Venus Read Online Free Page A

charms—an interest that so far had been nothing but a burden, but in this instance could be put to good use. Wrapping the coat around her shoulders, she stroked the sleeve, wonderingly. “I’ve never worn velvet before.”
    “What do you mean, you’re coming with me?” He looked at her uneasily.
    “Well, I can’t go back, can I?” she pointed out with impeccable logic. “Josh’ll kill me … if Prue doesn’t first.” Her dance on the frozen mud became more vigorous. “Besides, I saved your life, so now you can be my … my …” She searched for the right word, then found it. “Protector,” she finished triumphantly. “Or do I mean patron? Actors have patrons, don’t they? But I suppose, if I am to be your mistress, then you would also be my protector. Anyway, either will do.”
    “Either will
not
do!” Nicholas, unable to make head or tail of this assured statement, stared at the prancing figure swathed in velvet. “May I remind you that it was you who made the saving of my life necessary in the first place?”
    “Ah,” Polly bit her lip. “I suppose that is true. But what am I to do? I cannot become an actor without a patron. I have been waiting for one forever. And now you have turned up so fortuitously—” A violent sneeze brought an end to this confusing recitation, returning Nicholas to his senses. She was going to freeze to death if he left her here, if she had not already contracted an inflammation of the lungs. He didn’t want her death on his conscience—time enough when they found shelter to decide what to do with her.
    “Where are we?” He peered into the murk, but could see nothing familiar.
    “Near Gracechurch Street,” was the prompt reply. “Cornhill’s up that-a-way.” She pointed ahead.
    “We’ll mayhap find a hackney there. If there’s a jarveywilling to ply his trade on this filthy night.” He glanced down at her bare feet. “Can you walk that far?”
    Polly shrugged. “Have to, won’t I?” She began to run up the lane—an extraordinary figure in underdress and a gentleman’s coat, that honey hair streaming in the wind. He’d be lucky to find a jarvey willing to take such a motley creature, Nicholas reflected gloomily. She looked as if she’d escaped from Bedlam! Mind you, he was beginning to feel as if
he
had done so. He set off at a brisk walk in her wake.
    There were few people abroad to witness the strange pair, but Nicholas, alert for footpads, kept his hand on his sword hilt and his eyes peeled for a sight of the Watch, unsure how he would explain matters should he be challenged. They reached Cornhill, where Polly stopped. She dashed a hand across her eyes—a gesture that did not escape Nicholas, coming up beside her. It was too dark to see the extent of her distress, but her posture had lost its previous jauntiness. He looked anxiously up the street. Not even the lantern of a linkboy showed through the fog.
    “Lord of hell! You could at least have brought your shoes!” The irritable mutter produced a gulping sound from his companion, but he was too worried about her physical state to care overmuch about wounded sensibilities. Then the sound of hooves pierced the dark. Nicholas stepped into the street. A coach lantern wavered, its light a will-o’-the-wisp in the fog-dark. He ran toward the vehicle, praying that it was a public hackney so that he would not be obliged to throw himself on the mercy of some late-night traveler, who would be justifiably suspicious of an apparently benighted gentleman and a half-clad female.
    “Wha’ y’want, then, foin sir?” The muffled figure on the box swayed, his words slurred. “Foul night to be abroad.” He raised a bottle to his lips and drank deeply, hiccuping.
    “Your services,” said Nicholas briskly, pulling open the coach door. He turned to yell for Polly before the jarvey could whip up his horses and take off without them, but she was right beside him. He bundled her inside. “A guinea for you if