The House of Broken Hearts, Judy Colella [electronic reader txt] 📗

the softer downpour from time to time, promising a dreary day to follow. At some point, Giselle stirred and woke up, unaware at first of why she was in bed, all memory of the terrible incident that had brought her so precipitously to her room in the first place temporarily lost. She got out of bed and went to the window. The shutters had been re-opened, which made her wonder what brave soul had climbed the slippery rungs to reach the upper windows. This led her to the recollection of the storm’s original violence, and a moment later her eyes widened.

“Julian!” she whispered, remembering everything.

“What about him?”

She whirled about and found Giles standing in her doorway, a lamp in his hand – a hand still covered with blood.

“You!” she breathed. “What do you want?”

“I apologize if I frightened you, but I simply must secure your silence – ”

“You mean to kill me, too? You awful, awful man!”

He took a step further into the room, but what would have happened after that Giselle didn’t wait to discover. As swiftly as she could, she managed somehow to get past him and out into the hall. From there, she ran down the staircase, flung open the front door, and ran out into the rain. As bad as the weather was, she didn’t feel it posed any greater threat than the murderous individual in her room. As she fled down the drive, she looked back briefly and saw his powerful form silhouetted in the tall window of her room. That was all she needed and determined not to look back again.

The torrential rains quickly soaked into her nightgown, causing its billowy material to become plastered against her body, nearly tripping her as she ran. She’d left the driveway and headed across the spacious lawns, her goal the small woodland at the edge of the property. She struggled against the material clinging viciously to her legs, but her flight was fueled by the effective combination of almost mindless trepidation and the resolve to survive. Her long, thick hair whipped across her face; she was running blind, now, but refused to slow down, much less stop.

Some of the saturated strands parted and she saw that at last she was mere feet from the nearest tree. Her elation was cut short, however, as an unexpected bolt of lightning struck the tree, its impact stunning her, knocking her senseless to the ground.

The figure in the window of Grey House moved then, and a moment later the front door opened. CHAPTER EIGHT

Giles Lanford stood numbly at the window of Giselle’s bedroom and watched as she ran from the house, nothing in his expression betraying what he felt. He saw her turn her face upward briefly, the abject fear and loathing in her eyes plain even from the second floor. Then he watched her flight across the rain-soaked lawns of Grey House, her pale form growing smaller and smaller as she approached the little woodland that defined the boundaries of his property. He could barely see her at that point, but when the lightning struck, he could make out enough through the rain and distance to see her fall. Still expressionless, he left the window, went down to the foyer where he retrieved his heavy cloak, and opened the door that the wind had shut behind Giselle after she’d left. In no apparent rush, he trudged through the rain, following the girl’s bare footsteps, the set of his shoulders somehow indicating defeat.

To anyone observing his progress, it would have seemed that he didn’t think he’d find the girl alive, so why rush? But when he was almost at her side, she stirred and sat up. He was briefly illuminated by a less deadly shaft of lightning, and she screamed, tried to rise, but lost the battle and slumped back to the ground, unconscious once more.

Giles went to one knee beside her, scooped her up as if she were weightless, stood, and still appearing impassive, carried her back to the house, the rain in his face the perfect camouflage for his tears.

~*~*~*~

A great deal of noise accompanied the darkness and pain that invaded her mind as Giselle fought to return to awareness. A deep sense of cold wracked her shivering body, and something else – fear. She was terribly, profoundly afraid of something; when her senses began to return, this fear kept her eyes shut tight. Until she knew what it was, she simply could not bring herself to come fully awake.

She heard herself moan, and a moment later felt something warm being wrapped around her, rocking her gently back and forth, holding her carefully close. She began to grow calmer, less terrified, and soon her reluctant lids parted, and she found herself blearily staring at a fire. It took a few moments, but she finally realized she was in her room, in bed, the hearth on the far wall blazing merrily, shades of early evening turning shadows in the corners deep blue. She’d been injured – the ache washing through her told her that, but she didn’t remember how.

Putting her head back against whatever was holding her upright, she saw a familiar face, one that was blurry at first, but quickly resolved into –

“Giles?”

He looked down at her and smiled. “Thank God. I thought we’d lost you.”

