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

in her cheeks. If his stare had flustered her, she recovered quickly, blowing the crowd one last merry kiss before striding off the stage with impetuous haste.
    The curtain closed and the chase was on.
    He was already on his feet, stalking down the aisle against the flow of the exiting crowd. He couldn’t recall the last time he had bedded a girl who could still blush.
    People jumped out of his path when they saw him coming, his fierce, single-minded stare fixed on the stage door as though it were a Spanish fortress town that he would take or die trying. When he noticed the men continually being turned away from the backstage area, a slight, predatory smile curved his mouth.
    Perhaps they were content to take no for an answer, but he would not be denied his conquest. He left the crowd clamoring at the main door and went in search of another entrance.
     
    Weary but exhilarated after the six-hour program, Miranda accepted the three shillings that were her night’s pay, said her good-byes to Mr. Chipping and his players, and left the dressing room eating the last few bites of a sausage tucked into a split roll. She was starved after her night’s exertions, having been denied her supper as part of Brocklehurst’s punishments. Big Dale, the company’s “heavy” or villain—who was actually a tender-hearted giant of a man—had let her take his little wine flask filled with good burgundy to wash down her sandwich and to warm her belly for the cold walk home.
    Bundled up once again in her rough woolen mantle and battered black half boots, she walked down the cramped hallway to the back door of the theater to avoid the mob of men, mostly soldiers, demanding, as soldiers were wont to do, to be introduced to the girls. Though she still felt buoyed up with exhilaration after the show, the prospect of the long walk home made her sigh wearily, for her legs already felt like jelly from the strenuous demands of the ballet. There were any number of rogues clamoring to get backstage who would have gladly driven her home, but she could not risk anyone making the connection between Miss White of the Pavilion Theater and Miranda Fitz-Hubert of Yardley School.
    A pang of dread darted through her to recall her appointment tomorrow with Mr. Reed and his birch, but she refused to let anxiety quash the warm glow of triumph she felt from the audience’s generous applause.
    They adored me, she thought happily, taking a large bite of her sandwich. She pushed open the heavy door with her hip and stepped out into the cold winter night. Stray snowflakes swirled around the wall-fixed lantern like moths. As she started walking down the theater’s wooden back stairs, she suddenly stopped chewing and froze.
    It was him .
    The big, strikingly handsome officer who had been staring at her so intensely from the audience. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the post in an idle stance, one gleaming black boot resting on a low step. With his greatcoat draped over his arm, he drummed his fingers restlessly on the crude wooden banister; he looked up and saw her, and his fingers’ drumming stopped.
    Their stares locked. Again, as on stage, her body reacted with hot and cold waves of brazen thrill that rushed down her nerve endings and made her belly flutter. On stage, she had blushed all the way down to her feet, fascinated yet threatened by his stare. He reminded her of a great wolf who had crept up on a herd of sheep and had selected the one he wanted to have for supper—but Miranda had no intention of being devoured. What he wanted was no mystery.
    She hesitated on the third step down, her heart booming. He was a formidable warrior of austere male beauty, over six feet tall and built of pure muscle. A man like that, radiating his aura of natural superiority, might prove severely tempting if she wasn’t careful. She decided simply to ignore the magnificent creature, as she did all the others. It seemed risky to go any closer,