Betrayed (3 page)

Her best hope was to stick to the road, such
as it was, but when night fell she would have difficulty keeping to the route.
If she strayed into the forest, Clara would be beyond help.
If that happened,
(she scolded her vivid
imagination)
the main thing is to keep
from freezing until morning and then find your way back to the path.
It
would be folly to continue travelling at night and risk twisting an ankle.

She drew her mantle around her. Her muff
and bonnet offered protection from the worst of the chilly September air. Her
feet were not so blessed in their thin leather shoes. Clara tried to walk at an
unhurried pace, but the forest concealed too many dangers in her imagination to
remain calm. She was jolted half out of her skin by a rustling noise behind her
and whirled around to find nothing there.

And then Clara heard the distinct sound of
a rider nearby. The snorting whinny of a horse followed by the muttered
imprecations of its rider.

Branson!

Clara lunged off the track but caught her
skirt on a bramble bush. As she struggled to free herself, bearing down hard
toward her was a great black beast. She screamed and raised her arms to shield
her face. Startled, the horse reared up on its hind legs and threw the rider.

“Damn you to hell!” thundered the man.

The man fought to right himself and then
flopped back so still and silent, Clara thought she had killed him. Thankfully,
the man moaned and muttered, confirming he was alive.

“I am sorry, sir! I heard your approach and
I thought you were someone else. Are you hurt or do you think you can stand?”

She wrenched free of the bush, tearing her
mantle. Clara approached the inert form gingerly. The man was well-dressed in a
fine riding habit over which he wore a long black coat. Under the brim of his
hat, she could not identify his hair colour or features. “Sir, are you harmed?
Have I harmed you?”

“No, I don’t believe so ... I should die a
happy man if that were the case.”

Clara halted in shock. The man rolled to his
side and Clara gaped at the gentleman’s handsome face.

“
Captain
Strachan!
Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” Her mouth worked. She could not
think. The situation was mad. Strachan could congratulate himself on his lucky
escape.

The captain smiled broadly. “Looking for
you of course. Good God, Clara, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost!”

THE FOREST became shrouded in dusky fog as
the afternoon wore on. Branson’s horse seemed to know what to do. Gladiator
carried him to the chapel either out of instinct or a genius for finding lost,
nervous girls who were unafraid of him.

Branson dismounted and ventured inside. He
saw it almost immediately. The wedding dress was piled on the floor in a heap
of torn white silk and lace.

Clara was nowhere to be seen.

WINCING, STRACHAN got to his feet and brushed leaves and
dirt from his cloak. “A minor sprain,” he said. “It will mend. But now what is
the trouble?” he cried, seeing her expression. “You do not look well, Miss
Hamilton. Please don’t faint or we shall both be invalids.”

Clara swayed a little and her hand reached
out. Strachan caught her and instantly pulled her into his arms. “Clara, Clara,
what is it? There now, hush, you’re quite safe now.”

“Yes, yes, thank you. I’m sorry.” She
pressed her palms to her eyes trying to collect herself. “I was frightened by a
noise in the forest and I let my imagination run away with me. I’ll be all
right in a moment. It is good to see you again, sir. I’m grateful to meet a
familiar face in this neighbourhood. I-I-thought you were—”

“I suspect you thought I was someone else. You
said as much when you frightened my horse.” Strachan laughed and lifted her
chin to meet his eyes. “Tell me the truth. Are you disappointed to find me here?”

Unsurprisingly, Clara began to cry. She had
always been easy to manipulate emotionally, though Strachan did not like to
think of his power over her in that light. Suffice to say, Clara Hamilton was
an impressionable young woman who wore her heart on her sleeve. Strachan was
only capitalizing on her admiration as any man would.

“Clara, Clara! What is it? You must tell me
what has happened. Is it that villain, Branson? He has harmed you in some way! Why
are you out here alone?”

“I-I took a walk and lost my way on the
path. There is nothing wrong. I’m sorry to have troubled you, Captain Strachan.”

“It is no trouble between friends.”
Strachan frowned sympathetically. “But from your address, I gather we are no
longer friends. Shall I call you Mrs. Hamilton then?”

He injected a tone of hurt and dismay in
his voice. Clara responded as he hoped she would.

“Forgive me, Strachan. I-I am not myself.
I’ve suffered a distressing experience recently. It has disordered my nerves
and my manners. Of course you must call me Clara. I would like to think of you
as my friend.”

“And I you. Now, what has upset you? Don’t
deny it. I can see you have been frightened by something—or someone. Tell me
the truth. Is it Branson Hamilton?”

Strachan could
see she was trying valiantly not to cry.
Clara’s hands were shaking and she was visibly overwrought. His keen military
eye noticed the girl was clutching the collar of her mantle tight to her
throat, as if hiding something.

