Beguiled (4 page)

Did he love Clara
Hamilton?

Branson shoved the records book back in the satchel, wishing
he could shove the question away just as easily.

He did not know if he loved Clara. He didn’t know what real
love felt like. He thought he was in love once and it proved to be the greatest
mistake he’d ever made. Why would allowing himself to love his cousin be any
different?

Branson wished he had not introduced the question to his
mind because he was unable to stop the progress of his brain from seeking the
answer. He felt whole with Clara. Complete. And the oddity of it was that up
until meeting her, Branson did not know he was missing something. He had
everything a man could want—money, women, power, physical strength—one
stammering mouse of a cousin could not supply him with much.

Or so he believed
.

How did it happen?
When?
She filled the empty spaces of his being with one smile. The scent of
her skin was like dew, moistening the cracks in his parched soul. Clara’s
touch, her kiss, her voice seemed to give flesh to his bones and—and—he
needed
her.

“I cannot live without her,” he realized aloud.

The shadows in his tiny room did not reply but he had the
answer to his question. He knew what he had to do. After he rescued Clara from
Gateshead
, regardless of what happened at the shareholders’
meeting tomorrow, Branson would never see his cousin again.

He loved her too much to trap her the way he had been
trapped.

§

CLARA SHIVERED violently, her teeth
clattered together in her head like rain on a roof. It was the effect of the
ice bath wearing off; after one was frozen to the core, shivering indicated a
return to normal body temperature. She was too cold to feel anger or affront;
too cold to feel anything at all. Her body and mind was hard at work on
survival.

They had returned her to her cell, swaddled in the
straightjacket and this time, she did not object. Her mind was dull, her limbs
had lost strength. Matron had cut her hair to above her shoulders to prevent it
from becoming caught in the buckles and restraints. Clara had felt nothing as
lock after lock of her hair fell to the tiled floor.

She curled into a ball on the cot. Her feet were cold.
Matron said the orderly would bring her a blanket when she showed she could
behave herself. Clara had no desire to fight them anymore. There seemed little
point for she was never getting out of this place.

Night wore on but sleep would not come. It was an odd method
of therapy, but the ice bath had settled her nerves—or simply numbed them out
of existence. Laura Mayhew’s ideas about Branson and his wife, Grace Leeds,
gave Clara plenty to think about and she could ponder her cousin’s actions
without feeling utterly destroyed in the process.

Was Grace Leeds still alive? If she was, then Branson was
restrained by law from marrying Clara and it was possible he could not
allow
himself to love her. If Grace was
dead, then Branson was free and his reason for refusing to wed Clara was that he
was still in love with his wife.

Clara’s eyes closed. She was weary of it all. Her physical
discomfort cancelled out all mental and emotional strain. She had promised she
would not give up but there seemed little reason to hold on. Branson would not
come. Married or not, he did not love her.

She was too numb to feel her heart breaking.

October 1st ~ London

EDGAR ENTERED the boardroom of Hamilton
Trading Company. The gentlemen assembled looked up in surprise, as well they
might. Edgar had not attended a meeting of the stockholders for many months. He
removed his cloak and hat and handed them to the porter.

“Gentlemen.”
He nodded and claimed the seat at the head of the table, raising
several eyebrows.

The boardroom at Hamilton Trading was
luxuriously decorated in leather and hardwood panelling that had been polished
to a high gloss. The intricately carved boardroom table commanded the middle of
the room and between the high windows, hung the portraits of Hamilton directors
and chairmen.

Into this established order, Edgar prepared
to launch his first volley. Captain Strachan sat at the far end of the table.
As the son of a Lord, Strachan was granted privileges above the merchants and
businessmen who held shares in the firm. Edgar knew better than to force the
gentlemen to choose between Lord
Strachan’s
son and
Arthur Hamilton’s. He made a pre-emptive strike.

“Sirs, I am here with very good news. My
cousin, Mr. Branson Hamilton has authorized a substantial investment in
Hamilton Trading.”

His father entered at that moment. Finding
his son seated at the head of the table, Arthur concealed his irritation, but
not before Edgar had caught a glimpse of it and heard the falsehood in his
father’s hearty welcome.

“Edgar, my boy!
What a rare pleasure.” He clapped Edgar’s shoulder and gave him a
light shake, as though to shift out of the chair.

“I was just making the announcement, Father,
of Branson’s considerable investment in the firm. Taking into account the sacrifices
you’ve made to secure the deal, I know you must be pleased.”

Arthur rubbed his hands together. “Mr.
Branson Hamilton does us honour. Ah, where is the gentleman,” he said and
glanced around the room. “I don’t see him.”

