Betrayed (5 page)

“Who? What the hell are you saying?”

“
Grace
Leeds!
She said she is your wife.”

Branson did not answer. The rain that had
been threatening since daybreak began to fall. He grabbed Clara’s arm and
dragged her under the portico. Branson
seized the collar of her cloak. “What are you trying to do to me—drive
me mad? Grace Leeds is
dead
.”

“I saw her in the
chapel! She was wearing my wedding dress. She tried to kill me! I managed to
escape with my life and that’s when Strachan found me on the road. He brought
me to Petherham where I would be safe.”

Branson flicked his
tongue over his dry lips. He rubbed his brow and pressed his fingers to his
mouth as he contemplated Clara.

“Is that your story,
then? That is your excuse for running back to Strachan—you claim you saw a
ghost. Either you are mad or you are trying to make me believe that I am.”

“I am not mad.” Her
hand balled into a fist and she stepped in front of him. “You do not frighten
me anymore, Branson. Either you are lying or the woman who attacked me in the
chapel is. She called herself Mrs. Branson Reilly.”

“If such a woman
exists, then where is she? Haunting the forest? Hiding in the trees? I returned
from the village and when Piers told me you were missing, I rode out looking for
you. I searched everywhere, Clara. No one could have escaped my notice in any
direction. There was no one on the road or in the park or on the forest path. You
must have stumbled and struck your head. That is the only explanation for this
ludicrous tale.”

Clara fought to
maintain her composure. “If I had any doubts about leaving you, this
conversation has banished them. I
saw
Grace in the chapel. She claimed to be your wife. She was standing at the
altar, as though waiting for her groom. I asked her about the lake and she said
I was there
. What did she mean? There
is something you’re not telling me. Why do you hate my father so much?”

“There is plenty I am
not telling you and I never will because my business is not your concern. Your
father has held me in contempt for the past ten years. It is unsurprising that
I hate him and want to bring him down.”

“No, it is more than
that. She insinuated your revenge had something to do with her. If the
encounter was supernatural, then Grace Leeds is trying to tell me something
from beyond the grave. And if it was a hallucination, then where is my wedding
gown? I haven’t seen it since I arrived. If Grace was not there, then where is
my wedding gown?”

Branson met her eyes
with pity.

“Don’t look at me like
that,” she cried. “I can take almost anything you have done to me—but not your
pity. Do not give me your pity, Branson. I saw her, I know I did!”

“The wedding gown is
in your trunk. Piers cleaned it and packed it as it was obvious you did not
intend to stay. You’ll find it there when you arrive in London.” Branson’s
expression hardened. “I don’t know what you experienced in the chapel. A
nervous collapse brought on by the strain of being left at the altar. You
concocted a vision, gave her the name Grace after my dead fiancée, and then used
an imagined attack as an excuse to run back to Strachan.”

“I am not insane,” she
said through gritted teeth. “I did not imagine her and I did not b-b-bring the
wedding g-g-gown to the ch-ch-chapel!”

“LOWER YOUR voice,” Branson hissed. “Calm down. Take a
breath. I don’t frighten you so why do you stutter? Strachan has done this to
you and still you’ll run after him. You’ve been planning this from the moment
you saw him on the Down. Well, go to him! Get out. I don’t need you anymore.
I’ve had my revenge.”

“Against me, yes, and
my brother and mother, but you have not yet bested my father and I am going to
warn him of your treachery! It will give him time to find another means to
repay the shareholders. We shall recover but you will still be
you
—friendless and unloved!”

“How did she try to
kill you?” he demanded abruptly. “You claim this apparition tried to kill you.
How did she do it?”

“She choked me. She
put her hands on my throat and tried to strangle me. Look!” Clara wrenched open
the collar of her cloak.

Branson pushed back
the stiff neck piece. “I see nothing. There are no marks.”

“That’s impossible. Strachan
is my witness. He saw the red marks she left on my neck moments after the
attack. I fought back or I am certain I would be dead. She was forced to
release me and I pretended to be unconscious until she left. Her hands were
here like this. Like so.” Clara demonstrated.

“Strachan is your
witness,” Branson repeated dryly. “Will wonders never cease. There is no mark
on your throat or anywhere. You convinced yourself of an attack and Strachan
was only too happy to play the hero. There is no evidence, Clara. Leave me now.
Get away from Windemere Hall and do not come back. Good luck with your prince, Captain
Strachan.”

He flung away from her
and strode out into the silver rain.

THEY WERE well beyond the boundary of Windemere estate when
the driver gave a shout of alarm. Branson was on Gladiator, high on a hillock
watching them pass, and then he rode toward the carriage at heart-stopping
speed. The driver yanked on the reins to prevent a collision.

“Good God! What on
earth is he up to?” shouted Strachan as they were flung about inside the coach.
“The man is mad. I don’t care how rich he is, Hamilton is a common thug through
and through.”

