Wishes in the Wind

by Andrea Kane

Nicole sighed, shifting a bit, unconsciously easing closer to the wondrous contact of his mouth.

  He deepened the kiss slightly, molding his mouth to hers, nudging her lips apart to accept the initial penetration of his tongue. She made an inarticulate sound, swarmed by unfamiliar sensations, shivering with the awareness that she hovered on the brink of something new and dark and dangerous.

  Slowly, Dustin raised his head. “Where do you live?”

  The moment shattered, and Nicole leaped to her feet. “I must go. Now.”

  “Just tell me where you live.”

  “No more questions,” she reminded him, backing away. “Your promise, if you recall.”

  Frustration drew his brows into a harsh, dark line. “How will I find you? I want to see you again, dammit.”

  “That’s impossible.” Gathering up handfuls of material, Nicole prayed her customary speed wouldn’t be hindered by her gown. “Thank you for comforting me, Dustin. As you can see, the color has returned to my cheeks. Good night.” She bolted into the darkness.

  “I hope this issue of the Gazette yields some results,” Nicole murmured, dropping into a chair and unfolding the newspaper. “Especially given what I went through to find it.”

  Nick frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried sick about you. Next time don’t sprint off like an impulsive filly before you’ve checked to see if what you want is here—at the inn desk, of all places.”

  “An impulsive filly? You sound like Sully.” Nicole flipped through to the ads. “But in this case you’re right. What I did was stupid.”

  “Thank goodness, no harm came to you.”

  Nicole felt hot color suffuse her cheeks—color she carefully hid behind the printed pages. “It never occurred to me to check with the innkeeper to see if he had—” She shot up, nearly knocking Nick over. “Papa! Look at this!” Shoving the newspaper into her father’s hands, she pointed to the first and largest paragraph on the personals page.

  Nick Aldridge: As I’ve been unable to uncover your whereabouts so that we might talk face-to-face, I’m hoping to locate you through this personal. If you’re reading it, come to Tyreham Manor, Surrey, at once to discuss an exclusive retainer. Name your price. The marquis of Tyreham

  With a muttered oath, Nick gripped the page, rereading the lines several times before raising his head. “Lord Tyreham is the finest breeder in England.”

  “Breeder and racer,” Nicole amended. “I know. I’ve heard his name spoken countless times at the stables.” Her brows drew together. “Evidently, he placed this ad before word of your supposed injury reached him. I wonder what prompted him to place it now, of all times.”

  “That’s no coincidence.” Nick’s scowl was grim. “Tyreham’s gone through some disappointing jockeys lately. At least he believes they were merely disappointing. I know otherwise. The fact is that at least one of them—Alberts—was taking money from the bastards who attempted to blackmail me.”

  “He threw his races?”

  “Exactly, a reality I’m sure the marquis is totally unaware of.”

  “That’s all the more reason you’d be the ideal candidate for him,” Nicole declared proudly. “You’re not only the best jockey in England but the most ethical one as well.”

  “A lot of good that does me.” Nick slapped the newspaper down. “Damn! Tyreham will have prime contenders in every race this summer—Epsom, Goodwood, the July Stakes at Newmarket. How can I miss this opportunity?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I swear I’d take my chances and resurface if I weren’t so afraid those bastards would hurt you.”

  “Let me answer the personal.”

  Nick stared. “Nickie, are you insane? What would you tell the man? That you’re Nick Aldridge?”

  “No, of course not.” Nicole interlaced her fingers, resting her chin atop her hands. “I’ll tell him the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  She grinned. “Well, a combination of the truth and the story Sully and I concocted—a story that has doubtless reached Lord Tyreham’s ears by now and has, therefore, dashed his hopes of procuring your services any time in the near future.” She paused. “Therefore, I shall ride to Surrey to interview with the marquis. I’ll tell him I apprenticed under Nick Aldridge for fifteen years, since I was scarcely more than a tot. I’ll tell him Nick and I have a very special rapport, that he taught me everything I know about horses. All of which is true.”

