Lord of Ice Read Online Free PDF

She didn’t want to prove him right.
    “Amy, you have to own up—”
    “But Mr. Reed will flog me! Please, Miranda, I didn’t mean to do it! I was only dusting it while you went to get another pail of water. It fell off the mantel.”
    “And you simply put it back?” she exclaimed.
    “It didn’t shatter—there were only four or five big pieces. I rested them back together and leaned it against the mirror.”
    “You were too busy primping at your own reflection, I warrant!” she said angrily.
    “No, I wasn’t, I swear! I didn’t think anyone would notice it was broken! Or I thought maybe Brocklehurst would think she had broken it herself the next time she went to pick it up! Please, Miranda, you have to help me! She’s going to kill me!” the child shrieked. “Please!”
    “Damn and blast!” Miranda cursed under her breath, whirling around as the door slammed back on its hinges. Her body tensed, well used to this fight.
    Miss Brocklehurst towered in the doorway. The candle in her hand illuminated the severe angles of her mannish face, further harshened by wrath. “ Fitz Hubert.”
    The woman always emphasized the Fitz in her last name as though to remind Miranda deliberately of her illegitimate status, but she refused to be ashamed of the lovely, flamboyant creature who had been her ill-fated mama.
    In her other hand, Brocklehurst suddenly held up the decapitated head of her Wedgwood china doggy. “You bad, cruel, horrid girl! I know full well you hate me, but this—this is beyond the pale!”
    Miranda summoned forth her acting skills and forced her chin downward. She clasped her hands behind her back, the picture of contrition. “I apologize, ma'am. It was an accident.”
    “ 'I apologize, ma'am. It was an accident,'” she mimicked spitefully. “Do you think I shall let you off so easily?” Bristling, Miss Brocklehurst prowled into the room. She set her candle on the nearby table. “Bad, proud, intractable girl! I have tried—oh, how I’ve tried—to make something of you, but you will never amount to anything.”
    Miranda’s chin came up a notch. Her green eyes narrowed with blazing defiance. Oh, yes I will. Bad, proud, intractable—maybe that much was true. But she would amount to something. They’d see. She knew exactly what she wanted to be; she had dreams they could never crush. Dreams that would take her far, far away from here.
    “Don’t you dare glare at me, girl,” Brocklehurst warned, but Miranda was too angry to obey, staring at her in simmering rebellion.
    Crack!
    The blow took her off guard. Miranda’s head snapped to the side with the force of the headmistress’s slap. Amy stifled a scream, clapping both of her hands over her mouth.
    Recovering from the blow, Miranda insolently turned the other cheek, like a true Christian.
    The headmistress glowered at her for it, but did not strike her again. “You insufferable baggage. You shall have no supper tonight, nor tomorrow night, nor the night after that. I’ll starve you into submission, if need be! And you will be on slops duty—for a fortnight!”
    Ugh, not the chamber pots. Miranda grimaced and looked away in revulsion.
    “Miss Brocklehurst, if I may, do allow me to intervene,” a nasally male voice intoned from the doorway.
    Miranda instantly stiffened. Paling, she looked over as the Reverend Mr. Reed sauntered into the dormitory in all his pompous indecency, no doubt happy for an excuse to glimpse the girls wearing nothing but their shifts.
    Jane grabbed her frock with a gasp, and Sally dove beneath the bedsheets in horrified modesty as his gaze flicked over them. Then, lingeringly, he eyed little Amy.
    Miranda felt her blood run cold. “I said it was an accident,” she forced out, drawing the pervert’s attention to herself.
    His gaze darted to her in warning. “What is this impertinence, FitzHubert? Do not speak unless you are spoken to.”
    She held his gaze in loathing. For all of Miss Brocklehurst’s spite