Jane Feather - Venus

Nicholas paused as the world settled again on its axis. The sun still shone, the river still flowed, hawks flew, and the earth continued on its accustomed circuit. Tiny was windblown, catching her breath in sobbing gasps, but she would recover. Polly was whole, pliant, and warm beneath his hands. She had given him the fright of his life, but he, too, would recover.

He drew back to look at her, her hair tousled, eyes wide, glistening, tears streaked on that flawless complexion, mouth opened to continue her indignant defense and accusations. "Are you hurt?" he asked in his customary calm tones. "That was quite a tumble."

"My arse," Polly muttered with a sniff, rubbing her aching rear. "It is all your fault."

"It seems that there is natural justice in this world, after all," Nick said, a tremor of laughter in his voice. "You'll not be up to sitting a horse again for a while, in that case." He turned from her to remount Sulayman. Reaching over, he took Tiny's bridle, drawing it over her head to hold it loosely with his own. " 'Tis to be hoped your injuries do not

preclude your walking," he observed. "It cannot be above four miles to the house."

Polly stared, for the moment speechless, as he turned both horses and set off homeward. "You bastard!" she yelled, then followed the insult with the more colorful examples of the vocabulary that had informed her growing. Nick's only response was to doff his hat, waving it in cheerful salute as he rode way. She picked up her own hat from its resting place on a spiky thornbush, dusting it off vigorously against her skirt, before cramming it back on her head. Then she limped after the fast-disappearing rider and horses, muttering curses and imprecations with all the vituperative malice of an entire coven of witches.

George Villiers, motionless within earshot, hidden by the screen of trees at the edge of the spinney, remained in seclusion for a good five minutes after the close of that fascinating and enlightening confrontation. It was always pleasing to have one's suspicions confirmed. It was with a most satisfied smile that he rode back to join the hunt.

The morning was far advanced by the time Polly arrived back at Wilton House. She was hot, and the walk had done nothing to improve her bruised muscles and spine, and even less for her temper. Unwilling to be seen in her bedraggled, dusty state by any guests, she used the back stairs to reach the peace and privacy of her chamber.

"Lor', Polly! Whatever's amiss?" exclaimed Susan. "Ye looks as if ye've been dragged through a hedge backward."

"Just as I feel," Polly groaned, sitting gingerly on the bed to pull off her boots. "If you love me, Sue, contrive some hot water and a tub. I am one enormous bruise."

"Whatever've you gone and done?" Susan, consternation wrinkling her round, placid countenance, bent to help with the boots.

"Oh, everything has gone awry!" Polly sighed. "And what is so infuriating is that it was not my fault." Thoughts

of Nicholas brought an alarmingly ferocious glint to her eye. "I need a bath, Sue. Can ye contrive it?"

"Aye." Susan bustled to the door. "There's a footman who's monstrous willing to oblige." A flush deepened the already healthy coloring, and Polly forgot her own ills for a minute.

"Willing to oblige you, is it, Sue?"

"Well, I dunno about that," the other girl mumbled, and whisked herself out of the room.

Polly took off her habit; mindful of the imminent arrival of Sue's swain with hot water and a tub, she put on a wrapper. She went to the door connecting her chamber with Kincaid's, pressing her ear to the keyhole. No sound came from within. He had probably returned to the hunt, sending his groom back to the stable with Tiny, thus advertising to all and sundry that the filly's rider had been unhorsed. She blinked away angry tears at the injustice.

Susan and the footman appeared, laboring under the weight of a round wooden tub and steaming brass kettles. Polly observed the two with interest, looking for the signs of an understanding between them. Nick, she knew, would be more than generous with his wedding gift, if such an understanding existed and could be brought to fruition. Sue's heightened color and a certain complacent air of the footman's seemed to lend credence to the idea. She would sound out Nick, Polly decided, before remembering that she had no intention of ever again exchanging as much as two words with the odious man!

"Thank 'ee, Oliver," Susan said with another fiery blush, holding the door for him. The footman grinned and chucked her beneath the chin as he went out.

"So that's the way the land lies," Polly commented with a teasing chuckle.

"Oh, give over," Sue said, still blushing. She hefted one of the jugs, pouring its contents into the tub. "Are ye gettin' in 'ere or not?"

"I am." Polly tossed aside her wrapper and stepped into the tub.

"Lawks!" squeaked Susan. "Ow d'ye get that bruise? 'Tis bigger than a saucer!"

"It feels as big as a serving platter." Polly groaned, sinking into the hot water, arranging herself delicately on the bottom of the tub. "I fell off a horse with some considerable force onto very hard ground. Actually, I did not exactly fall; I was practically pushed," she amended with a resurgence of indignation, hugging her drawn-up knees, resting her chin upon them. "And if I had my way-"

"You would see me drawn and quartered!" Nick's voice came laughing from the connecting door behind the occupant of the tub and her attendant. He lounged against the jamb, arms folded.

"How long have you been there?" demanded Polly crossly, without turning her head.

"Oh, long enough," he said cheerfully. "You were both far too busy complaining and exclaiming to notice me. However, Susan has the right of it. That is an enormous bruise."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Susan, I think you had better find something to do elsewhere. See if you cannot procure some witch hazel from the stillroom," suggested his lordship, pushing himself away from the door.

Susan bobbed a curtsy, disappearing in short order. Nick crossed to the window seat, where he sat facing Polly in her bath. "And whose fault is it?" A red-gold eyebrow lifted in punctuation.

"I would never have fallen if you had not pulled on the rein in that manner. It was quite unnecessary; I had matters well in hand. And then, to ride off and leave me…!" She glared at him over her knees, shifting slightly to take the weight off her bruise. "It was unkind and unjust-"

"Now, there I take issue with you," Nick interrupted, raising a forefinger to halt the tirade that was bidding fair to assume majestic proportions. "You took my horse-a blood Arabian. You took her not only without my permission, but also in direct contravention of my wishes, intending to force

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…"

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.