Lord of Ice (6 page)

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, especially since not another soul was in sight here behind the theater, but there was no avoiding him. Forcing down her last swallow of food, she summoned a brisk air of confidence and resumed her march down the steps.

“Excuse me, please. I would like to pass.”

He slipped her a devilish little smile. Rather than standing aside, however, he stepped onto the bottom stair, rested his hands on the rails on both sides, and blocked her path with his body. And what a body it was, she thought, meeting his wicked half smile with an arch look. His giant shoulders were adorned with the gold epaulets of his proud scarlet uniform. Her gaze skimmed his massive arms and lean waist. The gray trousers of the infantry’s winter uniform hugged his long legs, disappearing into shiny black boots. As physically intimidating as he was, though, she sensed no danger from him. Walking slowly down the steps toward him, she arrived on the step two above the one where he stood and found herself on eye level with him.

She raised her eyebrows and regarded him expectantly, waiting for him to move, but it was becoming clear that he was not about to let her pass until he got a little of her attention. He said nothing, but flashed her an angelic smile, their faces inches apart.

Fighting an answering smile, Miranda pulled the cork out of the flask and took a drink of red wine, inspecting him matter-of-factly. He had night-black hair, striking, chiseled features, and deep-set gray eyes. They were long-lashed, with an honest, penetrating gaze. Her glance slid downward to his beautiful mouth.

“Hullo, Miss White,” he murmured in a low, sensual tone.

She flicked her gaze back up to his eyes. They glowed like polished silver. Rather pleased with herself for having captured the attention of such a specimen, she corked the flask again with a guarded smile. “Well,” she said, “aren’t you the forward one?”

“Only when I see something I want,” he purred, nearly grazing her jawline with the tip of his patrician nose as he inhaled the scent of her skin. “I am your slave, lady. Only say how I may serve you.”

“Slave?” A tremor of excitement raced through her, but she pulled back, holding him at bay with a challenging look. “Humph.” She looked away with a toss of her chin, her heart pounding. “You didn’t even clap for me,” she said loftily.

“I didn’t?”

“No, you just sat there. I saw you.”

“I confess, I was too entranced by your beauty even to notice the show had ended.” His smile was indulgent; his gaze caressed her. His voice was soft, mellow, and sweet as a sip of brandy. It had the same intoxicating effect on her, as well, making her tarry to indulge in a bit of flirtation when she should have been hieing herself home. He had the loveliest London accent with a hint of Tory Oxford in it—a real gentleman, she thought, not one of these low “Brum” squires. “I was entirely preoccupied with trying to think of the words to tell you how . . . marvelous you are.”

“I see.” Her eyes dancing, she uncorked the flask, took another sip of wine, and licked her lips. “And did these words finally come to you?”

He nodded slowly, staring at her mouth.

“Well? Let’s hear them.”

His inky lashes swept upward as he looked into her eyes. “You are an angel,” he said softly.

Miranda promptly burst out laughing.

“Now, that is impolite,” he scolded, laughing himself as he pulled back a few inches. To her delight, his manly cheeks flushed. “Tender words are not my forte.”

“I daren’t ask what
is
.”

He leaned closer. “Come to my chamber at the Royal Hotel and I’ll show you,” he murmured.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she shook her head at his wicked invitation. “Now, there you go too far. Excuse me, sir. I must be on my way.”

He did not budge; his smile turned sly. “Do I look like a man who gives up easily?”

She tried to slip past him, to no avail. “This may surprise you, but it so happens I am an honest girl.”

“If I believed that, beauty, I would weep.” He moved still closer, hemming her in. “Tell me your name, you delectable creature. Your real name.”

“Miss White.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Oh, come.”

“Come yourself. I’m going home.”

“Tell me your first name, at least.”

“Snow.”

“Snow White?” he asked, giving her a long-suffering look.

“Adieu!” she said suddenly and started to duck under his arm with a mischievous grin, but he moved quickly, capturing her in the crook of his elbow, pulling her to him with a low, lusty laugh like a pirate.

“I do enjoy a challenge, sweeting.” His hard, angular face was shadow-sculpted in the lantern’s glow as he firmly lifted her chin with his leather-sheathed fingers. “I don’t think you understand how much I want you.”

“Sir!” Barely regaining her balance, she caught only a glimpse of his wolf-gray eyes before he closed them, lowered his head, and claimed her mouth. His lips smothered her gasp of alarm.

Hunger radiated from him, encircling her in a lightning-sphere of crackling electricity. He curled his gloved hand around her nape and deepened the kiss, coaxing her lips apart almost roughly. He groaned like a starved man as he tasted her in rich, intimate demand, his strong arms tightening around her waist. When she pushed against him in protest, he clenched her more firmly against his iron body, so hard and strong, so very male, subduing her feeble struggles with pleasure. She felt herself weakening as his tongue stroked hers and his hands petted her hair, her face, her neck. It felt so achingly good to be held, filling her with reckless exultation—half loneliness, half desire. His kisses and gentle caresses beguiled her, making her body throb until she could no longer hold herself in check. Reaching up with breathless uncertainty, she inched her hands over the broad planes of his shoulders and enfolded him in her arms.

