Chapter Thirteen

Race sat slouched in the corner of the cab, staring unseeing out of the window as they rattled over the cobblestones. His mind kept bringing up the sight of Clarissa, desperately clutching her sister’s hand as those filthy jackals closed in on them.

Why the devil had she left the carriage? He’d ordered her to stay—and she’d promised she would!

If he hadn’t found them…

He’d almost been too late. Anything could have happened to her. The possibilities ate at him.

“What was that sound you made?” Clarissa asked Zo?. “It was quite uncanny.”

Zo? laughed. “It worked, din’t it? An Arab family used to live above Maman and me, and the girls taught me to make that sound. It’s tricky to do—took me ages to get it right, but once I did, we used it to call for help, or warn each other.” She darted a glance at Race. “Whistling, too, a sorta code. Which is what Old Moll did to send that warning to me.”

Race didn’t respond: he didn’t trust himself to speak. He was still too angry, and their blithe discussion—as if they hadn’t been inches from death or worse, as if it had all been a delightful adventure—infuriated him.

“I wasn’t sure anyone would be around who remembered it—I was just a nipper when Maman died and I was taken away—but seems some people remember. I reckon Old Moll heard it and sent the street rats after Jake and his boys.” She laughed. “A right mess they made of them.”

Clarissa and Betty laughed, too.

Race clenched his teeth and breathed in through his nose. How could they laugh about it so carelessly? Did they have no idea how close they had come? The danger they’d been in? What if he hadn’t found them—it was just chance that he’d turned left instead of right, down one of those blasted twisty alleyways, and found them.

The hackney cab rumbled along over the cobbles. Race stared out of the window.

“Where did you sleep last night?” Clarissa asked.

“On the floor at Old Moll’s.” Zo? gave her a wry look and added, “Didn’t sleep much. Seems I’ve gone soft since I come to live with you. The floor was hard. And dirty. And there were rats.”

Clarissa and Betty exclaimed in horror.

“Yeah, it wasn’t like that when Maman and I lived there…At least…” She frowned. “Maybe I forgot what it was really like.”

“At least you were safe with Old Moll.”

Zo? grimaced wryly. “It wouldn’t’ve bin for free. Always gets her pound of flesh, Old Moll.”

Race had a good idea what that pound of flesh might have been. A beautiful young girl in a place like that? Clarissa was too innocent of the world to realize it, but he’d seen the old woman up close, and he’d known the meaning of the dress cut low over a scraggy old bosom and the paint on her face.

Zo? gave him a shrewd look. “And it’s not what you’re thinking, Lord Randall. I know what Moll’s profession useta be, but she was always good to Maman and me, and when Maman got sick, she did her best to help us. She wouldn’t have forced me to follow in her own footsteps, but she’d maybe put me to work scrubbing or some such.”

“Scrubbing?” Clarissa echoed. “But when we met at the orphan asylum, you said—”

“Yeah, well, I told Moll what I was going to do, and she said she’d give me a week, and if I couldn’t make it pay…”

“What were you going to do?”

“Drawings. Chalk drawings on the footpath to make people stop and look, and pencil ones for whoever would pay. That’s how Maman started.” She gave Clarissa a guilty look. “I took that sketch pad and some pencils from Lady Scattergood’s.”

Clarissa waved that aside. “I’m sure you would have made it pay, as long as you were in the right place to attract people who could afford it.”

“Yeah, I had me spot all picked out.”

After a few minutes, Clarissa said, “But why did you leave, Zo?? Weren’t you happy with us?”

Zo? sighed. “Of course I was happy. You bin ever so kind to me, Clarissa—everyone has. But”—Zo? gave her a troubled look—“I don’t fit into your world, Clarissa. Everyone knows it ’cept you.”

Clarissa glanced at Race. He’d told her much the same thing. She turned back to Zo?. “I don’t care about ‘my world.’ I never did enjoy going into society, and I only have a few real friends, and they won’t care.”

Zo? shook her head. “I know some families recognize their bastards, but only if the mothers are highborn.”

“Your mother was highborn.”

