Wishes in the Wind Page 14

  Nicole flushed, securing the pins beneath her cap as she prepared to return to the stables. “I haven’t seen Dustin since he left the cottage yesterday, Papa. By now, he’s probably in Suffolk, meeting with Sully.”

  “I know where he is. But that still doesn’t answer my question, now does it?” Nick tossed the paper aside, abandoning all pretense of reading. “You’ve avoided me since Tyreham took his leave. First, you were exhausted and needed rest—at six o’clock, mind you. You didn’t even emerge for dinner, and if you ate breakfast, I never heard you. You were gone by the time I awoke—at sunrise, by the way. You returned a half hour ago, gulped down some food, and are now preparing to bolt again.”

  “Dagger and I are training for the Derby.”

  “You needn’t remind me. Now, do you intend to answer me? Or are we never going to discuss the marquis?”

  Uneasily, Nicole perched on the arm of her father’s chair. As always, when it came to Dustin, her thoughts were in a breathless, convoluted jumble. Oh, she’d yearned to share with her father the exhilaration resulting from those five precious minutes in the sitting room. But she’d needed time alone. Time to think, to absorb the significance of the monumental step she’d taken—a step that had transported her from meager resistance to wary acceptance—to relive the transitional moments in Dustin’s arms when she’d given up the struggle and yielded the battle.

  God help her if she lost the war.

  Long into the night she’d remained awake, sitting up in her bed, arms wrapped about her knees, wishing locket clutched in her hand. Innocent though she was, she understood—perhaps better than Dustin—the extent of what her concession could cost her. By lowering her emotional guard, granting him entry to her life, she was affording him the opportunity to do what Dustin Kingsley did best: charm his way into—and out of—her heart. Just as he had dozens of women in the past.

  With one difference. Those women had been raised like Dustin: wealthy, sophisticated, marrying for money, straying—albeit discreetly—for pleasure. There seemed to be a tacit understanding among noblewomen that they remained chaste until their wedding day and then, once married and having presented their husbands with a requisite heir, they could seek amusement elsewhere, so long as their indiscretions remained undiscovered. And, in Dustin’s case, they were evidently willing to reverse that order, whether to lure him down the aisle or simply because the pleasure was worth more than the sacrifice, Nicole wasn’t certain. In either case, the whole prospect was unthinkable to her. The gifting of her body was integrally tied to the gifting of her heart. And her heart could be offered but once, accompanied only by the fervent prayer that it not be shattered.

  How, from any perspective, could Dustin avoid shattering it? To begin with, Nicole failed to see any way for him to bridge the gap between them—a gap that, to her, appeared insurmountable, no matter how fervently he professed otherwise. Further, even if he succeeded, what precisely did he want of her? What was Dustin Kingsley’s idea of a commitment? For a provincial commoner like herself, there was but one answer: marriage. Was he prepared to offer that? Or did his notion of permanence extend no further than a long-term mistress or lover?

  That incited another worry. Dustin had declared he wanted more from her than seduction. Did that mean he planned to await her invitation for lovemaking, just as he had her request for a kiss? Or did it mean he intended to keep himself to chaste kisses and caresses, rather than ask for more? The latter was doubtful. But even if such were the case, did he honestly believe that by sparing her virtue, he’d leave her unscathed when they parted? If so, he was wrong. For even if her body remained intact, her soul would not.

  “Nicole.” It was her father’s no-nonsense tone, one that jerked her back to the present and reminded her of the conversation at hand. “I take it by your silence that you’re not ready to discuss Lord Tyreham. Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but I am. In case you’ve forgotten, the man left here yesterday with my permission to continue calling on you. And, given that I’m your father—and that every one of my paternal instincts is berating me for my decision—I want your assurance that it was the right one.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa.” Nicole sighed, covering her father’s hand with hers. “I never intended to exclude you from my thoughts. I just needed a few hours to sort them out. This is all very new to me.” She squeezed his fingers. “First, thank you for granting Dustin permission to continue his visits. I prayed you’d give your approval.”

