Wishes in the Wind Page 6

  “Doesn’t she?” Dustin drew her closer. “You’ve haunted me for two nights you know. Which leads me to another why. Why did you run away? Did you think I meant you or your father harm?”

  “It wasn’t you. I would have run from anyone who approached me.” She hesitated.

  “Nicole, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, I already know far more than you originally intended. You might as well tell me the rest. And, sweetheart, you can trust me.”

  Slowly, she nodded. “I do trust you. I have from the start. I’m not certain why, but I do.” She inhaled sharply. “There are horrible men after Papa—and all because he’s honest and won’t succumb to their demands to forfeit races.”

  “Money. Why am I not surprised?” Dustin’s jaw tightened fractionally. “Have you seen these men?”

  “No, but I’ve witnessed their threats firsthand.” In a rush, she detailed what had happened after the 2,000 Guineas when she discovered the ominous message in Oberon’s stall. “Papa and I fled Newmarket then and there. The thought of losing Papa—I was terrified. I still am. Then I met you, and your kindness meant more than I can say. But when you pressed for my full name, I panicked. Given Papa’s fame, I knew you’d recognize the surname Aldridge the instant I said it. And, being that Sully had just circulated the rumor that Papa was recuperating in Scotland, I couldn’t risk your guessing that if Nick Aldridge’s daughter were still in London, Nick would be, too. So I bolted.”

  “‘Sully’?” Dustin pounced on her reference.

  “Gordon Sullivan. The only other person who knows Papa’s whereabouts.”

  “Ah, yes, Sullivan.” A nod. “I’ve seen him race. He’s a fine jockey.”

  “He’s also our closest friend. He helped us locate safe quarters, then spread the news of Nick Aldridge’s supposed injury. The rest was up to me.”

  “Up to you?”

  “Yes. I convinced Papa to entrust me with the responsibility of earning our wages, at least for a time. After fifteen years, I was more than able to fulfill the requirements of any job in the thoroughbred world.”

  “As a boy.”

  “As a boy,” Nicole confirmed. “But first, I had to find an available position. In order to do that, I had to pore over the ads of every newspaper I could get my hands on, which meant I had to venture onto the streets of London to buy those newspapers.” She grimaced. “So I dressed the only way I could to ensure concealment—in the reprehensible apparel I had on the night we met.”

  “You looked lovely.” Dustin couldn’t help but grin at her shudder of revulsion—the complete antithesis of any reaction he’d ever received from a lady. “The only way you could ensure concealment …” he repeated. “Am I to conclude you don’t often don conventional attire?”

  “Never, if I can help it. I only own two gowns, and those I bought just to appease Papa. Only for him would I have suffered the misery of wearing that ridiculous day dress. Not to mention that torturous corset, which nearly succeeded in suffocating me to death.”

  Laughter rumbled from Dustin’s chest. “So that was the cause of your near swoon.”

  “Corsets should be declared illegal,” she informed him with a lift of her chin.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He caressed her nape, keenly attuned to her tiny quivers of pleasure. “I’ll remember never to suggest that you wear one.” His voice grew husky. “We have yet to probe the question, what do I want of Nicole?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Don’t be.” He tipped her head up to his. “One kiss,” he urged, nipping at her lower lip. “The same one we began but never finished.”

  “Dustin—” The bewildered expression was back on her face. “Given the circumstances, I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “But, as I told you, I believe in taking risks, especially when my instincts scream out that I should.” He drew her close.

  “My instincts are shouting just the opposite,” she whispered, wide-eyed.

  “In that case, let’s listen to mine.”

  With that, his mouth closed over hers, silencing her protests and completing the awakening that had begun two nights before, on a private bench along a moonlit walk.

  A kiss—Dustin knew it only as a prelude to passion, the preliminary step in an age-old dance that culminated in bed.

  Not so with Nicole.

  The sweetness of her mouth, the hesitant parting of her lips as she silently granted him entry, was a breathtaking entity unto itself, as foreign as it was humbling. Trembling with emotion, Dustin enfolded her in his arms, deepening the kiss in deliberate, gradual shimmers of sensation. His tongue glided inside, softly stroking every velvety surface, learning every delicate texture. Then it sought hers, melding in an exquisite, shattering caress more poignant than anything he’d ever experienced.

