Ice Angel Read Online Free PDF

be a little uncomfortable, however – the house is full of Dominic’s pets and they are always under one’s feet,’ admitted Harriet.
    ‘Dominic?’ queried Sir Seymour, puzzled. ‘Is that your brother, Mrs Forster?’
    Harriet laughed. ‘No, Sir Seymour – Dominic is Isabella’s son. He is only six years old and a delightful child.’
    The change in Sir Seymour’s expression was so sudden as to be comical; his mouth twisted in a parody of a smile as he tried to disguise his chagrin. ‘I did not know you have a son, Lady Vane. How – how charming, to be sure! I am afraid that children are quite outside my experience.’ He cleared his throat nervously , anxious not to give offence. ‘That is to say, I like them well enough at a distance, but I consider them unpredictable which is particularly worrying when one is wearing a new coat or pair of boots.’
    ‘Dominic is harmless although I agree that he has a propensity, like most small boys, to become remarkably grubby in a short time,’ said Isabella, smiling.
    ‘Exactly so!’ he agreed, with feeling. ‘A nephew of mine once almost ruined a pair of my Hessians. It took my valet a fortnight to remove the mud and polish them back to perfection. Most upsetting thing to happen! It was all over in a trice too – the little fellow ran straight over my feet when he came in from the garden. Complained bitterly to my brother at the time, but he just laughed and said “Dinny, stop talking nonsense over a pair of boots”. Nonsense, indeed,’ said Sir Seymour with a wounded expression, ‘I am particularly attached to my Hessians.’
    Isabella, who had struggled to keep her countenance during this speech, bit her lip to prevent her amusement from bubbling over. Observing this, Harriet came to her rescue and it was she who smoothed Sir Seymour’s ruffled feelings back to serenity.
    ‘Your discomfort was understandable – a shocking thing for a gentleman to endure,’ agreed Harriet. ‘My husband was most careful about his boots and always insisted that champagne be added to the blacking in order to achieve the desired effect.’
    ‘My valet does the same,’ he acknowledged, feeling on safer ground now the conversation had moved away from children. ‘It is a pity that the fellow cannot make the same excellent job of pressing my linen, but he tries his best.’
    ‘But your style is very individual,’ observed Isabella. ‘Your valet must therefore find great satisfaction in his work.’
    ‘Why, thank you Lady Vane! I shall take your comment as a compliment.’ Sir Seymour, glowing with pleasure, turned his head as much as his starched collar would allow to smile warmly at her.
    ‘Are you well acquainted with London society?’ asked Harriet as she looked about the room.
    ‘I can claim expertise in that area,’ said Sir Seymour, puffing out his chest. ‘Most of my time is spent in London among the haut ton. ’
    ‘Then pray tell me, who is that gentleman watching us so earnestly? I do not know him at all and yet he has been staring for some time. Is he perhaps an acquaintance of yours?’
    In response to Harriet’s query, Sir Seymour raised his quizzing glass.
    Isabella, whose eyes had followed the direction of Sir Seymour’s gaze, saw a tall, broad-shouldered man who was indeed staring at them, but most particularly at her. He, too, was dressed in the normal evening attire of longtailed coat, waistcoat and satin knee breeches. However, he wore them with a nonchalant grace completely at odds with Sir Seymour’s extravagant style. Dark hair fell across his brow, giving him a rakish appearance and his eyes scanned Isabella’s features intently. Under his scrutiny, Isabella felt strangely breathless and colour began to warm her cheeks. The more he stared, the more her anger rose; if he were rude enough to study her like a specimen under a magnifying glass, he would only succeed in earning her contempt. However, she evinced no outward signs of annoyance,