Lord of Ice (8 page)

Damien looked at him warily. Claim her? Perhaps the man misunderstood.

“I am very sorry for the trouble my ward has caused you, Mr. Reed. I will address the matter with Miranda personally, and I assure you there will be no repeat of this behavior. In her defense, however, I would only remind you that fate has dealt rather harshly with the girl—her parents’ deaths, her uncle’s absence. I fear Major Sherbrooke neglected her for too long. It sounds as though she has run wild.”

“Indeed, she has, I’m afraid, despite all our best efforts. We have thirty girls to manage. We cannot devote all our time and energy to minding one.”

“Well, now that Miranda knows she is going to have to answer to me, I am sure you will find her more malleable.”

Mr. Reed rose and rested his fingertips on the desk. He stared down at his ink blotter for a moment. “I’m afraid, my lord, that will not do.”

“Pardon?” Damien asked in ominous foreboding.

“More decisive action is in order.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just this: Your ward has broken the rules of our school so many times that under any other circumstances, she would have been expelled long ago. The only thing that stayed my hand was the knowledge that she had nowhere else to go. Now that you are here, I am sorry, but I cannot in good conscience keep Miss FitzHubert at Yardley.”

“Surely you are not suggesting that I take her?” he exclaimed, his heart pounding.

“My lord,” Mr. Reed said with an unflinching smile, “I am insisting upon it. Your ward is a bad influence on the other girls. I must be responsible for them.” With an air of finality, Mr. Reed sat down again and opened the lid of his desk, searching about for some papers while Damien sputtered in protest.

“You can’t do this! I understand that you have other students to think of, but you are responsible for Miranda, as well!”

“Not anymore, sir.” He glanced over the raised lid of his desk at him. “You are.”

Damien leaped to his feet and planted his hands on the edge of the minister’s desk. “Now, look here, my good man. I am only here to meet the chit and tell her the news about Sherbrooke. I apologize for her misbehavior, and I give you my word that it will stop as soon as I have spoken with her. But I cannot take her. It is out of the question. I am due in London to spend the holidays with my family.”

“Well, if you wish to turn her out on the street, that is certainly not my affair. I am discharging her . . . to you.” Scratching out his signature, Mr. Reed handed him a piece of paper that proved to be a writ of release. “There you are. Congratulations, my lord. I’m sure Major Sherbrooke would be very grateful.”

“This is unconscionable! Do I look like some sort of nursemaid to you? I am in no wise equipped to take up the care of a child without so much as a moment’s forewarning!”

“My dear colonel, whatever gave you the notion that Miss FitzHubert is a child?”

Damien stared at him in alarm, his heart pounding. “What is she, then, a banshee?”

“See for yourself. Miss Brocklehurst!” he called toward the door. “Bring in FitzHubert!”

Damien turned as the door opened. An older woman, pinch-faced and hard-featured, marched in and nodded to him.

“This is Miss Brocklehurst,” Mr. Reed told him.

“Come along, then,” the headmistress said sharply to someone in the hall.

“And this,” Mr. Reed said in disapproval that verged on animosity, “is Miranda.”

She walked in, her chin high, her green eyes blazing, ready for a fight.

Damien took one look at her and felt the solid earth fall away virtually from under his feet.

He stood rooted to the spot, his heart beating wildly. For a second he was not sure. It could not be—it was not possible. Her appearance was so changed. But when her emerald eyes locked with his and she paused in midstride with a gasp of shock, he knew there could be no mistake. It was the one woman in all the world he never wanted to see again: the indomitable Snow White.

She turned that very color, the roses draining from her cheeks as she gaped at him, panic-stricken. Damien trained his stunned gaze over her, scarcely able to believe his eyes at her transformation from scantily clad siren to this picture of demure innocence. She was dressed in a light beige walking gown with neat white gloves. Her luxurious mane of dark, wavy hair that had spilled down her back in such reckless profusion last night was plaited in two schoolgirlish braids with small white ribbons on the ends.

“My lord, allow me to present Miss Miranda FitzHubert,” Mr. Reed intoned. “Miss FitzHubert, this is Colonel the earl of Winterley. Your new guardian.”

“My
what
?” She gasped, looking from the minister to him, but Damien could only stare at her, at a loss.

His thoughts whirled, the puzzle pieces falling together with a fateful clang.
“An honest girl.”
Her refusal to tell him her real name. Her actress mother, lost to her. Mr. Reed’s report of her rebellious behavior. The school sat only about a mile from the Pavilion. He thought of the way she had soaked up the applause last night.

God help him, the truth was inescapable. This luscious, headstrong, impossible creature, who had flaunted her sweet body on stage before him and half the men of Birmingham; who had melted in his arms, then ditched him the moment he turned his back; who had nearly gotten him killed, traipsing blithely past a colony of criminals; this angel-faced disaster waiting to happen—was little Miranda FitzHubert.

Totally his and totally forbidden.

Oh, my God,
he thought.
I nearly debauched my own ward.
For the first time in years that he could remember, the task before him gave him pause. The ravishing image of her in her gauzy lavender gown flashed again through his mind along with the memory of her warm, satiny lips parting for his kiss in hungry innocence. He trembled with dread at the agonizing temptation she presented.

“Will somebody please tell me what is going on?” the little deceiver cried in fright.

Damien steeled himself and glanced at Mr. Reed. “Leave us,” he ordered.