  Nicole felt the impact, too, for she stiffened, clinging and retreating all at once.

  “Don’t.” Dustin breathed the protest into her open mouth, tightening his embrace even as he ordered himself to slow, to remember her innocence, her inexperience with men.

  He felt as inexperienced as she.

  “Stay.” His lips circled hers. “Just a moment longer—stay.”

  She paused, and he could actually feel her indecision.

  Cautiously, he repeated the caress, his tongue penetrating, sliding sensuously against hers.

  She melted, moaning softly and entwining her arms about his neck.

  “Yes,” he managed, shuddering at the. unbearable beauty of the contact. “Nicole … kiss me.” He molded her against him, feeling the pounding of her heart, the fragility of her form, the awakening of her response.

  On and on the kiss went, tenderness melding with fire, the intensity escalating until it was nearly unbearable.

  Abruptly, Nicole pulled away. “No.”

  “Yes.” He reached for her, scowling as she backed off.

  “I can’t,” she gasped, wildly shaking her head as if searching for a rational reason for her actions. “W-we come from different worlds.” She continued to retreat; Dustin continued to advance. “I work for you,” she tried, feeling the door behind her, tugging at the handle only to recall he’d locked it. “I’m supposed to be a man,” she burst out.

  That had the desired effect.

  Halting, Dustin stared at her, the ironic significance of her words sinking in. “Damn.” He raked a hand through his hair, his gaze roving restlessly from her jockey’s attire back to her kiss-swollen lips, the contrast slapping him like a douse of cold water.

  Sharply, he inhaled. “We have a problem, Derby.”

  The affectionate term brought frustrated tears to her eyes. “Don’t retract your offer,” she entreated. “Let me ride for you—and not just because of my dreams to race. Because of Papa. Please, Dustin. I’ll stay away from you. We’ll never kiss again—I promise.”

  Whatever he’d been about to say vanished in the wake of her ludicrous vow. “What did you say?”

  “I said we’ll never kiss again. You have my word.”

  His chuckle erupted with a will all its own. “And you have my word we will kiss again. As for your unfounded apology, let me remind you that you didn’t initiate the kiss. I did.”

  She contemplated that truth. “Very well, then, I promise to unman you if you ever initiate another.”

  Dustin’s shoulders shook. “How comforting. I appreciate the warning, Derby. I’ll be sure to protect myself against oncoming injury the next time I take you in my arms.” Noting her drawn expression, he sobered, a wave of tenderness constricting his chest. “Alden Stoddard—what made you choose that name? The Alden, I assume, you derived from Aldridge.”

  A flicker of hope invaded Nicole’s eyes. “Yes, I did. I wanted a bit of Papa with me when I raced. As for Stoddard—” She smiled. “It means ‘keeper of horses.’”

  “Most fitting.” Dustin extracted his handkerchief, gently drying her eyes. “It appears my handkerchief is being put to
use after all.”

  “It appears so.”

  Their gazes locked.

  “Well, Stoddard,” Dustin emphasized the name, glancing over to consult the clock, “I suggest you take your leave. You’ll need time to collect your belongings and your father, then return to Tyreham for a good night’s sleep. I’ll have the cottage stocked with food. Training begins tomorrow at six A.M.”

  Nicole’s smile was radiant. “Thank you, Dustin,” she whispered. Self-consciously, she cleared her throat, lowering her voice to a slightly deeper pitch. “Six A.M., my lord,” Alden Stoddard replied with a nod. “I’ll be at the stables—ready to train for our victory at Epsom.”

  “Coop? We’re here.”

  In the process of grooming his chestnut mare, Farley Cooper gave no sign that he’d heard the muffled proclamation. To the contrary, he kept his gaze fixed on the horse rather than raising it to the two men who’d, moments ago, entered his darkened stables.

  Approaching boots plodded through the muck, then fell silent, alerting Coop to his visitors’ proximity.

