Page 75 of The Trouble with Tweed

While Claire organized her thoughts with all the dexterity of drunken squirrel, Michael watched her and his frown only increased.

“I never should have done that,” he said grimly. “I never should have…”

Michael looked at her, at the confusion plain on her face while she tried to muster up the fortitude to ask him why.

But before Claire’s kiss-swollen lips could remember how to form the word, Michael shook his head and cursed lowly. “I never should have done that. Forgive me, Claire.”

He was off through the shrubbery before she could utter so much as a whimper of protest.

CHAPTER 24- MICHAEL

Well, that was that, then.

Michael placed his hat and coat on the hooks in his front hall carefully, though he longed to throw them upon the ground instead. Michael longed to tear down his house with his very fingers.

He should never have kissed her. The look Claire had given him after, as if she didn’t know him, as if she never had, as if she’d never look at him the same way again.

He had felt it too, that he’d ruined everything. Something good had been happening between them. Some real foundation was being built—something that could have supported love for the rest of their lives.

He shook his head and stared at the tips of his boots. The worst of it was, he hadn’t even been overcome with passion. No—it was anger and foolish, injured pride that had driven him to kiss her.

Well, it wasn’t just those things. There was definitely a good amount of passion and love involved too—at least on his end. But that hardly excused him. Michael had gone and ruined everything. He’d mauled her like some great beast.

He’d proven to her everything she’d ever thought about rakes, about him. How was he ever going to look her in the eye again? The fact that he’d lost her, that they’d never laugh together as they once had, gripped his heart in a fist and squeezed until he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

What would he tell his mother? What would he tell Sylvia? They would want to know what had happened. How was he to explain that he had acted like a brute, taken Claire in his arms when he knew she didn’t want it, and kissed her thoroughly anyway?

He was no better than that blackguard Lord Nelson. Michael pressed a fist to his mouth to suppress the sudden urge to vomit. Once it passed, he slapped a hand over his eyes, pressing at his temples and wincing.

He had gone against everything he believed. He had ruined everything.

CHAPTER 25- CLAIRE

Claire was still in a stupor when she returned to her bedroom late that night.

Oh no.

She’d fallen in love with Michael. How had this happened? She had been so careful.

She’d thought he was a rake. Except, now that she applied that definition to him, it didn’t fit at all. He’d been rightfully angry with her, but then he’d kissed her. Heavens, it had been wonderful. Or at least, she’d thought so.

Michael apparently hadn’t.

He’d found her wanting, perhaps. Been disgusted by her lack of morals for kissing him back, probably. Or maybe he’d been angry with her the entire time and the kiss had been some sort of punishment. But in any case, he’d left her standing in that garden alone.

All that night and the following day, Claire explored the depths of her own moroseness. She sulked in her bedroom, pacing back and forth and wringing her fingers until they were sore. To her sisters, she claimed she had a headache. The truth was, they knew her better than most; they might have been able to see the truth of things if she’d faced them.

In the midst of her fretting, she often lost herself in daydreams about that kiss. She’d heard whispers about such things, of course. She was not a naive eighteen-year-old. Yet no one had ever properly conveyed the emotions that could be stirred by such a common act.

If she were more adept at lying to herself, she might have pretended the kiss meant nothing to her, or at least not as much as it did. But the truth of the matter was that the kiss revealed deep emotions that she’d long suppressed.

Claire had been suspicious of her feelings for Michael for a long time, but she’d not been ready to admit what she now knew: that she was hopelessly in love with him.

The more she pondered the possibility, the more she realized that she’d never gotten over him in the first place, not properly. And what was she to do with this information now? She’d insulted him repeatedly, and he’d been kind in response. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything she could do or say to rectify the situation.

After all, there was no way to say I’m very sorry I wrongly thought you were a rake for four years, and by the by, I love you desperately. At least, not without sounding like a lunatic.

Two days into her self-imposed seclusion, there was a knock on her door. She thought it was Mara bringing a lunch tray, so she carelessly called, “Come in.”