Beguiled (8 page)

Tenderly, she stroked his blonde hair out of
his eyes. He kissed her lips and she clung to him more desperately than she
wished.

Her cousin moved over her and inside her
with a steady controlled rhythm, his sapphire eyes never leaving her face.

THE COACH to London arrived at the stone
marker at half past the hour. Clara insisted on taking it. He saw her aboard
with her small case of belongings, paid the driver and pressed some pound notes
into Clara’s frozen hands for the journey.

“Our bargain is at an end. You are free, Clara.”

“I was always free, Branson. I was happy when I set out to
marry you ... for the first time in my life.” She dashed tears from her eyes
and drew in a steadying breath. “Please inform your wife I regret the pain I
have caused her. I did not know she existed until today.”

“I am sorry. We found each other too late.”

She shook her head, her eyes spilling over
with tears. “If only you would suffer as I am suffering but you won’t. You will
be happy. I’m not as brave as you are, Bran. Good-bye.”

He nodded and
stepped back. The carriage pulled away in the direction of London. Branson
watched it go, unable to move though he faced a long cold ride to Somerset. Drifting
unmoored by the side of the road, he fought the rise of feeling that threatened
to swamp him.

Gladiator trotted
over and Branson Hamilton began the solitary journey back to
Windemere
Hall.

IT WAS late when he arrived at the estate.
A thin column of black smoke rose from the chimney. Piers greeted him at the
door. “A message was delivered for you an hour ago from London.”

Branson tore open the envelope and read the
note enclosed. Edgar’s detailed report on the events of the meeting and Arthur’s
subsequent removal from Hamilton Trading was satisfactory, and yet empty.

“Where is Quince? Gladiator needs a good
rubdown and an extra ration of oats. He’s earned it. I called out but I can’t
find the man anywhere.”

“There has been an accident, sir.” Piers
darted a glance at the floor above. “May we speak in private?”

“Private?” Branson snapped. His nerves were
like hot needles. “No one is here, you fool! What is the matter? Where is
Quince?”

“Sir, I regret to tell you Mr. Quince is
dead. He was killed upstairs in the west corridor. A marble statue was not
quite secure on its pedestal. It toppled and crushed his skull.”

Piers delivered his grim news with quiet
severity but Branson could see his brother-in-law was fighting an emotion that
did not have grief as its cause.
Piers was
frightened.

The news hit Branson hard. He moaned and
covered his face in his hands.
“Jesus—
Quince
!
That statue was too heavy fall. I don’t believe this
tale of yours. I don’t believe any of it. I want the truth—what happened?” His
voice rose.

Piers stumbled over his words. “I-I-don’t
know—it was an accident.” He lowered his voice though they were alone in the hall.
“This is down to you. We were arguing about Miss Clara when it happened. You
should never have brought her here knowing Grace’s state of mind. You did not have
to offer marriage to get that girl into bed. You could have taken her the same
way my sister was taken.”

“You would have me become a rapist, then?”
Branson hissed furiously. “You would have me foul my soul, my mind and my
conscience just to secure your revenge.”

“
My
revenge!
You wanted to bring
Arthur down as much as I did. Do not
lay
this at my
door.”

“Stop it, God damn you to hell, I beg of
you—
shut up!
I have heard enough.
Grace did this! My so-called
wife
murdered
Quince!” Branson sank to a chair and turned haunted eyes on Piers. “What have
we done? We have nurtured a monster. What the hell have we done?”

“It was an accident,” Piers said quickly. “There
is no proof that it was Grace. I did not see her in the hall and I was right
there when it happened. It could just as easily have been me that was killed
when the statue fell.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” he said dully. “Have you summoned
the doctor?”

“I was waiting for you. I don’t see much point in it.”

“A man is dead. He cannot be laid to rest without a doctor’s
certificate.”

“It will raise questions, Bran.”

Branson sighed from the depths of his being. The danger of ‘questions’
had dogged him from the start of meeting Grace Leeds. He could not seem to
escape them no matter what he did. “A man is dead in my house. I shall deal
with the questions. Fetch the doctor, request an examination and then arrange
to have Quince buried in the family cemetery.” He cast his eyes to floor above.
“Where is she?”

“In her apartment.
I’ve locked her
in. She is quite inconsolable, Branson. She feels your loss most keenly.”