  “Did you hear me?” the heavyset man pressed. “We’re back from Tyreham. We had our chat with the marquis.”

  “I heard you, Parrish.” Coop smoothed his horse’s velvet coat. “But before I listen to another word, did you make sure no one saw you come in here?”

  “It’s nearly midnight, Coop. Who the hell would be at your stables except us and the horses?”

  “I said, did you make sure?” Coop snapped.

  “Yeah, we made sure,” the second visitor piped up. “The place is deserted. So are the grounds.”

  “Good.” The brush stroked downward and paused. “So, what did you learn from Lord Tyreham?”

  “That he doesn’t like to be threatened.” Parrish scowled, remembering the marquis’s surprisingly muscular build, his lethal reaction to the very mention of his nephew. “He’s sure as hell not soft like most blue bloods. In fact, he’s damned menacing when he’s mad.”

  “I didn’t ask for an assessment of his character,” Coop spat. “I asked what you learned from him. Did Aldridge answer Tyreham’s ad or not?”

  “Not accordin’ to the marquis.” Parrish shook his head. “And even if I thought he was lyin’, which I don’t, Archer and I have been snoopin’ around that estate for two days now. Especially the stables. And neither one of us saw any sign of Aldridge.”

  “I don’t see why Tyreham would hire a jockey he means to stash away, Coop,” Archer commented, scratching his head. “Maybe Aldridge really is in Scotland.”

  “Maybe.” Coop abandoned his task, dragging a scarred forearm across his brow, and veering slowly to face them. “But we know damned well he’s not hurt. Scared probably, but not hurt.”

  “Who cares?” Parrish shrugged. “Wherever he is, he’s not racin’. So who needs him? I say we let him rot.”

  “You say?” A warning flashed in Coop’s eyes. “You’re not paid to think, Parrish, you’re paid to act. And I say we try a different approach to unearth Aldridge.”

  Parrish scowled, failing to hear or heed the implicit threat in Coop’s reprisal. “There’s no point,” he persisted. “Aldridge is useless to us if he’s not in the saddle. So why are we wastin’ our time …”

  He never completed his statement.

  In one motion, Coop whipped a blade from his boot and shoved Parrish against the wall, the knife at his throat. “Shut up, you stupid fool,” he hissed. “Or I’ll carve you into little pieces. I said I want Aldridge. More specifically, our employer wants Aldridge—no matter where he is or what he’s doing. The reasons don’t matter, the outcome does. So, if you both want to stay healthy”—his glance darted to Archer, watching him flinch as the blade nicked Parrish’s skin, drawing a drop of blood—“you’d better find him. Fast. Have I made my point?”

  “Yeah, Coop. You made it,” Parrish squeaked.

  An instant later he was freed, and he leaned against the wall, snatching up a nearby cloth and pressing it to his neck. “You want us to go to Glasgow and search?”

  “Search where, you dimwit? Glasgow is a city, not a village. What would you do, comb the streets asking each passerby if he’d seen a wayward jockey?”

  “What about startin’ with Aldridge’s relatives—you know, the cousins of his dead wife? Wouldn’t he be stayin’ with them like the rumors say?”

  “First of all, rumors are rarely fact—especially if they’re started by a man who chooses not to be found. Second, our employer has used all his resources to uncover these supposed cousins. They’ve vanished from the face of the earth, if they ever existed at all. So, we’re back where we started. Even if Aldridge is in Glasgow, we don’t know where he’s hiding. He might very well have assumed a disguise and a new identity to keep from being found. Besides”—Coop’s lips curved into an ugly smile—“my guess is there’s a much easier way to get our hands on him. Rather than scour the whole British Isles, we’ll simply get him to come to us.”

  “And how do we do that?” Archer asked cautiously.

  “Through Sullivan.”

  “Sullivan?” Parrish blinked. “He’s Aldridge’s best friend. He’s sure as hell not goin’ to help us find him.”

  “Not willingly. But with a bit of persuasion.”

  “You want us to rough him up a little?”

