by Andrea Kane
“Papa, I thought you’d be pleased with this cottage. It’s more than adequate for our needs, and Lord Tyreham has generously offered it free of charge.”
“I’m not talking about the cottage and you know it. I’m talking about the reasons why we had to move here in such a blasted hurry. If you remember, your plan in trying to get this job was to buy us time—and wages—until I could resurface from this bloody seclusion I’m confined to. We agreed you would train in my stead to pretend to compete in the summer meetings. Pretend, Nickie. I made it plain that I refuse to allow you to actually enter those races. So what happened? Lord Tyreham was so impressed by my letter and your skills that he decided to speed up our schedule. To have you run the Derby. This year’s Derby, the one that’s taking place in three weeks. Needless to say, you were thrilled and agreed straightaway, without even consulting me. Like a tempest, you whirled us up, swept us off to Tyreham, and now intend to begin full-time training in”— he glanced at the clock—“a quarter hour. Well, dammit Nicole, I’m still your father. And I can still forbid it.”
“But you won’t,” Nicole replied softly. “Because you, better than anyone, know how much running the Derby means to me. Oh, Papa, it’s been my dream ever since you sat me on my very first horse. I can feel it, taste it, savor the sensations of crossing that line. It’s one race, Papa. How dangerous can it be?” She gave him an impish grin. “Besides, if I’m half as extraordinary as you claim, maybe I’ll win.”
“You are extraordinary. But you’re also a woman, whether or not you care for the idea. You’re also my daughter”—his voice faltered—“all I have left in the world. And I know you, perhaps better than you know yourself. You think running the Derby will satisfy your passion, but it’ll only feed it, make you want more. It’ll whet your appetite, sink into your blood like a heady dose of brandy. And, speaking of brandy, let’s not forget that you’ll be gallivanting about with a bunch of raucous jockeys who believe you’re one of them. You’ll also be prancing onto the racing scene at the precise time when those crooked bastards who threatened my life are avidly seeking a new target and in hot pursuit of their old one—me. According to what you told me last night, they’ve gone so far as to threaten Lord Tyreham—at his own home, no less—should he ever consider hiring me.”
“Papa,” Nicole squeezed his hand, “even if those animals happen to be at Epsom when I run, it won’t matter. They’ll never realize you and I are related, much less that I’m your daughter. They’ll never even suspect I’m a woman. As for their illegal offerings, should they approach me, I’ll make it clear from the start that I cannot be bought. And, as the Derby will be my one and only riding event”—she gave her father an I-promise-you look—“they won’t receive a second chance to twist my arm.”
Nick sighed, his heart weighted by a foresight his daughter had yet to acquire. “Let’s put aside the issue of your racing but once,” he said lightly. “Apart from all the possible danger, you have one hell of a task ahead of you—readying this thoroughbred for the Derby. I needn’t tell you that if he’s really as skittish as the marquis says, he’ll require calming in order to be tacked and mounted, much less raced.”
“I know, Papa. And I’ll use all the skills you’ve taught me. I’ll make you proud, you’ll see.”
“I’m already proud, Elf. But I’m also worried. Not about the horse—if anyone can bring him around, it’s you—but about the situation.” Tension drew grim lines about Nick’s mouth, cast shadows of doubt across his face. “You mean the world to me, Nickie.”
“As you do to me. I’ll prevail, Papa. I promise.”
“You’ll be alone. Neither Sully nor I will be there to watch over you.”
That did it. Feeling her father’s pain, his need to simultaneously offer his blessing and withhold it, Nicole knew what she had to do. No, she silently amended, what she chose to do.
All night long she’d tossed and turned in her new bed, grappling with whether or not to tell him the truth: that Dustin knew precisely who—and what—she was. Her instincts had screamed yes. Her father deserved to know. She’d never before kept anything from him, and she so badly wanted to divulge the details of Dustin’s kindness, his vow to protect them. It would put her father’s mind at ease and, at the same time, somehow validate the unfathomable emotions Dustin evoked inside her.
