She did not think she should kill Buckingham. The fate of the murderer of the king's favorite and one of the foremost peers of the realm was bound to be unpleasant. It would also effectively curtail her loving with Nick, which would be a rather pointless conclusion in the circumstances. But where should one aim in order to disable? Always supposing that one could aim.
There was a moment when Buckingham was half-turned toward her, his sword arm parrying his opponent's lunge. Polly fixed her eye on the angle of his shoulder opened toward her, then, before she could think further, squeezed the trigger.
The explosion, the flash of fire, shattered the eerie, concentrated silence. Buckingham's sword dropped; he sank slowly on one knee, his hand clapped to his shoulder, where the bright blood welled shockingly between his fingers, startling against the white of his shirt. For a long moment the scene was a still life, then the
picture dissolved; the surgeon was running over to the fallen man, the others following, voices rising in the clear air. Polly stepped out from behind the horses, walking as if in a trance toward the circle of men, the still-smoking pistol dangling from her hand.
"I hope I did not kill him," she said in a flat voice. "I did not think it would be a good idea, although I should have liked to have done so." She looked down at the wounded man with a curious dispassion.
"Odd's bones!" Amazingly, it was Buckingham who broke the stunned silence, the words faltering through blue-tinged lips. "What a blood lust ye have, bud." A painful chuckle escaped him. " 'Tis a powerful enmity you bear me."
"Did you expect amity?" Polly asked coldly, with the same dispassion.
"Nay! But to be felled by a slip of a wench! My plans do not in general miscarry to such a degree." His eyes closed as the surgeon laid bare the wound.
Nicholas seemed to come out of the hypnotic trance that had gripped him from the moment of the shot. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" he demanded of Polly, snatching the pistol from her. "To interfere in an affair of honor-"
"But I could not allow him to kill you!" Polly exclaimed.
"Your faith is touching!" Nick rasped. "I suppose it did not occur to you that the reverse could have been the outcome?"
"Well, yes, it did. But I could not be certain of it, could I?" She looked down at Buckingham again. "Is he sore wounded, Master Surgeon?"
The doctor glanced up at her. "This is the most irregular affair. But I do not hold with dueling. 'Tis a barbarous practice, and it would appear, young lady, that you have spilled less blood than might otherwise have been let. The ball has passed through the shoulder. The exit is clean. I see no reason why he should not recover completely, once I have staunched the flow."
Nicholas looked around at the four seconds. "What's to be done, gentlemen? I will abide by whatever decision you make."
It was Buckingham who answered him. "Let it be said that I earned my wound at your hands, Kincaid, and honor is avenged." He coughed painfully. "I'd as lief not have it known that a wench was responsible for such a mortifying mishap."
"And I'd as lief not have it known that my wife felt it necessary to protect me in such fashion," Nick declared. "If there's any who feels dishonor, I will make what reparations are required."
"If you continue in this fashion," Polly broke in, "you will find yourself offering to fight them all again."
"Hold your tongue!" Nick rounded on her. "Have you not disgraced me sufficiently? Never, ever have I suffered such humiliation! That my wife should-"
"I do not have to be your wife," Polly interrupted recklessly. "I understand that you only married me in order to challenge the duke-" She stopped abruptly, her breath suspended, as he strode toward her.
"Oh, Polly! Polly!" murmured De Winter, shaking his head in disbelief.
Nicholas caught the thick braid hanging over her shoulder, twisting it around his wrist until he held her on a short leash. "Let us go apart into the trees," he said pleasantly. "Pray excuse us, gentlemen."
"God's grace, but 'tis a stout arm Kincaid'U need if he's to keep such a wife in a decent order," observed one of Buckingham's seconds in an awed tone. "I take it we're all resolved to keep this matter scotched? 'Twill be the scandal of the year, else."
In the privacy of the coppice, Nick leaned his back against the trunk of an elm, regarding his captive with a gimlet eye. "Pray explain yourself," he invited.
It was not an invitation that Polly thought it safe to accept. "It will only make you angry," she demurred.
"Doubtless. But since I cannot be more so than I am
already, you have nothing to lose, and just possibly something to gain. I can assure you we are not leaving here until you have satisfied me."
Polly shrugged. "I only meant to say that I realize you would not have married me if you had not wanted to challenge the duke, so…"As his expression did not alter, but maintained its air of polite interest, she continued. "So I thought that now it is all over, we could be annulled."
"We could be whatl" Nick had not expected that she could have any more surprises in wait for him, but this one transcended all others.
Polly frowned. "Is that not the right word? I thought it was what happened when a marriage was not a marriage." She turned her hands, palm up, in a gesture of emptiness. "I was asleep last night when you came back, and… and, well unless something happened when I was asleep, we are not yet properly married, so we can be annulled."
Nicholas wondered absently how long it would take before she drove him to Bedlam. Perhaps he would wring her neck first, in which case he would meet his own end on Tyburn Hill. "Would you wish to be… uh… annulled?" he asked in a tone of mild inquiry.
Polly searched his face for clues, but it was quite unreadable. She opted for candor. "Not really. But I do not need to be married to love you. We have managed quite nicely for more than a year, and I would be content for matters to continue in that manner. I understand that you could not avenge yourself upon Buckingham without marrying me-"
"That is certainly true," Nick interrupted calmly. "But I have had every intention of marrying you for months. It did not occur to me that you did not know that." He chuckled at her startled expression. "Sweetheart, would it be wise of me to ask what other outcome to our liaison you had imagined?"
"No, I don't think it would be," Polly said frankly. "But you might have given some indication. Did you truly wish to wed me, then?" She sought the final clarification. "For all time?"
"For all time," he affirmed softly. "I will have no other wife but you, and I fear you must learn to like it." His wrist took another turn of the braid, so that her face was brought up against his shoulder. "Is the matter now clear?"
"Quite clear," she whispered. "But it will be clearer still when my husband kisses me for the first time since we were wed."
"Lord of hell!" muttered Nick. "Is it true that I have not done so?"
She nodded, her eyes gleaming mischief. "You were so busy delivering challenges and fighting duels, my lord-"
He silenced her mischief in the simplest fashion, releasing her mouth only when her breath came in sobs and her body drooped against him, all resistance gone from her, so that she was pliable, malleable as wax, molten with the desire that he knew so well how to kindle.