It was the waltz which was playing, all too reminiscent of their previous encounter at Lady Phillips's rout. Now, however, there was a definite constraint between them. There was a heavy frown on Lord Henry's brow and for a moment Polly wondered whether he was going to broach the subject of the scene at Richmond. Her heart beat a little faster.

"I must thank you. Lady Polly, for your kindness to my sister just now.

Clearly you removed her from a distressing situation before matters could get worse. I am most grateful. " Polly felt obscurely disappointed. So they were to continue as though nothing had happened, and yet the barriers between them were now reinforced.

She had little choice but to follow his lead. Normally so open and amiable, his expression now was preoccupied and almost severe. There was still a frown between those dark brows and an angry set to Lord Henry's mouth.

"Lady Laura told you what was said, then." Polly spoke a little hesitantly.

"I am sorry that she should have been so distressed. Even if Mr Dit ton spoke in jest it was in bad taste and ill conceived--' " Would that I could call him to account for it," Lord Henry said furiously, 'but just at the moment I can ill afford--' He broke off suddenly, refocusing on Polly, and some of the latent anger went out of him.

"Oh, well," the nonchalance had eased back into his voice and was well-feigned, almost convincing '--Dit ton is an unpleasant fellow, when all is said and done, but not worth disturbing oneself over. Such matters never are worth the trouble. " Had Polly not been so aware of Lord Henry she might well have been taken in by his a.s.sumption of good humour, but with her own feelings in turmoil she found she could contain herself no longer. The words popped out of her mouth before she even had time to consider them.

"Why do you pretend to be of no account, interested in nothing but foolish, frippery things, my lord? I am not taken in by your pretence that you do not care about Dit ton's words! It does not cozen me, though I confess I find other aspects of your behaviour rather more puzzling!"

For a moment, she saw the surprised speculation in Lord Henry's eyes, before the bland amiability that so frustrated her returned.

"I collect that you refer to my other exploits. Lady Polly? You do not consider high play and the pursuit of the fair s.e.x to be serious occupations for a gentleman, ma'am?"

Polly almost stamped her foot.

"I am well aware that you might find them so! But I know you are seeking to distract me, my lord, running me about something when I know you consider it a serious matter... I saw you when Mr Dit ton made his remarks about Chapman's protector--' She broke off as his hand tightened warningly on hers.

Her voice had risen as her feelings spilled over, and other couples had turned curiously to see what was going on. Lord Henry bent close to her ear.

"Yes, you can read me better than most, Lady Polly, because I have chosen to show my true self to you. And it is also true that I do not choose to behave in company as I do with my closest friends. But just for now, I must beg you to forget what you know of me and accept that I am nothing more than a foolish, frippery fellow who cares only for the set of his neck- cloth..."

His mouth twisted into a smile at her look of amazement.

They were very close. This time there was no attempt to distract her from the topic. There was a compelling force in his eyes that silenced her, demanded her compliance.

Polly's thoughts tumbled over themselves. Why the pretence at boredom and dandyism? What was he hiding? Perhaps Tristan Dit ton had been right: a man playing a part; a n.o.bleman, bored with his easy lifestyle, craving excitement. But it was not possible! Lord Henry had integrity, honour.

Surely, he would never become embroiled in criminal activities simply to amuse himself. Polly's troubled gaze searched Lord Henry's face.

"But why are you playing a part? What--' " Forgive me. " Lord Henry's tone had softened as he saw her look.

"I cannot tell you that now. And forgive my abruptness. I should not have spoken so, but it is of the greatest importance that you should keep your suspicions to yourself. Lady Polly. One day I will tell you why..."

Polly shook her head slightly, retreating into pride. "It is of no consequence if you do not wish to explain yourself--' " Yes, it is of consequence! I do not give a rush for what others think of me, but I do care for your good opinion. " He was still frowning.

"When I can, I shall explain all to you, including those aspects of my behaviour which have appeared most questionable!" A smile lit his eyes briefly.

"For now, I can only ask you to trust me..."

The music finished with a final flourish but Polly scarcely noticed as Henry led her back to the Dowager Countess, who had returned to gossip with the d.u.c.h.ess of Broxboume. He excused himself immediately.

"My sister and her chaperon have already left and I must make haste to my next engagement. Good evening, Lady Polly." He bowed to the Dowager Countess, "Good evening, ma'am..."

Polly watched him go. She was even more confused than she had been before she challenged him over his odd behaviour. It seemed that there were more mysteries to Henry March night than met the eye, and none would be explained to her in the near future.