A low growl of pleasure sounded in his throat, welcoming her embrace. He gently grasped two handfuls of her hair, letting it spill through his fingers. She ran her hand down his muscled chest and back up again, cupping his square, smoothly shaved jaw, too caught up in sensation to care that she didn’t even know his name.

He paused just long enough to whisper to her between kisses. “Keep me warm tonight, beauty. You can do that for me, yes? I need you so badly, so very badly.”

Miranda couldn’t think, let alone answer, transported by sensation. Running her fingers through his hair, she simply pulled him down in a wordless demand for more kisses, which he gladly gave. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her when she felt him slip his right hand into the front of her cloak.

Lightly sucking on his tongue, she clung to him in scandalized delight, her body trembling with eagerness for his touch. She was acutely aware of his hand exploring the curve of her waist and her hip through the lavender muslin; then she let out a sharp gasp of desire as he squeezed the left cheek of her bottom. He began kneading her buttock in a rhythm that drew her pelvis even more deliciously snugly against his groin, while his kiss deepened with ravishing urgency. She nearly swooned when his fingertips advanced into the cleft of her backside and pressed lower, stroking the filmy muslin of her gown against the place between her thighs where she was helplessly wet. He pleasured her until she tore her mouth away from his and let out a wild groan.

“Oh, God, girl, you’ve got me so hard. I don’t think I can wait,” he panted.

She dragged her eyes open, dizzy and weak-kneed, her heartbeat galloping.

His chest was heaving, his angular face stark with need. He glanced toward the shadowy wall of the theater, then slanted her a speculative look. “It’s dark beneath these steps.”

“No!” she gasped, her eyes widening.

He gave her a dark smile, his lips still wet with her kisses. “Very well. The hotel, then.” He kissed his way down her neck, then slowly released his possessive hold on her body. “I’ll call a carriage,” he whispered. “Wait here.” He left the wooden stairs and dragged his hand through his hair, turning away.

Swaying dazedly on her feet, Miranda stared after him as he stalked toward the hackney stand.

It was several seconds before her head began to clear.
Oh, Miranda, what are you doing?
She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, struggling to regain her equilibrium. Ashamed of her wantonness all in a flash, she hurried away from the stairs toward the dark, snowy road home. She had to escape before the big officer came back. She feared she could not withstand much more of his persuading.

Trudging through the snow helped to cool her passion. Guilt and anger swiftly took its place. She could not believe she had let a total stranger do that to her—aye, and had relished it. Maybe Brocklehurst was right. Maybe depravity was in her blood. Was she a fool? she thought angrily. Could she not spot his type at twenty paces—the sort of highborn, pleasure-hungry rake who amused himself by chasing poor girls as though they were prey? Men only wanted one thing. Especially men in uniform.

What an utter egotist he was, she thought with a snort of disdain. She had never said yes to his indecent proposition; he had simply assumed her agreement. Call a carriage, indeed! It was just as well, she mused in a huff. If he had seen fit to keep holding her in his rock-hard arms, she might not have gotten away so easily.

“Hey!” It was only another moment or two before she heard his baffled shout. “Miss White!”

Thanking God that she had not told him her real name, she ignored him and kept walking.

“Miss White!” he bellowed again, sounding perfectly incensed. He had the voice of a man used to barking orders and being unquestionably obeyed, but she merely hummed under her breath, trying to pretend she was out of earshot.

Apparently, he was not fooled. “Damn it, girl, where the blazes are you going?”

“Home!” she yelled back, sending her would-be seducer a scathing glance over her shoulder. His powerful silhouette was outlined by the lights of the theater behind him.

“Why?” he roared, as though he could not fathom any woman saying no to him.

She whirled around just long enough to fling her reply grandly at him. “Because I, sir, am an actress, not a whore!”

“Oh?” he shouted sarcastically. “I didn’t know there was a difference!”

She shot him a withering glare, pivoted forward again, and marched on toward Mud City.

Damien cursed under his breath, the expletive forming a steamy cloud on the night air. He could still taste her on his tongue, but he made no move to pursue her. Well, she had made a fine fool of him, he thought, realizing belatedly that she had been telling the truth—she was an honest girl. He had assumed she had merely been playing hard to get in order to wring more gold out of him. Denied his prize, he growled under his breath and turned away, narrowly recalling his vow.
No women. No liquor.

Shrugging her off in irritation, he decided to go back to the barracks to see Morris, but thwarted passion made him steal one last, hungry glance over his shoulder at the girl. She was some distance away down the curving road, her strides long and vigorous, her dark cloak and long hair billowing out behind her. God, she was beautiful, he thought wistfully.
Honest, eh? Well, good for you, girl. See that you stay that way.
Out of long habit, he looked past her hurrying figure and scanned the horizon, when suddenly, a flicker of motion caught his eye.