“In France—and nobody here knew her. For all anyone knows she was a prostitute from the stews. She wasn’t, but I can’t prove it.”

“Of course she wasn’t. And nobody needs to know you’re…um, baseborn. Look, let us not worry about all that just now. I’m sure we can come up with a plan.”

Zo?’s stomach rumbled.

“Oh dear, I didn’t think,” Clarissa said remorsefully. “You must be hungry. We’ll feed you when we get home. But first you must run upstairs and wash and change—if Lady Scattergood sees you in those clothes she’ll have a fit. She ordered them to be burned when you arrived, if you remember.”

“Yeah, but it’s a waste. These clothes might not be new, but there’s still plenty of wear in them,” Zo? retorted. “And I couldn’t wear any of Izzy’s fine dresses where I was going. People have been stripped and left naked in the street, just for their clothes, you know.”

Clarissa looked horrified, both at the thought of such a crime, and at the matter-of-fact way Zo? spoke of it. “You won’t run away again, will you?”

At that point Zo?’s stomach gave another loud rumble, and they laughed. “Luncheon won’t be long,” Clarissa said, “or maybe—good heavens! It’s still time for breakfast. We did leave early. With any luck Lady Scattergood and Mrs. Price-Jones will still be abed.”

The cab pulled up and the three females jumped down. Clarissa rang the bell and after a few moments the butler answered. Race had paid off his men by then. The women hurried indoors and Race sauntered through the front door after them, repressing a smile at the sour look the butler gave him. Seems he was no longer persona non grata.

“Lady Scattergood wants to talk to you,” the butler told Zo?. “She’s in the back parlor.”

“Me?”

“You. Just you. Alone,” he said with a smug expression. Young Zo? was clearly not the butler’s favorite person. If he even had one.

Zo? gave Clarissa an anxious look.

“She was worried about you, too,” Clarissa assured her. “I expect she just wants to make sure you’re all right.”

The picture of reluctance, Zo? went slowly toward Lady Scattergood’s favorite sitting room.

“Zo?,” Clarissa called after her. Zo? paused and looked back. “Please don’t run away again. If you don’t want to live with me, that’s all right—we will sort something out, I promise. Just don’t…run away. I couldn’t bear it if we lost you again.”

Zo? stared at her a minute, then rushed back and hugged her. “I won’t, I promise. I’m sorry I worried you so. I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me.”

Clarissa was shocked. “How could you think such a thing?”

Zo? shrugged. “Since Maman died, I don’t reckon anybody cared about me. Maybe Old Moll, but only as long as I could help her out.”

Race hoped Clarissa never discovered what price Old Moll would demand for her help. He didn’t believe the old woman’s benevolence would last until Zo? earned a living. Thank God they’d found her when they did.

Zo? turned to leave, and as Clarissa moved as if to follow, he cupped her elbow in his hand. “A word in private, if you please.”

She glanced worriedly to where Zo? was just raising a hand to knock on Lady Scattergood’s door, then relented, saying, “Yes, of course.” He escorted her into the small private sitting room and shut the door behind him.

She turned to him with a warm smile. “Thank you so much for helping us to find Zo?. We couldn’t have done it without you, and I’m so grateful.”

“Grateful?” he repeated incredulously.

“Yes, very grateful.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” he growled.

“Oh.” Her smile faded. After a moment she said, cautiously, “Are you annoyed about something, Lord Randall?”

“Annoyed?” It was hardly the word. He didn’t know how he felt, only that he’d never been so damnably stirred up, so frustrated and furious—and so relieved—in his life.

“Yes, you seem rather cross.” She tilted her head inquiringly. “What about?”

The blithe obliviousness of her inquiry fanned the embers of his emotional turmoil to flames again. “You dare to ask me what I’m cross about? I’ll tell you! You promised me you’d stay in the cab. But you didn’t!”

“Yes, I know, because I saw Zo? and if I hadn’t followed her—”

“You almost got killed.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Those men were very unpleasant, but I don’t think they were going to kill us. They were talking about selling something, our clothes probably—they said something about birds and ‘fine feathers.’ Zo? said people had been stripped of their cl—”

He stepped forward and gripped her shoulders. “They weren’t planning to sell your clothes, you little fool—they were intending to sell you! To a bordello or brothel. White slavery.” He hammered it home.

