He slowed Blackheart to a canter and then to a trot, allowing him to glide into a walk at his own pace so his muscles didn’t seize up. After such an intense effort, Nicholas needed to make sure he properly took care of Blackheart and showed him gratitude for the win.
He dismounted and stroked Blackheart’s neck, crooning his thanks.
“You got lucky,” Chisholm said, striding toward him, his bluff face red from a combination of the wind, sun, and exertion.
Nicholas snorted. “Luck has nothing to do with it. That, my friend, was pure skill.”
Chisholm shook his hand, then flashed a small bag of coins but didn’t hand it over. “Best two of three?”
Lucas Archibald rolled his eyes from behind Chisholm and tossed Nicholas his purse. “Pay up, Chisholm. Blackwellwon fairly, and you know he won’t agree to another round.”
“I won’t,” Nicholas confirmed, taking hold of Blackheart’s reins and leading him toward the edge of the track. “Blackheart has worked enough today. He needs a nice brushing, some treats, and a rest.”
“You just don’t think you can win twice in a row,” Chisholm grumbled, but he handed over his bag regardless.
Nicholas pocketed both. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, gentleman.”
Smythe, an earl’s youngest son who’d been soundly trounced by almost everyone present, stalked over, his mouth pulled tight. Nicholas held out his hand, palm up, and Smythe deposited his coins on it.
“You mean, it’s a pleasure taking our coin,” Smythe said, a touch of resentment in his voice.
Archibald chuckled and clapped him on the back. “You need more practice, lad. Come and join Chisholm and me for another race. I’ll give you some pointers.”
Nicholas guided Blackheart off the course before anyone else tried to persuade him to race. Yes, it was tempting to lighten his friend’s pockets, but he prided himself on taking good care of Blackheart, and the horse had given his all today. He deserved attention and an apple or two.
They walked for a while, circling the rotunda to the stables and back again, giving Blackheart’s muscles the chance to cool gradually.
Once he was satisfied that Blackheart was cool, he led him to the stables, where a stablehand helped remove his tack. He took everything away for cleaning and storage while Nicholas rubbed down the horse, starting with gentle strokes before moving on to the brisk rhythm he knew Blackheart enjoyed.
He checked his hooves, called for a pail of water, and slipped a stablehand a coin in exchange for an apple and apeppermint stick. He fed Blackheart the apple first, waiting while the horse crunched happily through it, and then rewarded him with the peppermint stick.
That done, he escorted Blackheart to his stall and petted him until he was certain the horse had had enough, then he returned to watch the end of the race, arriving moments before Chisholm hurtled to the finish half a horse-length ahead of the second rider.
Chisholm slowed his horse and dismounted gracefully. The second place rider tossed him a purse, but it seemed no one else had been cocksure enough to bet against him.
Nicholas leaned on one of the square viewing towers and crossed his arms over his chest as the men led their horses from the race track and toward the stables. He straightened and intercepted them once they got closer.
“I hear you’re getting married soon,” Chisholm called to Lucas, who walked alongside him.
Lucas nodded. “My parents finally managed to convince me it’s time to give up my life of bachelorhood.”
“Is she pretty?” Smythe asked, a slight sneer curling his lip.
Lucas cocked his head. “Pretty enough. She seems like a sweet woman too.”
Smythe’s sneer deepened, as if being sweet wasn’t a trait worth having. Perhaps, in his mind, it wasn’t. Nicholas had always valued nice people, although he did enjoy a bit of sass and a quick wit too.
Apparently catching Smythe’s expression, Lucas grinned. “Just give it a few years, my boy, and you’ll be joining me. We can only hold out for so long.”
Smythe scoffed. “The lot of you will wed before I do. Chisholm must be due for a wife.” He looked sidelong at Nicholas. “Blackwell too.”
Nicholas ignored the instinctive pang in his chest and forced himself to chuckle. “Theo has married and producedan heir, so there’s no reason for me to do so as well. I am surplus to requirements.”
“We’ll see how long that attitude lasts,” Lucas countered. “Just wait until your mother unleashes the full force of her matchmaking prowess upon you.”
Little did they know, his motherwasthe reason Nicholas would likely never marry. Not that he could ever admit as much to his friends, since that would mean confessing why, which would uncover their secret and result in him possibly being disowned.
They reached the stables, and he stood back and watched as the men either began seeing to their horses or passed them off to stablehands.