  “So I noticed,” Nick said gruffly. “Why do you think I relented? And I do mean relented. I’d hardly term it approval.” He massaged his temples. “Lord knows, I’m having second—and third—thoughts. I don’t know what possessed me to give in so easily. Just because you looked at me with those pleading eyes of yours shouldn’t have been enough to make me welcome Tyreham with open arms.”

  “No, it shouldn’t have.” Nicole’s lips curved. “Nor was it. Admit it, Papa. You like him.”

  “You’re damned right, I like him. He wouldn’t have set foot in here the first time if I didn’t—job or no job. Not only do I like him but, for whatever it’s worth, I believe he’s sincere.” A speculative pause. “Apparently, so do you.”

  She could actually feel her heartbeat accelerate. “Yes, Papa, I do—like him and believe he’s sincere. I can’t explain why, but I’ve trusted Dustin from the instant we met. What’s more, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him nor longing to be in his company.” Her lashes lowered. “I, better than anyone, realize that for any one of a hundred reasons, it would be better for all of us if I severed this before it began. The fact is, I can’t seem to do it.”

  “Maybe that’s because it’s already begun.”

  Nicole’s startled gaze met her father’s.

  “Nickie.” Nick’s expression was sober, his voice rough as gravel. “There’s another reason I’m sticking to my decision about Tyreham’s visits, other than your obvious feelings and my respect for the man. A reason that didn’t come to me till dawn. All night I lay awake, alternately reminding myself how decent and honest he’s been, then remembering his bloody reputation and deciding to change my mind and turn him away. By sunrise, I found myself at a loss, staring off into space and wishing your mother were alive. That’s when it came to me.” Nick drew a slow, unsteady breath. “If Alicia were here, I know exactly what she’d say. She’d say I had no business coming between you and what could be the future fate has in store for you. Fate, she’d remind me, was wiser than logic and passion combined, more profound than logic, more objective than passion.”

  “I remember,” Nicole replied softly. “Wishes and fate. Mama trusted in both.”

  A spark of memory lit Nick’s eyes. “Wishes and fate. That’s what she said the day I proposed to her. I knew bloody well I hadn’t the right to make her mine; her being a well-bred young lady and my being a jockey with scarcely a shilling to my name. But Alicia never hesitated. She said we were meant to be, that she’d wished us to be. She left a respectable family to marry a man with nothing to offer but his love and his dreams.”

  “You realized those dreams, Papa,” Nicole defended at once. “You became the most renowned jockey in England. And in the interim, it was that love that sustained us.”

  “I know, Elf.” Nick patted her hand tenderly. “All the more reason that if Tyreham really is the right man for you, I’d be a bloody hypocrite to deny you the same chance at happiness your mother and I had. Two different people from different worlds who loved each other enough to get by. Oh, don’t get me wrong—it was hard as hell sometimes. I was used to taking care of myself, coming and going as I pleased with no one home worrying about me. Alicia was used to staying put, going to church on Sundays, and eating a family dinner at seven o’clock each night. We each gave a little, took a little, and somehow it all worked out. In your case, the adjustment would be even harder. Tyreham’s a marquis, for God’s sake. A marquis with a lot of money and a lot of women.” Shaking his head, Nick muttered, “
Half of me wants to call him out now and shoot him before it’s too late. But for your sake, for your mother and the magic she brought to my life, I’ll wait, let you follow your heart, and pray—should it lead to Tyreham—that he doesn’t break it. Because if he does, so help me, if he hurts you in any way, he’ll answer to me, title or no title.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Moved beyond words, Nicole hugged her father fiercely. “You’re a wonderful man. Mama made a superb choice—the only choice.”

  Nick swallowed. “We were blessed, your mother and I. But as I said, it wasn’t easy. It took strength and patience and grit—all of which you have and which I prayed you’d never need.” He gripped Nicole’s arms, held her away from him. “Are you scared, Elf?”

  “Terrified.”

  “Good. You should be.” He tugged lightly at the rim of her cap. “Be careful, Nickie. You’ve got my spunk, but your mother’s heart. Guard it well—it’s the only one you’ve got.” With an awkward cough, he came to his feet. “Now go exercise that stallion of yours. Have you got him cantering yet?”

