Page 87 of The Heiress's Daughter
“I do keep my promises, in general,” she said indignantly. “It’s just that I saw Zoë 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 isnotabout 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 beenkilled! 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 wasthrilledwith 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 isnota blasted fiction. Nor is it inanyway 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 Zoë 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 Zoë 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 aboutyour safety and having to search for you in gutters and stews and God knows where—and for what, eh?” She aimed her lorgnette at Zoë, 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?”
Zoë flushed. “No, of course not. You’ve been very kind and generous. It’s just that…”
