Chapter 26 - Claire #2
His words were a dart to her chest. Claire had known Michael regretted the kiss—he’d already said as much.
Now that she knew how she truly felt, Claire received his words as a keen insult.
Of course Michael shouldn’t have wasted such romance on her—she wasn’t the type of lady that a man like him would want in such a way.
Claire swallowed her hurt and tried again. “I would very much like for us to be friends once more.”
Michael frowned at the cobblestones for a long time. In those drawn-out moments, Claire felt as if her entire future balanced atop the narrow ridgeline of a steep roof. Though she couldn’t have Michael as she desperately wanted him, she would be thrilled to settle for having him in her life at all.
“Very well, Claire,” he finally said, his face taut with some unknown emotion. “If that’s what you wish.”
She nodded, relief sagging her shoulders. “Then you forgive me?”
“Yes. Do you forgive me?”
There was nothing to forgive, she wanted to say. Except perhaps that the experience would never be repeated.
“Of course.” If her voice sounded a bit strangled, she hoped he’d have the good grace to ignore it.
Michael nodded. He sounded a bit resigned when he said, “Very well, then.”
Claire nodded and tangled her fingers together, offering him a smile that felt as if it would freeze and splinter on her face. “Friends, then.”
Claire turned to leave, but before she could help herself, she whirled back toward him.
“Who is that lady you’re courting?” she blurted, then blushed furiously and shook her head.
Caught in the storm of her swirling emotions, she’d uttered the one question she’d determined not to ask at all. Michael cocked his head and studied her.
“It hardly matters. Your business is your own. I’m sure she’s lovely.” Claire coughed to try to cover that her voice had nearly choked on the last word.
His eyes narrowed. “Claire, are you…jealous?” He said the word with a touch of wonder and no small amount of deep satisfaction—like a man who’d finally made some great discovery he’d been searching for, for years.
Though Claire shook her head furiously, a smile spread slowly over Michael’s face. “You are, aren’t you?”
Claire blinked rapidly and twisted her fingers until they ached. She took a half step back as if to avoid the coming embarrassment. “Certainly not. It’s only that I don’t know her, you see.”
A lame excuse if she’d ever heard one. Perhaps if she’d asked politely, with a detached coolness to her tone, she might have been able to write it off as bland curiosity. But she’d asked in the same manner she felt—desperate and slightly unhinged.
Michael stepped forward, his eyes intent on her face.
Claire had the sudden impression of being stalked or hunted as he walked toward her.
She froze in place, though part of her mind screamed at her to abandon all her pride and run off into the shrubbery.
Perhaps there was a bush in this garden large enough for her to hide in, or a large empty pot.
“She’s my cousin who recently returned from France.”
Michael stood just before her. She could see his gaze clearly searching her own.
He was certainly close enough to see the relief that coursed through her, to hear the tiny breath she let out.
In this dim light, his blue eyes looked darker than they were.
They narrowed and she could only blink as they traced her features.
“Claire?” The word was low and spoken like a question.
“Yes?” she said lamely.
Then she clamped her lips together, promising herself that she wouldn’t open them again unless she had something worthwhile to say—preferably something that her mind had approved.
Michael sent all thoughts fleeing from her head when he reached up and slid two fingers from her temple to her chin.
She couldn’t help it—she sighed and leaned into his touch.
When she regained her senses enough for her eyes to flutter open, Michael was smiling down at her, tenderness clear in every line of his face.
“Please don’t toy with me, Claire,” he murmured. “If you don’t feel anything past friendship for me, please tell me now.”
Claire didn’t think she could have spoken for all the gold in England.
Not when Michael’s eyes dropped to her lips, returned to her eyes, and dropped again.
He drew her forward achingly slowly, one hand at her waist. It was as if he were giving her time to contemplate what he was about to do, giving her time to twist from his gentle grasp or push him away.
She didn’t want to, of course. Claire was frozen by the intent clear on his face. Michael slowly dipped his head and pressed his warm lips to hers. It took Claire a moment to realize he’d pulled back, that he was studying her with that affectionate expression again.
“I love you, Claire,” he murmured, a soft smile on his lips.
