The Valentine Legacy Read Online Free Page A

a fine wife. All sweet laughter and giggles.”
    James grunted. Glenda was small and round with lovely breasts to which she granted more freedom than other girls of his acquaintance. She lisped occasionally, an affectation that seemed to be making the rounds of Baltimore society. She also had the disconcerting habit of staring directly at a man’s crotch. He’d once had to move quickly behind a potted palm when she’d done that to him at a party last year.
    He tossed down the rest of his claret. The sweet, heavy wine sat nicely in his belly. “I’m here to let you gloat, Oliver, not to have you try to marry me off to one of your two remaining offspring.”
    â€œTrue, but a man has to think of the future. If you married Glenda, you’d combine Warfield Stud and Racing Stables with your own Marathon farm. You could do much worse, James. What’s the size of your breeding farm in England?”
    â€œCandlethorpe is small, half the size of Marathon. The Earl of Rothermere who owns—”
    â€œI know all about the Hawksburys, James. One of the finest studs in all of northern England. I hear Philip Hawksbury married a Scottish girl who’s magic with horses.”
    â€œYes, Frances is a good sort. Her way with horses is amazing. They oversee my stud along with Sigmund, my head stable lad, when I come to America. Sober John’s sire is Ecstasy from the Rothermere stable, who goes directly back to the Godolphin Arabian.”
    â€œSell me Sober John.”
    â€œForget it, Oliver.”
    â€œI suppose I could,” Oliver said. “But I’ll keep after you, maybe send one of my girls to soften you up.”
    â€œJust don’t send Jessie. She’d just as soon put a knife in my ribs as look at me.” James stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He said, “You’ll not beat me again, Oliver.”
    â€œHow do you figure that, boy?”
    â€œYou’ll see, old man, you’ll see.” He opened his eyes and held out his empty glass.
    Oliver Warfield gave a grunt of laughter and poured the last few remaining drops of claret into James’s glass.
    There was the sound of crashing wood, a scream, and a thud.
    Both men were on their feet in an instant, running to the door of the office. They dashed through only to draw up short.
    â€œWhat the hell?” Oliver Warfield stared down at his daughter, dressed like a boy, her red hair stuffed beneath a woolen cap, lying sprawled on her back, arms and legs flung out, just outside the door, in a trough filled, thankfully, with hay.
    â€œJessie! What in God’s name happened? Are you alive, girl? Is anything broken? Speak to me.”
    There was a small, unconvincing groan.
    James just looked down at her, knew she was quite conscious because he saw her eyelashes twitch, and said, “She’s too obnoxious to be hurt. I’ll tell you what she was doing, Oliver. The brat was overhead eavesdropping, lying on her belly with her eyes and ears pressed to the cracks between the beams. Isn’t that right, Jessie?”

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    â€œS PEAK TO ME , girl!” Oliver lightly tapped his hand against her cheek. She gave another little moan that didn’t fool James for an instant. He said in a voice laden with English arrogance he knew would prompt her to attack him, “Yes, do say something, Jessie. Your father and I wish to get back to our claret. Your interruption was untimely. If you don’t get up, I’ll just have to pour this bucket of water on you. That should make you a bit more alert. I say, Oliver, isn’t there a green sheen to that water? Could that be a bit of slime on top?”
    Jessie Warfield opened her eyes even though she didn’t want to. She resisted the temptation to throw the bucket of water in James Wyndham’s face. She would have liked to disappear, but there was nothing for