Free Beguiled by Catherine Lloyd Page B

beguiled no one, least of all Grace,” he
snapped. “She knew from the first about our plan; Piers and I explained it to
her. She wanted to see you ruined as much as I did. She’d become increasingly unstable—something
drastic had to be done. I hoped that by getting justice for her, it would ease
her mind and bring her peace.”
    Clara scrambled to gather her clothing
together, trying to get away from him as fast as possible. “She is your wife.
You should have sought help for her—not a pathetic scheme of revenge. I know
what it is to be cast aside by the one I love. Whatever you may think, it was
cruel to let Grace witness what she did.”
    “The whole of my life for seven years has
been dedicated to trying to make her well!” Branson shouted. “You cannot
endure? Consider what I have endured living with that monster! If you mean to
go, then go! But you will listen to my story before I’ll suffer you to judge me.”
    He gripped Clara’s wrists and dragged her
down to the earthy furrows. The ground was hard. The day grew cold. Branson
forced her to look into his haunted sapphire eyes.
    “I have been without love for seven years. I
have not lived with her as a man lives with his wife—as I have lived with you.
Grace attacked me on our wedding night. She cannot bear to be touched. She
cannot tolerate another woman at Windemere . Piers is tasked with keeping her under lock and key. You
have seen what happens when she is at liberty. Our lives are shattered—all
three of us. I do not tell you this to be pitied or even to gain your
understanding. I knew what Grace was when I married her.”
    She was chilled by his words but the heat
from his bare chest and his hands on her wrists steadied her. Her frantic haste
to get away was subsiding. “Go on. I am listening.”
    “After her breakdown, Piers would not allow
her to be placed in an asylum. He convinced me she was better off among
familiar faces and I hoped she would eventually recover. But her emotional
frailty is an inherited condition. Piers confessed his mother had suffered from
delusions and bouts of rage. Grace was a mathematical genius, a highly strung
temperament that matched my own when I met her, though I hadn’t her
ruthlessness back then.”
    “But you do now.”
    “Yes,” he said brutally. “What would you
have me do—live like a monk for the rest of my days? I didn’t lie when I said
Grace Leeds had died at her own hand. When it became clear she was not getting
any better, I told Piers I would pay for treatment at a private sanatorium in
Switzerland. Grace became violently angry, refusing to leave Windemere , saying she would kill herself if I ever attempted
to leave her. Ruthless? I would tear her heart out if I could! I pitied her once, but no more. My wife
chose this prison of the mind and she has imprisoned me with her. Grace chose a
living death and I was resigned to dying with her. The life I have been living
these past seven years was not a life for a man. But I could endure it—until
you.”
    His speech moved her as it was meant to move
her. Branson could be very persuasive, as she well knew. But it was not Clara
he was trying to convince this time. She could probably forget that Grace
existed but Branson could not. Whenever he bedded Clara, his wife would come
between them, buried in his sub-conscience, poisoning his mind. Grace had a diabolical
power over him.
    “Is she violent with you?” Clara asked.
    “On occasion, but her true gift is her
cunning cruelty. I was responsible for introducing her to your father and she
has never let me forget it. When she is crossed, she is dangerous. Her rages
are violent but she is always sorry for them after.”
    “Please let me help you. I want you, I want
you,” she breathed desperately. “I love you.”
    Branson dropped her wrists and lurched away
from her, reeling across the field like a drunken man. He pounded his fist
against the trunk of the oak tree and uttered a cry that wrenched