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, but then smiled and said in an infuriatingly soothing tone, “But they didn’t, did they? You and your man and those clever children chased them off, so it all worked out perfectly, didn’t it? We found Zo? and have her home, safe now.”

It was so tempting to shake her, to make her understand; instead, he let go of her and stepped back. “I’m not talking about Zo?,” he ground out.

“But surely she was the whole point—”

“I’m talking about the insane risk you took! What if I hadn’t found you? What if Jacobs hadn’t arrived in time? A few rotten apples wouldn’t have saved you.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “But you did find me, and everything turned out perfectly. I don’t understand why you are so out-of-reason cross.”

“Because if I can’t trust you to keep your promises—”

“I do keep my promises, in general,” she said indignantly. “It’s just that I saw Zo? running off and you were nowhere in sight, and if I hadn’t gone after her we wouldn’t have found her.”

“And so you were that far”—he snapped his fingers under her nose—“from being attacked by those jackals.”

“Don’t you snap your fingers at me,” she snapped.

“I will snap whatever I like!” He glared at her, baffled and furious and…aroused. He breathed in a deep breath and tried to moderate his tone. “Look, Clarissa, it is my job to protect you, and—”

She stamped her foot. “No it’s not! You are not in any way responsible for me or my safety.”

“I am.”

“Nonsense! I don’t know what Leo asked you to do—”

“This is not about Leo,” he grated. “We are betrothed, remember?”

She waved that aside. “Pooh! A convenient fiction to distract the ton. What has that to do with anything, pray?”

He stared at her. “What has that…?” he began, and then gave up trying to explain. He pulled her into his arms and his mouth came down on hers, hard. He wanted to punish her, to teach her that she was not to risk herself so recklessly, that in dangerous situations like that she should obey his orders.

Because—God!—she could have been killed! Her throat slit with a filthy knife. Dragged off into some hideous dive and raped. Sold into a brothel, never to be seen again.

And did she understand? Did she have the slightest idea of the risks she had taken when she left the carriage?

No she did not! Did she even regret doing it?

No she did not! She was thrilled with the result—chattering excitedly all the way home as if she’d done something marvelous!

She’d be the death of him yet.

And, oh God, she was kissing him back with her usual sweet enthusiasm, twining her arms around his neck, and he couldn’t bear it. Any minute now he was going to fall to his knees and beg…

A man needed to know when to retreat.

He released her and, breathing heavily, stepped back.

“Now do you understand?” Gray eyes blazing, he stormed to the door, yanked it open and turned back. “And for your information our betrothal is not a blasted fiction. Nor is it in any way convenient! Good day!” He slammed the door behind him.

Clarissa stared at the closed door, then her knees gave out on her. She sank onto the sofa. Now do you understand? She didn’t understand anything. She knew only that she was in trouble, dire trouble.

This kiss had been different, so different—and yet just as exhilarating. Possibly even more so. She’d tasted a tangled coil of emotions; desperation and fear and possessiveness. Anger and frustration. And relief.

He’d been shaken right out of his usual smooth self-possession.

This Lord Randall was more attractive to her than ever.

“Come in,” Lady Scattergood called, and Zo? stepped into the old lady’s sitting room. She was seated on her peacock chair, wearing a turban and swathed in half a dozen colorful clashing shawls, surrounded by her dogs. She lifted her lorgnette and stared at Zo? through it for a long, unnerving moment.

“Well, miss? What have you got to say for yourself? Running away, eh? Fretting us all to flinders, worrying about your safety and having to search for you in gutters and stews and God knows where—and for what, eh?” She aimed her lorgnette at Zo?, her beady black eyes glinting. “Why did you run off? Aren’t you happy here?”

“Oh yes, ma’am, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t we feed you enough?”

“Yes of course.”

“Anyone beat you? Make you sit in the cinders?”

Zo? flushed. “No, of course not. You’ve been very kind and generous. It’s just that…”

“Just what? Spit it out, gel!”

“I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t belong here? What nonsense! Who says so?”

