The Christmas Secret by Julia London Read Free Book Online Page A

hills and forests to the west, and moors dotted with sheep to the east. Behind it, the cliffs and the sea made for an astoundingly beautiful sight.
    Every morning, a maid appeared at Henry’s door with fresh water and hot chocolate. Every afternoon, Matthew, a footman, appeared to tend to whatever Henry might need. Henry was kindly invited to dine with the family at supper, and to help himself to the kitchens and the family’s cook for whatever he might require during the day.
    And then there were the horses. God in heaven, for a man who valued horseflesh, there was no place on earth quite like Ballynaheath. It was a patch of heaven, and Henry wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if Gabriel had descended from the heavens to trumpet him awake each day.
    The earl’s horses had lines such as Henry had never seen on any other horse. They were tall, with muscular, lean builds and glowing coats. The earl—Donnelly, as most called him—had explained to Henry that he’d begun his collection of horseflesh from the Continent and England, choosing carefully, then breeding with an eye toward the best physical structure for racing.
    Every afternoon, Henry went out into the paddock with Donnelly and the horses, to ride, to watch, to learn. Henry had only gone a few days when he could stand it no more: he challenged the great Earl of Donnelly to a race.
    The earl’s eyes lit up like an enormous candelabra Henry had seen in London. “It’s a race you want, is it?” he asked, his grin telling.
    There began their habit of racing every afternoon. Donnelly was quite spectacular on the back of a horse, but Henry had been reared in a saddle as well. Most days, the earl won. But as Henry began to learn the path they raced each day, he managed a win or two of his own.
    Every afternoon, one or more of the ladies would happen by wherever they might be working to sit on the fence and giggle and chatter as they worked and then stay to watch the race. Donnelly would grumble when he saw them coming. “Have a care, Mr. Bristol. The lot of them roam about like a pack of wolves looking for their next meal.”
    More often than not, the lassies, as Donnelly referred to them, were accompanied by a gentleman or two, all of whom tried, usually in vain, to speak to the earl. “They think to ingratiate themselves,” Donnelly said. “As if that will do them a wee bit of good.”
    But Donnelly had more patience for the little gallery of onlookers than he would admit. He could never seem to hide the small hint of a smile when the ladies appeared. Henry was not the least bit reluctant and hoped he’d be planted in a grave before he stopped admiring beautiful women whenever the opportunity presented itself.
    One afternoon, Henry and Donnelly heard the small crowd before they actually saw them. They turned to see the twins and Erin walking briskly down the path toward them, their dark heads together, laughing, while behind them, two gentlemen strolled behind in a much more subdued manner.
    “Ach, for the love of God,” Donnelly sighed as he squinted up at the group. “Canavan has returned from the Continent, then,” he said. “I should have known he’d come straightaway to Ballynaheath, the bloody rooster.”
    Henry had no idea who Canavan was, nor did he care. His gaze was on Erin, and he could not help his smile.
    “I’ll give you a piece of advice, lad,” Donnelly said, turning Henry away from their little audience. “Keep your distance from Molly and Mabe Hannigan. A prettier pair of lassies you never did see, but they’ve got the blood of the devil running in their veins.”
    “The devil,” Henry repeated uncertainly.
    Donnelly grinned. “Are you so young, then? Have you never met a woman with the devil’s blood? God hope you never do.” He paused, and added thoughtfully, “Although every man ought to have at least one good roll with the devil’s blood, aye?”
    Henry laughed. Donnelly had misunderstood his smile; it was not