"That will do, Polly," Nicholas put in hastily, sensing that Killigrew was about to slide into a hypnotized trance under the full force of that melting gaze and the impassioned plea of her penitence.
Killigrew blinked, startled by this interpolation. Polly turned on Nicholas reproachfully. "I meant it! I was not
playing. I am truly regretful if I seemed vain and importunate-except that I do not think I was being."
Nick's lips twitched. "You are a most beguiling jade! You will become accustomed to her tricks, Killigrew. She is possessed of more wiles than a barrel-load of monkeys. You fall for them at your peril, I can promise you."
"I begin to see that," Thomas murmured, stroking his chin. "It clearly behooves me to be on my guard." He chuckled. "I am an old hand at this game, Mistress Wyat, so have a care before you lock swords with me."
"Why, sir, I would not be so impertinent as to hazard such a thing." Polly sank into a deep obeisance, twitching her skirts to one side, bending her head so that the slender column of her neck was presented, bared as the honeyed ringlets fell forward. It was a posture of perfect submission, yet every line of her body radiated a coquettish impudence.
Killigrew gave a shout of laughter. "Ah, Mistress Wyat, I foresee that in the stage curtsy you will excel. It is by far the most important pose for a female actor to master, and you appear greatly proficient already, even without the assistance of a corset. You have had an accomplished dancing master, I gather."
"Most accomplished," agreed Polly, rising gracefully. She cast a covert glance at Nicholas, struggling with his mirth at the idea of a dancing master in the Dog tavern. "My governess was monstrous strict in matters of deportment, sir," she continued blithely. "I shall always be grateful for her care."
Nicholas, having no idea how far Polly's inventiveness would take her if she were allowed free rein, decided that matters were drawing too close to the brink of danger for comfort. The one thing that was abundantly clear was that she was enjoying every wicked minute, and he could almost hear Killigrew's mental calculations as he tried to fit her into some recognizable social background.
"It grows late, Thomas," he said. "And we have taken up enough of your time for one day." He held out a hand. "I am most grateful."
"On the contrary." Killigrew took the proffered hand. "I should thank you."
And no one should thank Polly, Polly thought; but it was only a passing grievance; her elation ran too high for niggardly remonstrance, and if these two wished to congratulate themselves on whatever she had to offer, they had her permission. She would indulge in a little self-congratulation and the heady knowledge of success. She had leaped the void of hopelessness.
Once outside, Nicholas tucked her arm beneath his, remarking casually, "You are going to be well served, I fear, when required to execute the steps of a coranto. Your fictitious dancing master will appear to have been not so accomplished after all."
"Oh, indeed, I trust not, sir," Polly returned, her lips curved impishly as she looked up at him, her face framed in the fur hood of her cloak. "I had made sure you would be a most accomplished dancer! Do not tell me you are not. I had thought such skill necessary for all courtiers."
"So I am to teach you to dance now, is that it? I had never thought to be awarded the title 'dancing master'… or 'monstrous strict governess,' for that matter," mused Kin-caid. "It has a most undignified ring. But I daresay I will undertake that task, as I have undertaken all the rest." He gazed at her upturned face, thinking of all that he had taught her, of the wondrous flair she possessed, in one field at least, for taking those lessons and making their execution her own specialty. It was no longer unusual, when it came to love-making, for him to yield the initiative to the creative impulses of this gay and zestful elf.
Polly's gaze sparkled under the darkening sky, where the evening star glimmered, and she skipped-a joyous involuntary expression-on her high heels as the winter wind probed with icy fingers. "I am going to be an actor. I am!"
"It would seem so," Nick agreed, as calmly as if he were not in a white heat for her, as if his blood were not pounding in his ears, his loins aching, as if the touch of her fingers on his sleeve, the knowledge of the shape of her beside him, had
not set up a chain of impassioned responses that seemed as if they must find physical expression if he were not to ignite with the wanting.
The electric quality of sensual excitement scintillated, and Polly caught her breath, engulfed almost without warning. Her fingers curled around his arm, her body pressed closer to his, her face lifted, lips parted invitingly, eyes glowing, luminous with needy passion.
"God's grace!" Nick stopped abruptly in the frosty lane and stood looking down at her. "Never have I felt such a wanting. I am consumed with desire for you."
"Now," she whispered, insistent, through suddenly parched lips, moving against him, heedless of the darkening street, the ice-tipped wind, the roll of carriage wheels behind her.
Nick dragged himself back from the edge of a madness that would have had him, there and then, yield to the demand she made, to the impulses of his own body. "Make haste!" he said, curt with the effort necessary to manage both of them until they could attain privacy. " 'Tis but a few yards now." His fingers circled her wrist, his stride lengthened, and Polly tripped on her high heels as she stumbled to match his pace.
The door of the lodging was bolted against the encroaching night, and he hammered vigorously upon the knocker. Goodman Benson opened it, his face creased with anxiety. "Is summat, amiss, m'lord?"
"Not in the least, Benson," returned his lordship. "But 'tis cold as charity, and we've need of the fire." Striding past the landlord, still holding Polly tightly, he made for the stairs. "God be praised!" Sighing with relief, he kicked the parlor door shut behind them and swung Polly into his arms.
It was a kiss that seemed to devour her, an embrace that would swallow her. She strained against him, desperate to become one with him, her mouth opened beneath his, receiving eagerly the deep penetration of his tongue as the hard shaft of his arousal pressed through damask and velvet against her thigh. His gloved hands pushed beneath her cloak
to span her narrow back, holding her against him. With an urgent movement, her mouth still locked with his, she unhooked her cloak, throwing it off with a shrug of her shoulders. Her breasts were crushed against the silken brocade of his coat; with another impatient movement, she pulled the neck of her gown lower so that her bosom was bared. Her head fell back on a sigh of abandonment as he released her mouth and bent instead to capture the hard, thrusting nipples, his hands forming a support against which she leant, bent backward, her hair falling almost to the floor, her lower body still pressed to his.
A soft moan escaped her as he nibbled and nuzzled her breasts, bringing that strange tugging deep in her belly, that liquid fullness in her loins so that she moved restlessly against him. The hilt of his sword obtruded with bruising pressure, but she barely noticed it as her flesh, heated under the living flame of passion, yearned for union. Her fingers twined in the auburn head glistening against the white skin of her breast; she spoke his name in urgent plea.
He raised his head to look deep into her eyes, where golden lights flickered in the green-brown depths, gazing up at him in suspended wonder. He laid a hand on her breast, against the jolting of her heart. Then the instant of patience vanished under the spiral of need; with a fine disregard for the delicate material of gown and kirtle, he pulled them from her body, his hands, rough in their vehemence, rending the thin cotton of her smock. Then she was naked, her breath coming in little gasps as she writhed in the hands and beneath the mouth that explored and possessed her, opened her and probed her, bringing the most sweet and piercing pleasure until she was lost in sensate rapture, trembling before him, held in thrall, body and soul, to him who possessed as he worshiped her body with his own.