Page 3 of The Viscount's Seduction
James Everly, Viscount Bakeley, heir to the Earl of Shaldon, wished a good night and tromped off, creaking the stable door open and closing it without passing through.
He found a dark corner and waited. Soon enough, he heard it—quiet sobs, weeping, and a choking voice talking to a horse.
A girl’s voice.
The pall of hopelessness dogging him since he’d come through the gates of Glenmorrow descended fully upon him, shame flooding in with it. He was here on his mother’s behest, buying the Earl of Glenmorrow’s prime bloods, no expense to be spared, and even beyond, the only high limit being Glenmorrow’s pride.
A crooning song started and seeped into his bones, soothing him in just the same way it was settling the whole stable.
Bloody Ireland. Fairies and gremlins, and a horse named Pooka.
The Earl of Glenmorrow had been tied up with Father’s schemes somehow, and it was clear from the state of the roads and the linens, the man needed money. This purchase was paying both men’s debts.
And anything left over, Glenmorrow would drink away.
Well, why wouldn’t he? The man had lost his son and his wife, and surely that crooning girl in the stall was the daughter who the stable boys whispered had a spooky way with the horses.
She would need some of this money set aside for a dowry. She would need a keeper when her father drank himself to death.
He watched as she slid out of the stall, extinguished her light, and left.
Ye gods, it was true what he’d heard—Glenmorrow’s daughterwasas wild as this unlucky country.
Mother had been hinting about a wife for him. Thank all the stars he’d come for the horses and not the girl. Let her be some other man’s to tame.