Miranda’s heartbeat was a panicked staccato. She had walked in braced for a flogging, but this was possibly worse. She could not believe the gray-eyed beast had tracked her down, but after what she had seen last night, she was half convinced he possessed supernatural powers granted him by the devil. An earl! she thought in dread. She knew what that meant.
Earl
meant a man who could do what he pleased to whomever he pleased, slay lowlifes without compunction.
Earl
meant rich. Rich enough to buy or bribe his way into possession of a girl who had dared to refuse his advances.

She had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that Mr. Reed had just sold her down the river to this deadly creature—and why should he not? she thought wildly. Her Uncle Jason was nowhere on hand to protect her.

The headmaster slunk by like a cringing dog, obeying Colonel Lord Winterley without argument. Miranda bit her lip against the temptation to beg the vile creature to stay. She was scared to death to be left alone with her terrifying rescuer, but it was not as though she could reveal to Mr. Reed that they had already met, had already kissed, had already been guiltily bonded by blood. She feared it was time to pay the piper.

When the door closed, they stared at each other in wary silence.

Miranda trailed her gaze over him, marveling, for by daylight, he was even more severely beautiful than she remembered, with his striking combination of jet-black hair and pale gray eyes. In their crystalline depths, she could still see the predator lurking within him, but on the surface, he was all immaculate precision, gleaming and correct. She recalled how his smart red uniform had been bloodied and torn during the fight, but now his elegant civilian clothes were tailored to perfection. His white silk cravat was neatly tucked within the high-standing collar of his silver-gray waistcoat. He wore a dark blue tailcoat that snugly fitted his broad shoulders. His charcoal-colored breeches ran down into high, black riding boots that had not so much of a speck of dirt on them.

“Well, Miss FitzHubert, as I gather that is your name,” he said with an aloof air, “it seems we meet again.” He took a step toward her.

“Stay back!” she yelped, darting behind the large leather chair. “What are you doing here? What do you want? How did you find me?”

“Do not be afraid,” he ordered, advancing slowly toward the chair. “I mean you no harm.”

“Stay away from me,” she warned, slipping around the desk, keeping the furniture between them like a barricade. “If you’ve come to make sure I keep quiet about last night, you needn’t worry. I shall never tell a soul.”

“That is not why I am here.”

“I’m an honest girl!” she cried.

“Oh, Miranda, calm down,” he said crossly. “I have not come to seduce you.”

“Then why did you tell Mr. Reed you are my guardian? It’s not going to work! My guardian is Major Sherbrooke of the Hundred and Thirty-sixth, and if you lay a hand on me, you’ll have to answer to him!”

A fleeting look of anguish skimmed his face. “Try to listen for a moment, Miranda. It’s because of your Uncle Jason that I’m here.”

She froze and mentally retraced her last words. “How did you know his first name?” she demanded, a prickle of foreboding rushing down her spine. “I didn’t say he was my uncle, either. How did you know that?”

“Perhaps you should sit down.”

Miranda was bewildered. There was such gravity in his countenance, however, that she felt compelled to hear him out. She edged warily toward the chair and lowered herself onto it, ready to flee in a second. As he took a step closer, she noticed his black armband, then furrowed her brow to note that it was decorated with the insignia of her uncle’s regiment.

Lord Winterley lifted his chin and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am the colonel of the Hundred and Thirty-sixth Regiment of Foot, Miss FitzHubert.”

Her eyes widened.

“I was Major Sherbrooke’s commanding officer in the Peninsula. I had the privilege of serving with your uncle for six years. He was my lieutenant from the days when I captained my first fusileer company.” He paused, his gaze turning faraway. “We became close friends. The day he lost his arm at Albuera, I was by his side when the surgeons seared the wound.”

She stared at him, on her guard. She was not disposed to believe a word the man said, but it sounded as though he really
did
know her uncle. Where the devil was the blackguard, then? she wanted to ask, but before she could speak, he continued in grim resolve.

“At Albuera, Jason asked me to look after you if he did not survive. I gave him my word that I would. He recovered from that wound, as you know, but our arrangement concerning you remained intact.”

She shook her head in bafflement. “I don’t understand. Did he send you to look in on me? Will I get to see him soon?”

“No, my dear,” he said in a low, gentle tone. “I’m afraid there has been some very bad news.”

She stared at him, brought up short by the solemnity in his voice. Everything in her went quiet with cold, sudden fear. There was some somber note in his tone that sent gooseflesh tingling down her arms, something that brought back a memory of sitting in the front pew of the dim chapel in Papa’s country mansion, her feet dangling, not quite touching the floor, two coffins before her, a white one and a slightly larger one of mahogany. Uncle Jason had sat beside her protectively, holding her hand, while grown-ups she had never seen before went filing by—pale, stiff-faced men and ladies in black veils who would look at her in teary-eyed pity and murmur, “Poor little thing,” and Uncle Jason would thank them for coming.

She stared at Lord Winterley. “What is it?” she asked, her voice gone hoarse.

“Miranda,” he whispered with a soulful glance, then squared his broad shoulders and seemed to gather himself. He spoke with slow, deliberate formality. “It is my sad duty to inform you that Major Jason Sherbrooke was killed last Wednesday night, the twelfth of December, during a burglary at his lodgings in London. He was shot once in the heart.”

Miranda barely heard the last part, her pulse roaring in her ears. Even his cultured baritone seemed muffled. The room spun sickeningly.

“What I told Mr. Reed was the truth. Jason appointed me your guardian in his will. I am so very sorry, Miranda.”

A moment passed in utter silence.

Her mind reeled. She stared unseeingly at him until her eyes glazed over. Black rings exploded silently before her field of vision. She gripped the chair arm so hard her nails dug into the smooth leather.