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“Ah, that would take some travel time.” Raggert bobbed his head sympathetically.
“Yes, too much travel time.” She was being needlessly curt, and she knew it. But, apology or not, she couldn’t shake her mistrust for this man. And his questions, well-meaning or not, were unnerving her terribly.
As if sensing his rider’s unease, Dagger snorted, kicking the dirt.
“Sorry, boy.” Nicole patted his back. “I’d best walk him, my lord. If you’ll both excuse me …” She didn’t wait to be formally dismissed. After all, her responsibility was to Dagger, who’d just reminded her he needed cooling down.
So did her father, she reminded herself a half hour later as she approached the cottage.
Taking a deep breath, she turned the key in the lock. “I’m home.”
Silence.
Squaring her shoulders, Nicole braced herself for the tempest she was about to stir up. What she’d told Dustin had been the precise truth—her father hadn’t uttered a word since she crossed the threshold last night. But the look he’d given her had spoken volumes and, although he’d retired to his chambers posthaste, she’d heard him pacing the floors until dawn.
Silently, she chastised herself for being unable to conceal her guilt and embarrassment until reaching the privacy of her own chambers. Being honest was one thing, being stupid quite another.
She peeked into each room on the first floor, only to find them empty. With a frustrated sigh, she mounted the stairs, bypassing her room and heading directly to her father’s.
He was sitting in an armchair, staring off into space with an expression more brooding than angry.
“Papa, are you all right?”
A tired shrug. “I have no answer for you, Nickie.”
The anguish in his voice tore at Nicole as his anger never could. Slowly, she crossed the room, kneeling beside the chair. “Dustin let me leave early so you and I could talk.”
“That would be fine if I knew what to say.”
“I have a wonderful way to begin.” With renewed excitement, she seized his hands. “Dagger and I completed Tyreham’s course in two minutes and forty seconds.”
Her father reacted exactly as she’d prayed he would.
“Two and forty?” His head came up, triumph glittering in his eyes. “That’s six seconds faster than last year’s winner.”
“Yes. And Dustin said the course here is only a few lengths shy of the one at Epsom.”
“Bloody hell, you’re going to win the Derby!” Nick erupted, nearly crushing her fingers in his. “I knew it. I could feel it. But now it’s on the verge of happening.” He shook his head in proud amazement. “Damn, I’m proud of you, Elf.”
“Thank you, Papa.” She held his gaze. “Your pride means the world to me. If I ever lost it, I don’t know what I’d do.”
One dark brow arched. “You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? Bringing me around like that headstrong stallion of yours.”
“You know me better than that. Horses excepted, I’ve never ‘brought anyone around’ in my life. I haven’t the tact or the patience for it. And, even if I did, I certainly couldn’t bring you around. You’re twice as stubborn as Dagger. No, Papa, the reason I spouted out my news was because I wanted to share it with you and because it was the perfect way to break the silence that’s separating us. We’ve always been able to talk, and now is no time to let that change. Shout at me if you must. Bellow out whatever anger or shame you’re experiencing, but please don’t erect a wall between us. I can’t bear that.”
“Shout? Bellow? I wish it were that easy.” Nick drew a slow, unsteady breath, then exhaled, his words taut with emotion. “When you were three years old and you played too close to the back end of a horse, I shouted. When you were five, and you took it upon yourself to ride bareback without permission, I bellowed. When you were ten, and you sneaked out, spending the night in the carriage so you could accompany me to the Manchester races, I punished you. But you’re twenty now, Nickie. You’re a grown woman. I can no longer set things right with a word or a deed. Have you any idea how terrifying that is for a father? To realize his child is in danger, and there’s not a bloody thing he can do to save her?”
“I’m not in danger, Papa.”
“Aren’t you? You’re getting more and more deeply involved with a man who, quite possibly, wants nothing more than what to him would be a few days, weeks, or months of pleasure, but what to you is the most preci
ous gift you have to offer—a gift that can never be regained or offered again. And I don’t only mean the gift of your innocence, either. I mean all that goes with it—your heart, your soul, your spirit. You’re just like your mother, Nickie. You can offer no less than all of yourself. Once. To one man. And God help you if it’s the wrong man.”
“It isn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Nicole scrutinized her father, insight sparking to life. “You don’t believe Dustin is the wrong man, Papa.”
