His Wicked Sins by Silver Eve Read Free Book Online

another in Covent Garden.
    He shook his head, appalled that those memories were painfully humiliating still. Such
    ineptitude. Like a green lad with his first woman, he had not held himself in check, had
    not known how to savor the experience.
    Now he did his hunting much closer to home, took his time, enjoyed every nuance of
    the act.
    Enjoyed their terror and their torment, those soft, sweet girls with their pretty gold hair.
    He took the turn at a breakneck pace. The high, two-wheeled little carriage rocked to a
    halt as he sawed on the reins, and the grim sky broke open just as the stable boy rushed to
    his side.

    HIS WICKED SINS
    Page 25 of 103
    Chapter 4
    Wickham Hall, Burndale, Yorkshire, September 3, 1828
    G riffin Fairfax paced the dusty, neglected Long Gallery that spanned the length of the
    upper floor of Wickham Hall, a hallway of ghosts and memories. If he closed his eyes, he
    could see Amelia here, dancing in a beam of sunshine, spinning faster and faster, dust
    motes floating about her…
    "Bloody hell." The oath and his footsteps echoed hollowly against the backdrop of the
    howling storm that rattled the windows and whistled through cracks and crevices.
    Above him arched the barrel ceiling, creating a vast and lonely space wide enough to
    drive a gig through. The roof and plaster walls had fallen in on themselves at the far end of
    the hallway, collapsing under the weight of disuse and disrepair, leaving an acrid pile of
    timber and rubble. The damage was done long before Wickham Hall passed to him, but
    none in all the years had seen fit to repair it. Including him. The collapsed section was
    boarded up, but the boards were half rotted and the air was heavy with a rank, damp smell.
    The smell of decay.
    Rain beat upon the mullioned windows, a pounding torrent, and for a single, frozen
    instant, he was tempted to run the length of the hall, to pause only long enough to throw
    open each window as he passed.
    Let the rain come. Let a flood come in a violent flow to wash the blood from his hands
    and cleanse this place.
    Of memories.
    Of death.
    He could imagine a great black wall of water cascading doggedly from floor to floor,
    destroying everything in its path. There would be a certain satisfaction in that, but there
    would also be an ember of regret.
    Though unentailed, Wickham Hall and all it contained had been in his family for
    centuries, never changing hands by sale. Perhaps it was time it did. Perhaps he should sell
    it, leave here. 'Twould be the wiser course, rather than flinging wide the windows and
    letting in the storm.
    All the water in the world would not make him feel clean, would not wash away the
    guilt or the scent of death that clung to him.
    Leaning close to the window, Griffin squinted against the storm and the dark, and stared
    out into the night. At first he saw only his own face, hanging disembodied against the
    backdrop of black sky. After a moment, he saw beyond that to the shape of the gatehouse
    wall, its crenellated upper limit jagged against the murky, storm-laden heavens and the
    sheeting rain.
    Then again, given the weather, perhaps he saw the wall only in his mind's eye, conjured
    it from memory and nightmare.
    HIS WICKED SINS
    Page 26 of 103
    He should tear down the gatehouse, stone by cursed stone. Likely, he should have done
    that three years ago.
    Should have. Should have. Regret was a pastime for fools.
    Jerking back from the window, he turned away. He had not wanted to come here, had
    not intended it as he paced the halls of his home like a caged beast.
    Or a madman.
    Was he? Was he mad?
    There were days he thought—nay, days he was certain— that he was.
    With a snarl, he spun, flung out his arm to lash at the porcelain vase on the table by the
    window, In the last instant, he stopped, frozen, his breath heavy in his chest, the vase
    untouched, his emotion held in check by sheer will and determination.
    She refused to come.
    He had sat in the curricle by the front door