"Why, Lord De Winter," Polly said, as if surprised at his arrival. "I had not seen you here earlier." She could not make her curtsy with her hand held fast in Buckingham's grip, and this time her tug was rewarded.
"I have but just arrived," Richard said calmly, carrying her fingers to his lips in an elaborate salute. "I would congratulate you on your performance as Isabella. Never has the part been played with more wit and life."
"The credit is Mr. Killigrew's," Polly demurred, drawing imperceptibly closer to Richard, as if he would shield her from the duke. "I merely follow instruction."
"A man could only be gratified by such obedience," murmured the duke, taking snuff. "I can find it in my heart to envy Thomas. Are you as submissive with your protector, Mistress Wyat? Lord Kincaid is, indeed, a fortunate man. I trust your compliance is amply rewarded? There are those who would be most eager to rectify any omissions."
Her skin crept, as if slugs trailed stickily down her spine, under his mocking gaze, the delicately taunting tone that nonetheless made no attempt to disguise the naked hunger of voice and expression. The offer was as clearly made as it was possible to be, without overt crudity, and her eyes flew to Richard, desperately seeking rescue.
"I would add my own assurance of that fact, Buckingham," he said affably, thus making of the particular a general pleasantry. "Mistress Wyat must grow fatigued with all the
hearts laid before her feet. It becomes tedious, does it not?" He smiled blandly at Polly.
"Ah, never tedious, sir," she responded, once more in charge of herself. Her eyes sparkled roguishly as she dropped them both another curtsy. "I would have a carpet of hearts, had I my way."
"Cruel maiden!" De Winter threw his hands up in mock horror. "Will you offer no quarter, then?"
"None, sir," she replied promptly. "I feed upon adulation, and without it will shrivel and die."
"Definitely a fate to be avoided." The light tones were Kincaid's. Polly controlled the impulse to whirl 'round, to greet his arrival with the warmth and relief that she felt. Instead, she merely looked over her shoulder at him with a cool smile. "We must all ensure that you have an ample diet," he said, bowing gracefully.
Polly's mouth opened on a mischievous retort, but before it could be uttered, a footman appeared with the statement that His Majesty wished for the pleasure of Mistress Wyat's company in his Presence chamber. It was not an unusual request. The king frequently withdrew from these large gatherings and had the company he chose brought to him. But Mistress Wyat had not quite managed to forget the Dog tavern, or her time as kitchen miad in the Kincaid household. Private audiences with the king were not consonant with those memories. Her eyes flew in momentary panic to Nicholas.
He smiled lazily, as if he had not read her message. "It would seem that you are to receive adulation from the highest quarter in the land. Do not let the more humble of your admirers keep you, my dear Polly."
The panic faded. Beneath the level tones, the easy words, lay instruction, grounding her again. All feelings-including fear and unease-must be kept hidden beneath a light mockery, and she must expect no open assistance from Nick in public. Sincerity was a vice, overt expression of feelings the mark of the unsophisticated, trust the folly of the naive. The
lesson had been drummed into her often enough, and she had promised to follow it.
"Permit me to offer you my escort, Mistress Wyat." Buckingham, who had been about to withdraw from the arena once Kincaid had appeared on the scene, now seized the opportunity afforded by his position as king's favorite. He could accompany the lady without invitation-a privilege that neither Kincaid nor De Winter could assume.
Polly put up her chin, smiled faintly, and laid her hand upon the duke's brocaded sleeve. "How kind in you, my lord duke. I shall be eternally grateful. I am as yet unaccustomed to these august surroundings, so must depend upon the support and guidance of those who are."
Buckingham felt a disquieting stab. Could she possibly be making game of him? It was inconceivable; yet she was radiating something that did not sit easy with him. His eyes skimmed Kincaid's expression; it was quite neutral. He looked down at Polly's face, turned up to meet his scrutiny with a blandly inquiring smile. The huge forest pools of her eyes offered no clue as to the thoughts behind that wide, alabaster brow. But he was overwhelmed again by her beauty, catching his breath under the assault of a lusting desire greater than any he had yet experienced.
Polly read the look in his eyes. Only with the greatest effort was she able to control her instinctive recoil, as revulsion crystallized into fear at the certainty that this was a man who took what he wanted-and he wanted her. Her fingers trembled slightly as they rested on his arm, her cheeks lost a little of their color, but her voice was clear and strong as she bade a polite farewell to Kincaid and De Winter, and went off on the duke's arm.
"Buckingham is hooked," De Winter observed in quiet satisfaction. " 'Tis time to play the line, my friend."
Nick fiddled with the lace at his sleeve, a somber look in his eye, his mouth set in a hard line. "She loathes him, Richard. Can ye not feel it?"
De Winter said nothing for a minute. He could certainly feel Polly's loathing of the duke; but he had also felt her fear.
It was an irrational fear, surely. Buckingham would not harm her; he would have not the least reason to do so. "You have not encouraged this dislike?"
"Nay, I have been at pains to do the opposite."
"Matters worsen, Nick," De Winter persisted softly. "We have been officially at war with the Dutch since the fourth of this month, yet nothing is done in preparation. The king does not attend council meetings, but leaves the management and direction of the affair to those whose main interest is in personal gain from this conflict."
"Aye." Nick nodded, sighed heavily. "The king spends more care and pains making friends between Lady Castle-maine and Mrs. Stewart when they fall out than he ever does on matters of government. Such loveplay gives Buckingham a free hand-a hand he does not scruple to use for his own advancement and that of his friends and family." Nick smiled bitterly. "There are lucrative government posts aplenty for those with the influence to acquire them. Buckingham has that influence with the king, and can put whomsoever he pleases into posts for which they are ill fitted. In exchange for his patronage, he can be certain that they will dance to his tune."
"A tune that does not have His Majesty's interests at heart," De Winter agreed. "Everyone but the king knows that his favorite has no interest in the affairs of the country, or the attitude of the people. Buckingham is ungovernable, drunk with power, but he cannot be satiated." He sighed. "It is, of course, partly the fault of a system that encourages such corruption. When patronage is the chief method of advancement, and without advancement a man's pockets remain thin, those with the patronage are those with the power."
Richard paused to acknowledge a greeting from a passing lady resplendent in puce satin over crimson. Both men had been talking in low voices, their expressions carefully schooled to ones suited to a light conversation of no particular moment.
"We need to know what the duke intends, Nick. If Clar-
endon falls, then the king will have no wise counselor. If the Duke of York takes command of the navy in this war, then who is to take over the vital post of Lord High Admiral of the Kingdom? If Buckingham and his cohorts persuade the king to leave the position and its responsibilities to be executed by them as a group, nothing will be done. They have too many other agendas to deal in timely fashion with the material needs of the navy that must fight this war. 'Tis said that Buckingham wished for such a division, however. If we have a friend in his most intimate circle, then we may hear the truth." Richard waited patiently, respecting his friend's struggle, even as he knew what the outcome would be.