Wishes in the Wind

by Andrea Kane

  “Stoddard?”

  Nicole glanced over her shoulder, smiling at Brackley’s quizzical expression. “Yes?”

  “I thought you said we won’t be seeing you again.”

  “I did. But I said nothing about my seeing you.”

  A half hour later, Ariana Kingsley whirled a soft blue day dress from her wardrobe. “This is perfect.” She squinted at Nicole, still clad in dirty breeches and shirt, and a self-satisfied smile curved her lips. “You, Miss Aldridge, are going to take the ton by storm.” Lowering the dress to her bed, she began to laugh. “After all this time, Dustin is finally going to get his comeuppance. I can hardly wait to see the expression on his face when the besotted admirers strewn at his feet are men, and the one they’re gazing at with lovesick eyes is you.”

  Nicole frowned dubiously. “I wouldn’t count on that, Ariana. I’m not a natural beauty like you.”

  “You’re not, are you?” Ariana pointed to the bathroom.

  “Wash the dirt away, then give me a half hour. You’ll bring every breathing male in England to his knees.”

  Crossing over, Nicole fingered the gown’s soft bodice. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Are you sure you don’t mind my borrowing it?”

  Ariana seized her hands. “Nicole, I’ve awaited this day for two years. You’re the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to Dustin—the woman I’ve prayed for to make him whole. And, selfishly, I’m looking forward to calling you my friend—and my sister. So, please, anything I have is yours.”

  Swallowing, Nicole murmured, “Thank you.”

  A sharp rap sounded at the bedchamber door.

  “Who could that be?” Again Ariana gestured toward the bathroom—this time worriedly. “Hide.”

  “All right.” With a mysterious grin, Nicole complied, reaching up to tug the pins from beneath her cap. “But I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  An instant later, Trenton Kingsley strode into his wife’s chambers, Alexander in his arms.

  “Trenton?” Ariana frowned, puzzled. “It’s not time to leave yet. Nicole and I aren’t finished dressing.”

  “I know.” He shook his head bemusedly. “But Nicole asked me to stop by your room an hour before we head for Epsom and to bring Alexander with me. So here we are.”

  “Yes, right on time.” Nicole stepped back into the room, tugging her last few constricting hairpins free. Eyes twinkling, she walked over to Trenton. “I believe I made your son a promise, one I intend to keep.” She leaned forward, taking Alexander’s tiny fist and unclasping it to place his chubby fingers on the rim of her cap. “Go ahead, my little lord. It’s all yours.”

  Grinning broadly, Alexander yanked, tugging the cap free and sending Nicole’s dark curls cascading out in a dozen directions. “Mama,” he declared, waving the cap around.

  “I hope so,” Nicole replied solemnly, kissing his brow. “As soon as the wedding’s over and your Uncle Dustin and I can arrange it. You’ll be the first to know.” She shifted his hand over to his own head, placing the jockey’s cap atop it, where it promptly swallowed him down to his chin.

  From beneath the concealing fabric came a coo of delight.

  “Oh, Lord,” Ariana muttered. “Another natural-born horseman. Just what we need.”

  Nicole smiled tenderly from Alexander to Trenton to Ariana. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “For what?” Trenton questioned.

  “For keeping my secret. For offering me your friendship. For welcoming me into your family. And, as a result of all that, for making it incredibly easy to bid Alden Stoddard good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Raggert.” Slumped in a chair, Lanston lifted the bottle of madeira from his desk and dismissed Raggert the instant the trainer burst into the room. “I’m not seeing anyone. Not today, tomorrow, or ever.” So saying, he tossed off another in a countless stream of drinks. “Hence, you can show yourself out.”

  “I don’t think you’ll feel that way once you’ve heard what I have to say.” Raggert shut the study door and crossed over to grip the edge of the desk. “In fact, I think you’ll put down that bottle and get yourself to Epsom.”

  “Care to bet on it?” Lanston inquired, his voice unsteady.

  “Yeah.” Raggert gave a triumphant nod. “Because I’d win.”

  Lanston laughed bitterly and refilled his goblet.

  “Listen to me, Lanston. Our worries are over. We’ve got the perfect opportunity to recoup your money—hell, to make a fortune. And the ironic thing is, we didn’t have to do a bloody thing. This investment opportunity just fell in our laps.”