  “I see. And, given the close friendship you and Nick Aldridge supposedly share, I’m sure good old Nick must have told you exactly where he’s staying. Have you thought about how you’ll get out of sharing that information with the marquis?”

  Her smile faltered, then reappeared. “Lord Tyreham won’t expect me to divulge that information. He’ll understand that you need rest—and privacy—to regain your strength. I’ll divert his questions by offering him a temporary alternative to you. Me.” Nicole glowed, warming to her story as she devised it. “I’ve just thought of the perfect plan! I’ll arrive at Tyreham with a note addressed to the marquis and written in your hand. It will state that you sent me in your stead, to ride for him until you are able to travel to Surrey and take over. The note will then embellish on my versatility and my uncanny ability with horses.”

  A hearty chuckle vibrated in Nick’s chest. “Now you not only look like your mother, you sound like her—the same quick mind and extraordinary imagination. Remember the stories she could invent out of thin air?”

  Nicole smiled wistfully. “I remember. And she made every one of them sound plausible.” Her gaze fell on the nightstand, and the precious wishing locket that lay upon it.

  A symbol of dreams, like the star she’d wished upon earlier and the heart-stopping man who’d crossed her path.

  Dustin.

  Where was he now? Had he gone after her, or had he just dismissed their meeting as inconsequential and returned to the glittering world from which he’d come?

  Hastily, she dismissed the questions together with the impossible memory that accompanied them.

  “Nickie?” Her father’s voice yanked her back to the subject at hand. “Now what are you thinking?”

  She raised her chin. “I’m thinking that I might have inherited Mama’s fanciful mind, but I also inherited your mule-headedness and spunk.” She leaned forward, resuming her argument. “I can do this, Papa. I know I can. With your letter, the marquis won’t dare turn me away. Oh, he might be reluctant at first, but he’ll relent. After all, it’s only temporary, and I am a close friend of yours.” She held her breath. “Please, Papa.”

  Nick wrestled with his worry.

  “Besides your spunk, I also inherited your strength,” Nicole added softly. “I’m not frail like Mama was. I’m strong and I’m healthy. And, as you yourself claimed, I’m a damned good rider. An extraordinary rider, I believe you said.” She squeezed her father’s hand. “You’ve always taken care of me. Just this once, let me take care of you.”

  Releasing his breath on a sigh, Nick nodded. “Very well, Elf. Dress as a boy. Go to Tyreham. You can offer the marquis nearly the same level of skill as I can. But, Nicole …” His jaw set. “I won’t allow this charade to go beyond the end of June. For both our sakes.”

  “You’re thinking of the July meetings.”

  “Exactly. Oh, I have no doubt you’d place in every bloody race. But you’re not traveling and sharing quarters with the other jockeys—men who, need I remind you, would believe you to be one of them?”

  Nicole flushed. “I see your point. Very well then, the end of June. By that time, those greedy scoundrels will have found another victim.”

  “And by which time, you’ll have driven the poor, unsuspecting marquis of Tyreham totally insane,” Nick returned with an affectionate grin.

  “Probably,” she agreed. “Papa, what do you know of Lord Tyreham—other than his talent with thoroughbreds?”

  Nick shrugged. “I’ve only spied him from a distance. He’s a nice-looking fellow in his ea
rly thirties, I should say. He has quite a reputation with the ladies, from what I hear.”

  “Oh, splendid,” Nicole muttered. “He’s undoubtedly overbearing, arrogant, and thoroughly taken with himself.”

  A grin. “Then thank your lucky stars he’ll think you’re a man.”

  “My lucky stars,” Nicole repeated, unable to squelch the memory those words evoked. “Yes, Papa, I will. And perhaps, if I’m truly lucky, those stars will reply.”

  Three

  “PUT DOWN THE BRIDLE, Brackley. He’s not ready yet.”

  Dustin leaned against the stable wall, frowning as he watched his head groom attempting to tack up Tyreham’s newest stallion.

  Brackley halted, exasperation etched on his face, while Dagger snorted and stomped about his stall. “It’s been a fortnight since he arrived at Tyreham, and he still gets skittish every time I approach him.”

