Lord of Ice by Gaelen Foley Read Free Book Online Page A

broadsheet back to the man.
    Miss White. But not pure, he fervently hoped.
    That wasn’t her real name, of course. They never used their real names, as he knew from his wide experience with women of her breed. He eased down dazedly on the nearest seat and watched her for the next two hours, mesmerized.
    Whatever ailed him, he forgot it. She was a joy to watch, playing her part with good cheer, lusty confidence, and tart wit. With a provocative switch of her hips, she could make the entire male half of the audience roar with devotion. Damien shook his head in private amusement, but when she smiled, she dazzled him. He scowled when her silly musical was over, for the stage was a barren wasteland without her on it. He sank down, sprawling in his chair, and rocked his knee impatiently, waiting for her to come back. He bought a mug of ale and haughtily regarded the acrobats twirling this way and that. He saw no point in their gyrations, but their act gave him time to think. By the time they cleared the stage, he had made up his mind.
    He had to have her. Devil take his vow. He was only a man. One of his closest friends had just died. Was that not a more-than-adequate excuse to seek comfort from a lady of the night? He would keep the liaison as brief as possible, leave the candles burning throughout his chamber—hell, he’d give her a gun if that was what it took to protect her from himself—but if he did not have her, he would die.
    In his mind, it was already arranged. He’d call on his ward at Yardley School in the morning and visit Morris at the barracks tomorrow afternoon. Tonight, his sole mission was to coax that luscious creature back to his hotel and straight into his bed.
    The competition was sure to be fierce. She would no doubt have many admirers, but he was prepared to pay more than he could spare and even to try out his new title if that’s what it took to impress her.
    She appeared next in the series of dances that ended the night’s entertainments, the grand finale. There were a dozen girls dancing on stage, but he could not take his eyes off the dark-haired beauty. He sat, entranced, caught up in growing desire and anticipation. Biding his time until he could learn every curve of her face and body with his hands and his lips, he studied the lass from a distance. Her rosy cheeks had a youthful roundness that added to her air of charming exuberance. She had a strong chin and dark, highly defined eyebrows that stood out sharply against her creamy complexion, giving her face an expression of saucy willfulness. Aye, she had a bit of the devil in her, and there was nothing he liked better than a naughty girl in his bed.
    Having lost all track of time, he was sorely disappointed when the ballet ended and the dancing girls flitted lightly off the stage, returning with the rest of the evening’s cast to take their bows. Somehow Miss White became even more lavishly beautiful when the crowd applauded. She held out her hands gracefully, then curtsied as though to the queen. When she lifted her head again coming back up, her gaze traveled slowly, savoringly, over the audience.
    Damien stared at the tears shining in her eyes, all at odds with her radiant smile. Tears, he realized, of gratitude. You live for this moment, don’t you, beauty? She seemed to absorb the audience’s outpouring of warmth and affection like a rose drinking in the summer sunbeams. As he sat there, very still, his chin resting on his fist, a part of his heart he had long presumed dead went out to her, he knew not why. There was such sincerity in her face. He was trying to figure out the best way to approach her when her survey of the crowd suddenly came to him—and stopped. From halfway across the lighted theater, their stares connected with a force that nearly flattened him.
    Damien couldn’t move. His heart hammered. He could barely breathe, powerless under the spell of her emerald eyes.
    She suddenly tore her gaze away, a bright blush rising