  Blinking, Lanston rubbed a hand over his bloodshot eyes. “You must be drunker than I am. Investment opportunity? Raggert, I don’t have a shilling to my name. I have nothing to wager other than the shirt on my back and the breath in my body.” A gulp of madeira. “The latter of which our friend Cooper will soon remedy. He’s probably on his way over here right now, ready to go for my throat like a bloodthirsty vulture. Well, he can slit it, for all I care. I’ve tried everything I know how to make the odds work for me—thrashing that damned stallion Dagger, who didn’t become a champion until I sold him to Tyreham, paying you to help me undermine the incomparable marquis, black-mailing every available jockey who’d take the bait. Not to mention Cooper, who’s done things that would make your skin crawl. But after that unexpected disaster at the Derby, my losses are too vast to recoup. I’m finished.” Lanston made a harsh sound of defeat. “If you think about it, it’s almost humorous. I’ve been outdone by a scrawny boy who turned out to be a hero.”

  “A short-term hero,” Raggert retorted, smirking as he leaned closer. “Would you listen to me? It’s about Stoddard. Yesterday, Tyreham got the Stewards of the Jockey Club to agree to let the boy race again—today, in the Oaks Stakes. Tyreham said it was your idea.”

  “It was. Have you come to congratulate me?” Lanston arched a sardonic brow.

  “No. I’ve come to remind you that your filly Chloe is the prime contender in that race, especially with a bloody fine jockey like Baker riding her.”

  “I don’t give a damn. And even if I did, you just told me Stoddard’s been entered. He outran Baker once; no doubt, he can do it again.”

  “No, he can’t. Because he’s not running.”

  “You’re talking in riddles, Raggert.”

  “Then I’ll make it simple, let you know something Lord Tyreham doesn’t. As of a half hour ago, Stoddard quit.”

  The glass paused midway to Lanston’s mouth. “Quit?”

  “Yeah, quit. As in backed out, ran away, fled. He’s scared to death to ride since those billet straps gave out on him. I just left him. He’s so stiff in the saddle, he can’t even get Tyreham’s horse into a trot. So, rather than embarrass the marquis, he bolted.”

  Lanston came slowly to his feet. “And you’re telling me Tyreham knows nothing about this turn of events?”

  “Now you’re catching on. No, Tyreham left early this morning for some business meeting with his brother. He won’t be back until right before the race. Stoddard appealed to me to alert the Stewards to the situation in-order to save Tyreham’s reputation. In fact, that’s where I supposedly am right now—getting them to withdraw Tyreham’s entry so the poor marquis won’t be publicly embarrassed.”

  A slow smile spread across Lanston’s face. “But you’re not with them.”

  “No, instead I’m here advising you to bet a fortune on Baker and Chloe. She’s one hell of a filly, and you’re about to be one hell of a rich man.”

  “The possibilities are limitless,” Lanston laughed, shoving aside the madeira. “Why, I think I’ll make my way over to Epsom early, before Tyreham has a chance to arrive and learn about Stoddard’s desertion. In addition to my official wager, I’ll make Tyreham an enormous personal wager, which the stupid, arrogant fool will take, having not the slightest idea that he’ll be forfeiting the race and all his funds.” Enthusiastically, the earl clapped Raggert on the back. “You, o
n the other hand, will soon be collecting a substantial sum as a token of my gratitude.”

  “I thought you might say that.”

  “I’d better bathe and get dressed.” Lanston glanced distastefully down at his own rumpled apparel. “You hasten back to Tyreham’s estate, lest the marquis return early. We can’t have him discovering our little secret yet, now can we?” A bitter smile. “But when the time is right, when Tyreham does show his pompous face at Epsom, I’ll be waiting. My good friend Dustin has quite an afternoon in store for him.”

  Several hours later, Dustin was thinking much the same thing … but for reasons of his own.

  His mood was buoyant as he settled himself in the box at Epsom, leaving two empty seats between Trenton and himself. “Today’s events are going to yield wonders,” he informed his brother. “I’m feeling extraordinarily lucky this afternoon.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” It was Lanston who answered, having sprinted over the instant he saw Dustin and Trenton arrive, before they had time to learn of Stoddard’s unexpected departure from the turf. “I’m feeling much the same.” A cocky grin. “I’ve come to congratulate you on taking my suggestion and entering Stoddard in the Oaks. I’m sure it will prove to be a lucrative move.”

