In the Wake of the Wind Read Online Free Page A

head. Serafina ? What kind of absurd name was Serafina, anyway? A hideous vision danced before him of the girl—a bag of bones crowned by a pinched face with sharp, feral little teeth and protruding eyes. A girl desperate for marriage and willing to take what she could.
    He could just see Miss Serafina Segrave now, congratulating herself over her booty: Aiden Delaware, Earl of Aubrey, heir to an ancient marquessate—impoverished perhaps, but only for the moment, since apparently Miss Segrave was prepared to pay well for a husband with title and position.
    She obviously cared nothing about any other aspect of marriage if she hadn’t even bothered to ask for an introduction to him before committing to the arrangement. Too bad—maybe he could have somehow contrived to give her a thorough disgust of him, although he doubted there was much he could have done to accomplish {hat, short of confessing himself to be an ax-murderer. Which he wasn’t. Yet.
    Aiden swallowed hard against the knot of despair that had formed in his throat. Sunk. Condemned. Honor bound by an agreement he hadn’t even been consulted about. Engaged to be married to a woman no one else wanted despite her vast fortune, which told him a very great deal.
    He wearily raised his head, feeling cold as death on the inside. “Very well, Father,” he said, knowing there was no way out, not if he was to save his family from penury and disgrace. “I’ll marry your hideous heiress, since I can’t see what else to do. But know I damn you to hell for the bumbling fool that you are. And thanks very much for ruining my life.”
    His father exhaled on a long breath of relief, Aiden’s plight clearly the least of his concerns. “Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll send for Miss Segrave immediately. You’ll have to apply for a special license, as the marriage must take place as soon as humanly possible. There’s no time to waste.”
    Aiden nodded, then turned on his heel and walked out without a backward look. He’d never felt so sick in all his life.
    April 30, 1819
Clwydd Castle, Wales
    “Did you have a nice time tonight, Auntie?” Serafina glanced up from her tedious paperwork as Elspeth flew in the door, tossing her cape on one chair and her bag of odds and ends on another.
    “Divine, my child, simply divine,” Elspeth trilled. “I do so love celebrating Beltane with all its lovely fertility rites. We made such a nice circle, and we even had an initiation tonight—I can’t think how long it’s been since one of those. People are so … skittish about covens.”
    “And for good reason,” Serafina said, putting her pen down. “I realize there’s no harm in what you do, but you really must be a little more careful, don’t you think?”
    “Careful of what?” Elspeth said disdainfully. “If I wish to be a Wiccan, I shall be a Wiccan, and I don’t give two snaps if the vicar finds out. What is he going to do—bum me at the stake?”
    Serafina smiled fondly at her dear, eccentric little aunt, who embraced all the ancient Celtic practices of Wales with unbridled enthusiasm, although her techniques generally left something to be desired. “I think he’d already like to do that, given the way you sit in the back of the church every Sunday and scowl and snort at most of what he says.”
    “Well, if he said anything useful I wouldn’t feel so agitated,” Elspeth said. “But he has a particular fondness for carrying on about guilt and hellfire and original sin, and really, Serafina, all his foolish jabbering puts my poor back out, as if the damp isn’t bad enough.”
    She tossed her head and one of her bone hairpins went flying in a ninety-degree arc and landed in the cauldron simmering on the stove. “I wouldn’t be there at all if it wasn’t for having to cart you back and forth, and all because of a silly promise I made to your father.”
    She tried to fish her hairpin out of the cauldron with a ladle, but gave up after a moment.