"Go to hell!" Polly muttered, stomping across the hall with her burdens.
"What did you say?" Unable to believe her ears, the Puritan stared in slack-mouthed outrage.
Polly was cold and stiff, and at the end of her tether with confusion and vexation. "It seems to me that you would have a better chance of hindering the devil's work if you were to go and join him," she said, slowly and carefully.
"Why you insolent little whore!" Margaret hissed, her eyes blazing with all the fury of the violated fanatic, her body shaking as she stepped, hand upraised, toward Polly.
Without thought, Polly hurled the bucket of cold, dirty water at the Lady Margaret's feet.
Nick stepped into the hall just as the water hit the flagstones with a squelching slap, to slurp around the Puritan's ankles, soaking her shoes and the hem of her petticoat and gown. The tableau was for a second frozen as Lady Margaret stared down in disbelief, stunned by such an inconceivable happening, and Polly, hazel eyes still ablaze with fury, stood motionless, uncertain what to do next.
"Oh, Polly, you shrew!" Nick exclaimed, laughter lamentably quivering in his voice at this amazing spectacle.
"She was going to strike me," Polly said fiercely.
"I wonder why," Nick murmured, striding rapidly across
the hall as Lady Margaret returned to her senses with a scream of rage.
"Out ot this house!" She took another step toward Polly and slipped in a puddle. Nick's arm shot out just in time, yanking the enraged woman against him the instant she was about to fall in an undignified heap to the floor.
" 'Tis all right, Margaret," he said soothingly. "Why do you not go to your chamber and change your dress and shoes? Susan can clear up this mess."
Margaret stared at him, an almost feral look in her eyes. "Never, ever have I been subjected to-"
"No," he said, still soothing. "Of course you have not, and you shall not be again. I will deal with this, now."
"There is nothing to deal with!" Polly's voice shook, but it was clear and strong. "I am leaving." She marched toward the door.
Nick caught her with his free arm, thus finding himself in the ludicrous position of having both warring parties in his hands. Laughter was threatening to overwhelm him and required every last ounce of self-control to keep submerged. "Yes, you are leaving, Polly," he said. "But for the moment you will go into my parlor and wait for me."
"Why? There is nothing to stay for." Her chin went up, but the hazel eyes were overbright, sheened with tears she would not shed.
Nick spoke gently, realizing that she had as yet no reason to see the funny side of the situation. "As it happens, there is. Just go, moppet, please." Feeling some of the rigidity leave her, he released her.
Polly regarded him for a second. Then she turned and walked into his parlor, closing the door behind her.
"She's to be turned off without a character," Margaret said, trembling with outrage. "This instant!"
"Go to your chamber and change your dress," Nick said evenly. "You need concern yourself about her no longer. Shall I send Susan up to help you, or should she clean up this mess?"
The need to make a domestic decision of even that small
nature seemed to restore Margaret to some measure of herself. "I will manage, thank you, brother. Do get that… that creature off the premises."
"With pleasure," Nick murmured to her retreating back. A gleam in his eye, he turned toward the parlor and Polly.
Chapter 6
In the name of grace, whatever caused that imbroglio?" He closed the door of the parlor and stood leaning against it, regarding Polly's still figure with laughing eyes. Amusement bubbled in his voice, no longer needing to be kept hidden.
"I told her to go to the devil," Polly mumbled, still somewhat shocked at the suddenness of her impulse. "And she raised her hand to me… so… so I threw the water." She looked across at him uneasily. "I did not throw it at her, exactly. Just toward her feet."
Nick's shoulders were shaking, and her unease vanished under a resurgence of indignation. "It is not funny, my lord. I cannot imagine why you should find it so!"
"Oh, but it is, sweetheart. It was the most richly comic sight to which I have ever been treated! Margaret, standing ankle-deep in dirty water, with that look of unutterable disbelief on her face…" Laughter finally got the better of him, and he gave himself up to its enjoyment.
Polly stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. What had just happened meant that she could not spend another minute under this roof, and he did not seem to be in the least concerned. "Oh, stop it!" she cried finally. "I will not have you laughing at me!" Her foot stamped in vigorous
punctuation, and when he showed no sign of a return to sobriety, she flew across the room, her fists pummeling his chest in frustrated rage, the pure flame of anger shimmering in the green-brown depths of her eyes.
"Nay, peace, little shrew!" he exclaimed, catching her hands and pinning them behind her. "I was not laughing at you, I was laughing at what you did." He smiled down at her flushed, wrathful expression where that lovely soft mouth quivered and confusion stood out in her eyes. "Of course, it was quite inexcusable, and I should not find it in the least amusing, but I cannot seem to help myself."
"I have to leave this house," Polly said, conscious of how close they were, so close that with her every panting gasp, her breasts seemed about to brush against his chest. Her heart was already racing with the aftermath of her indignant attack, and this proximity, the warm imprisonment of her hands in his, the deep glow flickering in his eyes, were doing nothing to help her catch her elusive breath. "I have to leave," she repeated, her voice barely audible as she struggled to grasp some strand of reality.
Nick shifted his hold on her wrists, taking them both in one hand, then bringing his now-freed hand 'round to catch her chin. With infinite slowness, he lowered his head to kiss her mouth as he had done last evening, lingering and tender, until the sunshine spread through her again, and the blood danced in her veins.
"Aye," he said softly. "You must leave here, my flower. But not as a consequence of that tantrum."
"Why, then?" Her voice sounded cracked and not at all like her own. He still held her, and the imprint of his lips upon hers seemed indelible.
"You know why," he said, his eyes a burning probe that struck deep within her, questing and finding the truth for them both.
Yes, she did know why. If, as now seemed clear, he would take her to his bed, he would not do it in this house. "But why now?" Still the puzzle remained. "Why would you wait for so long? I have been willing, but you said you did not-"
"I said I did not want a part of the exchange you had in mind," he interrupted quietly. "I wished to wait until you felt what you feel now." He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. "Do you understand me?"
The bewildering contradictions seemed to be making a pattern; the conundrum offered its solution. Polly swallowed. "I do not quite understand why such a thing should be important to you, sir."
"Do you not? Then you have much to learn about the ways of loving, sweetheart." He smiled, but there was a gravity in his intent gaze that held her spellbound. "I would have that which no man has yet taken…"A finger moved to trace the long, sensuous line of her lower lip. The tip of her tongue darted, dampening his finger in a gesture that was as artless as it was enticing. He drew a long, slow breath, losing himself in the glowing hazel pools as he lifted a strand of hair from her bosom, twisting it absently around his finger. "But I would have you render it joyfully, and in free spirit." He watched her, saw the contemplation of his words lead to comprehension. "Well, moppet?" he prompted softly. "How do you answer me?"