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

you did. In fact, his mother, my sister, has suggested I should think about seeking your services. She claims I’m too old to continue bachelor ways, but I am not ready to hand over my freedom yet. By the way, did you hear that Peter and his wife are expecting their first child?” Sir James asked. “One can hope the child looks more like Emma than Peter.” He paused before adding thoughtfully, “You know, Emma seems to love him. She sees the better qualities in him.”
    And finding a suitable husband without the aid of even a modest dowry meant Emma had little choice in husbands Thea could have added, but didn’t. “How wonderful for them.”
    “Yes, and when one of my clients mentioned he wished to find a wife to meet his most unusual specifications, I thought of you.”
    “Thank you,” Thea said. She prayed this wasn’t going to be a task as difficult as Peter Goodfellow had been. “But exactly what is the gentleman looking for in a wife?”
    Instead of answering, the lawyer straightened in his chair, listening.
    Male voices came from the other room, one the clerk’s and the other a deep, well-modulated tone. Sir James smiled. “I’ll let him tell you himself. I believe you will be pleased. He won’t be as challenging a case as my nephew.” He rose and crossed the room, throwing open the door. “My lord,” he said in greeting. “Good of you to join us.”
    “She’s here?” his lordship said.
    Thea came to her feet. She caught a glimpse of the gentleman but could not see his face from this angle. She had the impression he was taller than Sir James, and that was good. Women liked tall men.
    “Yes, she is, and very interested in meeting you,” Sir James said.
    “I don’t know,” the gentleman said, doubt filling his voice.
    “Speak to her. See what you think,” Sir James said. He stepped aside to let the gentleman enter the room first.
    Thea caught her breath in anticipation, silently praying this man was not an unfortunate-looking soul like Peter Goodfellow. After all, there was usually something wrong with all of her charges, else they wouldn’t need her guidance—
    Her breath left her with a small exclamation of surprise.
    He wasn’t her usual charge.
    This man was everything a young lord should be. He was tall, taller than most, with square shoulders and no sign of belly bulge or flabby calves. Strong legs were encased in buff-colored breeches and shining, tall black boots. He was handsome. Slashing black brows, a resolute jaw, blue eyes that seemed to look right into a person. The material of his bottle green jacket was of the finest wool and molded to his shoulders in such a way that she knew he did not need padding.
    Indeed, there was so much masculine energy about him that most women would find it hard to breathe, let alone think, in his presence. Thea was no exception. Her mind had come to an abrupt halt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare, and not out of admiration . . . but from the shock of recognition.
    Before her stood the wealthy, reclusive Neal Chattan, Lord Lyon—the most eligible bachelor in society, and a man who had once been her closest confidant until he’d rudely rejected her friendship.
    “Mrs. Martin,” Sir James said with the eagerness of someone very pleased with himself, “this is Lord Lyon.” He shut the door behind him and came into the room. “My lord, may I present to you Mrs. Martin, the matchmaker I’ve suggested you enlist.”
    Neal appeared to be having his own bout of mind-numbing recollection. He didn’t react to Sir James’s introduction but stared at Thea with an unnerving intensity.
    Or, perhaps, age had made his expression intense. She wouldn’t know. Their paths hadn’t crossed in close to fourteen years.
    But he was here before her now.
    She straightened her back and lifted her chin, keeping both hands on her reticule for balance, for support. “My lord.” She almost choked on the words. She’d