“You do?” Her eyes flew wide—with surprise or wonder, she could hardly tell.
Michael laughed and gathered her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Of course I do, Claire. I’ve loved you for years.”
“Me too,” she managed to murmur.
“You’re also in love with you? A shocking assertion, but I’m not surprised to hear it.”
Claire shook her head, enjoying the pleasant rumble of Michael laughing at his own joke while he held her.
“I love you, I mean.”
Michael drew back to look down at her; his smile was dazzling. “Then marry me, Claire. Please. I’ll love you until the end of time, I swear it.”
“Of course,” she said, breathlessly. “Yes, please. I’d love to.”
Yes, please? she thought scathingly. Who answers a proposal like they’ve been offered a glass of punch?
But her self-castigation quickly came to an end when Michael kissed her again. This one lasted much longer than the gentle peck he’d started with. Claire decided that her memory of their first kiss had been but a pale watercolor rendering of this one.
This one was far more delightful, far more meaningful, now that she knew he felt the same way she did. Now that they were betrothed!
Michael finally broke the kiss. He still held her, but leaned back far enough to study her face. Claire had to blink several times before he came into focus.
“I’m doing this all wrong,” he said. “If the time ever came for me to propose, I meant to do everything properly, as you wanted.”
“It turns out I’m not a very good judge of knowing what I want,” she admitted, even as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “This is perfection.”
“And yet, there are some things that are worth doing the correct way,” he said, dropping another kiss onto the tip of her nose. “You know, prudently.”
“I find I tire of the word.” She gripped the front of his jacket and tried to draw him back to her.
He laughed into her hair. “Claire, darling, a gentleman only has so much self-control, and I fear that you are trying mine at the moment.”
“Wonderful,” she murmured, pressing kisses against his jaw.
Michael set her gently but firmly back by the shoulders and grinned at her.
“I shall call upon your brother tomorrow. For now, let me escort you back to the safety of the ballroom. And you should probably do your best not to look at me in such a manner, or I shall kiss you no matter who is about, and we’ll scandalize everyone. ”
Claire gave a little shake of her head, trying to clear the haze from her vision. Perhaps if someone had told her convincingly how wonderful it was to be held and kissed by a man whom one loved, she would have been looking for love all along.
Despite her pleasant stupor, she saw the wisdom of Michael’s leading. She put her hand into the crook of his elbow and let him show her back to the ballroom.
Claire joined Beatrice and Lily, who were speaking with Rachel Warrington. Claire was exceedingly grateful that the walk back inside had been long enough for her to compose herself, even more grateful that the ladies were in deep discussion about the handsome Lord Shaw dodging the female set.
“One wonders why he doesn’t just marry richly and put a stop to their chasing,” Rachel said.
“He’s another who must marry for funds,” Beatrice said, ostensibly to catch Claire up on the topic.
“How gauche to mention it,” Lily said, a teasing smile on her lips.
“Is every gentleman a fortune hunter this Season?” Claire asked. She was proud at how even and normal she sounded.
“Not Lord Shaw, which is why he’s an anomaly,” Rachel said. “Handsome and poor. He’d probably fare better than Lord Forthswithe if he were looking to make a match for wealth.”
“Forthswithe is nice enough looking,” Lily said.
“To be sure. If he had lower standards, he would have found a bride immediately.”
“Claire, wonderful news.” Margaret skidded to a stop at their grouping, her cheeks flushed. “The lovely brunette is only Michael’s cousin.”
“Where were you a half an hour ago?” Claire said. “That would have been excellent information to have then.”
“No, really.” Beatrice reached over and plucked what appeared to be a leaf from Margaret’s hair. “Where were you?”
Margaret flushed a bright pink. “I got lost. Or rather, I was waylaid in the gardens.”
“Which was it?” Beatrice gave a slow smile that spoke of savoring the current amusement. “Lost or waylaid?”
Margaret scowled. “It hardly matters.”
“Were you alone when you got lost?” Claire asked all-too-innocently, her eyes wide. “Or did someone help you into that bush?”
“Oh do shut up,” Margaret muttered.