Read Online Miss Goldsleigh's Secret by Amylynn Bright - Free Book Online
Authors: Amylynn Bright
Ads: Link
horseflesh today.”
Morewether grinned back at the boy, more than happy to discuss one of his two favorite topics. Henry, hardly a prude, was still relieved to have the conversation drift into animal husbandry and away from the duke’s other hobby, women. He didn’t know Miss Goldsleigh well, but he was certain she wouldn’t appreciate her young brother coming home with new and fascinating opinions on bedding merry widows and actresses.
Henry ambled a step or two behind Morewether and Warren and idly watched the crowd as they strolled in the direction of the paddocks. It was an extraordinarily busy day at Tattersall’s. A combination of uncharacteristically clear London sky and a shipment of thoroughbreds with outstanding bloodlines had caused a broad slice of London society to turn out.
Henry tuned back into the conversation. “…can be traced directly to Byerley Turk.” He chuckled when Morewether’s pronouncement of the lineage of the spirited stallion in the pen before them fell flat. Warren stared at the duke expectantly, waiting for further explanation.
“What has Dalton been teaching you if not bloodlines?” Morewether snorted.
Warren looked to Henry for help, but Henry shrugged with one shoulder and grinned. “Anything you ever wanted to know about horses, Lord Morewether is your man.”
“Well, he explained to me about withers and leg ratio and things like that,” Warren told the duke.
“All that is important when buying a horse.” The duke settled into a no-nonsense professorial drone, and Henry tuned him out. Henry and their friends teased Morewether about his obsession with horses and women, but the man did know his stuff – about both topics. Henry didn’t need a refresher course.
Henry stepped to the side and watched the horse dance about the ring. A young lad held on to her leash as she pranced in high, leaping steps, showing off. She was indeed a fine example of equine beauty, but she was too high-spirited for Henry’s needs. He was in the market for sturdy workhorses and solid breeders.
He glanced around the crowd again, paying little attention to the throngs of cocksure young men. Instead, he was looking to see which animals the seasoned stablemen were interested in. Those were the horses Henry would most likely be purchasing. The crowd was denser than it was mere minutes before, and he took several steps to the left in order to see the horses parading on the far side of the paddock.
He made every effort to concentrate on his program and what the other men were saying, but it was the golden-haired waif who occupied his mind: the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks when she slept, the feel of her fingers sliding around his neck and into his hair when he carried her, the sweet, unconscious nuzzling of her cheek into his chest.
He was recounting the smell of her hair when he heard the scream and yelps of the crowd. He’d only stepped a few feet from where Morewether and Warren had been standing, lecturing and learning, and it was close enough to see that Warren no longer stood near the top rungs of the paddock. He shoved back through the crowd at a run as the duke launched himself over the fencing. In a lightning-fast inventory, Henry took in the form of Warren lying on the ground, the skittish mare screaming in terrifying, high-pitched shrieks and stamping the ground dangerously close to the boy, the trainer ineffectually pulling on her tether.
Henry placed his right foot on the middle rung and vaulted the fence, swinging his legs over the top and landing on the soft dirt next to Warren. Morewether had grabbed the lead from the petrified young man and, using his bulk and eerie skill with horses, was moving the frantic beast farther across the pen and away from the unconscious lad. Henry scooped the boy into his arms, noting the sickening swing of his right arm at the elbow. He was prepared to climb back over the railing, but fortunately one of the grooms opened the
Morewether grinned back at the boy, more than happy to discuss one of his two favorite topics. Henry, hardly a prude, was still relieved to have the conversation drift into animal husbandry and away from the duke’s other hobby, women. He didn’t know Miss Goldsleigh well, but he was certain she wouldn’t appreciate her young brother coming home with new and fascinating opinions on bedding merry widows and actresses.
Henry ambled a step or two behind Morewether and Warren and idly watched the crowd as they strolled in the direction of the paddocks. It was an extraordinarily busy day at Tattersall’s. A combination of uncharacteristically clear London sky and a shipment of thoroughbreds with outstanding bloodlines had caused a broad slice of London society to turn out.
Henry tuned back into the conversation. “…can be traced directly to Byerley Turk.” He chuckled when Morewether’s pronouncement of the lineage of the spirited stallion in the pen before them fell flat. Warren stared at the duke expectantly, waiting for further explanation.
“What has Dalton been teaching you if not bloodlines?” Morewether snorted.
Warren looked to Henry for help, but Henry shrugged with one shoulder and grinned. “Anything you ever wanted to know about horses, Lord Morewether is your man.”
“Well, he explained to me about withers and leg ratio and things like that,” Warren told the duke.
“All that is important when buying a horse.” The duke settled into a no-nonsense professorial drone, and Henry tuned him out. Henry and their friends teased Morewether about his obsession with horses and women, but the man did know his stuff – about both topics. Henry didn’t need a refresher course.
Henry stepped to the side and watched the horse dance about the ring. A young lad held on to her leash as she pranced in high, leaping steps, showing off. She was indeed a fine example of equine beauty, but she was too high-spirited for Henry’s needs. He was in the market for sturdy workhorses and solid breeders.
He glanced around the crowd again, paying little attention to the throngs of cocksure young men. Instead, he was looking to see which animals the seasoned stablemen were interested in. Those were the horses Henry would most likely be purchasing. The crowd was denser than it was mere minutes before, and he took several steps to the left in order to see the horses parading on the far side of the paddock.
He made every effort to concentrate on his program and what the other men were saying, but it was the golden-haired waif who occupied his mind: the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks when she slept, the feel of her fingers sliding around his neck and into his hair when he carried her, the sweet, unconscious nuzzling of her cheek into his chest.
He was recounting the smell of her hair when he heard the scream and yelps of the crowd. He’d only stepped a few feet from where Morewether and Warren had been standing, lecturing and learning, and it was close enough to see that Warren no longer stood near the top rungs of the paddock. He shoved back through the crowd at a run as the duke launched himself over the fencing. In a lightning-fast inventory, Henry took in the form of Warren lying on the ground, the skittish mare screaming in terrifying, high-pitched shrieks and stamping the ground dangerously close to the boy, the trainer ineffectually pulling on her tether.
Henry placed his right foot on the middle rung and vaulted the fence, swinging his legs over the top and landing on the soft dirt next to Warren. Morewether had grabbed the lead from the petrified young man and, using his bulk and eerie skill with horses, was moving the frantic beast farther across the pen and away from the unconscious lad. Henry scooped the boy into his arms, noting the sickening swing of his right arm at the elbow. He was prepared to climb back over the railing, but fortunately one of the grooms opened the
Similar Books