“Well, you did, ma’am. You and Mrs. Price-Jones.”

“Mrs. Price-Jones and I?”

“Yes, ma’am, I heard you talking about me. I think it was Mrs. Price-Jones who said I’d bring Clarissa to ruin, but you agreed. But I don’t want that, so…”

“Pish tush! What nonsense. Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves so let that be a lesson to you, young lady. And I’ll wager you didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You think you can bring Clarissa to ruin? Poppycock! She is in my care! So clear your mind of that bit of nonsense. So, what were your plans, eh? How did you intend to earn your bread and butter—though I’ll wager you’d be lucky to get so much as a crust of bread, probably stale, and never a sniff of butter.”

“I was going to become a street artist.”

“A what?”

“Street artist. It’s how Maman started, drawing pictures on the footpath in chalk.”

“Street artist? Good gad.” The old lady picked up the drawings Zo? had done of her and the dogs. “You did these, did you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a long silence. “So you think you don’t belong here, do you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t…fit. I’m not a servant, and I’m never gunna make a lady. And I don’t do nothing, nothing useful, that is.”

The old lady gave her an appalled look. “Useful? Good gad, gel, there is more to life than being useful. Pigs are useful. Chickens are useful. Servants are useful, but most of the ton, myself included, live utterly useless lives and still manage to be happy…though some are also ornamental, I have to admit.” She peered at Zo?. “But that’s what you want, is it, gel? To be useful?” She pronounced useful as if it were something nasty she’d stepped in.

Zo? nodded.

The old lady pondered for a few minutes, eyeing Zo? as if she were some kind of peculiar bird. Then she sat up with a jerk. “I have it! If you are so determined to be useful, I shall employ you as my artist-in-residence.”

“Your what? Artist-in-residence? There ain’t no such position.”

Lady Scattergood raised her lorgnette and said in freezing tones, “You are acquainted with the more rarefied household cultural practices of the English aristocracy, are you?”

Zo? flushed. “No, ma’am.”

“Very well then. Artist-in-residence you are. Your first commission is to paint a portrait of me. None of your pencil or charcoal nonsense. Proper paints, you hear me? And when you’ve finished that, you will start on portraits of the dogs. Understand?”

“Yes, but I don’t have any proper paints.”

She waved an impatient hand. “Pish tush, don’t bother me with trivialities. Buy whatever you need and get the shopkeeper to send me the bills. Now, off with you.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.” Dazed at the unexpected turn in her fortunes, Zo? bobbed a curtsy and turned to leave.

“And Zo?.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“This time when you remove those appalling rags you’re wearing, burn them.”

“Oh, but—

“Burn them.”

Zo? sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

A few days later, Clarissa was about to join Zo? in the garden when she met her guardian, Leo—now her brother-in-law—entering Lady Scattergood’s through the back door. “Leo,” she exclaimed in delight, “you’re back! When did you get back? Where’s Izzy?”

He grinned. “We arrived late last night. She’s in the garden, looking for you. I was just coming to pay my respects to Aunt Olive and inform her I’m home. I’m delighted to see you, Clarissa. You’re looking very well.”

“Thank you. Welcome home, Leo. Now I’ll just go out and find Izzy. I’ve so missed her.”

Clarissa made to pass him and hurry out to the garden, but he detained her with a hand on her arm. “My felicitations on your betrothal, Clarissa. I was so pleased to hear it. Race will make you an excellent husband.”

She blinked. “Oh, but we’re not really betrothed. It’s all a hum, a scheme to divert the ton from the nasty scandal Mr. Clayborn tried to cause.”

“Yes, I heard about that swine Clayborn. Filthy deception. But”—he gave her a close look—“that’s not how Race explained the betrothal to me. He called on me first thing this morning. How he knew we’d returned is beyond me. Still less why he felt he had to call on me at such an unseasonable hour—we might be back from the honeymoon but—” He broke off, his color slightly heightened. “I had to receive him in my dressing gown.”

Clarissa didn’t care about that. “What did he tell you?”

“He seems to be quite serious about marrying you. We briefly discussed settlements—of course the details will be thrashed out later with the legal chaps.”

