Page 79 of Touched By a Traitor
Charlotte shook her head. The weight of her secret, the shame and pain she had carried for so long, threatened to crush her. She braced herself to speak the awful truth she’d been avoiding, denying. Her hands trembled as she clutched the kerchief tighter, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, choking her with their intensity.
Charlotte inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of courage she possessed. “Wilson,” she said from behind the kerchief, her voice uneven.
The name hung in the air between them like a poison. Charlotte watched Andrew’s face turn completely white, his eyes widening in shock as if she had struck him. His mouth opened, then closed, no sound emerging. For several heartbeats, the only sound in the room was her own ragged breathing.
Finally, she forced herself to continue. “He was the dean of the school. He threatened to expose me if I didn’t… lie with him.”
The words physically pained her, her face contorting as if the memories were shards of glass slicing her anew. “I had already completed nearly three years of study, sacrificed so much… I couldn’t bear the thought of it all being for nothing.”
Andrew stared at her in horrified silence, and Charlotte could see something breaking behind his eyes. His hands slowly curled into fists at his sides, his whole body radiating a fury that seemed desperate for an enemy to pummel, to punish, for daring to lay a hand on the woman he loved.
“Charlotte…” he choked out, the syllables jagged in his throat. “My God, I… I am so sorry. That I didn’t protect you, that I unknowingly aligned myself with the monster who…”
Tears spilled down his cheeks as he reached for her with a shaking hand. Charlotte flinched instinctively, and she watched anguish twist his features. Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he brushed his fingers over her trembling ones.
“What can I do?” he implored, his voice cracking with agony. “How can I possibly atone for my part in your suffering? Tell me, and it shall be done, no matter the cost to myself.”
Unable to face his reaction any longer, Charlotte covered her face fully, weeping bitterly as the excruciating memories washed over her. Her body shook with the force of her sobs, years of agony and shame pouring out of her in a torrent of tears. She had braced herself for Andrew’s anger, his disgust, his rejection, but in that moment, all she could feel was the overwhelming relief of finally unburdening herself of the terrible truth.
Through her tears, she felt Andrew’s arms encircle her, drawing her against his chest. “I’m sorry. I am so deeply sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with anguish.
At first, Charlotte’s body remained rigid in his embrace, every muscle tense with the weight of betrayal and pain. But as her sobs continued to wrack her frame, she found herself gradually melting into his warmth, her resistance crumbling under the force of her own grief. She pressed her face against his chest, letting his familiar scent and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchor her as years of suppressed torment poured out of her.
His hands stroked her hair with infinite tenderness, and she heard him murmuring words of love and apology against the top of her head. For a moment—just a moment—she allowed herself to believe that his comfort could heal the wounds that had festered for so long.
But reality crashed back too quickly. This was the same man who had voted to destroy her career, who had chosen his investors over her dreams. The same man who had aligned himself with her tormentor.
Charlotte pulled away from his embrace, her heart already beginning to harden against the vulnerability she had just shown. She could not—would not—let his remorse undo the necessity of what came next.
Without meeting his eyes, she turned toward the door, each step carrying her further from the life they had built together. Behind her, she could feel Andrew’s devastation, but she did not look back. The soft click of the door closing behind her was the final, irreversible ending of everything they had once been.
The Reckoning
13 March 1837
Standing before hismajor shareholders in his study, Andrew’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes were hollow with misery. He had foregone the comfort of a chair, too agitated to sit still.
In the days since his wife’s departure, his rage had boiled over time and again, leading him to shatter every breakable item within reach and topple anything that wasn’t bolted down. David, his ever-faithful valet, had carefully wrapped his bruised and bloodied knuckles after he had dented a wooden post with his bare fists, only for Andrew to turn his wrath upon another, lest he damage the supporting beam beyond repair.
Now, fresh blood seeped through the bandages, evidence of his unrelenting torment. He welcomed the physical pain, finding solace in the way it distracted him from the gaping wound in his chest where his heart had once been. In truth, he believed he deserved far worse, but he refrained from punishing himself to the point of incapacitation. He needed to maintain his faculties, to keep his mind sharp and focused on the task at hand—exacting his revenge upon the filth of a man, Wilson. That man would pay for hurting Charlotte, Andrew vowed to himself, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.
Sensing the dark cloud that hung over their host, the four men summoned to his study sat in uneasy silence, their eyes fixed upon Andrew’s disheveled form. He was clad in therumpled laborer’s clothes he had slept in for the past three days. Leaning against the window behind his desk, Andrew stared out into the lifeless garden, even the evergreens seeming to have deemed him unworthy of their vibrant hues.
As his heart clenched painfully once more at the thought of his beloved Charlotte, Andrew cleared his throat, the sound harsh and grating in the oppressive stillness of the room.
“Gentlemen,” he began, his voice devoid of emotion, “I will spare you a lengthy explanation. I have called you here to inform you that I am transferring the ownership of the Sovereign Seas Trading Corporation to a charity, effective immediately.”
A chorus of shocked exclamations filled the air, the men leaping to their feet in a flurry of agitated movement.
“What? Why?”
“You’ve gone mad, Carlisle!”
“Explain yourself at once!”
Andrew remained impassive, his gaze still fixed on the barren landscape beyond the window. “You have no need to know my reasons,” he said coolly. “As the majority shareholder, I’m not obligated to inform you of my plans. Consider this a courtesy, nothing more.”
“You cannot simply donate one of the most profitable companies in all of England, Carlisle! Who will operate the business? Surely, not the charity?” Rogers shouted, his face flushed with anger as he jabbed a finger in Andrew’s direction.
