Betrothed

by Catherine Lloyd

  She flinched at the vulgar term but she did as he asked, covering her breasts with her hands out of instinct.

  “No, raise your arms and cross them over your head. That’s better. Now, turn and face me, Clara.”

  She closed her eyes and did as she was told.

  “You make a man forget himself, cousin.”

  Branson’s voice was husky and hot, like brimstone. It scorched her mind. Clara was alarmed to the point of terror when warm liquid ran down her inner thigh from her womanhood. Her sex pulsated with a strange sensation, sickening her with yearning and discomfort.

  “I believe you want me to ravish you, Clara! I can smell your heat.”

  “You disgust me.” She cleared her throat. “I hate you. You said I have harmed someone dear to you. You are a liar. A fiend cannot love anyone but himself.”

  “Bold words.” He closed the gap between them. “Coming from a liar herself.”

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Are you frightened, Clara?”

  “Yes.” Her body shook.

  “Good. The worst is yet to come. Seeing you naked has tempted me beyond the limits of my endurance. Lay down. I’m going to take you here on the floor. You have no recourse. There is no one here to help you.”

  “No. No, Branson, please. You promised,” she said weakly.

  “Villains do not feel compelled to keep their promises.”

  Branson brought his broad strong hands, palms open, to within an inch of her flesh. He traced them slowly over her figure without touching her skin. His palms passed over her breasts, then waist, hips and thighs where he exhaled a warm breath of air between her legs before moving lower to her knees, calves and feet.

  Clara felt as if she’d been burned, branded by him, so strong was the heat between his hands and her flesh.

  “You are exquisite. I am having severe difficulty restraining myself from taking you.”

  “You are trying to f-f-flatter me into—into—”

  The objection melted away when Branson knelt at her feet.

  “Into what, Clara?” he murmured.

  He was eye level with her breasts. Branson brought his lips close to her nipple; so close, the soft rosy bud of flesh puckered, sensitive and aroused. Her body was tingling, on fire. His breath was on her skin.

  “What do you want, Clara? Tell me,” he whispered seductively.

  Clara’s mouth opened, gasping from her cousin’s examination. Branson had not laid a finger on her, but she felt like she’d been mauled.

  She rested her hands on his shoulders to keep from collapsing with desire. “Please stop. Please let me return home. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I would rather you did so that I might have the pleasure of accusing you of lying.”

  “Why do you want to hurt me? You lured me here and threatened my father if I did not surrender to your demands. I have done as you asked.”

  “I did not lure you. Your father permitted his daughter to travel to a man’s home without a chaperone, without your mother or any person willing to take your part against me. I made Arthur a sensible offer—his daughter’s body in exchange for my money. He took the money as a sensible man would do in his predicament. He sold you to me, though I’m curious why he let you go so cheaply? If your virtue is compromised, well, I cannot be held responsible for the men you bedded before you arrived here.”

  Clara slapped him.

  Branson pressed his broad tanned hand to the left side of his face. Then he caught her wrist and bent it back, dragging her down to the floor and forcing her under him.

  “That is the last time you will strike me, Clara. I will not strike back though it is my right to do so. You have no idea how far you are in my power. My goodwill is all that is keeping you from being hauled into court for promiscuity.”

  She struggled to free herself. The stone tiles were cold and rough on her tender buttocks. “I came to Windemere Hall as your betrothed! Mr. Schofield will testify to that fact!”

  “Schofield will say what I tell him to say. He is on my payroll. It is your word against mine. What proof do you have that we were to be married? Where are the witnesses? Where is the carriage that brought you here? You arrived at Windemere Hall and exposed your very fine breasts to me. For your father’s sake, you’ve destroyed your chances at marrying, destroyed your reputation. Do you think I will keep what happened here a secret from the men in your father’s business? You must have known this was my intention from the start!”

  The fight drained from Clara. She lay limp under her cousin’s powerful body. Her eyes filled with tears. “I knew it was trick. I knew it, I knew it. A proposal of marriage from Branson Hamilton was too extraordinary to be true. I knew it from the first.”

  “For God’s sake, then why did you accept me?”

  “Can’t you guess? My father already thinks me mad! If I refused you, he would have sent me to Bedlam. That is the truth. When my mother ordered my wedding clothes I began to hope it was real after all. My parents would never go to such expense if it were not.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “I don’t wish to discuss it,” he said brusquely. “It makes no difference now. You know what I want. I have made up my mind to have you one way or the other.” He reached down to release the button on his trousers. His erection pressed against her bare thigh. “The choice is yours. Surrender or I will take you.”

  Clara searched her cousin’s handsome face. “I have made myself ridiculous to you, haven’t I? This is not the first time I’ve been deceived by a man. There was someone I once cared about deeply; I thought you were my rescue from that heartbreak. I wanted to marry you, Branson, even if you didn’t really love me. A home of my own, and a husband ... for a week I believed the fairy tale and I was walking on air.”

  Clara covered her face and wept.

  Branson released her with a howl of disgust and got to his feet. He removed his coat, draped it over her and then flung himself to the hearth to stare into the fire.

