Read Online Venus by Jane Feather - Free Book Online

mistress would have access to all those private conclaves, and if she did not know she was spying, the danger of discovery would be reduced. Careful priming beforehand, and skillful questioninglater, should elicit the information from her without her being aware of it.
    It was tricky, but it could work. It was certainly the best opportunity they had had in some time. Lord Kincaid consulted the watch hanging at his waist, saw that two hours had passed since he had abandoned his prospective spy to her watery fate, and returned to the hothouse. He found himself most eager to see what transformation soap and water had wrought. He was not disappointed.
    “You must have been even dirtier than I thought,” he managed to say, once he had recovered from the sight of Polly’s now unhindered beauty. Her hair, clean and burnished, was an even richer color than he had realized, and her complexion, free of the dirt that had been embedded in the skin, was a clear, translucent ivory. Only her eyes were unchanged, except that in their now-polished setting they shone even more luminous than before. He could make an informed guess, aided by memory, of the condition of the rest of her, now concealed beneath the modest neatness of her unimpeachable garments. Once her bruises had healed, there would not be a blemish to mar the perfection. The thought brought an uncomfortable constriction in his loins; he turned brusquely toward the coach.
    “Come, it is time we went home. I have wasted the greater part of my morning already.”
    Polly, torn between resentment at his callously matter-of-fact manner and pleasure in the combined sensations of cleanliness and the feel of fine linen against her skin, followed him a little crossly. “But you promised that we might stop again at the Exchange.” She gathered up her skirts with unconscious elegance to mount gracefully into the coach.
    Now, where had she learned to do that? Nicholas wondered. It was as if she had been born and bred to the gracious management of skirts and petticoats. “I will let you and Susan off at the Exchange. You may walk home afterward.”
    “Oh, but please, my lord. My lady …” Susan stammered, leaning over the side of the box in her anxiety.
    “I will make it all right with her ladyship,” Nicholaspromised, accepting that he was going to have an unpleasant scene on his hands when Margaret discovered that he had blithely given her maid a holiday.
    Polly’s excitement when she was finally permitted to set foot in the magic world of commerce was so innocently, childishly at odds with that mature beauty that Kincaid was hard-pressed to keep a straight face. Bethinking himself that wandering around stalls lacked something essential if one was not in a position to purchase, he handed her a sovereign.
    “’Tis hardly riches,” he said, laughing, as she looked at him, dumbfounded. “But you might see some trifle that takes your eye.” He was aware that Susan was also staring. “To hell and the devil,” he muttered. Why should a generous impulse have such an effect?
    He knew perfectly well why, of course. One did not hand out sovereigns to servant wenches except in payment for services rendered—services, in general, of a certain kind. It would not do for Margaret to draw such a conclusion. Nothing would prevail upon her to share houseroom with one she would call whore. There seemed only one solution. He handed Susan the sovereign’s mate, with the injunction to enjoy themselves but to ensure that they were home for dinner. Then he gave the coachman instructions to drive to Whitehall, and left two blissfully happy girls, with untold riches burning a hole in their pockets, to enjoy a brief holiday.
    The Long Gallery at Whitehall was thronged. It was here that gossip was created and exchanged, factions developed and broken, reputations made and ruined. His eye sought for the tall, slender figure of Richard De Winter, Viscount Enderby. Nick’s oldest friend, the man with