“Branson cannot attend, sir. Urgent business
has called him away.” He withdrew Branson’s proxy from his vest pocket and
opened it on the table. “He has given me his proxy; I am here on his behalf.”

Strachan interrupted. “Sirs, I really must
protest!” He was smiling companionably at Edgar but his eyes were furious. “Arrangements
have been made—that is to say, proceedings are underway for
my
investment in the firm. I have
already spoken to Arthur about it; the details have been ironed out and it was
my intention to make the announcement at this assembly. As you can see, there
is no need for any further discussion of Mr. Branson Hamilton’s offer.”

“I’m not sure that I do see, Captain
Strachan.” Edgar rose to his feet. “I congratulate you on your investment in
Hamilton Trading. It is a sound move. But I don’t see what it has to do with my
cousin’s prior interest in the firm. Perhaps you would care to explain?”

The colour rose in
Strachan’s
face but he hid his anger well. “I believe Arthur can answer that question. Our
arrangement had certain conditions attached to it, and before we proceed I
would like Arthur to confirm that those conditions will be honoured.”

Edgar gazed impassively at his father,
wondering what the man would do now that he was faced with this unexpected
windfall. Arthur would have to choose between
Strachan’s
money and his daughter’s life. Edgar recognized the look of eager avarice in
his father’s eyes and was reminded of how often he had admired Arthur’s
ruthlessness in business. If the story Clara and Branson told about Grace Leeds
was true, then the Hamilton
pater
familia
was ruthless in other areas as well.

“Well, this is a turn up for the books!”
Arthur rubbed his hands together. “On the face of it, my nephew has done me a
great service, but as Captain Strachan has pointed out, there are generally
conditions attached to extraordinary offers. Before we proceed with the vote,
it behoves me to ask, Edgar, what are the conditions Branson has attached to
his offer?”

Edgar squared his shoulders and caught
Blakely’s eye.
“A minor one given the circumstances.
Arthur Hamilton must be removed as chairman and prevented from accessing the
company finances. Furthermore, he will no longer be permitted on the premises.”

Arthur Hamilton went chalk white. His mouth
worked. “This is outrageous!” he bellowed.
“Betrayer!
Snake in the grass! You have sided with the devil and utterly ruined your
mother and father! Have you thought of that—did the villain add
that
to his list of conditions?”

“Excuse me, sirs, while I have a word with
my father.” Edgar drew Arthur to one side and whispered in his ear. “The charge
of embezzlement has been made to go away. Without Branson’s intervention, there
was a very good chance you would have been dragged up before the magistrate.
Take a look at those gentlemen, the ones you have bilked of their hard-earned
pounds. They would have thrown you to the wolves if they’d seen the books in
their former state.”

Arthur pushed away from his son and said
loudly “Strachan is prepared to invest and without insulting my reputation and my
considerable contribution to this company. His is without question the more
desirable offer.”

Edgar sighed and shook his head. His father
had brought this upon himself. He resumed his seat at the head of the table and
looked into the faces of the men who had watched the exchange with avid
curiosity. “We’ve heard Branson’s condition. I move that Captain Strachan
reveals his and we shall let these gentlemen decide which investor they prefer
to welcome to the firm.”

“Cannot both gentlemen invest? A pound is a
pound, after all,” said a silver-haired gentleman sitting at the back of the
room. He was a shareholder in Hamilton Trading from Edgar’s grandfather’s time.

“Mr. Branson Hamilton has no objection to
Captain
Strachan’s
offer of investment,” said
Blakely. “His condition has been stated for the record. Captain Strachan, would
you care to state yours?”

All eyes turned to the captain. It was as Edgar
suspected.
Strachan’s
pallor gave him away.

“My interest in the company is conditional
on Arthur remaining as its head,” he said without conviction.

Blakely nodded, satisfied. “There you have
it, gentlemen. Two offers of substantial investment in Hamilton Trading. One is
conditional on Arthur Hamilton’s removal and the other demands his tenure. I
will open the floor for discussion.” He turned to Arthur. “Sir, you are
requested to leave the room while we make our deliberations.”

“This is a grave error you’re making,
Blakely.
A cataclysmic error!”
The older man turned on
Edgar. “What did he offer you to sell me out? How many pieces of silver did it
take to betray your own father? Gentlemen, as you make your deliberations
consider the character of the man who is trying to
buy
his way into my company.
A low-born villain,
given to temper and a secretive nature.
Ask yourselves if this is the
man you want representing your interests.”

“My father raises an important point,” Edgar
said. “There is a second condition attached to my cousin’s offer. He requires
that
I
serve in my father’s stead. I
shall retain my own voting shares and vote Branson’s shares as well. In other
words, it is not Branson Hamilton who will be representing your interests, but
me.”