“Do not attempt to manipulate my feelings today, Piers. I
have no feeling in me. Only be grateful that I’ve returned to your sister at
all. I was near to telling you both to go to hell.”

“So that you may run off with Miss
Hamilton?
My sister isn’t a fool.”
Piers’s
mouth compressed into a thin line.
His skin was white with
rage and blotches of red bloomed on his neck.

“How like Grace you are, Piers,” Branson mused, looking at
him.
“Quick to feel an insult and slow to extend compassion.
You might as well know the truth. I’ve told Clara Hamilton everything. She
wanted to love me but I refused her. She is on her way to London. As for me, I
no longer believe that I have a wife or a marriage or that Grace has any
feelings for me. I’m beginning to realize she never did.”

Branson rose to his feet. “She is stuck with me, as are you,
Piers. You made a bad bargain when you set out to snare me. I did love Grace once.
I loved her as only a young man can love a girl. But she did not return the
feeling. She hasn’t the depth to do so.”

“Gracie might have loved you if you had not brought her here
seven years ago. Did you do it on purpose? That is what I’ve been longing to
ask—since we are letting our hair down,
brother
.
Did you know the sort of man Arthur Hamilton was when you invited Grace here?
Did you use her as bait to revenge your mother’s
honour
?
Grace certainly provided you with the ammunition to take him down.”

Branson lunged for
Piers’s
throat.
He fastened his hands around his brother-in-law’s neck and squeezed. “I’ve paid
for my mistake every day for seven years. You have seen to it. And now I’m to
spend the rest of my days with that murderous creature you are bent on
protecting. Take heed, Piers. I will not dignify your foul insinuation with a
civil response if you make it a second time.”

He flung the man away. Piers choked and gasped for air.

“Give me the key to Grace’s room.” He snapped his fingers
and Piers dropped the brass key into his hand with a sulky, fearful look.

Branson spun on his heel and bounded up the stairs. His
nerves sang with fury. The life he had made for himself had cost him everything
and now was tearing him apart. He had to quiet his temper before he saw his
wife or he might kill her with his bare hands.

He unlocked Grace’s door and stepped inside.

§

St. James Place, London ~ that evening

“HARLOT!”
ARTHUR Hamilton roared.

Clara twisted her hands around the strap of her case. “I
won’t be spoken to like that, Father. I am only here to see Edgar. Kindly ask
Tilly
or one of the others to fetch him for me.”

“Hah! Do you think I would keep that Judas under my roof
after what he did to me today?” Arthur fumed and paced his study. “Your brother
has decamped to his Gentlemen’s Club, no doubt to celebrate his victory. He
said you would be staying at
Windemere
Hall with that
traitor Branson until such time as he could send for you. They cooked up this
scheme between them, you know, to circumvent my authority and get you out of
Gateshead
. Well, now here you are and if you think I’ll
welcome you back after everything you have done to wound me—yes,
wound
me!—you are sadly mistaken!”

“I did what I had to do to keep you out of prison. Branson
demanded it. You lost your seat on the board but at least you are not in jail.”

“So then,” Arthur said coldly. “What
Strachan has told me is true. To be completely fair to you, I was forced to
acknowledge that I had depended on his testimony alone. You can confirm the
rumour with your own lips. Did you have had sexual relations with that man?”

“Captain Strachan gave me his p-p-promise he
would not say anything.”

“Well, he has broken his promise. You rejected
his proposal, ergo, the captain sees no reason to protect you or keep your foul
secrets. No decent man would. Strachan is informing everyone in London of your
latest exploits at
Windemere
Hall. I am only hurt
that you chose not to tell me yourself, that I might have been braced for the
humiliation. Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Is what Strachan
saying true?”

She stared at the floor. “Yes, it is true.”

Arthur exploded in rage. “What have I done
to deserve this treatment? I have given you everything—
everything!
I have endured no end of sniggering for your sake! It
will not be borne, do you hear!”

Clara lifted her eyes to his. “It must be
borne, Father.” She was not crying, nor was she trembling. This was the last
time she would permit anyone to abuse her love. “The deed is done and nothing
can change it now. You will not go to prison. That must count for something. I
did it for you. I love you and I know you love me.”

“You have brought disgrace upon this family,
Clara. We have nothing more to say to each other. I can no longer own you as my
daughter. You have put me in an impossible position. Do not think you can force
me to excuse your sinful nature for I will not.”