  “Ah, so you heard about that,” Dustin replied. “Well, I have you to thank for the idea. As you pointed out, Stoddard is far too splendid a jockey to restrict to one race.” Glancing down at the list of scheduled entrants, he added, “I see Baker is running for you again, astride Chloe—a wise choice.”

  “She’s magnificent; a perfect racehorse. I’ve just wagered a small fortune on her victory.”

  “Really? Even knowing Stoddard’s racing Winning Streak against her?”

  A smug nod. “As I said, I’m feeling lucky today. Speaking of which, shall I pay you what I owe you for the Derby?” Lanston reached into his pocket, then paused. “Or shall we raise the stakes and wager it all on the Oaks?”

  “Raise them to what?”

  “Oh, say fifty thousand pounds.”

  “Fifty thousand pounds?” Dustin’s brows shot up, as did the volume of his tone. “You are feeling lucky.” He turned to the cluster of noblemen behind him. “What do you suggest, gentlemen?”

  “Go for it, Tyreham,” one of them declared with a chuckle. “Even if you lose, you’ll never miss the money. Besides, it will make the race that much more interesting for us.”

  A murmur of agreement from the surrounding group.

  With a good-natured grin, Dustin extended his hand to Lanston. “Why not,” he determined with a flourish. “It’ll be gratifying as hell to beat you twice during the course of one meeting.”

  “If you beat me,” Lanston qualified, shaking Dustin’s proffered hand with an equal measure of exuberance.

  “The flag is about to go down,” Trenton observed, glancing about. “I wonder where Ariana and Nicole are?”

  “Nicole?” Lanston inclined his head quizzically in Trenton’s direction. “Who is … ?”

  “Here they are now.” Dustin gestured, and he and Trenton came to their feet as the two women approached. “We were getting concerned about you.”

  “I’m sorry, darling,” Nicole said sweetly, letting Ariana precede her, then taking the seat beside Dustin’s. She smoothed her skirts, glancing up in time to see the flag descend and the race commence. “Ariana and I stopped by to wish Papa luck.”

  “He won’t need it,” Dustin assured her. Capturing her hand in his, he brought her attention to their guest. “Nicole, I think it’s time you met the earl of Lanston.”

  “Lord Lanston.” Nicole acknowledged the introduction with a cool nod.

  “My, my.” Lanston stared, making no attempt to disguise his openly sensual appraisal.

  Dustin’s fingers tightened around Nicole’s. “Lanston, I’d strongly suggest you erase that provocative expression from your face. Nicole is my betrothed.”

  “Your betrothed?” That surprising piece of news diverted Lanston’s attention—both from his hungry assessment of Nicole and from the race. “When did this happen? I knew nothing about it.”

  A warning glint flashed in Dustin’s eyes. “Ah, that’s because I know far more about you than you do about me.”

  A shout from the crowd made Lanston whip about, alerted him to the unexplained excitement rippling around him, as well as the status of the ongoing race.

  Awareness dilated his pupils. “Who’s that in front?”

  “Hmm?” Dustin was deeply absorbed in the race. “Why, Winning Streak, of course.”

  “Winning Streak?” Lanston turned sheet white.

  “Lanston, I’d suggest you get your pound notes ready,” Trenton recommended icily, staring straight ahead, seemingly mesmerized by the event. “Winning Streak is already leading by a full length.”

  Sweat drenched Lanston’s brow. “But I thought …”

  “You thought?” Dustin prompted.

  Abruptly, Lanston’s eyes narrowed on the more heavily muscled legs gripping Winning Streak’s flanks. “That’s not Stoddard.”

  “No, it isn’t. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you—from Raggert?”

  Lanston jerked about as if he’d been struck, a vein throbbing at his temple as he faced Dustin. “What do you mean?”

  “I told you, Lanston. I know a great deal about you. In fact, I know everything.” Enmity tightened Dustin’s features. “Everything.”