Settlements?She felt suddenly light-headed. “No, he can’t be serious. He’s just pretending. He’s funning you, Leo.”

Leo shook his head. “He’s not. He’s in deadly earnest. He asked for my permission and I gave it. I’ve drafted the notice to send off to the Gazette. I just wanted to show it to you first.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

“No! No, you cannot send it. It’s all a mistake, a terrible mistake.”

He frowned. “Are you unhappy about this betrothal, Clarissa?”

She shook her head frantically. “It’s not a betrothal, it’s not real. It can’t be.”

“Don’t you want to marry Race? I understood from Izzy that you had feelings for him but if she’s mistaken and you’re being coerced into it because of that scandal with Clayborn—”

She burst into tears, turned and ran up the stairs to her bedchamber and flung herself down on the bed.

Izzy stepped out into the garden and breathed in the scent of flowers and greenery, tinged with a faint flavor of smoke. She couldn’t wait to see her sister. Oh, marriage was blissful, and she’d loved every moment of her honeymoon, but she’d missed Clarissa, missed sharing all her thoughts and feelings with her sister. Leo was a wonderful lover, but he wasn’t one for discussing emotions. She chuckled at the very idea.

They’d woken early, as usual, and had made slow, blissful love as a delicate rose and gold dawn broke over the London rooftops. It was her favorite way to wake up, to come to consciousness with Leo caressing her, and then that slow growth of intensity, of feeling…Oh, she had no words to describe it.

But oh, the glory that man had introduced her to. She shivered deliciously, remembering. They’d just begun to make love again when Matteo had knocked on the door, saying Lord Randall was downstairs asking to speak to Leo.

She chuckled again, recalling Leo’s irritation. He’d groaned, sworn, kissed her, rolled out of bed and shrugged into his gorgeously embroidered heavy silk dressing gown. Then he’d opened the door, looked back at her sitting up in bed in a welter of bedclothes, and marched back to give her a heated kiss that almost left her swooning. “Blast Race. It had better be important,” he’d muttered, and stomped off, leaving her to bathe and dress at her leisure.

She looked around. On a beautiful morning like this she was sure Clarissa would be out in her beloved garden. Perhaps the rose arbor. She headed toward it.

Rounding a corner in the path she almost collided with another young woman. “Oh, excuse m—” she began, and stared.

The girl stared back, green eyes wide as she examined Izzy from top to toe.

“Gawd! It’s true, then,” the girl exclaimed. “I suppose you’re Izzy.”

“And you must be Zo?. Oh my, Clarissa did tell me there was a strong resemblance—she wrote to me while I was away, you know—but I didn’t have any idea how much.” Izzy was stunned. It was almost like looking in a mirror.

“Me, too. I didn’t expect it to be so…” Zo? gestured vaguely.

They continued staring at each other. “I think your hair is a little lighter than mine, not quite as black.”

Zo? nodded. “And I’m not as tall as you.”

“How old are you?”

“Nearly sixteen.”

“Then I think you might have a few more years of growing yet.” She gazed at her new sister, almost overwhelmed by the tumble of mixed emotions. Another sister, one just like her, in more ways than she could count.

Izzy bounced up and down on her toes. “Oh, I’m so excited. I want to hug you.” She stepped forward. “Would you mind?”

Zo? shrugged and shook her head, and Izzy pulled her into an exuberant hug.

“Good morning, little sister,” she said, stepping back but holding onto Zo?’s hands. “I’m so very delighted to meet you.”

Zo? stared at her, looking bemused. “You don’t mind, then?”

“Mind what? That you look like me? No, of course not—you even look like my sister which, sadly, Clarissa doesn’t. She looks like her mother while you and I take after our wicked papa.”

“No, I meant mind that I’m even here. Once people see me, it’s going to cause a bit of nasty talk—especially about you. Bein’ a bastard, I mean. Oh, I shouldn’t have said that, should I, you bein’ one, too? What’s the word that proper ladies use?”

Izzy laughed. “Baseborn? A natural child? As opposed to an unnatural one, which sounds much worse.” She laughed again. “Proper ladies probably don’t even refer to it, but I can see you and I like to call a spade a spade.”

