Page 105 of The Heiress's Daughter
“I enlisted Mrs. Price-Jones’s help—and don’t worry, she’ll be discreet. And she thought it was great fun.” Ignoring Clarissa’s moan, she went on, “We asked every lady on the list whether the heart-shaped mark on the left cheek of Lord Randall’s bottom was a birthmark or a tattoo.”
Clarissa’s mouth dropped open. “Izzy, you didn’t! Asked them about hisbottom? And how did you find out about the mark on it in the first place? Did Leo tell you?”
Izzy gave a peal of laughter. “No, of course not. He doesn’t know anything about it. He’d have a fit if he knew.”
Clarissa knew how he felt. “Tell me the rest then. How did you discover that Lord Randall has a heart-shaped mark on his bottom?”
Izzy’s green eyes danced. “That’s just it. He hasn’t—or at least I have no idea whether he has or not. I made it up.”
Clarissa shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”
“We asked each of the ladies on the list whether the mark on his bottom was a birthmark or a tattoo. Giving them a choice of only two, you see. And you know what? Not one of them said they didn’t know. Or that he had no mark on his bottom. Not one!”
Clarissa didn’t know what to say. It was all too outrageous.
Izzy continued, clearly delighted with her plot. “One of them tried to freeze me out, saying very coldly what a very vulgar wager it was, and didn’t I have better things to do with my time than to speculate about a gentleman’s birthmark, but see, she answered the question, albeit indirectly. And her color was heightened. All the others happily answered. Most said it was a birthmark but several said now they came to consider it might be a tattoo, after all. So you know what that proves, don’t you?”
Clarissa gave her a blank stare. The whole thing was quite mad. And completely, horribly scandalous—and unnecessary—now that she’d decided to trust Lord Randall anyway. Oh, what would he say when he found out? He’d be furious. And who could blame him?
“It proves,” Izzy said, “thatnoneof those women have been Lord Randall’s mistress!”
Which is exactly what he’d already told Clarissa. “Oh, Izzy, I wish you hadn’t.”
“Why? I thought you’d be thrilled to know the truth at last.”
“I asked him about it last week, before he went away, and he explained how his reputation had come to be. I already knew that his reputation was grossly exaggerated, and that most of those society ladies lied by implication—though why I still cannot imagine.”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “You did? You asked him directly? Oh, Clarissa, how wonderful. I thought you’d never find the courage. So what are you going to do?”
Clarissa blushed. “I was planning to marry him.” Now she wasn’t so sure. He might not want to have anything to do with the woman who’d indirectly caused such dreadful gossip and speculation about an intimate part of his anatomy.
Izzy flew out of her seat and hugged Clarissa. “I’m so happy for you, ’Riss. When’s the wedding?”
Clarissa shook her head. “Nothing’s been decided yet.”
Izzy gave her a searching look. “Is there something the matter? You don’t seem as happy as I thought you would be.”
Clarissa forced a smile. Her sister had done what she thought was for the best. She should have been firmer with Izzy about investigating Lord Randall’s reputation. “Oh, you know, just so many things to do. I haven’t been sleeping well,” she prevaricated. “And I have a slight headache. I’m not really looking forward to a night at Almack’s.”
“Oh, you poor love, why didn’t you say so? Shall I fetch you a tisane?” Without waiting, Izzy rang the bell to order a tisane for Clarissa’s nonexistent headache.
Izzy was so delighted with her clever plan—and it was clever, she had to admit—but now Clarissa desperately wished she had told him the other day—despite the cabbages and beggars and old turnips—that she loved him and wanted to marry him.
Because now he’d think her decision was because she’d had her sister and chaperone spy on him. And in such an embarrassing way. No doubt half the ton was speculating about this nonexistent tattoo or birthmark.
She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Why, oh why did they have to choose hisbottomto focus on?
He was sure to be furious. Men took their dignity so seriously.
No doubt he’d want to call the wedding off. Which meant she would have to do the calling off, because he was much too honorable to do it.
Chapter Sixteen
When Race returned to his lodgings later that night he found a note from Clarissa waiting for him, asking him to meet her in the garden at his earliest convenience—which was heavily underlined—as soon as he returned to London. And to tell no one. Also heavily underlined.
Earliest convenience? He’d go now, but it was well after one and she’d either still be dancing at Almack’s or preparing for bed. First thing in the morning then.
He scribbled a reply saying he’d meet her in the garden at eight in the morning, then paid a servant to deliver it.