Polly's mouth drooped. She felt tired and bad- tempered with the onset of a headache. Nor did the Dowager Countess seem much inclined to linger. She was suffering from an unusual reticence resulting from her part in the unfortunate scene with Lady Laura.

"For it was very bad ton of Tristan Dit ton to speak as he did," she commented, once she and Polly were in the seclusion of their carriage, 'and though Lady Laura is a little mouse and I had quite forgotten her presence, I feel badly that I did not give him the set- down he deserved. " Polly murmured something in agreement, leaning her head against the seat and closing her eyes. Although the day had been fresh, the wind had now died and the night was almost unbearably humid.

Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance and Polly could see the nicker of lightning away across the river.

She shivered within her cloak, wishing they were already home.

There seemed to be something malevolent in the air.

They had gone perhaps two-thirds of the way back to Brook Street when there were sudden violent shouts outside the carriage, making Polly open her eyes and the Dowager Countess, who had been lulled into a doze by the rumble of the wheels, jump out of her skin.

Torches flared outside the window, and by their flickering light, Polly could see a huge ma.s.s of figures, jostling and shouting, their faces twisted and malignant. There was a sound of breaking gla.s.s and the snap of firecrackers, sudden and shocking, and a growl of excitement rose from the crowd. The carriage lurched, slowing to a crawl.

"What on earth--' the Dowager began, leaning forward to peer out of the window, and then the carriage door was flung open without warning and the nightmare came in.

Filthy hands caught Polly and the Dowager Countess, and dragged them forcibly into the street. The smell of unwashed bodies and the sweet stench of spirits was in Polly's nostrils. The howl of the mob was all around them.

Hands plucked at their clothes, ripping them, and s.n.a.t.c.hing at their jewellery. Lady Sea grave was screaming; Polly felt a sharp pain as her pearl necklace was wrenched from about her throat. She was blinded by the glare of the torches and by the tangle of her hair as her jewelled headband was pulled off. All about her was the swell of menacing power as the mob tested its strength--Polly could feel it and it terrified her.

The coachman was shouting and swearing horribly, his arm raised to defend himself against the blows raining down. In all the noise and confusion, he had not even noticed that Polly and the Dowager Countess needed his aid, and he would have been unable to defend them anyway.

The footman had been pulled from the box and was hanging on to the door of the carriage for dear life as the rabble tried to drag him into the gutter. And then, for a moment, the crowd thinned and the coachman, seizing his chance, whipped the horses into a gallop. The carriage lumbered off down the street with the mob jeering and stoning it.

"All alone, now," a voice breathed in Polly's ear, but she scarcely noticed, for before her was a scene from h.e.l.l that was beyond her worst fantasy.

There had been another carriage behind theirs in the road, and this one had been set on fire. Flames roared from the roof and the open door. A man was kneeling in the gutter, his evening dress smouldering, his hands horribly burned and disfigured. Beside him, a woman was scrabbling about amongst the cobbles, sobbing hysterically. Polly caught her breath as the firelight caught the glitter of something amongst the cobblestones. The woman leant forward, but a hundred hands were quicker than hers, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the coins and precious stones and laughing in scorn. The woman sobbed all the louder.

"She's crying for her money," Polly whispered, horrified.

The Dowager Countess screamed again, pummelled and jostled by the mob.

A ragged cheer went up from the crowd as the fire spurted upwards.

Polly shrank back, trying to evade the grasping hands, but there was nowhere to run.

"And now, my little dove..." the leary, whisky- sodden voice murmured again.

"My, you're a pretty one, ain't ye?"

The frenzied scene began to fade as Polly felt herself slipping into a faint.

Her mother was crying and sobbing, but Polly found she could not cry.

Nor could she fight this inexorable tide that had swept them up and carried them on a wave of exultant power. The noise was terrifying and the darkness, with the flames illuminating those freakish, evil faces, only added to her fear.

She hardly noticed when a change came over the crowd, so far was she gone in terror and revulsion. There was a whisper running through the mob like wind through corn, and the edges of the crowd began to fray and break away.

"Don't try... Not worth it... He has a pistol... Two pistols... Let's go..."

An arm slid about Polly's waist, hard and strong, and she was too tired to fight. Let them carry me off and do what they must, she thought tiredly. I cannot do any more. "This is no time for swooning, Lady Polly," Lord Henry March night's voice said, very calm and very resolute.

"I must ask you to show some mettle."