Still, there was poetic justice in what had been done to her. That should lighten his dour mood somewhat. “You’ll be happy to know they stripped all my clothes off me last night and stole them. This is what they threw at me to wear this morning.”

He went completely still. “Why should I be happy about that?”

“I figured you’d think it karmic retribution for what was done to you.”

Those furious blue eyes bored into her. “You never really knew me at all, did you?”

“I knew you. I knew every thought in your head.”

“Then what am I thinking now?” His tone held a fierce challenge it.

But there was no need in that. “I don’t know anymore. You never showed me this side of you.”

“And what side is that?”

“The aristo who treats everyone around him like they’re beneath him.”

He laughed bitterly. “Then we’re even.”

“How so?”

“You never showed me the ruthless bitch side of you.”

Now that set her temper on fire. How dare he! “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” He snarled those two words. “Not fair is watching my baby sister get shot in the back by a weapon I made for you.” He stormed across the room to tower over where she sat on his sofa. “Not fair is hearing a man I fought beside, tell other people I’d put my ass on the line for, that ‘the bitch’ is dead. That bitch is the same age as your sister, and I feel the same way about her that you do for Sorche. So don’t you dare talk to me about fairness.”

Her throat tightened at every angry word he spat at her. She heard and she understood. If that had been done to Sorche, she’d be out for blood, too.

But she had to put at least part of the record straight. “I did not give that to Clarion. He stole it from me.”

He scoffed at her. “Do you really think that inconsequential detail mattered to me while I hung for months in that room, thinking I’d killed the sister I swore to protect?”

No. The guilt and grief had to be horrifying. She couldn’t imagine thinking that something she’d created had been used to kill her sister.

There couldn’t be any worse hell. If he was insane, that alone was reason enough for it.

Wanting to comfort him, she reached up to cup his face.

He pulled back with a snarl. “Don’t touch me.”

Those words hit her like blows, and once more, they brought home the fact that he hated her.

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry? I am, just so you know. But I’m also aware that words cannot undo what was done to you. They can’t fix those wounds. I would give anything if they could. But I know better.” She looked up at him, wishing there was some way to reach him and make him see the truth inside her.