Jane Feather - Venus

"Have I missed anywhere?" Nick mused, hovering over her, towel still in hand.

"I think you forgot my toes," Polly responded, wriggling them invitingly. "They are all damp 'twixt and 'tween."

Nick grinned. He knew well how sensitive were Polly's feet. "How remiss," he murmured, slipping an arm beneath her knees and sweeping up her legs, circling the narrow ankles between thumb and forefinger.

"No!" Polly squealed as his tongue licked along the sole of each foot, stroking into the high-arched instep. "Oh, you know I cannot bear it!" She thrashed wildly on the bed as the delicious torment continued, and he took her toes into his mouth, suckling on each one, his thumb massaging her

heels and soles, setting up a chain of sympathetic reaction all over her body. It was as if every nerve in her feet was connected to some other part of her. Finally exhausted, she ceased her struggles and protests, abandoning herself to the wickedly skilled arousal, the slow sensitizing of each nerve and pleasure center.

"Monster!" she whispered, defeated by delight.

"You asked for it, my love," he replied in perfect truth, smiling, still holding her legs as he looked down on her flushed face and heavy eyes, the rise and fall of her breasts in response to the thudding of her heart and her swift breath. He moved his hands to the insides of her legs and slipped slowly down their length, spreading them wide as he caressed the tender satin of her inner thighs, approaching with tantalizing delicacy the throbbing cleft, while Polly lay, breathless in expectancy, poised for the touch that she knew would send her surging over the edge to which he had brought her with such demonic knowingness.

Her eyes implored him, her tongue ran over her lips, her body became as molten wax, a formless puddle on the featherbed, centered only on that nerve-stretched apex. Hot tears of near unbearable delight scalded her cheeks. The muscles in her belly tightened, sending little flutters across the surface of her skin; and then, when there seemed nothing in the world but the tension of expectancy, he touched her.

Her body leapt as if beneath a burning brand, and she thrummed like a string of a plucked lute. It was as if, after an eternity of denial, she had been given back what she had lost. The loving touch of bodily joy, the turbulent plane of ravishing bliss were hers again.

"Come to me, love," she whispered, "inside me," desperate in her urgency for the fusion that would make them both whole again.

Nick stripped, careless of buttons and hooks in his haste, then he gathered her against him and, as she lifted her hips, pressed deep within her. Her body closed around him, holding him within her silken toils; he exhaled slowly, smiling in

soft satisfaction. "Such honeyed delight, love," he whispered, bending to kiss her eyes. "Velvet and honey, you are."

"No spice?" she murmured. "Such a concoction sounds a trifle sickly."

"There's salt enough upon your tongue to add savor to marchpane," he said. "Shall I punish you for that?" Slowly, he withdrew to the edge of her body.

"Quarter, my lord," she begged. "Indeed, 'twas a thoughtless impertinence." Her legs curled around his hips, pulling him toward her again.

"To respond to compliments in such fashion is, indeed, impertinence," he said gravely, tightening his buttocks in resistance against the pressure of her heels.

"I crave pardon, and will accept any penance except this." Her hips arced as her heels increased their pressure, and Nick chuckled, yielding with a show of reluctance.

Then the laughter died from his face, and his eyes burned into hers. "As you love me, sweetheart, do not move. I would have you with me, but one wriggle and I shall be lost."

She smiled. "And I would have you lost. I shall be with you, never fear." Slowly, she tightened her inner muscles around him, saw his face dissolve with joy, tried to keep at bay her own tempest the longer to enjoy his pleasure; and then was engulfed herself.

"God's grace, but I have missed you." Nick opened his eyes, his heart slowing against the still rapid beat of the one below. "I have missed being angered by you, as I have missed being entranced." He kissed the corner of her mouth, the cleft of her chin. "Tell me what you have been doing this sennight."

"Apart from worrying?" Polly asked, feeling her heart race again, a light sweat misting her palms. Stage fright, she told herself sternly.

Nick frowned. "You look worn to a frazzle, love,"

' 'Tis nothing, now that you are back. I could not sleep, and there has been the playhouse… Oh, what is the

time?" She sat up in a panic not entirely feigned. "We are to rehearse this morning." She sprang to her feet.

"Is there a play this afternoon?" Nick rolled off the bed, since clearly the moment for softnesses and cuddling was past.

"Nay, but tomorrow we are to perform Master Dryden's new play, Secret Love. 'Tis monstrous funny in parts. Melissa becomes Master Florimell." She struck a pose, beginning to mime the combing of a full peruke. " 'Save you, Monsieur Florimell! Faith, methinks you are a very jaunty fellow.' '

Nick laughed at the absurdity of her naked femininity and the very masculine swagger she produced. "Does Edward play opposite you?"

"Aye, as Celadon, my lover. 'Tis very awkward, as he challenges me to fight at one point." She twinkled mischievously.

"And how does the fair Florimell avoid such a happenstance?" he asked, much amused, and no longer aware of the signs of strain that he had noticed a minute ago.

She struck another pose, haughty, one make-believe handkerchief passing through the air. " 'Out upon fighting: 'tis grown so common a fashion, that a modish man condemns it.' "

Nick roared with laughter. "I will see no more, lest it spoil me for the performance." He stepped into Polly's neglected bathwater. " 'Tis cold, but I daresay will serve to refresh me. Had you better not dress?"

"Aye." Polly went to the armoire. "Will you not come to the rehearsal this morning?" She turned, offering him an apologetic smile. " 'Tis just that I fear to lose sight of you again."

