Marriage with a Proper Stranger. Karyn GerrardЧитать онлайн книгу.

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Karyn Gerrard

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: February 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0546-5

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0546-X

      First Print Edition: February 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0549-6

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0549-4

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To my teacher husband, who is not only the inspiration for the hero of this book, but my rock and support. Love you. Always.

      Acknowledgments

      Many thanks to Martin Biro, editor, at Kensington Publishing, my editor, Amanda Siemen, and my agent, Elaine Spencer from The Knight Agency. What a support you all are!

      Prologue

      Wollstonecraft Hall, Kent

      Autumn, 1831

      Taking a stroll through a gloomy graveyard was the last thing thirteen-year-old Riordan wished to do on this dismal, overcast autumn day. But he and his twin brother, Aidan, followed dutifully behind their grandfather as he led them to the private area on the edge of the vast estate of Wollstonecraft Hall.

      Ravens cawed loudly overhead as they swooped and circled above the rows of tombstones. Gnarled trees stood around the perimeter of the cemetery, as if guarding the dead. Riordan swore he could see screaming faces in the patterns of the bark. A breeze rustled the remaining leaves, creating an eerie sound, causing a chill to curl about Riordan’s spine. Aidan, however, was not affected by their gothic surroundings; he gave Riordan a shove, almost knocking him from his feet.

      “Stop it,” Riordan whispered fiercely.

      Aidan gave him a smug smile and shoved him again. It was tempting to wrestle his annoying brother to the ground, but he decided against it when their grandfather stopped before a polished marble tombstone. “It is time you lads learned of the curse.”

      That brought Riordan up short. He’d heard whisperings, from other boys in town and between the servants, but had never given the story another thought. To him, it was a fairy tale, and he was far too old for fairy tales.

      “See all these graves? They belong to women who dared to love the men of Wollstonecraft Hall. Many of the men married young, had their first child before the age of twenty, and all buried their wives only a few years into their marriages. Most of the unfortunate women have died in childbirth. Generations of women who either married or were born into the family. Your own mother survived your birth only to succumb four years later to a heart ailment called carditis.” His grandfather laid a hand on top of the stone.

      Fiona Fannon Black Wollstonecraft.

      Riordan and Aidan’s Irish mother. Sadly, he had no memories of her. He glanced at his brother; Aidan’s expression was as serious as his own. He turned his attention to their grandfather.

      “She was a rare beauty, your mother. Your father met her while on a business trip. He’d gone to meet with her father, a rich Irish merchant, as we wished to expand trade. At least, as far as the Corn Laws would allow.” This was the most Riordan had ever heard about his mother and her family—his father refused to speak of her. “A whirlwind romance. I advised him before he left to guard his heart. But he did not listen to me.”

      “Why is it we’ve never met our Irish grandfather?” Aidan asked.

      “Ah. When informed of your mother’s death, he was quite distraught. Blamed your father. Claimed he wanted nothing to do with him or his sons. It’s his loss that he does not wish to know you boys.” He pointed to a tombstone in the aisle behind them. Riordan and Aidan turned and found a crow perched on the stone, giving them a defiant look. It was a disturbing vision, and it caused another shiver to trickle through him.

      “There rests my first wife, your grandmother, Lady Patricia Ackerly, daughter to the Earl of Clapham. Not exactly a love match, but a solid one in society’s eyes. She gave me a fine son, your father. However, she never recovered from the trauma of his birth, contracted a bed fever, and died a month later. I swore my next wife would be of heartier stock. I would defy the Wollstonecraft curse and bring it to a swift end.”

      Their grandfather moved along the row and laid his hand on top of another gravestone. A wistful sigh escaped his throat.

      Moira Mackinnon Wollstonecraft.