  “As of this morning, yes.” Taking her father’s cue, Nicole jumped up, perceiving his tacit need to change the subject. “Dagger moves with such grace, it’s more like sailing than riding. I plan to take a few low fences this afternoon, just to reinforce our timing and technique. If all goes well, I’ll accelerate the pace tomorrow and gallop the length of the course. Brackley can time us.” A triumphant grin. “Dustin will return from Suffolk, and his new trainer will arrive to find Dagger and me ready for Epsom—a full week earlier than expected.”

  Rather than sharing her excitement, Nick scowled, his eyes darting restlessly about the room. “I hope Tyreham will have learned enough to end this farce and get me back on the turf where I belong.”

  Nicole’s elation faded. “Papa, I know you’re fidgety …” she began.

  “Fidgety? I’m losing my bloody mind. That list I gave your marquis, together with whoever else Sully adds to it, had better yield some results.”

  “It will,” Nicole assured him. “If there are answers, Dustin will find them.”

  Dustin was hoping much the same thing.

  Leaning forward, he glanced out the carriage window, taking in the rolling countryside of Suffolkshire.

  He’d arrived at his destination.

  For the umpteenth time, he unfolded the list Aldridge had given him, wondering where this investigation would lead. With any luck, to the truth. Then Aldridge would be free and Nicole would be his.

  He grinned at his own arrogance. Oh, it wouldn’t be easy. Nicole was as stubborn as she was beautiful. But eventually, if he had to move heaven and earth, he would make it happen.

  Tenderly, Dustin recalled yesterday’s kiss, the dazed wonder in Nicole’s eyes and the all-too-transparent emotion on her face as she’d granted him the permission he sought. God, how he wanted to make that look last forever.

  He had his work cut out for him. Winning Nicole over, convincing her that his motives were as decent as hers, was going to be a mammoth task, especially given her denigrating view of his reputation. Still, he’d achieved his initial victory: persuading her to accept his visits. Two victories, he amended silently. Not only had Nicole invited him back, so had her father.

  Recalling the uncertainty on Aldridge’s face, the warring emotions in his eyes, Dustin felt a wave of compassion. The man obviously adored his daughter. ’Twas no wonder he felt reluctant to place her in the hands of a notoriously wanton aristocrat.

  Well, those misgivings would vanish soon enough.

  “Here we are, sir,” Dustin’s driver called out, bringing the carriage to a halt.

  Snapping out of his reverie, Dustin shoved the list back in his pocket and, without waiting for assistance, opened the carriage door and climbed down.

  At first glance, the half-timbered cottage looked to be deserted. Dustin scowled. Aldridge had said nothing about Sullivan traveling elsewhere after Newmarket. Assumedly, he was home. That being the case, Dustin had dispatched a rather cryptic message late last night, advising Sullivan of the pressing need for them to meet early this morning. It should have been enough. After all, though the man wasn’t aware of Dustin’s role in all this, he did know Aldridge was living at Tyreham. Therefore, he had to have guessed that the subject of the meeting pertained to his friend.

  So where the hell was he?

  Dustin raised his fist and knocked.

  The door, of its own accord, swung open.

  A warning bell sounded in Dustin’s head, and he stepped inside. “Sullivan?”

  No answer.

  Puzzled, he glanced about the narrow hallway, plagued by the nagging feeling that something was amiss. Other than the partially opened door, there was no evidence to support his suspicion. The furnishings, so far as he could see, were intact, showing no evidence of an intruder. Still …

  “Sullivan!” he called again.

  Was it his imagination, or had he heard a rustle from farther within?

  He hesitated, knowing he was trespassing, weighing his options.

  A low moan reached his ears.

  Tossing caution to the wind, Dustin stalked the sound, which led him into what appeared to be the cottage’s sole bedchamber.

  “Sulliv—” He broke off, seeing the crumpled form lying in the center of the room. “Dammit.” He reached the man’s side in an instant. Kneeling, he eased him gently to his back to assess the extent of the jockey’s injuries.

  They were bad.

