"Of all things," she replied, with a fierce intensity. "May I?"
"I see no reason why not. You will have to gain His Majesty's approval, of course, but we will not seek that just yet."
"What do you have in mind?" Nicholas, accepting with considerable relief that his brief venture into the thespian arena was over, took snuff.
Killigrew came up onto the stage. "A short spell in my Nursery at Moorfields first. There are skills and practices to be learned, and even a natural talent is the better for honing. Then I will put on The Rival Ladies here. It is one of the king's favorites and provides ample scope for an actor to show to advantage all that she may have to show." He and Nicholas exchanged a comprehensive glance at this. Polly looked between them in some bemusement.
"I do not quite understand. What is your Nursery, Master Killigrew?"
"A training school," he replied. "I put on plays for the people in a theatre at Moorfields. It is not the most appreciative audience, but one that provides valuable experience for a novice. You will learn much-not least how to win distracted and possibly hostile playgoers."
"I would rather start here," Polly said, indicating the theatre around her. "Why can I not learn here the skills and practices of which you speak?"
"Because you would do so at the expense of the experienced actors. They do not care to perform with a tyro, my dear, however talented she may be, or however much she may feel she has nothing to learn."
Polly swallowed this unpalatable statement with a grimace. Nick, though he recognized the justice in the snub, and appreciated Killigrew's need to establish mastery at the outset, felt a stab of sympathy for her discomfiture. "You will have but one chance to win the king's approval, Polly. It is surely wiser to take that chance when you are properly prepared."
"Yes. I understand. I do beg your pardon, Master Killigrew, if I seemed of an overweening conceit." Those great eyes were raised to his face, a tremulous smile hovered on her lips, and Thomas felt an overpowering remorse for his harshness.
He smiled warmly. "No, no, my dear. I did not think that. It is quite natural for you to be impatient of delay. But you must trust me, you know."
"Oh, but I do!" she averred passionately, her hands clasped to her bosom. "I will do whatever you suggest. I am so grateful-"
"That will do, Polly," Nicholas put in hastily, sensing that Killigrew was about to slide into a hypnotized trance under the full force of that melting gaze and the impassioned plea of her penitence.
Killigrew blinked, startled by this interpolation. Polly turned on Nicholas reproachfully. "I meant it! I was not
playing. I am truly regretful if I seemed vain and importunate-except that I do not think I was being."
Nick's lips twitched. "You are a most beguiling jade! You will become accustomed to her tricks, Killigrew. She is possessed of more wiles than a barrel-load of monkeys. You fall for them at your peril, I can promise you."
"I begin to see that," Thomas murmured, stroking his chin. "It clearly behooves me to be on my guard." He chuckled. "I am an old hand at this game, Mistress Wyat, so have a care before you lock swords with me."
"Why, sir, I would not be so impertinent as to hazard such a thing." Polly sank into a deep obeisance, twitching her skirts to one side, bending her head so that the slender column of her neck was presented, bared as the honeyed ringlets fell forward. It was a posture of perfect submission, yet every line of her body radiated a coquettish impudence.
Killigrew gave a shout of laughter. "Ah, Mistress Wyat, I foresee that in the stage curtsy you will excel. It is by far the most important pose for a female actor to master, and you appear greatly proficient already, even without the assistance of a corset. You have had an accomplished dancing master, I gather."
"Most accomplished," agreed Polly, rising gracefully. She cast a covert glance at Nicholas, struggling with his mirth at the idea of a dancing master in the Dog tavern. "My governess was monstrous strict in matters of deportment, sir," she continued blithely. "I shall always be grateful for her care."
Nicholas, having no idea how far Polly's inventiveness would take her if she were allowed free rein, decided that matters were drawing too close to the brink of danger for comfort. The one thing that was abundantly clear was that she was enjoying every wicked minute, and he could almost hear Killigrew's mental calculations as he tried to fit her into some recognizable social background.
"It grows late, Thomas," he said. "And we have taken up enough of your time for one day." He held out a hand. "I am most grateful."
"On the contrary." Killigrew took the proffered hand. "I should thank you."
And no one should thank Polly, Polly thought; but it was only a passing grievance; her elation ran too high for niggardly remonstrance, and if these two wished to congratulate themselves on whatever she had to offer, they had her permission. She would indulge in a little self-congratulation and the heady knowledge of success. She had leaped the void of hopelessness.
Once outside, Nicholas tucked her arm beneath his, remarking casually, "You are going to be well served, I fear, when required to execute the steps of a coranto. Your fictitious dancing master will appear to have been not so accomplished after all."
"Oh, indeed, I trust not, sir," Polly returned, her lips curved impishly as she looked up at him, her face framed in the fur hood of her cloak. "I had made sure you would be a most accomplished dancer! Do not tell me you are not. I had thought such skill necessary for all courtiers."
"So I am to teach you to dance now, is that it? I had never thought to be awarded the title 'dancing master'… or 'monstrous strict governess,' for that matter," mused Kin-caid. "It has a most undignified ring. But I daresay I will undertake that task, as I have undertaken all the rest." He gazed at her upturned face, thinking of all that he had taught her, of the wondrous flair she possessed, in one field at least, for taking those lessons and making their execution her own specialty. It was no longer unusual, when it came to love-making, for him to yield the initiative to the creative impulses of this gay and zestful elf.
Polly's gaze sparkled under the darkening sky, where the evening star glimmered, and she skipped-a joyous involuntary expression-on her high heels as the winter wind probed with icy fingers. "I am going to be an actor. I am!"
"It would seem so," Nick agreed, as calmly as if he were not in a white heat for her, as if his blood were not pounding in his ears, his loins aching, as if the touch of her fingers on his sleeve, the knowledge of the shape of her beside him, had
not set up a chain of impassioned responses that seemed as if they must find physical expression if he were not to ignite with the wanting.
The electric quality of sensual excitement scintillated, and Polly caught her breath, engulfed almost without warning. Her fingers curled around his arm, her body pressed closer to his, her face lifted, lips parted invitingly, eyes glowing, luminous with needy passion.
"God's grace!" Nick stopped abruptly in the frosty lane and stood looking down at her. "Never have I felt such a wanting. I am consumed with desire for you."
"Now," she whispered, insistent, through suddenly parched lips, moving against him, heedless of the darkening street, the ice-tipped wind, the roll of carriage wheels behind her.
Nick dragged himself back from the edge of a madness that would have had him, there and then, yield to the demand she made, to the impulses of his own body. "Make haste!" he said, curt with the effort necessary to manage both of them until they could attain privacy. " 'Tis but a few yards now." His fingers circled her wrist, his stride lengthened, and Polly tripped on her high heels as she stumbled to match his pace.