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They had reached the coach and he handed her in. “There was nothing wrong with him. It’s a trick they have of rolling their tongues out of sight and poking them with a stick until they bleed.”

“But why doesn’t he work instead of doing that?”

“He does work. Don’t think begging’s the easiest profession in the world.”

She sat down while he turned to talk to two young men who had called his name, and she saw them both looking at her from over his shoulder, frank appraisal in their eyes. For one bold instant Amber returned their stares, lifting her brows and slanting the corners of her eyes—and then suddenly she blushed and looked the other way. Oh, Lord! they were most likely thinking the same thing about her that the women had! But still she could not resist sneaking them another slow cautious glance—and her eyes met once more the full stare of the handsomer one. Swiftly she glanced away. And yet—there was no doubt it did not seem so insulting, coming from a man.

Bruce finally turned back, spoke to the driver and got in, sitting down beside her as the coach gave a jog and started to move. He took one of her hands in his. “You’ve set the town by its ears. That was my Lord Buckhurst and he says you’re far more beautiful than Barbara Palmer.”

“You mean the King’s mistress?”

“Yes. How the devil do you manage to get all the current gossip?” He looked down at her, amused as though she were a pretty doll or a plaything.

“The dressmaker told me about her. Bruce—who were those two ladies? The ones in the next box that waved to you?”

“Wives of friends of mine. Why?”

She looked down at her fan, frowning, counting the sticks. “Did you see how they looked at me? Like this—” She pulled her face into a sudden grimace, a perfect though somewhat exaggerated and malicious imitation of the stares they had given her. “They think I’m a harlot—I know they do!”

Bruce gave her a look of surprise and then, to her astonishment, threw back his head and laughed.

“Well!” she cried, offended. “What the devil is there to laugh at, pray?”

She was beginning already to pick up some of his expressions, words and phrases Matt Goodegroome would never have allowed even his sons to use. It seemed to Amber that all fine persons swore and that it was a mark of good breeding.

“I’m sorry, Amber. I wasn’t laughing at you. But to tell you the truth I think they glared at you for another reason—jealousy, no doubt. Certainly neither of them has any reason to have an ill opinion of another woman’s character. Between ’em I think they’ve laid with most of the men who went to France.”

“But you said they’re married!”

“So they are. If they weren’t they might have been more discreet.”

She was relieved, but at the same time a quick suspicion entered her mind. Could he have been one of those men? But she promptly decided that if he had been he would never have mentioned the matter at all—and she thrust that thought aside. She began to feel happy again, and eager for the next adventure.

“Where are we going now?”

“I thought you might like to have supper at a tavern.”

Back in the City they stopped in New Street before a building which bore the sign of a great golden eagle. When she stepped down Amber lifted her skirts high to show her black lace garters, just as she had seen several ladies do outside the theatre. Then, as they were about to go in the door, they heard a loud shout in a familiar masculine voice.

“Hey! Carlton!”

Curiously they looked around. It was Almsbury, riding by in a hackney jammed with several other men, and as the coach pulled up he jumped out, waved his companions goodbye and came toward them at a run. He blinked his eyes twice as he saw Amber and then swept off his hat in a deep bow.

“Holy Christ, sweetheart! Damn me if you aren’t as beautiful as a Venetian whore!”

The delighted smile froze on Amber’s face.

Well! So that was what he thought of her too! Her eyebrows drew together in a furious scowl, but at a glance from Bruce the Earl hastened to repair his breach. He shrugged his shoulders and made a comical face.

“Well—after all, you know, Venetian prostitutes are the prettiest women in Europe. But then, I suppose if you—”

He paused, watching her with an ingratiating grin and Amber slowly raised her eyes to his again. She could not resist his friendliness and all of a sudden she smiled. He took her arm. “Lord, sweetheart, you know I wouldn’t offend you for anything on earth.” The three of them went inside and, at Bruce’s request, were shown upstairs to a private room.

After the men had ordered, the waiter brought them a small barrelful of oysters and they began cracking them open, eating them raw with a sprinkle of salt and a few drops of lemon juice, scattering the shells on the table and floor. Almsbury predicted that oysters would become the staple food at Court and when Amber looked puzzled Bruce told her what he meant. She laughed heartily, thinking it a very good joke.