“Perhaps you can
repair it,” he murmured and gently pried her fingers loose. “The hasp is
broken. It is an easy thing to fix.”

Clara nodded but did
not answer. Her head fell back against his arm as he stroked her neck. Her eyes
closed. Strachan loosened the neckline on her bodice.

Perhaps it was the
slant of light or her position, but he could discern pressed into the soft,
white skin at her throat were finger marks.

Red, violent finger
marks.

Strachan’s blood pounded. An attack on her
person—a
sexual attack?
His cock
stiffened. “Clara, you must not be angry with me but I know your secret. I know
why you are unhappy.”

She wiped her eyes and met his warily. “You
do?”

“I was coming to find you. I have a
confession.” Strachan took a breath, remembering Brockville’s warning. “I know Branson
Hamilton has not married you.”

Clara stiffened in his arms and pushed
away. “You are wrong. How—how could you?”

“I do not fault you! You are innocent of
any wrongdoing, I am sure of it. But what is this hold he has over you? What
could have possessed you to agree to such an arrangement?”

“I did not
agree
—I was deceived!” She looked fearfully about her as though she
expected Hamilton to come bursting through the forest. “I was betrothed to my
cousin. Our wedding was to take place in the chapel the day of my arrival at
Windemere. But when I got there, Mr. Hamilton informed me there would be no
wedding. It was a trick. He has a plan of revenge against my father and—and—I
cannot tell you the rest.” Her voice faltered. “I was foolish, foolish.”

Strachan sucked in a breath. “Has he ...
has the brute
interfered
with you,
Clara. I must speak plainly. Are you still intact?”

Her eyes held his fast. “Why do you ask me
that?”

He felt his mistake. “Forgive me. I meant
no insult. I am trying to help and doing a clumsy job of it. I assume he
threatened you into remaining at Windemere after the trick was disclosed? When
we met you on the Down, you appeared to be content in his company.”

He kept his tone free from judgement though
Strachan was twisted up inside with jealousy. The less she was willing to
divulge to him, the greater his desire became to win her confidence.

“There was a threat,” she replied
carefully, “but I wasn’t afraid of him. We were children together once. Branson
was our friend as much as he is our cousin.” Clara touched his arm,
imploringly. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? The story will get out
eventually, but my father and mother should hear it from me first.”

“Of course, of course, I will not speak of
it. What is Branson’s quarrel with your father?”

“He would not say though I asked him
repeatedly. My father hurt his mother by snubbing her and then he would not
accept Branson when he became a Hamilton.”

“Branson Reilly is not a gentleman. Surely,
he could not expect to be granted the same rank and privilege as a real member
of the family. Your father was only following his conscience.”

“I—I’m not so sure. His mother was my
uncle’s lawful wife. My uncle loved his stepson as his own. In any case, I
assume that is the reason for his quarrel.”

“There must be more to it than that. What
is it you are not telling me?”

“I’ve said all I can on the matter,
captain. Forgive me, this business has disturbed me greatly and I’ve kept you
long enough. Thank you for your concern but I must be on my way. Am I nearing
the main road? I am trying to reach the village before nightfall.”

Strachan raised an eyebrow. “You have a great
distance to travel yet to reach the main road. Is your business so urgent?” He
ran his hands down over her arms. “Branson has not married you as he promised.
That concerns me, but I have a greater concern at present. Those marks on your
neck. Did he do that?”

Clara’s hand flew to her throat. “No—
no
. I fell. I stumbled over a root and
fell on the path. I must have been bruised in the fall.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you but
I’ll not press you for the truth. You must see how it looks. I come across you
alone in the forest, with marks on your neck, fleeing Windemere.”

“I-I was walking. I tripped.” Her eyes cast
down and her hands twisted together.

“You are coming with me to Petherham,”
Strachan said with authority. “You will stay the night where you’ll be safe and
I can arrange your transport to the village in the morning. Come now, Clara. I
am not going leave you in the wood at this hour.”

Strachan swung astride his horse and
reached an arm down to lift Clara. She drew back warily. “Thank you, sir. You’ve
been very kind, but I must not keep you any longer from Miss Delisle. I will
return to Windemere Hall if the road is as far as you say.”

“Do not go back to him, I beg of you!”
Strachan bowed his head. “My dearest friend, please believe me when I say I
would burn alive before I would hurt you again. I deeply regret my actions this
past year, and I beg your forgiveness. Tell me what I can do to help you. I am
at your service”

Clara’s dark eyes widened and filled with
tears. Her cheek grew pale. She really was the prettiest creature he had ever
seen. How had he not noticed it before?

“The only thing I want—the only thing I
wish
for is to return to my father and
warn him of Branson’s plans. But I know that is too much to ask.”

