The Soldier's Poisoned Heart (True Love and Deception) (Victorian Historical Romance Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Michael Meadows
shirt and stockings on, and then boots over that, and it looked nearly as if he hadn’t been working in the yard at all. Like a proper, respectable gentleman. A waistcoat completed the effect, and he stepped outside, wondering if Henry had finished with the front of the house.
He went to the front stoop and saw, to his relative astonishment, nobody there. There was a massive pile of moss folded up like some curious sort of linen, but no Henry at all.
For a moment, John Paul wondered where his nephew had gotten off to. The answer was made clear when he heard the sound of hoof-beats rhythmically clomping around from the paddock. He walked across the road to investigate.
What he found was little surprise—Henry sat atop a horse, riding it around in a great circle. The look of concentration in his eyes was such that John Paul wondered how much time, if any, he had spent on a horse. It may have been that he’d only ever seen it done, if he’d only ever taken the omnibus or been driven in carriages.
John Paul was beginning to learn something about his nephew: he had a thirst for new experiences that was quite boundless. It seemed to include many of the things that John Paul himself found to be rather mundane affairs, like riding or fencing. Further, the young man threw himself at them with an admirable vigor.
That he was less than talented meant little. For a man with ambition—and John Paul was learning that his nephew had some degree of that—it was easy to improve himself. It would come with time, with practice, and there was little other than time out in the English countryside.
Riding, he would pick up quickly; swordplay, quicker still, with a particularly high target to aim at like his uncle. What sort of ambitions would he discover after that?
He leaned down onto the fence and watched. Henry rode with increasing speed around the courtyard. Each passing moment the horse sped up until it was moving at a full gallop. It ran the tightest circle it could manage, as Henry held on with a grim determination that almost hid the fear in his eyes.
It wasn’t a passing fear, like the discomfort of looking down from a great height, but a deeper fear that held Henry Roche in its grip. John Paul knew it well enough, a mix of madness and fear that he had felt in the heat of battle.
It had made him feel more alive than he could have imagined. Each second filled him to the brim with the feeling of aliveness. That, he suspected, was what Henry felt now.
The horse seemed to have relative control of itself. The boy hadn't pushed it to dangerous speed, either. Yet one misstep could send Henry flying out of the saddle and into the railing around the paddock, and he would be dead. The trick was to trust the horse not to kill you, and hope that your trust wasn’t misplaced.
At long last the horse began to slow down, finally, as the fatigue set in, and Henry relaxed. He looked around and spotted his uncle standing there, watching. He lifted a hand to wave, but immediately regretted the decision and slapped the hand back down onto the saddle-horn.
John Paul climbed the fence of the paddock and jogged up in front of the horse. It, too, was a little spooked, he saw, feeding on the fear and excitement of its rider, and he took the reigns from his nephew. Walking with the horse a bit, he waited until it had calmed down before he stopped it and looped the reigns around a post.
Henry, he helped down, and then went to take the horse back in. The entire incident had only lasted a few moments; the horse was fine, and would even be able to take them into town given a moment's rest.
“Would you like to eat anything?”
Henry looked over at him, his face now drawn into a neutral expression that almost managed to hide his panic, and nodded.
“Alright. Your choice, then.” John Paul said as he stood and pulled on a waistcoat and jacket.
The horses were ready in only a few moments, and then he took them out, hitched them up, and climbed up
He went to the front stoop and saw, to his relative astonishment, nobody there. There was a massive pile of moss folded up like some curious sort of linen, but no Henry at all.
For a moment, John Paul wondered where his nephew had gotten off to. The answer was made clear when he heard the sound of hoof-beats rhythmically clomping around from the paddock. He walked across the road to investigate.
What he found was little surprise—Henry sat atop a horse, riding it around in a great circle. The look of concentration in his eyes was such that John Paul wondered how much time, if any, he had spent on a horse. It may have been that he’d only ever seen it done, if he’d only ever taken the omnibus or been driven in carriages.
John Paul was beginning to learn something about his nephew: he had a thirst for new experiences that was quite boundless. It seemed to include many of the things that John Paul himself found to be rather mundane affairs, like riding or fencing. Further, the young man threw himself at them with an admirable vigor.
That he was less than talented meant little. For a man with ambition—and John Paul was learning that his nephew had some degree of that—it was easy to improve himself. It would come with time, with practice, and there was little other than time out in the English countryside.
Riding, he would pick up quickly; swordplay, quicker still, with a particularly high target to aim at like his uncle. What sort of ambitions would he discover after that?
He leaned down onto the fence and watched. Henry rode with increasing speed around the courtyard. Each passing moment the horse sped up until it was moving at a full gallop. It ran the tightest circle it could manage, as Henry held on with a grim determination that almost hid the fear in his eyes.
It wasn’t a passing fear, like the discomfort of looking down from a great height, but a deeper fear that held Henry Roche in its grip. John Paul knew it well enough, a mix of madness and fear that he had felt in the heat of battle.
It had made him feel more alive than he could have imagined. Each second filled him to the brim with the feeling of aliveness. That, he suspected, was what Henry felt now.
The horse seemed to have relative control of itself. The boy hadn't pushed it to dangerous speed, either. Yet one misstep could send Henry flying out of the saddle and into the railing around the paddock, and he would be dead. The trick was to trust the horse not to kill you, and hope that your trust wasn’t misplaced.
At long last the horse began to slow down, finally, as the fatigue set in, and Henry relaxed. He looked around and spotted his uncle standing there, watching. He lifted a hand to wave, but immediately regretted the decision and slapped the hand back down onto the saddle-horn.
John Paul climbed the fence of the paddock and jogged up in front of the horse. It, too, was a little spooked, he saw, feeding on the fear and excitement of its rider, and he took the reigns from his nephew. Walking with the horse a bit, he waited until it had calmed down before he stopped it and looped the reigns around a post.
Henry, he helped down, and then went to take the horse back in. The entire incident had only lasted a few moments; the horse was fine, and would even be able to take them into town given a moment's rest.
“Would you like to eat anything?”
Henry looked over at him, his face now drawn into a neutral expression that almost managed to hide his panic, and nodded.
“Alright. Your choice, then.” John Paul said as he stood and pulled on a waistcoat and jacket.
The horses were ready in only a few moments, and then he took them out, hitched them up, and climbed up
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