  “It pleases me to see you cry so you had best stop,” he said with a snarl of contempt. “I see now it is not me you wanted. You were desperate to leave home at any cost. Why is that, I wonder?”

  “I told you I was a disappointment to them. I prefer to be a disappointment at a distance.”

  “You stutter when you are in the same room with your father. Have you noticed?”

  “Yes, but it is not his fault he frightens me. I stammer because I cannot think what it is I wish to say. My mind freezes and my tongue cannot form the letters.”

  Branson turned. She had pulled the long black coat over her naked body. The shoulders swamped her small figure and the hem came below her knees. Clara clutched it about her.

  His jaw twitched. Seeing her in this state resurrected a memory of another girl in another time. The vision twisted him with guilt.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little.”

  Her face was pale.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Branson said roughly. Something was happening to him that he didn’t like. He was beginning to soften toward the girl. That could not be allowed.

  He lifted a candle from a box on the mantle, lit the taper in the fire and set the candle in a holder.

  “You cannot keep me here, Branson. You know you cannot.”

  In one swift movement, too swift for her to escape, Branson lifted Clara in his arms. The tips of his fingers tingled when they came in contact with her bare legs. She fought against his chest, but his grip was too tight. Cocooned in the hot smooth silk of his coat, the girl was helpless.

  He looked down at her. “I think you’ll find that I can do what I like.”

  Branson pressed the candle into her reluctant grip and carried her from the drawing room to the grand staircase in the centre hall. He climbed the stairs to the mezzanine and then turning left, he carried his victim further into the bowels of the dark and silent house.

  When they reached a closed door, Branson kicked it
open and carried her inside.

  BRANSON HAMILTON set her on her feet and closed the door. His eyes met hers, fathomless dark blue with silver shards of light that seemed to penetrate her soul.

  “I shall keep you here until after the meeting of the shareholders on the first of October. Once I have secured your father’s firm and destroyed him, I’ll consider your release. If you attempt to escape, I will punish you. There is nothing to prevent me. Your father sold you. You are mine.”

  “We were betrothed—promised to each other! My father has nothing to do with what you are doing now.”

  “That is precisely what I will tell any fool who attempts to interfere on your behalf.”

  She touched his arm, appealing to him. “You said if I undressed for you, you would not harm my father.” Clara dropped the coat from her shoulders so that she was naked before his eyes. “As you see, I have done as you asked. There is no need to threaten me to stay at Windemere Hall. I will stay and gladly, but you must keep your end of the agreement.”

  His hot eyes raked Clara’s body. Her nipples puckered in the chilly air in the room. Her breasts were high, firm and ripe. “I said I would reconsider my plan,” he said thickly. “I am still not convinced. It has been many months since I’ve been with a woman.”

  Heat and ice shot through her. Her nerves were set on fire by his presence and the repressed passion in his baritone voice. Then fire gave way to ice as she realized the danger she was in.

  “You must go now, Branson.”

  “No, I must not. Seeing you thus has whetted my appetite for more of you, cousin.”

  “I have given you all that I can. I have nothing else to offer.”

  Branson tilted his head slightly, gazing at her with puzzled awe and touched her cheek gently. “I don’t believe that’s true. You are not what I expected. I suspect you have a great deal to offer me. Treasures you keep hidden from everyone. Depths no one has ever seen....”

  The look in her cousin’s eyes was disturbing and sent peculiar sensations throughout her body. She could not speak. She could not move. His eyes held her transfixed in an unnatural communion of desire for something she could not name. This other cousin, Branson Reilly, aroused emotions in Clara that were outside of her experience.

  “I will keep your father out of prison,” he said quietly, “on one condition.”

  Clara swallowed. “What condition?”

  “Let me share your bed tonight. That is my condition.”

  “Impossible! I—I cannot do that! No decent girl would agree to that condition.”

  “No decent man would make it. I suspect you and I are not decent, or we would not be where we are now. I will not take anything that you do not give me willingly. Only this: I want to touch you and you must allow it. Do you agree?”

  “Touch me?”

  Branson nodded. “Sexually. I want to touch your body. Nothing more if you do not wish it. I will not force myself on you. You will leave Windemere as chaste as when you arrived if that is what you want. You have my word.”

  Clara raised a shaking hand to her forehead. “You have everything—everything. Money, desirability, influence ... I am already powerless against you. Why do you need this too?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t know. At first I only wanted to ruin you but now I want more. You are exceedingly desirable, little cousin, wearing nothing but your stockings and your little white leather boots. With your hair tumbling loose about your shoulders like that, one would almost believe you were innocent.”

  He turned away decisively and planted himself at the window, his hands behind his back. “I want more from you than I thought. I won’t sleep for thinking about you naked in this bed. I won’t be able to restrain myself from entering your room. I did not plan for this to happen.”

  “Your word is not that of a gentleman, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “We cannot all be born to nobility, cousin. One or two of us must work for a living.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “If I do this, you will keep my father from going to jail?”

  “I will do so. If my condition is met.”

  Clara turned her gaze to the silvery rain falling outside the window. She would not have the sanctity of marriage to make her feel safe with him in this intimacy. And yet Clara did feel safe.