  “I’m aware of that. He’s not much better with me.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I don’t see how you can possibly enter him in the Derby even if the Jockey Club does grant you special permission to do so at this late date. No one can mount him, much less race him.”

  “The point’s a moot one,” Dustin stated flatly. “Because unless Nick Aldridge recovers from his leg injury, I’m withdrawing my request to add Dagger as a last-minute contender. I meant to win, not merely to enter. And that requires Aldridge. As for Dagger …” Dustin’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I purchased him for a reason. Every one of my instincts proclaimed him a champion. They still do.”

  “Your instincts are rarely wrong, my lord.” Brackley shook his head as he hung away the tack. “But this time … I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do. It’s up to us to determine the cause of Dagger’s jitters and ease them. I don’t give a damn how long it takes. We’ll just have to be patient, even if it means deferring his racing victories until the fall meetings. Forcing ourselves on him won’t work. We’ve got to earn his trust, win him over.”

  “All right, my lord,” Brackley agreed dubiously. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” Dustin turned on his heel. “I’ll be back after lunch.”

  Striding through the stables, he silently berated himself for his brusqueness. It was totally unlike him, but he couldn’t seem to snap out of this foul mood. Hell, he was as ornery as Dagger, the only difference being that, in his case he knew the precise reason for his uncustomary black humor.

  And that reason was an apparition named Nicole.

  Dammit. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on a bloody thing since he’d met her. He’d left London, gone home to Surrey in the hopes that he’d lose himself in his work: hire an exceptional jockey, select the right trainer, establish an affinity with Dagger.

  Yet all he seemed to do was visualize a beautiful, anguished face, feel a soft, trembling mouth under his.

  Nicole, Nicole what? Where was she from? How could he find her? They’d never crossed paths before—that was a certainty. But then, why would they? Her unadorned gown and total lack of artifice suggested she didn’t travel in his circles, where the ladies were dazzling, wealthy, fashionable.

  Contrived.

  And so bloody shallow it sickened him.

  She was different. And not just because she stood apart from the practiced members of the ton. It was she herself, a blend of innocence and wisdom whose beauty was as delicate and natural as the first buds of springtime. And yet beneath that fragility, Dustin perceived a strength of character as rare as it was compelling.

  How many years had it been since he’d met someone, male or female, so totally lacking in pretense? When was the last time he’d talked, really talked, with a woman? Nicole’s behavior diverged totally from what he’d come to expect: she seemed comfortable with him as a person, yet achingly self-conscious with him as a man.

  What was she frightened of? Why had she run? Where the hell had she run to?

  There had to be a way to find her. But how? Where should he search for a woman like Nicole? He couldn’t knock on every door in London, though the idea grew more tempting by the minute.

  He’d take out another personal.

  That notion brought him up short. It was the only logical solution. He’d find the right words, make the ad so straightforward and earnest that it would convince her to meet him again—anywhere she chose.

  Lost in formulating his message, Dustin exited the stables, his dark mood supplanted by anticipation.

  “Tyreham. We’ve been waitin’ for you.”

  The raspy voice brought him up short.

  Blinking, Dustin shielded his eyes from the sunlight. A wary tingle shot up his spine as he regarded the two unkempt men blocking his path. “Who the hell are you?”

  One muscular arm shot out, fingers grasping Dustin’s shirtfront. “Friends. Here to warn you to stay out of trouble.”

  Shards of fury sparked in Dustin’s eyes as he fought free of the punishing grip. “Get your hands off me. Now. Before I lose my temper.”

  He was shoved against the stable wall.

  “You’ve been lookin’ for Nick Aldridge. Don’t.”

  Stepping purposefully away from the wall, Dustin advanced toward them, memorizing their faces and builds. The one who’d spoken was short, heavyset, with a ruddy complexion and glazed blue eyes. His companion was a few inches taller and a bit less muscular, with unruly black hair and a dark-slitted gaze.

  “Your information is outdated,” Dustin informed them, brushing off his collar. “Nick Aldridge is in Scotland recuperating from an injury, or haven’t you heard?”