Branson slowed beside
the carriage and then stopped as the driver brought the horses and the carriage
to a standstill.

Clara’s heart caught
in her throat. She felt his pain like a fist in her chest. His torment was in
his eyes and in his bearing, in the haunted tortured look he gave her. Her
cousin was hatless and his cloak was flung back off his broad shoulders. He
held Gladiator’s reins loosely. Branson sought her face and their eyes met in
silent communion.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she
said, trembling.

Clara was terrified
the purpose of this intrusion was to inform the entire party of her disgrace,
how she had given herself to him. So desperate for the love of any man, Clara
Hamilton had allowed her virtue to be taken.

She was drowning in
his eyes. If it were not for this vibration between them, the belief in love
that he had restored to her, she would not hate the very sight of him now. She
did not flatter herself that he would refrain from making the killing blow,
especially finding her in a vulnerable position with Strachan. Her cousin only
had to say the words and he would destroy her.

Branson’s intention in
riding after the carriage was to do that very thing.

But then he saw her
... her fragility and her strength. Her eyes met his, their expression grieving
and wistful. Her complexion was so pale. It would be easy, so easy, to punish
her then and there. How he would exult in seeing the look on Strachan’s face
when he told the bastard he fucked Clara Hamilton right under his nose,
stealing his prize.

He opened his mouth,
the words formed in his brain—but he could not bring them to his lips. Just
like Clara’s stutter, they clattered at the back of his throat like pebbles on
a roof.

“Clara,” he replied
gruffly. “I’ve come beg your pardon for my earlier behaviour. I regret our parting
on unfriendly terms. I hope you will remember me better than I was. We were
friends once.”

“Yes, Mr. Hamilton, we
were.” She lowered her eyes, trying very hard not shed tears. “But that was a
long time ago.”

“Not so long ago. Not
to me. I shall miss your company, cousin. Is it necessary for you to go so
soon?”

“I think you’ll find
it is, young man,” Brockville interrupted sternly. “If you will excuse us, we
are in some haste to return to London. It is our hope our new friend, Mrs.
Hamilton, will agree to spend the balance of the season with us at Petherham. You
may see her then I daresay, if you have mended your quarrel.”

Whether it was Branson
Hamilton’s bearing or something else, she would never know, but Mrs. Brockville
was sensitive to a
frisson
of strong
sympathy between the young couple. It seemed a great pity to leave it this way
when there was still hope.

To Strachan’s great
irritation, the lady spoke out impulsively. “Mr. Hamilton, we have been eager
to have you to Petherham for some time. You are our nearest neighbour and it is
a dreadful sin that we are not better acquainted. I would like to remedy that.
We are hosting a shooting party in two weeks time. The colonel and I shall be
delighted to receive you as our guest.”

Branson’s brow
furrowed and his sapphire eyes narrowed. He flicked a glance at Clara and she
had to look away. “Will you be there, Clara?”

“If my father
agrees....” Her heart lodged in her throat.

“Thank you, Mrs.
Brockville, but it is unlikely my cousin will find my company welcome after she
consults with her father.” He drew himself up in the saddle and gazed stonily
at the horizon. “But I do thank you for your kindness.”

Clara turned her face
away and bit down hard on her inner lip.

“Good day then, Clara.
And good journey.”

She sent him a hurried
last glance and saw something in his eyes that knocked her back and wrenched
her heart. The stirring gaze of a blasted soul.

The carriage pulled
away, but Clara continued to watch him though the small window where he sat on
Gladiator, his cloak lifting with the wind. He did not move but watched the
carriage roll further and further away until the master of Windemere Hall was again
alone.

It is what he deserves
, she thought.
It is what he wants
.

He could not expect
her to love him now. She would not shipwreck her hope for a happy marriage to
live a life of secrets, lies and double-dealing.

Branson Hamilton had
revealed his true feelings for her and she never wanted to see him again.
Branson Reilly
, she corrected herself.
The impostor
.

HE FORCED himself to
hold his place until she was well and truly gone—too far distant to turn back.
He returned to the Hall, mechanically going through the motions of grooming and
stabling Gladiator. His mind had ceased ticking over ideas and plans for
revenge; he was drowning in one reality—the reality he had created for himself.
Clara Hamilton was gone and her loss was tearing him up inside.

This was not what he
anticipated. He knew she would leave one day but he did not plan for this. His
plan to destroy Arthur Hamilton had destroyed him as well.

Branson watched his
hands move over the horse’s hide with long firm strokes. His chest rose and
fell, breathing in and breathing out, but he felt lifeless all the same.

Clara. Clara
.

§

CLARA SMOOTHED her hair off her face, took a deep breath
and opened the door to her father’s study.

