A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth at this exaggeratedly polite request. "Had I asked for leave, it would not have been granted," she replied unarguably. "Then I would have been obliged to add disobedience to my offenses."

"It is there already," he commented dryly. "But pray tell me where you went." He threw her a shrewd look. "Unless you hold secrets?"

A tinge of pink showed against her cheekbone. "There is no secret. I had a great desire to visit Drury Lane, to see the king's playhouse, mayhap also-" She paused, then shrugged, seeming to make up her mind. "I thought, perhaps, to see Master Killigrew, to bring myself to his notice."

"You thought, in short, to take matters into your own hands, matters that we had agreed were best left in mine." Nicholas spoke harshly, knowing that he must nip this impatient independence in the bud. "Perhaps you will tell me what I have done to earn your mistrust. Am I not fulfilling my side of the bargain? Permit me to tell you that you do not appear to be overly scrupulous in fulfilling yours."

Large tears welled in Polly's eyes, falling down her cheeks to splash onto the table in front of her. "No!" Nick exclaimed, pushing back his chair with abrupt violence. "If those tears do not cease instantly, I shall ensure that they have cause to be genuine! You forget that I am become quite familiar with your tricks."

"It is a very useful accomplishment," said Polly, aggrieved, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Doubtless." He resumed his seat, then yielded to his curiosity, although he had no desire to offer encouragement for her more dubious feats. "Just how do you achieve it?"

"I think sad thoughts," she told him. "You were scolding me in that horrid way, and it was all for nothing, anyway, since the playhouse was closed up and I did not see anyone-and I am most dreadfully hungry," she finished on a plaintive note.

"Why ever should you be hungry?" Nick took the scent of his wine, frowning at her.

"For the reason that I have had no supper and am to have no breakfast," she said tartly. "You do not entirely keep your promises, sir. I understood that Lady Margaret was to have no jurisdiction over me. My stomach tells me otherwise."

Nick let his breath out in a low whistle. "Why did you not tell me of this straightway?"

"To have told you of the punishment, I would have had to tell you of the offense," she said candidly. "If you did not know of it, I had thought it best kept to myself."

"With some wisdom." He could not help smiling, recognizing the familiar pattern. She would exasperate him with her impatience and vociferous complaints about her present mode of existence, but then that enchanting ingenuousness disarmed him every time. "However, I am done scolding, so why do you not repair to the kitchen and fetch yourself some supper? Bring it back here."

"And theft will be added to my crimes," Polly declared, although she was halfway across the parlor. She paused with her hand on the door latch. "I suppose, in such an instance, Lady Margaret could turn me out of doors with good

cause." Her voice was hopeful, her eyes speculative. "Then we would have to find an alternative arrangement."

"Yes. Newgate," said Lord Kincaid amiably. "You will end your days where you began them."

Polly, always one to accept defeat gracefully, dropped a mock curtsy of acknowledgment, her eyes mischievous.

"Get you gone," Nick said. "Or perhaps you are no longer hungry?" The query ensured her instant departure.

Chuckling, Nick bent to mend the fire. Was she ready? His amusement died as he pondered the question, staring into the flames where the fresh log blazed. She was certainly ready for an introduction to Killigrew. In the last weeks she had proved herself an apt and indefatigable pupil at anything she could be convinced was necessary to the achievement of her ambition. The rough edges had been remarkably easy to smooth, aided by her innate talent for imitation and remarkably sharp powers of observation.

He had told De Winter that in the teaching of her he would forge some chains, and he had done so. But was she ready for those other links that would bind her to him? Was she ready to accept the logical conclusion of the easy, trusting affection that he had fostered between them in the last month? He had sworn that when he made her his mistress, she would not feel she was entering into a bargain, would come to him out of her own passion. But he had been too busy either teaching her or refereeing between Margaret and her troublesome kitchen maid to spend much time on the gentle art of awakening the power of desire in that peerless breast. Perhaps it was time to bring the masquerade to a close and turn his attention to the forging of those other, stronger chains.

The door opened to admit Polly, bearing a platter laden with bread, cheese, and a hefty wedge of pigeon pie. She whisked herself into the parlor, glancing guiltily over her shoulder as she closed the door. "There was no one in the kitchen, so I was able to take whatever pleased me," she confided, coming quite unselfconsciously to sit on the floor before the fire, where he still knelt. She broke into the bread

with eager fingers, laughing up at him. "There was fat mutton and watery broth for supper." Her nose wrinkled. "I have done well, I think."

Nicholas regarded her platter with a degree of astonishment. Obviously she had not exaggerated her hunger. "If you really intend to consume such a quantity, you had best have something to help it down." He got up and went over to the side table to pour wine.

Polly accepted the glass with a smile of thanks and took a hearty bite of bread and cheese. "I have forgotten. Is it a marquis who comes after a duke?"

"Do not talk with your mouth full, moppet," he reproved automatically, sitting in the elbow chair beside the fire. "Aye, 'tis a duke, a marquis, an earl, a viscount, a baron."

Polly conscientiously swallowed her mouthful. "And you are a baron, and Lord De Winter is a viscount."

"Correct," he said with a smile. "Humble members of the peerage. Can you remember who is secretary of state?"

Polly took a sip of wine. "The Earl of Arlington." She became aware of his hand playing in her hair and, without undue thought, shuffled backward until she was leaning against his knees. "And the Earl of Arlington and the Earl of Clarendon are at outs, and the king prefers Arlington to Clarendon… I have it right, I think." She bit into the wedge of pigeon pie, savoring it with great concentration.

Nick allowed his fingers to drift over the nape of her neck, beneath the luxuriant fall of honeyed hair. Her neck bent responsively beneath the caress, and he smiled in quiet satisfaction, scribbling a fingernail into the delicate groove at the base of her scalp.

"Tell me some more about Master Killigrew and Sir William Davenant," Polly demanded. "If Master Killigrew manages the king's company and Sir William the Duke of York's company, then they must be some sort of rivals?" Suddenly, without knowing why she did, unless it had something to do with the strange, prickly warmth spreading through her body, emanating from those wonderfully busy fingers on her

neck, she looked over her shoulder at him, and suffered a slight shock. "Why are you smiling in that manner?"

"In what manner?" he asked softly.

Polly frowned in strange confusion. There was a glow in the emerald eyes, an intensity to his expression that set up a tingling response in her own. "It is a little hard to describe. I do not think anyone has ever smiled at me like that before."

"Mayhap no one has seen before what I see now," he said, moving a thumb beneath her chin to tilt her face as he brushed a pastry crumb from her lips with his forefinger and bent his head to bring his mouth to hers.