Betrayed by Catherine Lloyd Read Free Book Online

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