Praise for Lyn Stone

      THE WILDER WEDDING ‘This romance hits all the right spots.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

      THE WILDER WEDDING ‘Lyn Stone has a gift for finding unusual plotlines and spirited characters that take her stories out of the ordinary.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

      THE SCOT ‘A delightful tale of a young woman determined to have freedom within her marriage, if not under the law.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

      BRIDE OF TROUVILLE ‘I could not stop reading this one… Don’t miss this winner!’ —Affaire de Coeur

      “I have come to make you a proposition, Mr Wilder.”

      Laura Middlebrook’s gaze settled directly into his, stealing the breath he had been about to take. “As you may or may not know, I have an inheritance from my grandmother, a lump sum amount as well as a healthy trust.”

      “How fortunate for you,” Sean said. “There is a point to you offering me this financial information, I presume?”

      “Indeed,” she said. “Every farthing will be yours unconditionally if you agree to take on the task I’m about to propose.”

      How serious she looked about it. She probably wanted him to investigate someone who had offered for her. Wanted to see whether the rascal had a mistress tucked away or if he might be prone to reckless gambling.

      Sean only hoped the man in question deserved her. “Must be very important to you, this proposal.”

      “Quite,” she answered. “I wish to be married.”

      “I figured as much,” he said. “Very well, then. Who is this lucky fellow you have set your sights upon?”

      “You, sir,” she replied with a dimpled smile.

      “I want to marry you.”

      A painter of historical events, Lyn Stone decided to write about them. A canvas, however detailed, limits characters to only one moment in time. ‘If a picture’s worth a thousand words, the other ninety thousand have to show up somewhere!’ An avid reader, she admits, ‘At thirteen, I fell in love with Emily Brontë’s Heathcliff and became Catherine. Next year I fell for Rhett and became Scarlett. Then I fell for the hero I’d known most of my life and finally became myself.’

      After living for four years in Europe, Lyn and her husband, Allen, settled into a log house in north Alabama that is crammed to the rafters with antiques, artefacts and the stuff of future tales.

       Recent novels by the same author:

      MY LADY’S CHOICE

      IAN’S GIFT (in One Christmas Night) THE WICKED TRUTH THE KNIGHT’S BRIDE BRIDE OF TROUVILLE MARRYING MISCHIEF THE SCOT WORD OF A GENTLEMAN (in The Wedding Chase) CHRISTMAS CHARADE (in A Regency Lords & Ladies Christmas) THE VISCOUNT THE ARRANGEMENT

      THE WILDER WEDDING

      Lyn Stone

      To my sisters Kaye and Rhonda and their heroes, Tom and Doug. Thanks for your love and support, for losing sleep to finish my books, for Sunday morning coffee in Atlanta, and most of all, just for being who you are.

      Chapter One

      Midbrook Manor, Bedfordshire, England October 1889—

      “Will you tell Laura she’s going to die, Lamb?”

      The words halted Laura Middlebrook just outside the study door. She automatically sought purchase against the wall to keep from crumpling to the floor. Breath stuck in her throat. Surely to God, she had misunderstood!

      James Maclin’s words to her brother reverberated in her head almost blocking out her brother’s answer. “No, no, of course not. The poor girl would be terribly upset. Little point worrying her about something she can’t possibly help. Wish I didn’t know myself since there’s nothing to be done for it.”

      “Doc Cadwallader assured you of that?” James asked.

      “Yes. Damned shame, isn’t it? Doc says the end should come quickly without any prolonged suffering. There’ll be progressive weakness. Then she’ll simply lie down one day and that’s that. All I can do now is make her last days comfortable as I can.”

      Maclin’s grievous sigh echoed Laura’s own. She leaned her forehead against the flocked wallpaper and squeezed her eyes shut. She had not misheard. They were definitely speaking of her.

      Dr. Cadwallader had attended her not two hours ago to ascertain what had caused last night’s fainting spell. He’d advised her to leave off lacing her corset so tight. The wretch should have told her the truth. But maybe he was right not to, considering her present reaction. She wished to heaven she hadn’t heard anything at all.

      Maclin’s words jerked Laura’s attention back to their conversation. “Granted, she’s not much to look at, but I swear I’ve never seen another with such heart, you know? A real goer, admired by everyone, too. Must be quite a blow to face losing her like this. Shall I pour us another brandy, Lamb? You look pretty fashed.”

      Lambdin grunted his assent and Laura heard the clink of crystal. So, that was all? They were going to dismiss her impending death as a “damned shame” and have another drink? For a moment she feared she would cast up her accounts right there on the foyer floor. Was the sudden nausea she experienced now a symptom of whatever sickness she had? Laura swallowed hard and sniffed. Tears dripped onto her bodice and she hadn’t even realized she was weeping.

      “Shouldn’t she be isolated to keep this from spreading?” Maclin asked. “I shudder to think of all you have at risk here.”

      “Doc swore it isn’t contagious. Quite a rare condition,” Lambdin replied. “Caused by an insect bite, he believes. Said it’s not terribly uncommon in some parts of the world. Certainly is hereabouts, however. The disease lies dormant, he says, for years in some instances. And then—”

      Laura heard the snap of his fingers, followed by a few seconds of silence before he continued. “She’ll weaken toward the last, as I said. I really hope Laura won’t guess how serious it is until it’s over and done. Easier on her that way. Perhaps not knowing will prevent her dashing about unnecessarily trying to find a cure. There simply isn’t one to be had. Poor Laura, I dread it for her. You won’t let on to her, either, will you, James?”

      Laura covered her mouth with a fist to stifle a wail of despair. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head in denial.

      “You know I won’t. How long does Doc think before this runs its course?” James asked.

      “A few months at most, maybe less,” Lambdin said sadly. “Damn it, James, I shall miss her, y’know.”

      Laura pushed away from the wall and staggered back toward the stairs. She couldn’t think what to do next. Her first inclination had been to rush in and demand that Lambdin tell her everything Dr. Cadwallader had said about her condition. But she figured she had already heard as much as she could deal with for the moment.

      Maybe the doctor was wrong. He must be mistaken. She’d never been ill in her life. That attack of vapors last night resulted from wearing tight stays, as he had said, and she had imbibed more wine than usual at dinner. Surely, the combination had caused her faint. But the doctor would never lie to Lambdin about such a matter. Why on earth would he?

      When the door knocker sounded, Laura looked down and saw that she was gripping the newel post as though it were a lifeline. Her fingers wouldn’t obey her command to turn loose. Dumbly she watched Lambdin exit the study and answer the front door.