Clara nodded. Her eyes were dry. She lifted her case, glad
of the pound notes Branson had given her; she would need them to pay for
lodgings for the night. “I shall send a message to Edgar informing him of where
I will be staying. I’ll ask him to keep my address a secret from you and our
mother. As you have indicated, we have nothing more to say to each other.
Good-bye, Father.”

Walking out of her home was the easiest thing Clara had done
in years.

§

Windemere
Hall ~ the same night

“YOU’VE COME home!” Grace exclaimed and
flew into his arms. “I knew you would—I told Piers, my Branson will come
home—he
loves
me. Has he told you
about poor Mr. Quince? It was a dreadful accident.”

She looked up at him under lowered lashes; an alluring, mysterious
look that had seduced him when he first met her. Now he saw its shallow worth.

Branson steeled himself for battle.
“Why
did you do it, Grace?”

“Me? It had nothing whatsoever to do with me.” She flounced
away, sulky, with a clever look on her face. “Mr. Quince was raving on at
length in a most insulting manner and I happened forward to stop him from
speaking, and the statue fell. I was as surprised as anyone that the statue
could be moved. It is very heavy.”

Not too heavy for a
mad woman
. The attack on Clara—the marks on her neck, it was a miracle she
survived. Grace had red wounds around her eyes from where Clara had defended herself
that day that were now darkening to purple.

Branson was sick of death
and disease, sick of revenge and hate. “I cannot go on like this.” He raised
his hands, palms open, and walked toward her. Grace slunk to a corner of the
room as she always did when he was trying to reason with her. “You have killed
Mr. Quince. Whether deliberately or by accident, a man is dead and the
constabulary will be here to arrest you after the doctor has had a look at him.
You have tried to commit murder before and this time you have succeeded. You
are not to blame. I knew what you were. I should have had you locked up years
ago. Mr. Quince’s death is on my hands.”

Grace’s glittering blue eyes flew open, wild with terror.
“Branson, you cannot mean it! You cannot allow them to take me away! I shall die—I’ll
kill myself before they take me. You shall find me hanging at the end of a
rope!” She became hysterical, her voice rose to a screech.

“Calm yourself. I will not allow you to be arrested, but you
will have to go away somewhere safe. You cannot stay here.”

“No, no, no, no,” she chanted, shaking her tangled mane of golden
hair. “How can you suggest such a thing? I am your
wife
. We cannot be parted. Do you remember when we met? How smitten
you were—a lovesick boy from Oxford. I was utterly charmed. I had suitors,
plenty of them—I gave them all up for you.”

“That was a long time ago. You have changed and so have I.
This separation will be the best thing for both of us. You have become too
dependent upon me. It is time you forged your own life. I have revenged your
honour
. Arthur Hamilton is a broken man and Clara Hamilton
is ruined for marriage as you were ruined. My debt to you is paid.”

“Is that how you think of it? My rape was a debt laid upon
you—a burden!”

“You must go away! There will be difficult questions to answer
regarding Mr. Quince. I could only protect you for so long, Grace. That time
has come to an end.”

“It is that girl,” she hissed like a snake and unwound her
thin form in his direction. “That mewling pasty-faced cunt is behind this. You
lured her here and fucked her, pretending to do it for
my
sake! I’m not a fool, Branson. I’m cleverer than you ever will
be. Who do you think you are? Do you think you can tell
me
what to do? Look at you, you weak coward! You want to kill me but
you are not man enough to do even that!”

He pulled away from her with disgust. How could he have ever
thought he loved her? Branson recalled her cleverness and quick wit. She was a
sparkling jewel in their crowd, sharp-tongued and he’d wanted to impress her.
He had wanted her to love him back then.

“I am trying very hard not to hate you, Grace. Do not make
it easy to do so.”

Grace smiled, beguiling and seductive. She opened her gown
and slid it from her shoulders. She was not wearing a corset. Her breasts hung
loose under a thin white slip. Her blue eyes glittered. She moved languidly to
him, took his hand in hers and pressed it over her tit.

“Hate me, Bran. I don’t mind. Do what you like with me.”

He rested his hand on her throat, shaking from the strain of
holding back his rage. “I do not
like
to do anything with you. I have not wanted any part of you for many years.”