Yet, her intentions could backfire. Given Dustin’s reputation, her father might balk when he learned that the womanizing marquis of Tyreham had realized from the start that his new jockey was female. Worse than balking, he might order her away—from Tyreham, from the Derby … and from Dustin.
The very thought spawned an unwelcome constriction in Nicole’s chest, one that had nothing to do with her binding and everything to do with her emotional and physical attraction to Dustin Kingsley. With great difficulty, and for the umpteenth time, she tried to squelch her flustered uncertainty. Flustered because—after but two kisses—she was already in over her head. Uncertain because, not only was she treading in uncharted waters, she was doing so with a man so devastating, so proficient in his charm, she could scarcely stay afloat.
“Nickie?” Her father was gazing expectantly at her, a myriad of questions in his eyes.
Abruptly, Nicole returned to the here and now, accosted by a cold dose of reality. This was what mattered, her conscience cried out, guilt rearing its ugly head. Her father’s safety, their future, her commitment to the weeks ahead. She had no room in her life for a casual dalliance. Especially now. And especially with the man who’d just hired her and now held her fate in his hands.
Once again, reality intruded, refusing to allow such self-deception. Who was she kidding? Nicole thought with a resigned sigh. A casual affair? She? Under any circumstances? Even with a man as sinfully tempting as Dustin? Never. The prospect was as inconceivable to her as lying or stealing, as unnatural as the corset she’d been forced to wear. Essentially, she was just too honest, too principled.
Too provincial.
And Dustin, warm and intuitive though he might be, was anything but provincial. That she’d deduced instantly, despite her sexual innocence. One didn’t need firsthand experience to recognize charisma like Dustin’s. It was a tangible entity—innate, unmistakable, bone-melting. As was the self-assuredness of his technique. The resulting message was clear: Dustin Kingsley knew women—intimately and often. In contrast, Nicole was a green schoolgirl, one who understood only the kind of fidelity and commitment her parents had shared, and who wasn’t equipped to handle the aftermath of Dustin Kingsley.
So, yes, the timing was irreconcilable.
But so were she and Dustin.
Nicole drew a slow, inward breath. There was no choice. She’d have to forget those heart-stopping moments in his arms. They’d been a dream, an illusive taste of forbidden fruit.
She couldn’t risk another bite.
“Elf?” By this time Nick sounded alarmed. “What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me. Is it about those thugs who threatened Tyreham?”
“No, Papa, nothing like that.” Nicole raised her chin, determined to give her father the truth, or at least the part that might appease him.
On the other hand, it might explode in her face.
Reflexively, her fingers skimmed her pocket, grazing the comforting outline of her wishing locket.
“I won’t be alone,” she plunged in. “Even without you or Sully to look after me, I’ll be in good hands.” Here goes. “Lord Tyreham will see to my safety. He understands what you and I are up against. He’s vowed to protect us.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“He knows, Papa.”
Silence. Then, “Exactly what is it he knows?”
“Everything. That Nick Aldridge is my father. That you’re right here at Tyreham, rather than in Scotland.” A pause. “And that Alden Stoddard is Nicole Aldridge—and a woman.”
Her father’s jaw dropped. “You told him?”
“Of course not. But then, given
the circumstances, I didn’t need to.”
“I think you’d better explain.”
“All right.” Nicole paused only to take a fortifying gulp of coffee. “Do you recall what I told you about the last night in London when I went searching for a copy of the Gazette?”
“You said you became dizzy from dashing up and down the streets. I remember.”
A semblance of a smile. “Actually, I think it was more the fault of my strangling undergarments. In any case, I found a private bench along the river walk, where I sat waiting for my lightheadedness to subside. During that time, a gentleman wandered by and offered his assistance.” Nicole met her father’s gaze. “The man was the marquis of Tyreham.”
“Bloody hell.” Nick blinked. “You never mentioned this. Why?”
“At the time, it didn’t seem important.”
“Not important? Nickie, it’s not like you to be so shortsighted. If you’d already met Tyreham—if Nicole had already met Tyreham—how on earth did you hope to fool him during your interview?”
“Simple. I had no idea that the gentleman who offered me aid—and who introduced himself only as Dustin—and the renowned marquis of Tyreham were one and the same person.”
