Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books)

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Authors: Cathy Maxwell
the curse, Neal,” Margaret said sadly. “It isn’t possible.”
    His response was to go to his room and shut the door.
    For a moment, he leaned his back against the hard wood, every fiber of his being shouting that she was wrong. There was a way to beat this curse. There had to be.
    He could hear Margaret and Harry talking in the hall. They were probably plotting against him and his desire to take a wife, but they were wrong if they thought he didn’t know what he was doing.
    Wrong.
    And he would keep his distance from Thea . . . because his father had been right all those years ago. There was something about her that drew him, something he dared not explore.
    But one thing he’d learned this evening is that they were two very different people now. He could keep the attraction at bay, he told himself.
    He had to.
    And yet he couldn’t wait until he saw her again.

Chapter Five
    “H e moved you into one of his houses?” Mirabel, Lady Palmer, said and gave a small, glad squeal of happiness. “Oh, this is wonderful. This is more than I could have ever hoped for you! Lord Lyon. My dear, he is the prize, and you have bagged the prize—”
    “No, wait, you don’t understand,” Thea protested. She’d been sharing with Mirabel the story of her adventure the other evening with Lord Lyon.
    Mirabel brought her finger to her lips. “I understand perfectly and shall keep mum. Mum, mum, mummmm. . . . ” She drew the last word out with delicious pleasure.
    They sat in Mirabel’s morning room, which overlooked the town house’s garden. It was a small plot but done up with Mirabel’s style so that it outshone almost any other garden Thea had ever seen—including her own father’s. Mirabel did most of the work herself, claiming to adore puttering around in mud and dirt.
    The boys were there now, galloping on imaginary horses around the flower beds, playing a game of Horse Guard. Thea had broken up one strong argument—both boys wanted to name their steeds Ajax—and now her sons had settled into happily entertaining themselves.
    Mirabel was twenty years older than Thea, her hair still a pale, sunny blonde. She was tall, and thin, and very fashionable, and her deep blue eyes were always brimming with laughter.
    When Thea had first returned to London, Mirabel had been the only one who had opened her door to her. Everyone else had been too intimidated by the duke of Duruset’s power and his threats. But as Lord Palmer’s wealthy widow, Mirabel hadn’t cared.
    And it had been Mirabel who had suggested Thea trade on her background as a duke’s daughter and knowledge of society and marriage to offer a discreet but important service as a matchmaker.
    Thea had rejected the idea at first, but as her situation had grown more desperate, she’d realized Mirabel was right. She did have a good understanding of the ton . She’d not made a good match herself, but she had discovered that she could be very clearheaded in what would be good for others.
    Furthermore . . . she was the current duke of Duruset’s scandalous sister, and that served her well. So far, the people who had contacted her for assistance had been the minor gentry—a squire with a beautiful daughter and no dowry, Sir James’s challenging nephew, and a few aristocratic sons and daughters of middling fortune and unexceptional, sometimes even unfortunate, looks. Every one of them had mentioned her connection with the powerful duke of Duruset, and though most had known that she’d been disowned, that hadn’t stopped them from engaging her services. They’d all been too desperate to find decent spouses for their family members.
    Besides, amongst the ton , everyone liked connections, even Mirabel.
    Indeed, Thea sometimes suspected her friend would give all she owned to be accepted into the first circles of society. She knew all of their names and ranking of importance. Thea had grown up with these people, and she could have told Mirabel there was nothing

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