“It is nothing of the kind,” Strachan
bluffed. “I shall make arrangements with Brockville for the use of his carriage
in the morning. Come on now, give me your hand. You mustn’t be frightened. You
are among friends now.”

Clara Hamilton allowed him to lift her to
the saddle. She settled behind him cosily, wrapping her arms about his waist,
the charming thing.

They rode off in the direction of the main
road. Strachan’s stallion easily cleared the fallen tree in a jump. Clara clung
tighter to his middle. Confident he had won her trust, Strachan began making
plans. After today, she had little hope of putting him off.

§

BRANSON THREW the damaged wedding dress at Piers as soon as
he opened the door. “I could throttle you for this!” he snapped. “You are meant
to be on watch and look what I’ve found it in the chapel. Has Miss Hamilton
returned?”

“No, she has not. I take it you didn’t find
her in the forest,” said Piers, chastened as he examined a tear in the white
silk. “I’ll repair this and bring it to her room later.”

“Repair it and pack it in her trunk, you
damn fool. I’m certain she’ll be sending for them after this. Miss Hamilton is
gone; likely half-way to the village by now to buy a seat on the coach to
London.” Branson flung his hat and cloak to the bench.

In that moment, Quince entered and gave a
short cough.

“What is it?” Branson snapped. “I’m in no
mood for petty complaints.”

“This is far from petty, Master Hamilton
and if it proves to gain ground, it could cause you a good deal of grief. I’ve
just had word from a lad who mucks out at Petherham stable that Miss Hamilton
arrived on horseback with Captain Strachan. He asked if we’ve had trouble here
at Windemere on account of Miss Hamilton’s strange state. I hardly knew what to
say to the lad. What has happened to Miss Hamilton?”

Branson swore under his breath. “So Clara
has found a champion in the good Captain Strachan; it didn’t take her long to
recruit him to her cause.” He clucked his tongue with feigned regret,
concealing his inner turmoil. “She’s left us, gentlemen. Nothing is to be done
about it. If it is Strachan she wants, she’s welcome to him.”

“What is this?” The old stable master was
appalled. “The lady is your betrothed, Master Hamilton. You must go after her. She
doesn’t want that gentleman! For God’s sake, it is as clear as day who the
young lady wants!”

Quince waved his hand, snorting with
disgust. “Ah, but you’ll not stoop to love, you prideful thing. So is that to
be it then? Are we to have no women in this accursed house? I daresay the young
lady displeased you in some minor fashion; got on your bad side—God knows that’s
easy enough to do. You’re a sinful, devilish one. Miss Clara was too timid for
the likes of you. And you, Mr. Piers, I know you didn’t like the girl. Well, ‘tis
a scandal and a pity! Windemere is not likely to recover from this, mark you. A
member of the original family turned out!”

“She was not turned out, damn you. My
cousin left of her own accord.” Branson glowered at both men. He loathed this
loss of control, all of it slipping away piece by piece and he didn’t know
where to begin to repair the damage. Clara had run off with Strachan. Whether
it was by design or accident, it didn’t matter, the effect was the same.
Branson felt sick to his stomach.

Rejection and jealousy congealed into cold
fury in his brain.

“What am I to say to the boy, then?”
demanded Quince. “You give me the words, Master Hamilton, and I’ll parrot them
no matter how foul the lie, if that’s the way it’s to be done around here.”

“Take care not to trespass on my goodwill
any further, Mr. Quince. You have been with the family many years, but
I
am master here and I will not tolerate
your disrespect.” He turned away. “Tell the boy that Mr. Hamilton sends his
cousin his regards and wishes her good health. I have nothing more to add.”

“Quite so.” Piers eyed Quince balefully. “Shall
I have the young lady’s trunks sent to Petherham, sir?”

“I’ll not have my horses put to the task.
If she wants her belongings, she can damn well fetch them herself. Have my
horse saddled, Quince. I’m going for a ride. Do not wait dinner for me.”

§

“CLARA HAMILTON!” Brockville turned at the open door and
shouted to his wife. “Mrs. Brockville, look who is here, look who has come to
call!”

The stout woman rushed to her husband’s
side. “My dear Mrs. Hamilton! Do not tell me you’ve managed to convince that
husband of yours to give up the tranquillity of Windemere for our sake! I’ll
never believe it. Though I’ve always said that Mr. Hamilton would be more
sociable with the right lady at his side. Haven’t I always said that, Colonel
Brockville?”

“She has indeed. Come in, come in, my dear.
How did you arrive? Surely, not on foot. My, you are athletic! Where is young
Branson? Stabling the horses, I daresay.”

Clara touched her forehead with shaking
fingers and felt her legs give way.

“Oh heavens! Help her to a chair, Colonel!
And fetch a glass of water! The poor thing is quite exhausted. See the dark
blue smudges under her eyes and she is white as a sheet.”