  Blood covered much of his face and head, his clothing torn, his eyes swollen shut. The only sign of a struggle was the lamp overturned alongside the bed and the pile of bedcovers Sullivan had apparently been clutching when he went down. Evidently, he’d been either surprised or overpowered. The latter, at the very least, Dustin guessed. If the assailants were the same burly hoodlums who’d visited Tyreham, Sullivan’s slight jockey’s build would be no match for their strength.

  “Sullivan, can you hear me? It’s Tyreham.”

  With the greatest of efforts, one eye slitted open. “Tyre … ham.”

  “You’re badly hurt. Lie still. I’ll do what I can.”

  Rising, Dustin searched the cottage until he found the kitchen. Once there, he promptly located a pitcher, filling it with cold water and carrying it back to Sullivan’s chambers. Next, he unearthed a pile of clean handkerchiefs, several of which he soaked in the water, the remainder of which he set aside to serve as bandages.

  Sullivan groaned at the first contact of the cold cloth against his skin, but he didn’t—or couldn’t—fight Dustin’s efforts. With a black scowl, Dustin confirmed that whoever had done this had been thorough as hell, inflicting injuries that were severe, but not fatal. It didn’t surprise him. His guess was that the assailants wanted Sullivan alive enough—and frightened enough—to tell them Aldridge’s whereabouts. Or, in the event he refused to cooperate, to alert Aldridge to the attack the instant he was able, thus leading them straight to Tyreham. Even if Sullivan were smart enough to do neither, the bastards would undoubtedly make sure Aldridge got word of the beating, knowing that loyalty would compel him to rush to his friend’s side. At which point, they would descend upon him like a pack of wolves.

  Dustin finished bandaging Sullivan’s major wounds, then slipped a pillow beneath his head and covered him with a blanket. In truth, the jockey was light enough for one man to lift. But Dustin didn’t dare hoist him onto the bed, for fear of worsening the injuries. Especially if there were broken bones or internal bleeding.

  “Tyreham,” Sullivan muttered again.

  “I’m here.”

  One arm reached up weakly, plucked at Dustin’s sleeve. “Don’t … tell anyone.”

  Dustin nodded, understanding far more than Sullivan realized. “I know Aldridge is living at Tyreham,” he said quietly. “Along with my new jockey. I’ve told no one. I intend to tell no one. I’m guessing that whoever did this to you suspects you know Aldridge’s whereabouts and tried to
convince you to share the location with them. Am I right?”

  Despite his badly swollen features, there was no mistaking the surprise on Sullivan’s face. “How … did …”

  “It’s a long story. We’ll discuss it later. For now, let me summon a physician. I’ll pay him enough to ensure his silence. But those wounds need to be professionally treated.”

  A long hesitation.

  “Sullivan, Aldridge will have my hide if I don’t take proper care of you.”

  Dustin’s comment elicited a pained glimmer of amusement. “You’re … right. Go ahead.”

  Squelching his myriad questions, Dustin rode into the village, returning in an hour with a man he’d discreetly learned was a skilled and trustworthy physician. He waited patiently while the man did his job, then had the Tyreham driver escort him home—after slipping a hundred-pound note in his palm and eliciting his promise never to discuss this incident with anyone.

  Retracing his steps, Dustin found Sullivan propped up in bed, looking much improved, his breathing and color restored to normal.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Sullivan angled his head in Dustin’s direction. “Better. What did you tell the physician?”

  “Only that you owed a bit of money to some unsavory characters who extracted their pound of flesh.” Dustin shrugged. “He understood how embarrassing it would be for you if the turf learned of the incident. That and the money I gave him was enough to ensure his silence. Don’t worry, Sullivan. No one will hear of this episode.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Sullivan said, shoulders sagging with relief.

  “No thanks are necessary.” Dustin pulled up a chair. “However, a conversation is. Are you up for talking?”

  A wary look crossed Sully’s face—one that had nothing to do with discomfort and everything to do with loyalty.

  “I’ll begin by telling you what I know,” Dustin offered. “That way, you won’t feel you’re endangering the Aldridges by having this chat.” Noting the stunned lift of Sully’s brows, Dustin grinned. “Yes, I know I’m housing both Aldridges. And, to be frank, your friend is less difficult to manage than his daughter.”