me into a corner; and, I might add, succeeding. It was for that, that you had your walk."
Polly was silent for a minute, gazing beyond Nick, out of the window. Then she sighed, yielding with customary grace. "Indeed, it was wrong of me to take your property without leave, and I ask your pardon. But I could think of no other way to prove my point." The slender shoulders shrugged, the gesture accentuating their bare, rounded perfection. "However, you need have no further qualms. I'll not be riding again."
"That bruise will not last forever," Nick pointed out, rising to his feet, tossing his coat onto the bed.
"I was not referring to that," Polly said, attempting a dignified note, but Nick was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, and it was hard to sound stiff and distant when images of what his action might presage ran rampant in her head.
"To what were you referring?" He knelt beside the tub, reaching a lazy hand over the edge to flick playfully at the water before delving beneath. " 'Tis to be assumed there's soap in here-"
"Here!" Polly picked up the soap from the floor beside the tub, grabbed his questing hand, and slapped the precious cake into it. "I would not leave it in the water; t'would melt."
"Such habits of thrift as you have," he said in wonderment. "Kneel up and let me wash your back."
"I am not ready to wash my back yet," Polly objected. "I am still enjoying the hot water. It is beneficial for aches and bruises."
"On which subject, if those aches and bruises are not going to prevent your riding, what is?" Finding one warm wet breast beneath the water, he lifted it clear, soaping the ivory mound with an air of great concentration.
"I refuse to ride that sluggard ever again, with or without a leading rein," she told him. "So I will not ride."
"I had not envisaged your riding the piebald again," Nick said, transferring his attention to the other breast. "I, too, was in error."
"Oh." Polly could find nothing more to say for a moment, particularly when Nick had taken her nipple between thumb and forefinger, and was rolling it in the way that set butterflies of delight aflutter in her belly.
"Tiny is yours," Nick said softly, tipping her chin with his unoccupied hand. "I gift you each to the other."
"Oh," Polly said again, at the mercy of such a welter of emotions that she was quite unable to express herself.
Nick kissed her, and there she could find expression, her lips melting against his, her tongue flirting with his in sensual promise. Drawing back, he smiled down at her face, flushed with the warmth of the bathwater and his kissing. "Am I forgiven for causing your fall, moppet?"
"You would buy your pardon, sir?" Her eyes glowed; she reached up with wet hands to clasp his face, pulling it down to hers for renewed thanks. "In the face of such a birthday gift, who could be so mean-spirited as to deny pardon for any offense that stopped short of murder?"
Nick frowned. "Birthday gift, Polly? What mean you?"
She shrugged casually. "Why, 'twas my birthday on Wednesday."
Nick sat back on his heels, regarding her gravely. "Why would you say nothing of it earlier?"
She shrugged again. "It has never been a day of note. I do not regard it." A tiny smile touched her lips as she remembered. "Well, one year it was. It was my fifth birthday, as I recall. Prue had made me a rag doll." She laughed, quite unaware of the effect this revelation was having on Nicholas. "I kept that doll until it fell apart, then I had a scrap of the material that I talked to as if 'twere still Annie. But Prue threw it away eventually, when it became so dirty that she would not give it houseroom. It must have been very dirty," Polly reflected. "Prue was not overly scrupulous about such things."
"That was the only birthday present you have received?" He spoke slowly, as if to be sure that he was understood.
"Why, yes, I think so," she responded. "I would have remembered, I expect, if there had been others."
"Yes, I imagine you would," Nick said, swallowing the lump in his throat. There was no point in expressing his feelings at this gulf of deprivation. It would hardly benefit Polly to be made aware of a loss that she did not consider in the least. However, he was resolved that never again would her birthday pass unremarked. "So you have attained the great age of eighteen." A finger ran over her lips, gently teasing. "I must learn to treat you with the respect due such maturity; or, at least, endeavor to do so."
"I do not think I should care for that at all." Polly caught the teasing finger between her teeth, nipping with a degree of seriousness. "Respect sounds very dull. Except that I could wish you had shown me a little before pulling Tiny up short like that. I would not else have fallen."
"Stop worrying that bone. I had thought it buried."
"Indeed, it is."
"Then kneel up and let me wash your back. I have a certain cure for bruises of both pride and flesh…"
Chapter 18
You have recovered from this morning's mishap, I trust, Mistress Wyat." Buckingham took snuff, smiling blandly at Polly. They were in one of the small drawing rooms that evening where card tables had been set up; voices rose around them in laughter and occasional exclamation.
Polly looked at her interlocuter, and for a moment was deprived of the power of speech. The duke was regarding her with a look of contemptuous amusement, radiating menace. The cheerful buzz around her seemed to fade under the inescapable conviction that this man was going to hurt her. Without thought, her eyes darted in a desperate search for Nicholas, needing the certainty of his presence as shield.
The duke's smile grew blander as he absorbed her confusion. "I appear to have said something to upset you," he murmured. " 'Twas but a polite inquiry."
Polly licked her lips and found her voice. "I do beg your pardon, my lord duke. My mind was elsewhere. I am quite recovered, thank you. It was a most minor mishap."
"Your… uh… protector seemed not to consider it minor."
"I do not know what you mean, sir." Why did she feel as if she were dancing at the end of a string being manipulated
by those long, beringed fingers? Her gaze raked the room again, wildly searching for Nicholas.
"Why, I mean simply that Kincaid appeared monstrous disturbed," replied the duke casually. "Most flatteringly concerned for your safety."
"I cannot imagine why that should surprise you, Duke." From somewhere came the strength to resist the creeping paralysis produced by those drooping, hooded eyes and the soft tones where some as yet undefined threat lurked, barely masked.
He gave a little laugh. "Oh, it did not surprise me in the least, bud. Not in the least." He watched her as she struggled to make sense of this. "Love is a most demanding master," he murmured.
Involuntarily, she gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "It is, of course, not at all a fashionable emotion," continued the soft voice dripping its honey-coated menace. "But we shall keep it as our little secret, shall we?" Seeing Polly for the moment incapable of response, he offered a mocking bow and sauntered over to a table where an intense game of three-handed Gleeke was in progress.
Polly stood for a minute trying to shake herself free of the enveloping dread. What was going on? What had he seen? What did he mean? She must find Nicholas.
Gathering up her skirts, she hastened from the room, then stopped. What was the point in describing that exchange to Nicholas? It could not possibly mean anything. Why should it matter that Buckingham now knew that Polly and Nick were not simply two individuals involved to their mutual benefit in a perfectly ordinary liaison? Her own association with the duke was over, so nothing was lost by his knowledge. What did matter was that she had betrayed her fear even as she had confirmed his words with her shocked silence.