  “He’s in front by three lengths, Dustin,” Trenton announced. “And that’s after being absent from the turf for weeks. I’m impressed.”

  “Absent from the …” The earl weaved, clutching the rail beside him. His wild-eyed gaze darted back to the course and froze on the jockey who was racing Dustin’s filly to victory. “Tyreham,” he rasped, “who’s riding Winning Streak?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “Who, dammit?”

  “The most brilliant jockey on the English turf.” It was Nicole who answered, her chin coming up, pride and hatred converging in her tone. “My father.”

  “Your father? Who the hell is—?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Dustin interjected. “I never did have the chance to complete your introductions. Lanston. My betrothed.” A lethal pause. “Nicole Aldridge.”

  Lanston seemed to crumple before their very eyes. “Oh, my God,” he whispered.

  “It’s too late to pray,” Dustin bit out. “Further, I doubt God aids murderers.”

  “I didn’t murder anyone.” Lanston took an inadvertent step backward, looking like a trapped animal who sensed his own doom. “I know what Aldridge heard. He thinks I killed Redley, but I didn’t. Nor did I order Cooper to kill him—he took that upon himself. And he never would have if Redley hadn’t threatened to expose us. That’s the only reason Cooper silenced him. I never wanted anyone hurt. It was just the money.” He dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and began mopping at his face.

  As if on cue, the crowd gave off a cheer.

  “Well, Lanston,” Trenton pronounced over the commotion, “speaking of money, you’d best go home and amass yours. As of now, you have enormous debts to satisfy. Aldridge just took the Oaks—by more lengths than I can count.”

  “Money?” Lanston repeated woodenly. “I’ve nothing left.”

  “In that case, besides being an animal and a culprit, you’re also a pauper.” For the first time, Trenton met Lanston’s gaze head-on, letting the earl see the undisguised fury blazing inside him. “If you hadn’t already hung yourself, I’d kill you for threatening my son, you miserable bastard.”

  Lanston sank to the bench. “Dustin, help me,” he managed.

  “Help you?” Dustin could barely control himself long enough to bait Lanston into finishing what he’d begun: tightening his own noose. “You’re scum, Lanston. You might not have killed Redley, but you sure as hell hired men to kill Aldridge. Cooper, Archer, Parrish—they’re all out on the streets, looking for the very man who just took the Oak
s Stakes. And let’s not forget Raggert. You referred him to me, sent him to Tyreham as your eyes and ears and eventually your muscle. You ordered him to stop Stoddard from winning that Derby any way he had to. But for the grace of God, that poor boy could be dead, too. So could any of the other jockeys he rode against, had Stoddard not been skilled enough to release that saddle where no one would be struck. In short, Lanston, each action I’ve recounted translates into attempted murder.”

  Without pause, Dustin began counting off on his fingers. “Now let’s enumerate your other forms of violence. You hired men to beat Sullivan within an inch of his life, then rehired them to do the same to me. You also sent a warning note to my brother, threatening his son with physical harm. And we have yet to detail the theft, fraud, and blackmail that were involved in your unscrupulous scheme to coerce jockeys into throwing their races. And you’re asking me for help?”

  “It wasn’t meant to be like that.” Lanston was shaking now, dragging his hand through his hair. “No one was supposed to get hurt, only frightened enough to succumb to our demands. I explained to you what happened with Redley. Aldridge was … a necessity. I wish to God he’d never walked into Newmarket that day, never overheard Cooper and me discussing Redley’s death, but he did. Still, if he’d only cooperated with us, demonstrated his allegiance by throwing those bloody races, I wouldn’t have had to instruct Cooper to kill him. But, as things stood, I didn’t know what his position was. Did he intend to blackmail us like Redley did? Or worse, did he intend to use the truth about Redley’s death to undo us, turn us over to the authorities? I agonized over these questions for days, gave Aldridge every chance to change his mind, but he didn’t. Instead, he disappeared. So what choice did I have? I had to have him found and eliminated. As for Stoddard, I told Raggert not to hurt him, only to stop him.”

  “And how did you intend for him to do that—with a polite request?” Dustin shot back incredulously. “You’re twisted, Lanston, deluding yourself into believing that paying others to kill isn’t the same thing as killing. But it is. You’re as guilty as Cooper and Raggert.”