“Well, this is a
splendid surprise! Clara, my dear, how did you sleep? It is good to have you
home again.”

Clara winced at the
false jovial edge in her father’s voice. “Good morning, Father. Tilly said it
was all right to come in. I was hoping to have a private word but I didn’t
realize you had a guest. I am sorry if I’m interrupting your business.”

“Not at all, not at
all, my dear. Come in.” Arthur Hamilton took her arm and led Clara to a chair. “As
it happens, you figure rather prominently in our discussion. Do you recognize
the gentleman standing there?”

Father was nervous and
it sounded in his voice. Clara had not seen him since her abrupt arrival
yesterday afternoon. Her mother said Arthur was on tenterhooks until the
shareholders had met and he was safe from exposure and possible arrest. Clara’s
unexplained return was sure to have rattled her father’s composure.

She managed a
brilliant smile; one she hoped was appropriate to the occasion. Though she had
no idea what the occasion was. Much had changed in her brief absence.

“Of course, I
recognize Mr. Blakely,” she said, rather too eagerly. “It is good to see you
again, sir.” She nodded to the man at the window.
 

“Madam.”

The board director’s
gaze remained rudely fixed on the outside world. Clearly, she had walked in on
a heated disagreement between her father and the director of her father’s firm.
Clara waited several excruciating seconds for someone to speak. Edgar came to
her rescue.

“Forgive our
incivility, Clara. Father and Mr. Blakely have been going at it hammer and
tongs all morning. I have managed, with great difficulty, to keep them from
going for each other’s throats. Mr. Blakely was just about to call a constable
when you walked in.”

“Your brother
exaggerates,” the director said coldly. “Your family has always been given to
hyperbole.”

Clara’s eyes swerved
from man to man. “But you
were
going
to call a constable, were you not Mr. Blakely? May I ask why?”

Arthur planted his
feet before the hearth in the drawing room and put his hands behind his back.
He glowered. “Blakely burst in here levelling the most extraordinary
accusations. Twenty years of service and this is what it has come to, and from
my most trusted friend and advisor.”

“I will gladly retract
the accusation if you will open your private accounts for inspection! It is a
simple request. What are you trying to hide?”

“And I believe my
response was to tell you to go to hell, sir!”

“Stop it, that is enough,”
Edgar broke in calmly. “For God’s sake, let’s not go down that path again. It
was a dead end the first time around.” He turned to Clara. “Mr. Blakely has
some concerns regarding the management of company funds. It seems he has found
a discrepancy in the accounts and has requested a full audit of the Father’s
personal bank records.”

The danger was not
lost on Clara. “I see. I quite understand. Papa, you must see sense. Mr.
Blakely has a duty to investigate the matter thoroughly.”

She turned to the gentleman
poised at the window. “May I ask, sir, if there will be any harm in delaying
your audit until after the shareholders meeting on October first? Mr. Branson
Hamilton is joining the firm on that date and will be requesting an audit of
the business accounts. Would it not be more convenient for you to perform both
audits at once? Forgive me if that is a silly question. I know nothing of
business matters.”

“Not silly at all,
madam, it is a sensible solution to the impasse between your father and me. Arthur,
I shall hold back until the first of the month. But mark you—I shall want to
see everything at that point. The missing sum is a significantly large amount.
There can be no avoiding a charge of embezzlement.”

“I would not expect
anything less!” bellowed Arthur Hamilton. “Do not presume to lecture me on the
just punishment for a miscreant who would steal from my company! But I must
first be convinced there is a discrepancy before I’ll open my personal accounts
for inspection. I suspect there has been a mistake in the arithmetic, or
perhaps the funds were deposited in another account in error. My nephew Branson
will get to the bottom of it. Now, if you are quite satisfied, sir, I should
like to have some time alone with my daughter.”

Blakely nodded stiffly
and exited the study.

Edgar collapsed into
one of her father’s leather wing-back chairs. “Good lord. That was a near one!
I should not like to think what would have happened if Clara had not come in.”
He grinned at her. “How did you know we were falling to pieces down here?”

Arthur interjected. “Hardly
falling to pieces. I had the situation well in hand. Gerard is an ass but he is
correct about your love for hyperbole, Edgar.” He frowned at Clara. “As for
you, what the devil are you doing here? I did not expect you to return for
several months. Your mother tells me you’ve left your husband in Somerset. What
have you done now?”

“Nothing, Father, I
have simply come home. I—I—have some news.” She made her hands into fists. The
stutter threatened to chop and change every thought in her head. “I did not
leave my husband in Somerset. I do not have a husband. Branson Hamilton did not
marry me. There was no wedding. No marriage. It was all a trick.”

For a full minute
neither her brother nor her father moved or spoke. Clara was so ashamed she
lowered her eyes and saw her hands twisting, twisting.
Just as always
, she thought. Her father’s disapproval was a
constant torment.