“What – what happened?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but it was obvious he was very upset, his eyebrows drawn together with some unspoken sorrow. At last he began to reply, but in that exact moment, Giselle remembered…

Julian. The sound of the gun. Blood. Giles crouching over his brother’s lifeless body. Then her flight through the rain toward the woods – she cried out and tried to pull away.

“Please, no!” Giles held her closer, his strength irresistible. “Oh, Lord, please Giselle! Let me explain what really happened!”

She began to shake, the earlier terror returning in force. “You – you killed Julian!”

“No, no I didn’t. He isn’t dead – hell, he isn’t even injured!”

“I don’t – I don’t believe….I don’t understand…”

“Look, you’re hurt. Lightning struck a tree only a few feet from you, and the doctor said you experienced a bad electrical shock. That was two nights ago; you’ve been unconscious ever since, and I’ve been beside myself with worry. Please give me a chance to tell you what really happened, I beg you!”

The pragmatic part of Giselle’s mind pointed out that this large, powerful man was holding her and showing no signs of letting go. What would be the point in refusing? She knew she couldn’t escape him, and besides, something about his demeanor was telling her that he wasn’t the monster she’d assumed he was. So she resolved that if his version of things made sense, if she could somehow determine he was telling the truth, she wouldn’t try to escape. Besides, she told herself, he was obviously bent on telling her whatever it was, even if she didn’t want to hear it, so why not let him talk?

She took a careful, deep breath and nodded. “Very well.” She almost added, “and I am still ‘Miss Moreaux’ to you,” but decided that was just silly since he was already sitting in bed with her and she wasn’t complaining about that.

“My poor brother,” he began, settling back against the fluffly pillows, pulling her with him. “Julian was always a bit wild. He wouldn’t obey our parents most of the time, got into constant trouble, but I loved the little devil. In fact, more than once I took the blame for some act of sheer stupidity he’d perpetrated so he wouldn’t find himself punished yet again. Perhaps that was my first and biggest mistake. He’s smart, and it didn’t take long for him to figure out that I wanted to protect him at all costs. Like a fool, I allowed him to use me, and as we got older, the problems became worse, as did the consequences. Eventually, I had to put a stop to it all. I told him that he plainly didn’t care as much about me – or anyone else – as he did about himself, or as much as we cared about him. His response was to laugh in my face, call me a convenient idiot, and promise to do whatever he felt like, knowing I’d always help him out of the worst of it.” He shook his head, his gaze becoming distant. “How wrong he was. Everyone has a breaking point, and when he chose to gamble away every penny of his monthly allowance I'd been giving him, then murder the usurer from whom he’d borrowed more so he could continue his debauched lifestyle, I reached the end of my tolerance. Yes, I got him out of it, but promised it was the last thing I’d do for him.”

Gizelle raised a startled glance to Gile’s face, scarcely believing what she was hearing. “He – he killed someone?”

“Yes, and got away with it, too. The only reason the issue was never pursued was because his victim had been widely despised and no one was in the least upset that he was dead. But it was then that I admitted my brother was lacking a conscience, and my own forbade me helping him further. At about that time, my father became seriously ill. While he’d never said much about it, he was aware of Julian’s activities, as well as my efforts to save him. He called me to his bedside about a week before he died and told me that I was to inherit everything. He advised me to help William as much as I could, since he was a kind-hearted lad who wasn’t afraid to work to make his fortune, but who he didn’t think had the mind to handle estate matters. Julian, he said, was to get nothing. He made me promise to honor his final wishes, which of course I did, and the next day the solicitor came and drew up is Last Will and Testament.” He fell silent for a moment, as if searching for the best way to continue.

“After father died,” he said after a few moments, “the Will was read, and Julian, naturally, was furious. He demanded that I share the wealth with him and William equally. When I asked him what he’d done to deserve any consideration whatsoever, he stormed out, shouting that he’d never speak to me again.” He uttered a soft, rueful chuckle. “I knew better, of course. And sure enough, within the month he was back, looking for a place to stay, full of lies and crazy stories about how he’d been wronged by others who had taken away his earnings.”

“What work did he do to earn money?”

“They weren’t really earnings, my dear girl. Winnings. He was talking about the funds he’d won at the gambling table. That seems to be all he knows how to do. And sometimes he wins a lot, but always – without fail – he soon loses it all again, even going into debt.”

He fell silent once more, the ticking of the clock and the gentle sounds from the hearth melting into a