Page 73 of The Trouble with Tweed

Her forehead wrinkled as a dart of hurt speared her. “Of course it does. You’re my closest friend.”

“I was your closest friend then, too,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “But you wouldn’t even tell me what I had done.”

“It’s a sensitive subject.”

Even now, Claire felt her cheeks heating. Her stomach clenched in remembered pain. It had taken her years not to feel sick about it. Years not to have the image appear every time she closed her eyes.

“Well, we all know that I’m the biggest gossip in all of London,” Michael said sarcastically. He shook his head. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Beatrice and I were angry at you for the same reason?”

“Which is what?” Claire’s head was swirling. How had they gotten on this topic? Hadn’t Michael just been thanking her for saving his sister from Nelson’s clutches?

“You never let anyone in,” he said. “Even when they ask you. Even when they damn near beg. If you hadn’t needed my help this Season, would you even have spoken to me?”

Claire’s jaw gaped. She didn’t have an answer for that, and he must have read the truth of it on her face. His eyes flashed anew, and a storm of anger rolled across his features.

“And what happens the next time I displease you in some mysterious way?” He waggled his fingers in the air. “Are you just going to disappear again if I don’t live up to your invisible, perfect standards?”

He turned abruptly.

“Where are you going?” she stammered.

“I’m going to go home and regain my temper before I say something I’ll regret. Or perhaps I won’t talk to you for the next four years and see how you like it.”

“Michael, please don’t go,” she cried.

What if this was the end of it all? What if he followed through on his threat and they never spoke as friends again?

“Then tell me,” he demanded.

A desperation clenched at her heart. She didn’t want Michael to go. Not like this. Not angry. And perhaps he was right. It wasn’t fair of her not to be honest, especially after he’d asked.

His voice was low and urgent when he said, “Tell me now, Claire. I’m serious. I deserve that, don’t I? Don’t I deserve the chance to answer the charge that you have against me?”

Claire nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. She feared she was losing Michael, losing his friendship once and for all. And hadn’t that been what she was trying to prevent in her misguided attempts? She had been angry with him, yes, but deep down, she was more afraid to lose him than anything else.

“That night,” she croaked. “Four years ago, at the Whittakers’ ball. I told you I saw my brother and Dahlia, but I saw you, too.”

“What?” He blinked and rocked back on his heels.

“I saw you with Lady Berkshire, kissing her.” Claire nearly choked on the word, but Michael had asked in such a way that she felt duty-bound to answer. He was her friend. He deserved the truth.

Michael stared at her, eyes wide, for several moments. “You saw that woman mauling me, you didn’t stop to help, and that is the reason you didn’t speak to me for four years?”

Claire’s mind reeled. “She kissed you?”

If anything, her answer seemed to infuriate him more.

“Of all the things you could have said—” He shook his head. His eyes were like flint. “My lowest moment and it wasn’t even of my doing.”

She didn’t understand. Claire’s mind was full of arguments—all of the things she thought she knew, versus the possibility of this new reality that Michael claimed was true. She shook her head to try and clear it. Was it true? Had Claire thought wrongly of him all these years?

“But I thought…” she started lamely.

Michael shook his head, his hands on his hips. “If you had just told me.”

“I…I didn’t know.”

“All it would have taken was a single honest conversation.” Michael struck his hands together to drive every word home. “I could have told you the truth. Do you know that this entire time, I thought that something terrible had happened to you?”