His Lordship's Filly Read Free

duties as marquess—or more accurately had them pressed on him—his previous behavior did seem frivolous. “With looks like that she’s far more likely to seduce me.”
    Now what had made him say such a stupid thing? He was the head of his family. He had no time for dalliances with stable maids. And he was certainly not the sort to take a maiden’s innocence. He limited his female forays to the lightskirts whose business it was to serve male needs— and who had no innocence left to lose,
    “So,” Peter said, picking up his wine glass, “did you acquire some new horseflesh today?”
    “Not yet. But I thank you for the tip about Durabian’s place. There’s a bay colt there I have my eye on.”
    Peter nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Just so it isn’t a particular filly.”
    Andrew caught his meaning immediately. “I doubt any man will ever tame Bridget. So I guess I’ll follow your lead and treat her like a man.”
    “Yes.” Peter sighed deeply. “But that would be so much easier, wouldn’t it, if she didn’t insist on wearing those leather breeches!”
    * * * *
    Frowning, Victor Durabian watched Bridget put the stallion through his paces. The girl was getting too pretty for her own good. He was worried about her future—a girl like that alone in the world.He wasn’t going to live forever. If only he could find a good solid husband for her. He shook his head. Even if he could, Bridget wouldn’t be having any husband.
    He turned away. He had other problems to occupy his thoughts. Too bad Haverly hadn’t found a horse he wanted to buy. A hundred pounds would come in mighty handy about now. He kept his creditors more or less paid up, but there was the matter of his racing IOUs. As he’d told his Lordship, he knew the dangers of wagering on the horses. But he just couldn’t seem to stop. And he’d been losing too much, too often, lately. The blacklegs, the bookies, were all right. They wouldn’t take his bets anymore without the money up front. It was the other wagers that were bad, the ones he’d made on the side, the ones he’d given IOUs for.
    The holders of his notes had not yet put him in prison for the simple reason that once there he couldn’t raise any money. But they wouldn’t be patient forever. He had to do something, and do it soon.
    Too bad he couldn’t sell Waterloo. Haverly would buy the stallion in a shot. But Bridget would never stand for it. And he’d given the girl his word.
    It was a puzzle, it was. If he sold the stallion, the girl would hate him. And if he didn’t sell, he might be carted away to prison. Bridget could never run the stables alone. She knew enough—she knew as much, maybe more, than he did—but men wouldn’t deal with a girl, even one who knew horses.
    He straightened his shoulders. Maybe tomorrow’s race would be different. Maybe this time he’d pick a winner. If he could get some money together to bet.
    * * * *
    Three days later Andrew decided to go back to Durabian’s. He wanted to tell the man to save the bay colt for him and to give Durabian a bank draft as a down payment. But it wasn’t just because of that. He wanted to see the stallion—and his rider—again.
    So he had Sable saddled, the stableboy sweating profusely as she shied about. Finally he had to go calm her himself. The ride into the country was pleasant in spite of the filly’s skittishness. The trees were just coming into full bloom and everything had the fresh clean scent of spring, but even as he held the prancing filly in check, Andrew’s thoughts raced ahead.
    What was there about the strange girl that kept bringing her back into his mind? True, she had a kind of natural beauty, even in those awful male clothes, but he had seen—indeed, had been with—many beautiful women. Perhaps it was just her unusual occupation that intrigued him. And the stallion. That stallion would stay in anyone’s mind.
    It was midmorning when he turned Sable in at Durabian’s gate. The Irishman came