  “Yeah, we heard.” The shorter man began the deliberate task of rolling up his shirtsleeves. “But if he should make a startlin’ recovery and answer your ad, send him away.”

  “Why? Do you gentlemen have something against a man working for a living?”

  “Some men, yeah. Aldridge is one of ’em.”

  “Who sent you here?”

  “That’s none of your business. Just do what we said and no one will get hurt.”

  A muscle flexed in Dustin’s jaw. “I don’t take kindly to threats. Nor do I take kindly to orders. Now get out of here and don’t come back.” He pushed past them and kept walking.

  “That nephew of yours—what’s his name, Alexander? He’s a real tough little fellow. I’d hate to see that change.”

  Dustin froze in his tracks. Slowly, he pivoted to face his adversaries, fury washing over him. “If you come within ten miles of that child, I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

  Surprise and a touch of fear registered on their unshaven faces. “Forget Nick Aldridge and we’ll forget your brother’s son,” the second intruder advised.

  “I said get out. I meant it.” In two swift motions, Dustin shoved his own sleeves up and out of the way, his shoulders and forearms well-muscled from long years of horsemanship. “And don’t be fooled by my refined manners. If I need to show you the entrance gates by launching you through them, I shall.”

  “Just remember what we said. We won’t be sayin’ it again.”

  With that, they fled.

  Blood continued to pound through Dustin’s skull, his thoughts running rampant as he considered the ramifications of what had just occurred. The bastards were common trash. Beating them senseless, satisfying as that might feel, would accomplish nothing. They were hired hands, paid for by someone they’d probably never seen, to do a job with no explanation other than how much money they’d make and who they should browbeat into submission.

  Two things were certain: One, whoever hired those low-lifes was terrified of Nick Aldridge, and two, that bastard’s determination to keep Aldridge off the turf was savage enough for him to threaten people’s lives.

  Which meant the stakes were high—most likely money or vengeance.

  In either case, it raised new possibilities about Aldridge’s sudden disappearance from England. Had it truly been spawned by an injury or was it incited by the more compelling need for self-pro
tection?

  Dustin rubbed his temples, qualms about Aldridge eclipsed by a more vital concern for Alexander. Not that he believed there was reason for worry, at least not while Aldridge remained in Scotland. Still, he didn’t intend to take any chances. He’d wire Trent, alert him to keep a close eye on his son …

  “Lord Tyreham?”

  Dustin’s head jerked around to see Poole, the distinguished Tyreham butler, standing a discreet distance away, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Yes, Poole, what is it?”

  The butler blinked—his only overt reaction to Dustin’s curt tone. “Forgive me for intruding, sir. But you have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?” Entertaining was the farthest thing from Dustin’s mind. “Send whoever it is away. I need to dispatch a telegram to Spraystone at once.”

  “Very good, sir. But I do think you’ll want to meet with this lad.”

  “Lad?”

  “Your visitor, my lord. It’s a boy who’s come in response to the personal you placed in the Gazette.”

  Abruptly, Dustin became a captive audience. “The personal? Then it’s—” He broke off. “Did you say a boy?”

  “I did.”

  “Then it’s not Nick Aldridge?”

  “No, sir. But, according to the lad—whose name is Stoddard, by the way—Mr. Aldridge instructed him to come to Tyreham.”

  “Why?”

  “To fill the proffered position.”

  Dustin’s jaw dropped. “You’re telling me Nick Aldridge sent a substitute jockey here in his place?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you, sir. Stoddard has a note from Mr. Aldridge, which the boy insists will explain everything. However, he will show it only to you. In person.”

  “I’ll see him immediately.” Dustin took two strides toward the manor, then halted. “Poole.” He pivoted to face his butler, lowering his voice to a terse, confidential murmur. “Send a telegram to Trent. Address it only to Trent. I don’t want Ariana to read it. It will alarm her—probably without cause. Tell him that two men were here warning me not to hire Nick Aldridge. Tell him they mentioned Alexander in their threats. Urge Trent to keep an eye on his family but not to panic. I don’t think my unwelcome visitors will dare approach my nephew—not given Aldridge’s disappearance and not if they want to live.”