"No," he said, pushing himself away from the mantel. "Rape has limited appeal, although I might choose to fabricate it at some point in our acquaintanceship."
"Your terms, duke."
"Can you not guess, mistress? You seem remarkably perspicacious." He strolled over to the long deal table against
the far wall and tore off a chicken leg from the bird resting on a humble pewter platter. "Will you not sup?"
"I find I have no appetite." She took his vacated place at the fire. "Perhaps I should tell you my own terms." She waited for a response, but Buckingham gnawed on his chicken leg, offering neither invitation nor denial. "You may have me, Duke. In exchange, I will have, now, the order for Lord Kincaid's release from the Tower, and the dismissal of all charges, either stated or predicated, against him; the document to be written by you, signed and sealed, and given to me before we commence whatever play you have in mind."
Buckingham smiled. "The play I have in mind, bud, will be of seven nights duration, here in this chamber. I will have from you your willing-nay, eager-participation." The smile broadened, and the banked fires of lust flared for a second in the eyes resting upon her face. "Any hesitancy to comply with my wishes, the hint of a refusal to accede to my demands, will nullify the bargain. You will come at this time every evening for seven days, returning to your lodgings in the morning."
So there it was. Polly forced herself to meet his searching gaze without flinching. She must lend herself to whatever quirks this man's notoriously dark lust might produce. A whore's work-no more than that. "What guarantee do I have that you will keep your side of the bargain?"
For some strange reason such an aspersion seemed to catch him on the raw. "You have the word of a Villiers!" he snapped, losing his equilibrium for a second.
Polly raised an ironic eyebrow. "Your pardon, my lord duke, I meant no slur upon your honor. How should I, indeed?" She paused for a minute, but the duke had himself well in hand again, so she continued calmly. "I would have your word, also, that you will do me no serious hurt, and that you will not spill your seed within." She was negotiating like a whore, Polly thought distantly. A whore's terms, for one must keep intact the goods with which one had to bargain in the future.
Buckingham suddenly laughed. "By God, but y'are more
than I reckoned on! As consummate a courtesan as my Lady Castlemaine or any. Know your value and keep it! Well, the sport will be the better for it, I swear." He strode to the door, flung it wide, and bellowed for the servant. "Bring me paper, quill, and sand caster."
They were produced, the order written, the charges declared dismissed. Buckingham dropped hot wax from the candle, sealing the document with the impress of his signet ring. "This will be delivered to the governor of the Tower in seven days time, on condition that you have fulfilled your side of the agreement."
"You'll not find me wanting," Polly said.
George Villiers refilled his wineglass, selected two walnuts with some deliberation from a bowl, then leaned against the table, looking at her. He held the walnuts against each other between his hands and squeezed slowly. The shells cracked in the sudden stillness. Smiling, he turned his attention to peeling away the husks cupped in his hands before looking up at her as she stood, immobile by the fire. His eyes narrowed as he said softly, "I'd have you show me what I've bought."
No different in essence, Polly thought, than the little chamber in the Dog tavern. She began to unhook her gown.
Chapter 20
The seventh morning after the seventh night dawned, its cold gray light filling the square casement. Polly lay wide-awake, stiff and chilled, as she had done since her bedfellow had finally fallen asleep. Her wrists were bound beneath her, and Buckingham had neglected to share the quilt before he had slept, so she could do nothing about her exposure to the ice-tipped air.
There was an eerie silence. She had noticed in the last seven nights that this silence fell for no more than a couple of hours, just before profound night yielded to the dawn. It fell very suddenly, as if the wildness of the Piazza had run its course, its inhabitants stopped dead in the tracks of debauchery. The house slept in the same way, screams, giggles, footsteps, cries, all ceased as if at a signal, and it was as if Polly were the only person awake in this squalid corner of the universe.
She shivered convulsively, but nothing would persuade her to edge closer to the warmth of her companion's body- not when it was not required of her, and her revulsion could not be detected.
"Are you cold?" Buckingham spoke into the gray light, sleepily matter-of-fact.
"You neglected to untie my hands," she said, as matter-of-fact as he. "And I have no quilt."
"Careless of me," he said, his voice arid as the desert. "D'ye find no pleasure in the sensation of helplessness, bud?"
"Had I done so, my lord duke, I venture to suggest that your pleasure would have been diminished," she responded with acid-tongued truth.
Buckingham chuckled. He had no objection to her tartness so long as she entered his sport without physical reservation; and she had certainly done that. Indeed, it had been a most rewarding seven nights; he was sorry that they were over. But he would have tired of her eventually, and there was a certain sweetness in an ending that came before one was truly ready. Rolling her onto her belly, he unfastened the silk scarf that bound her wrists.
"My thanks, sir," Polly said formally, sitting up and shaking the life back into her numbed arms, chafing her wrists. "Our bargain is completed, I believe."
"Aye." Villiers sighed regretfully. "But I'd as lief continue it for a while longer. If I'd known what a joy you would be, I'd have fixed upon a month." He got out of bed, stretched and yawned, then went to throw coals upon the fire's embers.
Polly made no response, merely huddled beneath the quilt, which still retained his body warmth, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. She watched him dress, thinking dispassionately that it was for the last time. She would go home, and Susan would have the tub of hot water waiting before the blazing fire, and she would scrub the night's violations from her body, and the memory from her mind for the last time. And Nicholas would return, and would replace those grimy memories with his own fresh, present reality.
Dressed, the duke went to the mantel, where he took up the sealed document that had lain there for the last seven nights. He tapped it thoughtfully against the palm of his hand, regarding the figure on the bed. "Extraordinary!" he murmured, shaking his head. "That one would voluntarily expose oneself to such a fatiguing emotion as love." He
crossed to the bed, thrusting the document into the deep pocket of his coat. "A farewell kiss, sweet bud. 'Tis the last demand."
Eventually, the door closed on his departure. Polly flew from the bed, scrambling into her clothes, drawing her hooded cloak tight about her. The house reeked of stale liquor and tobacco smoke, and many other less savory remnants. A ragged, skinny girl, her chapped hands blue with cold, her nose dripping, was sloshing cold water over a pool of vomit in the corner of the landing. Polly drew her skirts aside and stepped quickly past. The doorkeeper, grumbling and mumbling, spat phlegm onto the sawdust-covered floor as he pulled back the bolts on the street door.
"It'd 'elp a body if n ye'd come down t'gether!"
It had been the same complaint for the last six mornings. Buckingham always left before Polly-just another client leaving his whore in the brothel, where she belonged-and the doorkeeper always bolted the door after him, then grumbled mightily at having to open up again five minutes later. Polly ignored him today, as she had done every previous day. Out in the street, where the night's debris still littered, she took a deep breath of freedom. She would cleanse both mind and body of the soil of those nights. She was no delicately nurtured flower, no piece of porcelain to be cracked and broken by such doings. She had seen worse, had known as bad. For many, such sordid degradations informed their lives from birth until death. For her it was over.