"That would depend upon the milkmaid." De Winter interrupted the play, rising to his feet with a deceptive laziness. "However, you shall descend upon my arm, Polly, not that of your prince."
"One must not wear one's heart upon one's sleeve," Polly said with an ironic smile. "But Buckingham knows where mine does not lie."
Richard's eyes met Nick's across the flower-strewn honeyed head. "Are you uneasy, Polly?" he asked quietly.
Everyone has a price. I will find yours. Oh, 'twas nonsense to be concerned about a remark made in the anger of chagrin. It had no place in this self-enclosed world, far removed from life's realities, from the monstrous terrors of a plague-stricken metropolis. In this world where the pursuit of pleasure and the fulfillment of desires of whatever kind were the only object, why would Buckingham concern himself with an old and private thwarting? Nick was right. The coldness would soon dissipate as other interests took over, and she would not have these two concerned about her sinister fancies.
"Indeed not, Richard." Polly spoke firmly. "What is there to be uneasy about? In truth, I prefer the duke's coldness to his attentions. I do not find that familiarity has lessened the repugnance I feel for him."
With a smile of sweet innocence, she dropped De Winter a curtsy. "Are you sure, my lord, that you are not paying me
too much attention? After all, I arrived here under your escort, and I am as often upon your arm as upon Nick's."
"Jackanapes! You are going to make a very bad end," Richard declared with feeling, taking her hand and laying it upon his arm. "Strive for a modicum of conduct, if you please."
Polly gave him a smile glinting with mischief before glancing over her shoulder at Nicholas, dropping one eyelid in a conspiratorial wink that brought a shout of laughter from him.
"Be off," he said. "We will dance the coranto later, if you can remember the steps."
"If you, my lord, will promise not to tread upon my toes," she said, wriggling one bare foot pointedly; on which Parthian shot, she left him still searching for rejoinder, herself well satisfied that she had dissipated that moment of tension.
Her entrance, as had been predicted, caused no small stir. "What a rustic simplicity, mistress!" trilled Lady Castle-maine. "But one must have the simplicity of mind to accompany such a costume."
"Indeed, the least sophistication and one would look perfectly ridiculous," concurred Lady Frobisher, fanning herself vigorously.
"You are too kind, my ladies." Polly sank into a deep obeisance, each movement in the sequence radiating insolence. "I am most complimented that my poor performance should be so convincing."
Richard De Winter, shoulders shaking, left her in the vixens' den, confident that she could hold her own. However, she was not to be left there for long. A liveried footman appeared at her shoulder, bearing the king's summons.
Polly, smiling around the circle of ladies, excused herself. King Charles was sitting in a carved chair at the far end of the state drawing room. "I'faith, but 'tis a deuced pretty child y'are," he declared, radiating bonhomie. "I'll have a kiss, God save.me." Seizing her hands, he pulled her down upon the royal lap, embracing her with hearty enthusiasm.
Polly, emerging somewhat breathless from her sovereign's
lusty salute, forced herself to laugh and flutter as if quite overset. In truth, she was a trifle overcome, never having conceived of the moment when she would receive attentions of this intimate nature from England's monarch. But knowing how easily bored the king could become, she recovered rapidly. Plucking a marigold from her hair, she placed it in his buttonhole with a delicate blush and a pretty smile.
"A gift in return, sire."
The sally earned her another kiss, and when she made a move to rise from his knee, King Charles circled her waist with a restraining arm. "Nay, my bud, I'll have your company a while longer. Such a sweet weight as it is." Laughing in great good humor, he took a perfumed comfit from the bowl on the table beside him and popped it between her lips.
For half an hour Polly sat upon his knee as he plied them both with sweetmeats, and his hands strayed just a little, and he engaged her in a risque exchange that required all her wits. A circle of admiring courtiers surrounded them, laughing heartily at each sally, complimenting Polly on her wit, her dress, her beauty, in faithful recitation ot their king. All the while, Polly was conscious of the darting venom directed at her from Barbara Palmer, Lady Castlemaine, who stood just outside the circle.
"A consummate performer, is she not, Barbara?" George Villiers took snuff, smiling with a hint of malice at his cousin. "Think you she is enjoying her present position?"
"How could she not be?" snapped the king's mistress, betrayed into a display of genuine emotion.
"You, madame, are a fool if you believe that," Villiers said lazily. "She cannot wait to be released."
"She is a conniving whore!" spat Barbara. "But if she thinks to worm her way into the king's bed, she must think again."
"Fear not, my dear. The king has no intention of any such thing. He has mistresses enough to plague him," laughed Villiers. "Or so he says to me. A quick and careless tumble, maybe, but only if the jade were eager." He paused, looking thoughtfully at the scene. "I do not believe she is."
Lady Castlemaine regarded him with interest. "What of your pursuit of the milkmaid, George? You were mighty hot upon it, as I recall."
Villiers shrugged easily. "I have yet to find the right price in the right currency." A smile flickered on his lips, a smile that did nothing to lighten his countenance. "But the little trollop shall pay the cost of arrogance in full measure; be assured of that, Barbara. You shall yet enjoy her downfall."
Lady Castlemaine shivered slightly at the clear menace in the soft tones. "What has she done to you, George, that you would promise me such a thing?"
The duke placed his palms together, hinged his thumbs beneath his chin, and reflectively tapped his forefingers against his mouth, his narrowed eyes fixed on the king and the figure upon his knee, swinging her bare feet with apparent insouciance. "With Kincaid's connivance, the silly child thought to make game of me. For that I shall rub her exquisite little nose in the dirt," he responded, for once revealing his true colors without adornment. "And I shall ensure that Kincaid knows every detail of his mistress's degradation. Thus, quite simply, shall I be revenged upon them both." Then he laughed. "Pray excuse me, cousin." He bowed and sauntered over to the group around the king.
"Do you join the hawking on the morrow, Mistress Wyat?" He addressed Polly, who, having just earned her release from the royal embrace, was standing beside the king's chair, waiting for the nod that would give her permission to leave his presence.
It was a pleasant enough question; the tone had even a hint of warmth, Polly noticed. But for the moment she had thought only for the fact that the question suited her own purposes. She glanced surreptitiously at Nicholas, who had appeared, it seemed, from nowhere. "I think no, Your Grace," she said. "I am not overly fond of leaving my bed at such an early hour."
The duke turned to Nicholas. "And you, Kincaid. Do you leave your bed early enough to join us?"
Without a flicker, Nick inclined his head. "I cannot imag-
ine what could provide competing pleasure, Buckingham. I shall certainly attend. I've a new gerfalcon to fly."