Greygallows — Barbara Michaels

The blackened shell of the house still stands on the edge of the moor. Ivy has crept over the rough stone, veiling the ugly marks of fire, blurring the stark squares of emptiness that once were doors and windows.

They had warned Lucy about Baron Clare, the man to whom she was betrothed. The first Baron Clare, they said, swore a pact with the devil. A pact sealed in blood, and repeated by each baron as he came of age. And the price…the life of his bride!

But Lucy would not believe them. She could not believe ill of this kind, compassionate man whose bright dark eyes and perfect features had captured her heart.

And so she married him.

And the nightmare began…