Nicholas had, indeed, noticed the covert and still covetous gaze of His Grace resting upon Mistress Wyat, and it had certainly occurred to him that Buckingham had possibly not left the field. However, he could see no immediate cause for alarm. "I cannot imagine what he could do to harm you here," he said. "There are too many eyes upon him. Nay, he will have forgotten his annoyance by the autumn, I'll lay odds, if you continue to treat him with a purely social courtesy. He will find other fish to fry."
Polly shrugged in apparent acceptance of this reassurance. But she could not feel completely easy. Nick had arrived just
over a week ago, and until Buckingham's appearance, this country sojourn had proved delightful, apart from the needling of the king's mistress and her ilk, and Nick's infuriating intransigence over the matter of the leading rein. There was a constant round of entertainments-masques and dances, tennis matches, hunting and hawking-and she found herself taking inordinate pleasure in them all. Master Killigrew would occasionally put on an impromptu play for His Majesty's entertainment; then Polly was required to earn her place at court, but she did not find the earning at all arduous; much less so than on the stage at Drury Lane. And Nick, for all that he treated her with fashionable casualness when they were in public, never forwent an opportunity to be alone with her, as now.
While at night… Well, Polly smiled to herself. What went on behind the closed door of his bedchamber in the west wing of the house was no one's concern but theirs. If his lordship's man found Mistress Wyat tucked up in his lordship's bed of a morning, he was too discreet and well trained to betray a flicker of surprise. Polly secretly thought it ridiculous that she was obliged to keep pretense of using her own apartment, keeping her clothes in there, performing her toilet in absurd privacy. It seemed a most profligate waste of space, she felt, to have two rooms when only one was necessary. But such thrifty and practical considerations were bred in the crowded city slums, not in the lofty mansions of the rich.
Kincaid, although he accepted the Earl of Pembroke's hospitality at Wilton House, stabled his horses at an inn in the village, seeing no reason why they should be a charge upon his host, who was already put to great expense by the king's gracing him with his presence.
Polly was glad of this arrangement, since it ensured that the mortification of her riding instruction was kept between themselves and the stable lads at the inn. At her insistence, they rode off the beaten track, where encounters like the one they had just narrowly avoided would be unlikely. However, as they clattered into the stable yard at the inn and she ac~
cepted Kincaid's hand to dismount, she was firmly resolved that she had had her last ride in that manner. The piebald seemed as happy to be rid of her as she was to be of him, clopping off to his stable with the relieved air of one who had performed a tedious duty and could now look forward to his reward.
Polly strolled casually over to the stable block, her long, extravagantly pleated riding skirt caught up over one arm. Outside one box, she stopped, peering into the gloomy interior, where a fly buzzed monotonously, and the rich aroma of horseflesh, hay, and manure filled her nostrils. The inhabitant of the box came over to the door at an inviting click. "Good morrow. Tiny," Polly murmured, stroking the dainty creature's velvety nose, reaching 'round to run her hand over the sinewy neck, which arched in pleasure as the mare whickered and nuzzled into her palm. "I did not bring anything this day," Polly apologized. "But tomorrow I will."
"You commune with that animal as if she were possessed of tongues," Nick said, a laugh in his voice as he came up behind her.
"So she is, of her own kind," Polly returned serenely. "We understand each other, do we not, Tiny?"
The mare rolled thick, pink lips against her hand in answer and pawed her stable floor, liquid brown eyes glowing. "See?" said Polly. "How could she be clearer?"
"With difficulty." Nick smiled, reaching in to stroke the horse. "Next to Sulayman, she is my favorite."
"May I ride her?" Polly asked directly, shooting him a sideways glance.
Nicholas nodded immediately. "She will suit you very well when you are able to handle her. But she is a spirited filly. It will take an experienced pair of light hands to achieve mastery. Her mouth is too delicate for a curb, and her spirit will not take kindly to the whip."
"And you think my hands are sufficiently light?"
"If you will but listen to your instructor, and do as you are
bid, they will be so," he teased, twining around his finger a stray curl that had escaped her hat.
"I think you are overcautious, my lord," Polly declared.
"Impossible, when you consider what it is over which I exercise such caution," he answered solemnly, although his eyes glinted with humor. "I would not have a bruise mar that ivory skin."
"I am not unaccustomed to bruises," Polly pointed out.
"But not with me," he said, the gravity now genuine.
Polly inclined her head in smiling acceptance. "Nay, not with you. But I meant only that I am not so delicate that a tumble will spell disaster. If I am prepared to risk it, why are you not?"
"Because I am not." The pronouncement effectively closing the discussion, Nicholas turned to leave. "Do you return to the house with me, or will you stay and commune further with Tiny?"
"There is no need to be vexed." Polly walked beside him across the yard, out into the main street of the little village clustering at the gate of Wilton park.
"I have told you before that my patience is not inexhaustible. You are persistent as a wasp at the honeycomb."
"Then I will cease my buzzing," Polly declared cheerfully. "Shall you dress up for the masquerade tonight? I have it in mind to play a May Day milkmaid, with petticoats all tucked up and curls atumble. Think you t'will be pretty?"
Nicholas felt a flash of suspicion at this instant docility. He looked down at her, saw only the wide hazel eyes full of ingenuous question, her lips parted in a soft smile. He dismissed the suspicion as unworthy. Polly always capitulated with grace. "I can think of few costumes more delightful, moppet; particularly on you. But then, it matters little what you wear, as well you know. You enchant, regardless; hence my Lady Castlemaine's distemper."