"I learned much when I was under your sister's roof," she explained, grasping with little difficulty the reason for his hesitancy. "And yet more when I could steal away for an hour or so to watch the gentlewomen walking in the Strand. And also the not-so-gentlewomen." An up-from-under look glimmering with mischief accompanied this addendum. "Since I belong to the realm of the latter, it may prove to have been a not unhelpful observation. Their finery appeared unexceptionable. But then, my tastes are but uninformed."

"Somehow, I doubt that," murmured his lordship. "I suspect that there is very little of importance about which you are truly uninformed."

"Oh, my lord, but I must protest. You do me too much honor," she simpered with the most grating titter, batting her eyelashes vigorously. "I feel sure you exaggerate."

Nick tucked his shirt into the waistband of his breeches. "Probably," he agreed, giving provocation its own again. "But you must learn to accept compliments without ques-

tioning, regardless of their sincerity." He fastened his doublet, shrugged into his coat, and adjusted the ruffs at his shirt sleeves. "I am heartily sick of these garments. I do not imagine I shall ever wish to wear them again."

Polly regarded him through narrowed eyes. "I cannot imagine what possible point there could be in paying compliments that are insincere."

"Oh, on occasion a very fine point can be made," he informed her. "It is possible to make a compliment sound like an insult, my love. As you will learn."

" 'Tis not an art I have the least interest in learning." Polly thumped back on the pillows, pulling the quilt up to her nose.

"In that case," declared Nick cheerfully, "there seems little point in a shopping expedition."

"Why do you always have the last word?" Polly wailed, sitting up again.

Nick could not help laughing. "Do not think to score against me, moppet. I have had many more years of experience than you, and my wits are fine-honed."

"But I may hone mine on your steel," she suggested, making an admirably speedy recovery. "I know full well how keen and upstanding that steel can be." Her eyes, gleaming suggestively, invested a seemingly innocent statement with a wealth of innuendo.

Kincaid whistled in soft appreciation. That look, that tone, employed when she delivered some of the deliriously wicked lines penned by the most popular playwrights, would bring the house down. "I predict a great career for you, Mistress Wyat. If someone does not wring your neck first." Crossing to the bed, he lifted her chin to plant a hard kiss on her mouth. "I must dine at home with Margaret, but I will return this afternoon, and we will visit the Exchange."

Polly pouted. "I do not care to dine alone."

"Then you must do without your dinner today," was the callous response. Kincaid was not about to be fooled by an aggrieved pout more suited to an overindulged damsel of society's upper echelons than to this hard-schooled wench,

for whom an adequate dinner must at times have been the summit of the day's ambition.

A smile nickered at the corners of her mouth as she accepted this further defeat without protest. "I think I shall go for a walk. I presume there is no one here of whom I must ask leave?" A hint of challenge lurked in her voice.

Nicholas shook his head. "You know full well that you are the mistress here. But I would have you take a care. The streets are not entirely safe."

"You forget perhaps that I am of the streets," Polly reminded. "I know well how to have a care."

Nick frowned. "You no longer look as if you are of the streets," he said. "Your present dress does not fit that part. Walking alone, you could well present an attractive prize to one on the lookout for such spoils."

"Then it is possible that they might be surprised," she countered. "I can employ the language and manners of the gutters as well as any, my lord, should the need arise."

"I cannot imagine why I thought you could not," said Kincaid, shaking his head in mock wonderment. "However, notwithstanding, I repeat: have a care."

"Yes, my Lord Kincaid," she responded meekly, folding her hands, giving him a look of anxious innocence. "I will do just as you say."

Nick paused, knowing he must go, yet utterly seduced by her mischief, and the sensual promise in the glowing eyes. But if he postponed his departure, he would not leave today, and there was a world beyond these four walls, commitments he had made and must honor. "Until this afternoon," he said, turning away from her disappointment before he yielded.

Polly heard the parlor door click on his departure, and sighed. There had been a moment when she had thought he would stay, and the idyll would have lasted one more day. But since it was not to be, she would be wise to make the best of things. It was time to test this new life that had been gifted to her. She was mistress of her own lodgings, answerable to no one, free to go wheresoever she pleased. A day

where there were no tasks to perform, no orders to obey, stretched before her; and the world outside awaited.

She dressed rapidly, putting her pantofles over her pumps to protect them from the slushy streets, wrapped herself in her thick cloak, and hurried down the stairs.

"What time will ye like to have dinner served, mistress?" Goodwife Benson came out of the kitchen as Polly reached the hall.

The question took Polly aback. It was not a matter on which she was accustomed to being consulted, and in the last three days Nicholas had naturally been the one deferred to in such subjects. "Whenever it is convenient," she said.

Goodwife Benson looked at her shrewdly. "It is for you to say when it will be convenient, m'dear."

Polly nibbled her lip. "At noon, perhaps?"

"At noon," agreed the goodwife. "I've a fine pullet for ye, well dressed though I say so myself." She turned back to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, "Mind how you go, now. The ways are mighty treacherous after the snow."

"I will," promised Polly, in a warm glow at a caring attention hitherto unknown to her.

It did not take many minutes to convince her that walking was not a comfortable mode of progression in present conditions. Where the snow had melted, it rushed down the kennels, carrying filth with it to spill over onto the cobbles, leaving them thick with malodorous slime. Out of the sun, the snow remained in blackened and unsavory drifts, blocking the paths. There were few people on foot, and those there were were frequently bespattered by the mud and muck flung up from heedless horses' hooves and disdainful carriage wheels. But she pressed on doggedly, determined to attain her goal of the Theatre Royal. This time she had no ulterior motive except to look upon the king's playhouse and indulge in the daydreams that were now so close to fulfillment.

It was a short walk along Drury Lane. Just as she reached her destination, a coach, arms emblazoned upon its panels, swept past her to come to a dramatic halt at the theatre steps. A clod of mud flying up from the wheels landed on Polly's

arm, splattering her liberally. In a fury, she assailed the coachman, who was in the act of climbing down from his box, castigating him roundly on his careless driving. Since she chose to do this in language with which the coachman would be familiar, it was not surprising that he should enter the argument in spirited fashion.

"God's good grace! What is going on!" An elegant voice preceded its owner's head, appearing in the carriage window.

"You have a most discourteous coachman, sir," Polly said, switching her accent to one more suitable for discourse with so manifest a gentleman. "He drives his carriage in such a manner that no one is safe on the same street with him, and then has the impertinence to blame his victim!"

George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, was bereft of words for a moment as he took in the ravishing beauty before him. Never had he beheld such a diamond. Indignation glittered in a pair of magnificent eyes-like forest pools, he thought-flushed a perfect complexion with a delicate pink, stood out in every line of a matchless form. At the same time, he noticed that she was well, if modestly, dressed, and she spoke with a lady's breeding. Except that if it had been she berating his coachman, then she knew well how to assume a different accent.