begging you.
Do not say anything to Captain Strachan about what happened between us at
Windemere. There is no need. You have had your revenge.”
“If Lord Strachan asks for a report on your
character, I can’t promise that I will lie. I am acquainted with his lordship
through mutual business interests. What I lack in social standing I make up for
in the ability to make rich men rich. If I am asked, I shall have to answer
honestly, Clara. Your father would do the same if our roles were reversed.”
“My father would not destroy a girl’s reputation
out of spite! I hate you! I want you to go away from here. Leave this instant! I
hate the very sight of you.”
Branson stood back, his chest heaving with
emotion. “I’ll go but not until you’ve heard the truth about Arthur Hamilton.”
“Stop it. You have nothing to tell me!”
“I made the sorriest mistake of my life
when I introduced Grace Leeds to my uncle Arthur,” Branson roared, silencing
her.
Clara stared at him desperately, mentally
willing him not to say another word. The memory was pressing at the edges of
her mind and it frightened her. Branson was bringing it to life.
“We were engaged but had not announced it
to the family. While I was off hunting with Edgar, Arthur offered to escort
Grace on a tour of the house and grounds. I assumed she would be perfectly safe
in the company of his wife and twelve-year-old daughter. I was wrong. Grace
could barely speak when I returned. It took me hours to get it out of her. She
had been attacked by your father, a sexual attack, and then he left her to
dress and make her escape.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t you?” he asked coldly. “You should.
You were there. You did nothing while
she begged you to fetch help. And when I confronted my uncle and he denied it,
I begged you to tell me what you saw. You refused. Grace was called a liar and
I was turned out of the house.”
The memory broke in with a crash on Clara’s
consciousness. There was Branson as a young man standing in the drawing room at
Windemere, his fists clenched. Her father’s glaring eyes were fixed on her,
starting out of his head with rage at being accused of rape.
She
remembered . All eyes were on her, waiting for her
statement and she couldn’t speak. Her father was furious with her, her brain
seized and she could not form the words. Twelve-year-old Clara opened her mouth
to say something—anything—and out came a stream of stammering syllables until
she fell to the floor in a dead faint.
After that, she began to have terrible
dreams that seemed so real, even as Arthur called Grace Leeds a liar and Branson
a foul villain. He accused them both of trying to extort money with their vile
claim.
“I remember. I remember,” she whispered.
“Well, that is a happy coincidence,” he
said cynically. “Grace is dead now and beyond your reach but you are not beyond
mine.”
Clara blinked. “What do you mean? You
cannot think I deliberately withheld my help! I remember the confrontation in
the drawing room—but—but—I could not remember the incident itself . I remember a girl dressed in red and black, vivacious
and beautiful. But I don’t—that is—I couldn’t
see what happened to her! I am sorry, but I could not testify to what I did
not see.”
“You are lying. Grace told me you were there. She turned to you for help and you refused.
Believe it or not, it was Grace I doubted at first until she said you were a
witness. I trusted you of all the members of the Hamilton family.”
His movements were abrupt, pacing like a
caged animal. “Now you know. I have taken your virtue. You are spoiled goods,
just as Grace was spoiled by your father. I have had my revenge against you and
all that remains is to ruin Arthur. You can be certain I will show you the same
courtesy as your father showed Grace. He ruined her body and then he blackened
her name to protect his own. Her mind broke. She began to suffer from paranoia
and