Arthur was silenced by this announcement and
left the room in appalling disgrace. Edgar did not speak until he heard the
door close behind him. Then he continued with the opening remarks prepared for
him by Branson and rehearsed on the carriage ride over. He was acutely aware
that he was killing his father by inches, destroying him socially,
professionally and personally. Branson’s revenge was complete. This was an
eradication of a man’s life’s work.

Struggling against the pity he felt for his
father, Edgar held fast to his purpose, ever conscious that he was relying on his
unpredictable cousin to keep
his
word
and deliver Clara from Gateshead Insane Asylum.

He only prayed that he had not misplaced his
trust in choosing Branson Reilly over his own father.

§

Windemere
Hall, the same day.

PIERS LEEDS moved down the corridor,
glancing with casual disinterest at the portraits lining the walls. Heavy oil
paintings of Hamilton men who had been masters of
Windemere
Hall hundreds of years before his arrival, glowered at him as though they knew
he was not one of them.

Branson was in London executing their plan. This was the
day—the culmination of everything Piers had desired for seven years. The moment
of Arthur Hamilton’s ruin would be bittersweet. For as sweet as their revenge
would be, it would bring his relationship with his brother-in-law to an end and
it would not bring back Gracie.

Piers would be alone, though Branson would not. Piers saw
how he was with Clara Hamilton. Unlike the others, this young woman had changed
him. The alteration was subtle, but Piers had come to know Branson’s every mood
over these past seven years. His brother-in-law was
happy
.

Piers did not begrudge Branson happiness but it grieved him
to see how rapidly Grace was displaced in his heart. If Piers didn’t know
better, he would think Branson was
glad
to forget his
true
wife when he
brought Clara Hamilton to
Windemere
Hall.

Granted, Grace and Branson’s wedding had been
a rushed, unhappy affair. Furthermore, Piers knew their marriage had not been
consummated. Grace could hardly be expected to perform the duties of a wife in
bed after what she had suffered. But for all that, Branson had a
duty
to be faithful to her in his heart.
Branson Hamilton owed Grace his loyalty.

The hall was shadowed and stuffy from being
closed up for seven years. The drapes were thick with dust. Piers cast an eye
over the heavy red velvet that covered the windows, chafing once again at the
lack of servants, but there was nothing to be done about it. They had agreed
that they could not take the risk after the last incident.

Piers turned to move away when he was
stopped by the low keening of a woman’s grief. Floating to him in the shrouded
silence, he heard a muffled sob. He peered into the shadows, straining toward
the sound. His heart pounded in his ears. Sweat broke out on his brow.

He whispered. “Gracie, dearest, is that you?”

“Who are you talking to?”

He whirled around, his heart leaping to his
throat. “God damn it, Quince! Where did you come from?”

“The stables.
I’ve come looking for you. Who else is here?”

“What do you mean?”

The old man snorted. “It’s a simple
question, Mr. Piers. Who
were you
addressing just now? There is no one with you. I take it you are hearing
things—or else it’s the ghost come back. There are strange doings in this
house.
Noises at all hours.
I’m for moving on and don’t
think I won’t.
Strange
doings.”
Quince’s sharp black eyes were on him, ripe with suspicion.

“What do you want, Mr. Quince?” Piers asked
irritably.

“I’ve come to tell you that the mistress has
been confined to Gateshead Insane Asylum and the master has gone to fetch her
home.”

Piers felt the blood drain from his face. “How
the devil did that happen?”

“I could not say, Mr. Piers. The whole business
is a sorry mess if you ask me. That young lady was the future of this miserable
estate and once again the ghost of
Windemere
Hall has
had her way and seen to it the lass is driven off.”

“There is no ghost,” Piers said wearily. “And
even if there were, what would she have to do with Miss Hamilton’s unfortunate
predicament?”

“An
unfortunate
predicament!
Is that
what we’re calling it? Losing the mistress to a madhouse! Twill
be
living under this roof that drove the young lady off her
nut with the goings on I’ve witnessed, and his nibs leading her on a merry
dance.”

“Hold your tongue, old man. You forget your
place. Branson Hamilton is your master.”

“Aye, he’s my master and yours too unless I
am mistaken.” Quince eyed the butler sharply. “You’ve become right chummy with
Mr. Hamilton of late. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve always had too much
influence over him, twisting him up with guilt over that hellcat sister of
yours. Forcing him to marry her when he was just a lad—oh, I know! You wanted
to get your claws into his inheritance. You and that evil piece of work you
duped the master into marrying!”

A noise caught the attention of both men, a
grinding sound coming from the recessed alcove where a heavy white marble
statue was standing on a pedestal. Piers shrank back. His eyes widened in
alarm. Quince followed his stare to see the statue rocking on its perch.