hope was high, when the idea of radical change seemed not impossibly chimeric, then reality would intrude, made even more vicious by its destruction of dreams. But this time, the white transmuting cover would not become sullied and melt. It could not, because this time she had been given control over her destiny. The prize was there to be seized if she was capable of doing so.

Nick frowned, wondering why the radiance should have been so abruptly wiped from her face. But the bleakness vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, and she offered him that heart-stopping smile again.

"Mayhap we will be snowbound."

Nicholas returned the smile. "I can think of worse fates, but I had best get dressed and investigate downstairs." He went into the bedchamber to pull on shirt and breeches. Polly followed, scrambling into her smock.

"I wish to investigate, also," she said in reply to his raised eyebrow. "May I not?"

"I had rather you climbed back into bed and awaited my return. I do not intend to be many minutes; then we have some unfinished business to attend to. I seem to recall that you were rather anxious for the onset of morning. Or do you find the prospect of snow so all-absorbing that you will be unable to concentrate on anything else?"

Polly removed her smock and climbed back into bed. "But if you are a very long time, I shall come to find you."

"I can safely promise you that I shall not be," he said, rendered strangely dizzy by the sight to which he had just been treated. Polly's back view as she had clambered up onto the high feather mattress had set up in an inventive and playful mind an utterly dazzling series of images and possibilities. Finding themselves snowbound could, indeed, prove decidedly entertaining.

"I fear you must be having most improper thoughts, my lord," Polly said demurely, peeping at him over the quilt, which she was holding up to her nose. His own gaze lowered without volition to follow the direction of hers. "I do not think you should go and visit Goodwife Benson just yet,"

she continued. "Not until you have… have, well… subsided, if you see what I mean." The hazel eyes were alight with mischief; her tongue peeked from between her lips.

"I fear you are right," declared his lordship, calmly pushing off his breeches. He reached for the quilt and twitched it out of her hold, flinging it back.

"But the fire had gone out!" Polly yelped as the cold air hit her now-rewarmed flesh.

"The price of impudence," he told her cheerfully. "But you will not be complaining of the cold soon. Turn over."

When Goodwife Benson knocked on the bedchamber door an hour later, Polly had discovered that there was a variety of novel ways of increasing the body's temperature. Nicholas bade their landlady enter and propped himself on the pillows to smile a greeting as the round figure bustled in.

"Ye'U be needing the fire newly rekindled in "ere," said the goodwife, setting a bucket of coal in the hearth. "Will ye be wantin' my man to trim ye, m'lord?" She wiped her hands on her apron. "Right handy 'e is with a razor. Been a gentleman's gentleman, sir."

Nick rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin. "I'd be glad of his services, goodwife. It's kind in him to offer."

The woman beamed. " 'Tis nothin', m'lord. But ye'll not be venturin' forth today. Snow's still falling."

Polly sat up at this, observing hopefully, "Mayhap you will not be able to open the door."

"Like as not." The goodwife's smile broadened. It was clear to Nick that she was as amused as he was by the contrast between Polly's ingenuousness and that extraordinary sensual, tumbled beauty. "But my man and the boy'll take a shovel to it, soon as may be." She turned back to the fire, busying herself with coals and kindling until a cheerful blaze filled the hearth. "There now. I'll fetch you up hot water and send my man to ye, m'lord. Will the young lady require help with 'er dressin'?"

Polly looked startled. "No… no, thank you." The goodwife inclined her head, bobbed a little curtsy, and bus-

tied out. "Why should she imagine I would need help with my dressing?" Polly slid out of bed.

"Ladies generally do," replied my lord with that enigmatic little smile. His words had the effect he had expected. She stood stock-still and stared.

"I do not think Newgate-born bastards, bred in a tavern, warrant such a title," she said carefully.

"But a lord's mistress might," he suggested. "We have not discussed what background you must assume, but you should perhaps consider this now. When you are introduced to Thomas Killigrew you will not wish to present him with… with…" He felt for words before deciding that Polly's had been both sufficiently descriptive and accurate. "A Newgate-born bastard. While actors are welcomed at court, such a history as yours is unlikely to be received with equanimity. And you know you must earn the king's approbation if you are to join his company."

Polly moved closer to the fire's warmth as she considered this. She turned herself slowly, like a roast on a spit, maintaining an even warmth on her bare skin. As always, she appeared sublimely unconscious of her nakedness. Such ease with one's body was, Nicholas reflected, a considerable asset in one who would tread the boards. He watched her cogitations in silent amusement for a moment.

"We have spent some considerable time and effort in the last month ensuring that your deportment and accomplishments are consistent with a respectable background," he reminded her eventually. "One that will not come amiss at court."

"I had not fully realized the complexity of this," Polly said slowly. "I realized that Master Killigrew must decide that I have some skill, but I had not thought as far ahead as coming to His Majesty's notice."

"If Killigrew agrees to take you on, he will present you in one of his productions," Nick told her. "He will invite the king to attend the theatre and will recommend you to his notice. The rest will be up to you, for you know that the members of the king's company are servants of His Majesty;

they wear the king's livery and receive their pay from the royal purse. With the Duke of York's company, the same applies, except that they are servants of His Grace. King Charles must decide for himself that he wishes you in his service."

"Oh." Polly found the idea of having to appeal in person to His Majesty, King Charles II, utterly daunting.

Nick read her mind with little difficulty. "I should not be overly anxious, sweetheart. The king is most susceptible to all aspects of female beauty, and you possess them all-lavishly." He chuckled as she blushed. Could she possibly be unaware of it? "If you have even a minimal talent for the stage, you need have no fears."

"I have more than minimal talent," she declared, indicating that her modesty was not all-encompassing.

"I do not doubt it," Kincaid agreed smoothly. "But you would be well advised to conceal the circumstances of your birth and upbringing if you wish to frequent the court."

"But not all actors have genteel antecedents," Polly objected. "I know they do not because the daughter of the butcher on Tower Street became an orange girl at the Duke of York's theatre, and then found a protector and became an actor."

"If you wish to be a mediocre actor, never emerging from the back ranks, then your origins may be as humble as you please," Kincaid said briskly. "But I had thought you intended to star. Star actors become courtiers, or they do not star."

"Perhaps I should be a woman of mystery," Polly said, a gleam in her eye. "With a deep and dark past. Will that serve, d'ye think?" She twirled, showing him her back, kissed pink by the fire's heat.

"Done to a turn," murmured Nick, sliding to the floor. A sharp rap at the door gave him pause. He sighed, reaching for his shirt. "One minute," he called. "I expect that this is Goodman Benson come to trim me. I will join him in the parlor. Do you dress yourself, now, and come out when you are decent."