“I need something stronger than coffee.” Nick shoved aside his cup but made no move to fetch the spirits he’d alluded to. Instead, he froze, waylaid by a sudden, unpleasant possibility. “When, during this interview of yours, did the marquis recognize Stoddard as Nicole Aldridge?”
The very question she’d most dreaded. Bracing herself, Nicole replied, “At the onset.”
“Dammit.” The very reaction she’d expected. Fiercely, Nick’s fist struck the table. “You’re telling me Lord Tyreham hired you knowing you were a girl?”
“Yes. He didn’t proclaim me an imposter until after he’d engaged Stoddard’s services. He wanted to make certain there was no connection between my arrival at Tyreham and the unexpected appearance of those hoodlums, but, yes, Lord Tyreham knew who I was the instant he saw me.”
A muscle worked in Nick’s jaw. “You knew how I’d react, didn’t you? That’s why you conveniently neglected to tell me all this.”
“I rather suspected, yes. I hated keeping it from you, Papa, but …”
“Well.” Nick was lost in his own reasoning. “This certainly clears up the mystery of why the marquis hired you on the spot, no questions asked. I’d be willing to bet, given the marquis’s notorious reputation with women, that he’d have offered you the job without benefit of my glowing letter of recommendation.”
Nicole flinched. “That’s not fair, Papa. Be angry with me for not telling you everything. Be concerned about how I’ll keep up my pretense now that Lord Tyreham knows the truth. But don’t cheapen me or my abilities by suggesting that the marquis offered me this job simply so he could seduce me. I’m far from stupid, and he is far from desperate.”
The quaver in her voice offset Nick’s anger. “Elf, this is no reflection on you, not your character or your skill. Your horsemanship is outstanding, your character impeccable.” He broke off, grappling to find the right words. “But, as for Tyreham’s intentions—well, frankly, Nickie, I’m not sure you’d recognize seduction if it clubbed you over the head.”
“I grew up in the stables, Papa. I have eyes and I have ears. I know the minds of men better than I do those of women.”
“Growing up amid an army of jockeys who regard you as their surrogate child does nothing to prepare you for …” Again, he paused. “What I’m saying is, despite your experience with men, you have no experience with men. Least of all with those as accomplished as the marquis of Tyreham.”
Nicole felt a stab of unreasonable jealousy. “For all we know, Lord Tyreham’s conquests are no more than rumor. You told me yourself your description was based on hearsay.”
“No, what I told you was that I’d heard Tyreham has quite a reputation with the ladies. By ‘I heard,’ I didn’t mean through idle chatter. You know me better than that. My sources are men who’ve worked with the marquis—jockeys, grooms, even some of his own colleagues. Like the earl of Lanston. Surely you recall his name?”
“I recall,” Nicole replied flatly. “You rode his mare in last summer’s meeting at Goodwood.”
“Exactly. Well, the earl and his friends nearly brought me to blushing with their constant jabber about Tyreham and his women. They spent more time and money wagering on who Tyreham’s next paramour would be than they did on the upcoming races. I’d repeat some of their banter, were it appropriate for your ears. Suffice it to say that Tyreham’s status—and his popularity—among women is common knowledge. Need I elaborate further?”
“No.” Nicole was suddenly and inexplicably furious. “I don’t want to hear anymore. Moreover, I don’t know, or care, how Lord Tyreham behaves with his paramours. But in my case, he’s been positively heroic. He came to my rescue on the river walk, then again in his study when he offered me the job. Papa, you can’t deny that he’s putting himself, and his reputation, at risk in order to protect us. His reputation with thoroughbreds, not women,” she clarified quickly. “He could be disqualified by allowing me to race, or harmed if those criminals uncover the fact that he’s helping you. Yet, he listened to the details of our dilemma, then insisted upon hiring me and upon my moving to Tyreham—with you.” Her brows rose. “Perhaps I’m being naive, but if all the marquis wanted were to seduce me, wouldn’t he be undermining his own plan by boarding me amid scores of tenants, accompanied by my father, no less?” She gestured about the tiny cottage. “In quarters as small as these, I think he’d find it difficult to avoid discovery while conducting a private tryst.”