Zo? bit her lip. “Yeah, but when they see us, people will talk. And it could ruin you and ’specially Clarissa, and she’s bin so good to me, I would hate to—”

“Oh, pish tush!” Izzy declared. “Clarissa and I discussed all this when we first came to London, and if you think either of us would prefer acceptance by nasty-minded society gossips to the company of a lovely little sister, you’re very much mistaken. Clarissa refused to give me up when Lord Salcott was trying to make her, and before that when our father wanted to get rid of me, and she’ll be exactly the same with you.”

Zo?’s forehead puckered. “Lord Salcott? But isn’t he—”

“My husband, yes.” Izzy laughed. “It took him quite a while to succumb, but he did in the end. And he’ll stand with us, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, but you’re safely married. And to a lord. Clarissa isn’t yet. Though if Lord Randall has his way…”

“Lord Randall? You mean he and Clarissa have finally…?”

Zo? grimaced. “Well, they’re supposedly betrothed, though it hasn’t yet been officially announced—”

Izzy clapped her hands. “I knew it! I was sure Race was keen on her, but I thought Clarissa would never let herself—”

“No, it’s a fake betrothal,” Zo? interrupted bluntly. “Or at least that’s what she keeps telling me. She reckons it’s just for appearances’ sake.”

Izzy frowned. “That sounds complicated. Where is Clarissa? I thought she’d be out here on such a glorious morning.”

“Dunno. I expected her to come out, too.”

“Then I’ll seek her out and discover what’s going on. Oh, Zo?, I’m so thrilled to have a new sister. We’ll talk later, I promise. I want to find out all about you, but first I need to find my sister—my other sister! So exciting to be able to say that! Two sisters! I need to discover what this ‘supposed’ betrothal of hers is all about. I’ll see you later.” She hugged Zo? again, and hurried off to Lady Scattergood’s house.

She found Clarissa upstairs in her bedchamber, splashing her face with cold water in a vain effort to hide her red eyes and blotchy skin. “Oh, love, you’ve been crying,” Izzy exclaimed.

Clarissa burst into tears.

An hour later the two sisters were sitting cross-legged on Clarissa’s bed, facing each other as they used to do when they were children. They’d hugged, wept a little, laughed a lot and hugged again. And then Clarissa had dried her tears, and over hot chocolate and a dish of delicious orange biscuits they’d talked.

Clarissa sipped her chocolate. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if Lord Randall hadn’t kept turning up everywhere. Are you sure Leo didn’t make him promise to keep an eye on me?”

“Positive,” Izzy assured her. “He did ask Race to take you riding, knowing that nobody here can ride, and Hyde Park was too tame for a proper ride. But that’s all.”

“He did take me riding, and I confess it was lovely to be able to get out of London and go for a proper ride—and he brought his cousin Maggie and I really like her, Iz. And if that was all it was…But then he was everywhere—at balls and routs, which everyone knows he never attends—never used to attend,” she added darkly. “He even went to one of old Lady Gastonbury’s soirées musicale.”

Izzy laughed. “Serve him right. Was Cicely in good form?”

“And he turned up at Lady Beatrice’s literary society.”

“It sounds as though he really was courting you, ’Riss,” Izzy said gently.

“I know, and that’s the problem. If I didn’t keep running into him everywhere, I wouldn’t have—” She broke off and looked away.

“Fallen in love with him?”

Clarissa gave a tragic sigh. “Oh, don’t say it, please.”

“No point in denying it, love. You were halfway to falling for him even before my wedding and it looks like you’ve fallen all the way now.”

“I haven’t. I can’t. You know it’s impossible, Izzy, you know it!” Clarissa scrubbed at her eyes with a damp and crumpled handkerchief.

There was a long silence. Clarissa picked up an orange biscuit and nibbled around the lacy edging. Then she lowered it, saying, “The problem is, he’s just too charming. He can make me laugh in the most ridiculous ways. You should have heard him talking about the ducks—and then in the park, I could hardly preserve my countenance when he introduced me to the human version.”