"I must visit Richard, sweetheart," he said seriously, splashing water on the back of his neck. "There are matters that bear investigation-"

"But not today, surely," she broke in. "And mayhap Richard will come to dine if we send him a message to say that you are released."

Nick frowned, saying slowly, "I had thought to go to court this morning. I've a need to judge my reception."

Polly bit her lip, wondering whether continued pleading would arouse his suspicions. She allowed her shoulders to sag, her head to droop; her lip quivered, but she said nothing, continuing with her dressing.

Nick's frown deepened. He had no reason to suspect that this display of unhappiness bravely borne was less than genuine and, as usual, found her impossible to resist. "Very well. We will keep close today, except for Richard. Why do you not send to his house with an invitation to dinner?"

"And you will come to the theatre?" She turned eagerly to face him, hands clasped, eyes huge and glowing.

Radiant as a violet after the storm, Nick thought with customary resignation. "Aye, if you wish it. But I think it unkind in you to spoil my first view of the play by obliging me to witness the blunders and the promptings, and Master Killigrew's irritations and castigations."

She danced over to the tub, bending to kiss him. "I will find a way to recompense you, I promise."

Nick shook his head in familiar defeat. "Send the message to Richard. But for the love of God, do not write it! A verbal invitation will do."

Polly stuck her tongue out. "How do you expect me to improve when I receive so little encouragement?"

Master Killigrew greeted Nicholas with heartfelt relief. "God's bones, but 'tis good to see you safe, man. I have been in more than half a mind to cancel tomorrow's performance."

"Why so?" Nick took snuff, hiding his amusement that Killigrew's relief at seeing him appeared to have more to do with his theatre than congratulation on Nick's happy release from imprisonment.

"Why, 'tis Polly! Such an edge of desperation as she has been walking. I have been afeard that she would slip at any moment, and with the first performance of a new play-"

He shrugged expressively, confident that his interlocutor would fully comprehend the gravity.

"She has been greatly anxious," Nick said, watching the stage.

"Aye, but 'tis more than that," Thomas declared. "There has been something else amiss, but she'd not confide in me." He watched the action critically, then nodded. "But all's well now, it would seem." He strode forward. "Polly, we all know what Master Dryden wrote the part of Florimell for you, but you must not let it go to your head! It is still necessary to perform, unless you wish to be bombarded from the pit."

"You are unjust!" Polly declared, swinging 'round on her mentor. "What would you have me do?"

Nicholas smiled, listening to the lively exchange. It was as if the last week had never happened. Except that it had.

"Well met, my friend." Richard De Winter spoke softly from the gloom of the pit, and Nick turned, hand outstretched in welcome.

"Ah, Richard, it does me good to see you again." They clasped hands in a moment that said more than words could. "Did you receive Polly's message?"

"Aye." Richard laughed. "Much garbled with joy, but the meaning was clear." He turned his attention to the stage, then nodded, much as Killigrew had done. "I see that she is herself again."

"Did you notice aught else but uncommon anxiety about her these last days, Richard?" asked Nick.

Tread softly, Richard reminded himself. "Uncommon anxiety is all-pervasive, Nick. D'ye have a reason for asking?"

Nick shrugged. "Not really. I daresay Killigrew in his own uncommon anxiety saw more than there was to be seen." Linking arms with his friend, he drew him into the shadows of the pit, where their whispers would not disturb the rehearsal. "Have you any light to shed, Richard?"

De Winter shook his head. "Nay, but I am charged with a message-a most kindly message." He paused, and Nick

raised an eyebrow in silent question. "His Majesty bids you attend the levee on the morrow. A small matter of misunderstanding to be resolved."

"Lord of hell!" Nick raised his eyes to the cupola. "A misunderstanding had me arrested at dawn with great sound and fury! A misunderstanding kept me lodged in the Tower for a sennight!"

"Softly, now," Richard advised, laying a hand on his arm. "Let be, Nick. Let the hound snore, and do you smile at the king. No great harm's done, when all's computed."

Nick seemed irresolute, but slowly he relaxed, accepting the sense of his friend's words. He looked toward the stage. Polly had suffered no lasting, hurt, and neither had he. Better to leave the hound snoring, as Richard said.

Why such a long face, moppet?" Nick bent to kiss his favorite spot on her neck as Polly sat before her mirror the next morning. "You have been staring into the glass as if 'twas a green-haired fright that you saw. You are quite in looks, I assure you." He laughed, moving his mouth to her ear, trying to coax her out ot the dismal mood that had accompanied her waking.

"Why must we go to court?" Polly demanded, reaching her hands up to close over those on her shoulders, her gaze imploring him in the mirror. "I would have further time alone with you, instead of listening to the chatter and the nonsense and-"

"You know that I am bidden by the king's majesty," Nick said, mastering his irritation at this unreasonable request. "I must reestablish my position at court, Polly, and I'll not do that by skulking behind doors as if I had aught to hide."

"I do not see why you should want a position at court, anyway," she said with more than a hint of petulance. "It is all such a sham."

"A sham in which I have a part to play," Nick told her brusquely. "Now, make haste. We must leave within the half hour."

Polly bit her lip. She could refuse to go with him, of

course, and he would not really be able to object. She had not been bidden by the king's majesty. But it would be insufferable to cower at home, imagining the malicious whisper dropped into his ear, dreading his return lest he should come with the knowledge of her dealings with Buckingham. At least if she was there, she would not live on the razor's edge needlessly.