"Aye." Nick shook his head as if to dispel confusion and took Polly's hand. "A timely reminder, Richard. Come, moppet. You must test your drawings on an expert." He bundled her up the carriage steps, into the dim interior, his voice briskly cheerful as if that moment had never occurred. But she knew that it had, just as she knew what it meant.
This was a relationship that had had its roots in expedi-
ency. She had intended to use Nicholas, Lord Kincaid, for her own ends-use without deception, certainly, since she had never been less than honest about what she wanted from him. He had brought her to the acknowledgment of desire, the understanding of the power of passion and the delight of its fulfillment. But she had still thought of him as fulfilling also the necessary role of the protector/patron without whom she could not achieve her ambition. The sensual joys of their love nest were a bonus.
Now, it seemed that the priorities were reversed. Any help he might offer her in the achievement of her ambition was the bonus-one that had nothing to do with this overwhelming surge of joyous love she felt when they had exchanged that look.
What she did not know was that Lord Kincaid had reached exactly the same conclusion, but from the different standpoint of his own planned deception.
Chapter 10
Thomas Killigrew received Lord Kincaid's message while he was at his breakfast, some three days after the shop- ping expedition at the Royal Exchange. It was a message not unlike many the manager of the king's company had received in the past: A nobleman had under his protection a girl desirous of gracing the stage. Would Master Killigrew do him the kindness of seeing the aspirant and judging for himself whether she could be so employed? Lord Kincaid himself ventured to suggest that once Killigrew laid eyes upon her, he would be captivated. This message offered a choice of meeting place-either at the young lady's lodgings, or at the playhouse, where Lord Kincaid would bring Mistress Wyat at a time convenient for Master Killigrew.
Master Killigrew drank deep of his ale. He was on friendly terms with Kincaid, who had a lively wit and, while he eschewed the ultimate extravagancies of the court, could never be labeled a dull dog. The king held him in esteem, although he was by no means one of the favorites-did not put himself out to be so, Killigrew reflected. Not one for the groveling and simpering that marked the truly obsequious courtier. He took pleasure in the play, also; was fast friends with John Dryden, and was presumably well aware of what qualities were indispensable in a female actor. They were not
qualities possessed by all mistresses, although they were the qualities that made a woman a superlative mistress, Tom thought on a sardonic chuckle. Those qualities had led their owners into many a noble bedchamber; in more than a few instances, to the altar and a countess's coronet.
He pondered his response before deciding that he would see the girl on her own ground first. The stage could terrify a novice initially. If he saw any promise in her, then he would try her out on the boards. A message to the effect that Master Killigrew would do himself the honor of waiting upon Lord Kincaid and his protegee at three in that afternoon was dispatched to the address at Drury Lane.
Nicholas had not told Polly that he had at last taken the long-awaited step. It seemed to him that the less time she had for nervous anticipation, the calmer she would be when the moment came. For reasons based, as he was reluctantly obliged to accept, upon a mixture of pride and love, he would have her appear at her very best. The white damask kirtle and scarlet velvet gown had been delivered with a speed that said much for the skill and application of the sempstress and her apprentices. It was no great work, that afternoon, to persuade Polly into her new finery, although she offered halfhearted protest that, since there was no one to see and admire, it seemed rather a waste.
"And am I no one?" queried Nick, leaning his shoulders against the mantel, watching her preening antics with both amusement and satisfaction.
"Do not be foolish," Polly chided, frowning into the crystal mirror on the tiring table. "Is the collar pinned aright? It is not easy to do for oneself."
"I shall have to hire a maid for you," Nick commented, standing back to give proper attention to the matter of the collar. "If I just move this pin… like so… There, perfect."
"You are a more than accomplished maid, my lord," Polly said easily, assuming that he had spoken in jest. She adjusted the lace frills at the wrists of her smock and smoothed down the fluted pleats of the damask kirtle revealed by the velvet
gown, which hung open at the front, the two halves caught up at the sides.
"I will not always be here to assist at your toilet," he pointed out. "I am certain the goodwife will offer what help she may, but she has other duties. Nay, you have need of a tiring woman."
Polly looked at him, aghast. "I could not possibly! I would not know what to say or how to go on or-"
"Nonsense," he interrupted. "Of course you will. It is simply another part that you will learn to play."
"I learn to play those parts that please me," Polly said. "And it does not please me to play the mistress of servants." She spoke with firm purpose. "I do not mean to be disobliging, Nicholas, and I am sure you intend only to be kind, but it would not suit me at all."
Nick drew his snuffbox out of the deep pocket of his coat and flicked it open with a deft thumbnail. He took a pinch, thoughtful and deliberate. This was obviously one of those issues on which Polly was like to prove intractable; nothing would be gained by pushing the point to animosity.
"Why do you not try the shoes?" he suggested affably.
Polly had noticed that when Nick dropped a potentially contentious subject as abruptly as he had just done this one, it usually meant that he had decided to choose different ground on some other occasion. The subject was certainly not closed. It was a tactic that left the opposition in an uneasy position, since one could not continue to press a point when no argument was offered, yet dropping the issue, under even such passive compulsion, smacked uncomfortably of concession. But there was nothing to be done. She turned her attention to the high-heeled shoes.
"They require practice," Nicholas comforted as she teetered precariously around the room. "In ten minutes I guarantee that you will be quite at ease."
Polly muttered doubtfully, but found to her surprise that Nick was right. Practice did make, if not perfect, then a fair approximation of that happy state.
She was demonstrating a very creditable turn in the parlor,
managing to control the volume of her skirts as they swung around her, when the knocker sounded from below. Nick glanced surreptitiously at the watch at his waist. Thomas Killigrew was punctual to the minute. Goodman Benson's voice came from the hall, adjuring the visitor to mind the turn at the corner of the stairs.
"Is it a visitor?" Without thinking, Polly moved into the light from the window. The knowledge that the shaft of afternoon sun would catch the golden tints hidden in the honeyed curls clustering on her shoulders was a subliminal one, yet she possessed it nevertheless.
Kincaid smiled to himself. She was standing very erect, the elegance of her attire set off by the natural grace of her posture. The exciting prospect of an audience other than himself had deepened the glow of her complexion, made, if such a thing were possible, the forest pools of her eyes even more lustrous. Her lips were slightly parted over those even white teeth, and she radiated her own special inner energy that defied all resistance.
It was this latter quality that Killigrew noticed the minute he walked into the parlor. No damsel with die-away airs here, but a young woman with her eyes set upon a prize; every inch of her absorbing her surroundings; intent on ensuring that no opportunity evaded her watchfulness, on ensuring that her responses were those to make the most of every eventuality. It was only after he had assimilated this that the full impact of that extraordinary beauty struck him.