She nibbled on the biscuit then continued, “And when I dance with him—and he always asks me and it’s impossible to refuse—and you know I’m not that good a dancer, but…it’s like…I feel like I’m floating, and so warm and safe. And happy.”

Izzy squeezed her hand and said nothing. She looked troubled.

Clarissa went on, “But that’s what rakes are like, aren’t they? They know how to do things like that, make people—ladies—feel like that. And when he ki—” She broke off with a guilty look and avoided her sister’s eye.

Izzy almost choked on a mouthful of biscuit. “Clarissa Studley! You let him kiss you?”

Clarissa felt her cheeks heat. She nodded.

“Well, how was it? You know what Mrs. Price-Jones said about kissing a lot of frogs—”

Clarissa sighed. “He wasn’t a frog.” And what an understatement that was. That kiss had haunted her dreams ever since.

Izzy laughed and brushed crumbs off her fingers. “Of course he wasn’t. So, you let Race Randall kiss you. That’s wonderful.”

“I also let Mr. Clayborn kiss me,” Clarissa admitted.

Izzy clapped her hands. “You daring little minx! And?”

“A definite frog.”

“So it sounds like Race Randall has swept you off your feet with his dancing and his kissing.”

“That wasn’t all. Oh, Izzy, if you’d seen the way he was with Lady Tarrant’s little girls—she’s had the baby, by the way. A little boy. They’re naming him Ross after Lord Tarrant’s late brother.”

“Lovely. We’ll go and call on them later. Now don’t change the subject. Tell me how Race Randall was with those little girls.”

Clarissa described how they’d come across the girls and how distressed they were. “If you could only have seen it, Izzy. He knew exactly how to calm their fears and coax them into a happier frame of mind. And the way he picked up little Lina and let her weep buckets into his neckcloth—so patient and kind. I nearly wept myself, watching him.”

And because, seeing him so gentle and kind with three small girls he didn’t even know, she realized that she was hopelessly and completely in love with him.

“I’ve never seen that side of him,” Izzy admitted. “I’ve only seen the charming-women side and the way he is with Leo. Leo trusts him completely, you know.”

Clarissa nodded. “I’m not surprised. Though men are different with other men, aren’t they? If they make a promise to a man—well, their sacred code of honor demands that they keep it. It seems to me their word given to a woman is quite a different matter.” She had two illegitimate sisters to prove it.

“He’s gallant, too,” she continued. “He rescued me from Mr. Clayborn’s attack—and it was an attack, Izzy—he ripped my dress half off me and he meant to go through with it, I’m sure. He had his breeches open.”

Izzy stared. “Good God! I hadn’t heard that. What a villain.”

“But Lord Randall burst in and dragged him off me. And later he was responsible for exposing Mr. Clayborn’s horrid deception with his so-called wound.”

“We heard something about it—someone wrote to Leo. Gravel in the boot?—but you can tell me all about it later. Right now I want to hear about what Race Randall did.”

“Well, that’s when he offered for me, and between them, he and Mrs. Price-Jones convinced me it was for the best, that it would change the nature of the gossip so that it wasn’t as damaging to me. And at the time he stressed that I could call it off whenever I wanted. It was all a—a strategy—not a genuine betrothal at all. But I saw Leo downstairs just now and he said Lord Randall had called on him this morning and was quite in earnest about marriage. They’d even discussed settlements!”

More tears came and she scrubbed them away.

When she’d calmed a little, Izzy said, “So what’s the problem, ’Riss? You love Lord Randall and it sounds to me very much as though he loves you, too.”

Clarissa shook her head. “Even if he does love me—which I’m not at all sure about—he tosses endearments around like—like a farmer sowing seed! He’s a rake! Just like Papa.”

Izzy grimaced. “Not exactly like Papa. Papa would have ignored weeping children and he would no more have offered marriage to save someone’s reputation than fly. But I take your point. You’re worried he’ll break your heart, aren’t you?”

Clarissa’s nodded. “Rakes aren’t generally known for their fidelity, and I couldn’t bear it if…if…” Her face crumpled.

Izzy leaned forward and hugged her. “I know, love. I know.”