Page 86 of The Heiress's Daughter
“Me?”
“You. Just you. Alone,” he said with a smug expression. Young Zoë was clearly not the butler’s favorite person. If he even had one.
Zoë 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, Zoë went slowly toward Lady Scattergood’s favorite sitting room.
“Zoë,” Clarissa called after her. Zoë 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.”
Zoë 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?”
Zoë 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 Zoë earned a living. Thank God they’d found her when they did.
Zoë 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 Zoë 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 Zoë. 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 Zoë 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.’ Zoë 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 sellyou! 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 Zoë 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 Zoë,” 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—”