  The revelation was a startling one. Since arriving at Windemere Hall and coming into Branson’s power, she had not stammered at all. Branson did not intimidate her as other men did. Yet, he was the worst man she had ever known.

  “Will you extinguish the candle?” Her voice sounded small to her ears.

  He put out the light and the room was grey with shadow. When her eyes adjusted, Clara could make out her cousin’s tall form standing in silhouette at the window.

  “I’ll undress too if it will make you feel better.”

  Branson tugged on the white silk tie at his throat and opened the buttons on his vest. Clara had to control her breathing when his shirt parted, revealing a broad muscled chest. Springy dark gold hair covered his chest in a light mat.

  “Have you done this before?” she asked. Her heart was pounding wildly.

  “Made love to a woman? Yes, but never at Windemere Hall. You are the first.”

  He was naked to the waist. Branson drew her into his arms. His fingers traced the supple skin on her back and arms. “You are less frightened,” he said. “The tears have stopped.”

  “Yes. Did you want me to suffer?”

  “I do,” he murmured in her ear. “I want you to suffer and Arthur too. Arthur Hamilton will have his freedom, but you will forever be tormented by the cost.”

  Chapter Five

  CLARA PULLED out of Branson’s arms. “You had better get it over with then. I am not willing to entertain your sadistic nature any longer. Do what you will—there is nothing to stop you. Our friends have abandoned us; I have no income to bribe you with. Your promise to leave me a virgin is my only hope.”

  “And I shall do my best to persuade you to surrender that hope.”

  Branson shucked off his boots and stripped out of his breeches impatiently. In a temper, he flung them across the room. Clara flinched and crossed her arms over her bare breasts.

  He towered over her, naked from the top of his shining golden head to the tips of his toes. Long, strong legs, muscled from horseback riding. A narrow waist and flat stomach, ribbed with muscle as well. Branson Hamilton was muscled all over. Strong and powerful, heat bounced from his skin and the musky scent of smoke and forest.

  Branson Hamilton deliberately took his time luring his cousin into bed. Clara was nervous and it was not his intention to alarm her into refusing him. It was his intention that Arthur’s daughter would beg him to take her virginity. There was no need for force. If he did he job right, his cousin would be happily deflowered by morning.

  He moved slowly to rein in his desire. He meant to keep his promise not to take anything from her that she did not willingly give, but he was equally determined Clara Hamilton would not leave Windemere Hall with her virginity intact. He would rob the girl of her virtue and at the moment Arthur thought he had won, Branson would make his catastrophic announcement. Clara would be unfit for marriage and Arthur would be arrested for embezzlement.

  Events were unfolding according to plan.

  By the first of October the Hamilton family would be crippled. It was a just vengeance. Arthur Hamilton had always said Branson Reilly could not be trusted. His daughter would soon see that her father was right.

  He moved closer and drew her under his arm. “Why are you shaking?”

  “I’m a virgin and you are a rake of the worst sort. One of us is bound to be disappointed.”

  Branson laughed and lifted his cousin in his arms. “Then we have nothing to lose.”

  He carried her to the bed and deposited her on top of the coverlet. He removed the kid leather boots and slowly rolled the white stockings down her shapely legs.

  When she was completely bare, Cl
ara moved to climb under the sheet, Branson stopped her. “No. I want to see you. I want to see everything.”

  He stood at the side of the bed, gazing fully at her young, lush body. She stared back at him.

  His breathing halted. His mouth dried. His limbs started trembling. Darkness folded over them. Night blindness seemed to liberate them from the demands of propriety, the divisions of their class and their family history. Branson climbed onto the bed beside her. He felt her hands brush against his chest, sending frantic waves of desire through him. In a brief moment of clarity, when he was still in possession of his mind, Branson marvelled at how easily her youth and flesh had triumphed over her common sense.

  Branson Reilly was no longer driven to take the girl out of hate. He wanted Clara Hamilton. His pretty, stammering nineteen-year-old cousin had captivated him.

  Conflicting feelings boiled through him.

  He had not had a woman in many months. That must be the cause of this strange longing he felt in her presence. She could not expect a man of his class and temperament to curb his appetite. Clara would refuse him, which made him crave the moment of her surrender all the more.

  He was aroused, he wanted her—but that was not part of the plan. He didn’t expect to feel anything for his cousin. Clara Hamilton was a cunning little bitch and it was his mission to destroy her, beginning with her reputation. Take her virginity, then her dignity and then her mind.

  “No one must know what we do here,” she whispered. “Branson, do I have your word that my father will never find out? I can bear anything but that.”

  “You have my word.” He spoke the lie with grave solemnity and she believed him.

  Clara lay back against the pillows. He sought the outline of her face in the dark. Her eyes were closed. “I am ready.”

  A sound came from his throat, like the growl of a beast. And then her small cool hand slid into his and held it.

  “It is all right, Branson. I’m not frightened. I’m really not.”

  Cool air brushed over his heated skin. Clara moaned when he stroked her breast and an uncomfortable yearning bloomed between his thighs.