“All right, Nickie, you’ve made your point.” Nick rubbed his forehead. “I’m not proud of my thoughts. But I’m also not ashamed of wanting to shield you. From everything.”
Nicole’s fingers caught her father’s, wrapped around his calloused palm. “And I’m not proud of having kept this from you. It was cowardly, and for that I apologize. But Papa—” Her gaze grew fervent, silently begging him to understand. “I was so afraid you’d forbid me to race. This opportunity means more to me than anything, save you. It’s the only chance I’ll ever have to run the Derby. So, please, don’t say no. I’m aware you have every right to, and if you do, I’ll march out to the stables this instant and tell Lord Tyreham I must resign. But I’m asking you to give me this chance. Please, Papa, I’ve wished for it forever.”
A tender smile. “Is this one of the dreams kept tight in your wishing locket?”
“One of my first.”
With a hard squeeze, Nick released her fingers, intuition whispering that he was yielding far more than his authority. He was, in some unfathomable way, relinquishing his little girl to become all he had raised her to be.
Roughly, he cleared his throat. “I want to meet with Tyreham.” Holding up his hand, he checked Nicole’s mortified protest. “Don’t worry, Elf. I won’t blurt out my qualms about his reasons for hiring you. If he’s the kind of man you say he is, I won’t need to—he’ll assuage them on his own. Moreover, my concern for you is only part of what I want to discuss with the marquis. Given the fact that he’s now been thrust into this whole shady blackmail scheme, I want to mull over our best course of action.”
“Very well,” Nicole agreed cautiously, experiencing a flicker of hope at her father’s ever-so-subtle relenting. “I’ll tell Lord Tyreham you’ve asked to see him.”
“Good. As soon as possible. Today.”
Hope was eclipsed by fear. “Papa, you can’t leave the cottage. If someone should see you—”
“They won’t and I won’t. I’ll stay safe inside these walls while I wait for the marquis’s visit. Tell him I’ll expect him around noon.” Nick gave the brim of Nicole’s cap a gentle tug. “That, Elf, should give you more than enough time to have his testy stallion eating out of your hand.”
“Papa, are you saying …?”
“I’m saying that the Derby is little more
than a fortnight away. So if you want to win it, you’d better go start your training.”
With a whoop of joy, Nicole flung her arms about her father’s neck.
Dustin prowled the stable floor, lost in thought. Arising before dawn had posed no problem today, for he’d never gone to bed. What’s more, he wasn’t the least bit tired.
What he was, was frustrated.
Frustrated and stymied.
Nicole Aldridge. The most breathtaking, unexpected distraction ever to walk into his life.
Refreshing, beautiful, unconventional—if he’d been preoccupied with her before, he was obsessed with her now. Like a lovesick schoolboy, he’d spent half the night reliving the moments she’d spent in his arms, recalled the feel of her: soft and delicate, eager and innocent. As fervent in her masquerade as she was in her awakening. Except that the masquerade was intentional, the awakening unconscious. Unconscious, unintentional, and, as of yet, unfinished.
God, how he wanted to finish what they’d scarcely begun.
He could actually visualize her in his bed, her eyes alight with lavender fire, her skin like silk beneath his hands.
She’d shiver and breathe his name as he went into her …
Dammit.
With a grimace, Dustin halted, shifting to relieve the sudden constriction of his breeches. This was madness. In all his life, he’d never behaved like this, not even as an adolescent with his first woman. Yet now, after but two meetings, he could think of nothing but Nicole, his senses in turmoil, his body rigid to bursting.
He had to stop this insanity. If not for his sake, for Nicole’s. The last thing she needed during the next few critical weeks was to be perpetually reminded that he wanted her and that she wanted him, too. He’d vowed to protect her, to keep her and her father safe. Accordingly, he’d hired Alden Stoddard and, by doing so, shouldered the task of helping Nicole convince the world she was a boy.
Something he could hardly do if the very sight of her—clad in jockey garb or not—made him randy enough to howl at the moon.
What in hell’s name had he gotten himself into?