  “No, I want you to rough him up a lot. And not only with your fists. Use whatever tools you need. Make it messy, but not fatal. We need Sullivan alive. I want news to reach Aldridge that, just to discover his whereabouts, you thrashed his buddy within an inch of his life. As for Sullivan, I want him coherent and so terrified that, if he does know where Aldridge is, he’ll happily furnish us with the address. Or at the very least, he’ll wire Aldridge on his own and plead with him to reemerge.”

  “What if Sullivan doesn’t know Aldridge’s hidin’ place?”

  “Then we wait. It shouldn’t take long for Aldridge to get wind of Sullivan’s brutal beating. I expect he’ll be on the next rail home.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do indeed. Remember, Aldridge has just two weaknesses, his daughter and his old pal Sully. And since the little chit Nicole is tagging along with her father, Sullivan is our only remaining bait. Further, devotion aside, you know how honorable”—the word was a bitter sneer—“Aldridge is. If he won’t throw a race, he sure as hell won’t sacrifice his friend’s life to save his own neck.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I know I’m right.” Pensively, Coop regarded the tip of his blade. “Grab Sullivan at home, not the stables. That would be too risky, especially given how thorough a job you need to do and how much time it’ll take to do it right. You know where he lives.” His gaze shifted back to his henchmen. “Now get on it.”

  Glancing at Archer, Parrish shifted uncomfortably, still holding the cloth to his neck. “Uh, Coop—I know you’re busy”—he wet his lips—“but you did say we’d get our money after we finished with Tyreham.”

  “No,” Coop corrected, a paralyzing gleam reigniting his eyes. “I said you’d get a portion of your money after you finished with Tyreham. How much of it depended on how much information you unearthed—which, in this case, is nil. What’s more, I have a strong aversion to greed, especially when the bastards who display it haven’t done a thing to earn their keep.” His grip on the knife tightened until his knuckles were white. “And I have an even stronger aversion to being pressured.”

  “C-Coop …” Sweat broke out on Parrish’s brow.“—we didn’t mean …”

  “Don’t do it again.” Coop shoved his free hand into his pocket, extracting several five-pound notes. “Here.” He tossed the money at Parrish’s feet, waiting until the frightened thug had snatched it up. “Split that with Archer,” he commanded. “It’s all you’re going to see until you’ve finished this job. Now get the hell out. And don’t come back until Sullivan’s been taken care of and Aldridge is on his way home.”

  “Okay, Coop.” Archer h
ad already begun backing off.

  Parrish glanced at Archer, then at the meager amount he held. Hastily, he straightened, abandoning all thought of arguing the insufficient sum. “Thanks, Coop,” he muttered, inching away a hairbreadth behind Archer. “We’ll take care of everything.”

  “You’d better. I react even more violently to being failed than I do to being pressured.” With callous deliberation, Coop stared down at his scarred forearm, kneading the disfigured skin. “Needless to say, so does our employer.”

  Five

  “PAPA, I’VE TAKEN CARE of everything.” Nicole glanced out the cottage window, noting that the sun was beginning to peek its head up over the horizon. “Why are you behaving like an ornery tiger?”

  “Because I feel like one, that’s why.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, Nicole tucked the final pin into her upswept hair, tugging at her cap to make certain it wouldn’t budge.

  “Why not clamp your hair down with steel bands?” Nick muttered, glaring at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “You’ve already done that to your chest.”

  Nicole bristled, unused to her father’s disapproval—or his explicit references to her figure. “I’m doing what I must.” She eyed herself critically, making certain the binding beneath her shirt was doing its job. Satisfied that her curves were totally concealed, she crossed the cottage’s small but cozy kitchen and poured herself some coffee. “What’s more, you knew what I intended when I responded to the marquis’s ad. Disguising myself as a boy was a crucial part of my plan. I wore this binding when I left for my interview yesterday, and you did no more than grumble. So why have you been ranting since I returned with the news that I’d gotten the position?”

  “Because a few unexpected changes accompanied you back from Tyreham,” Nick retorted, slamming his cup to the table. “None of which I had time to consider during our flight from the inn. Hell, I scarcely had enough time to wire our new address to Sully. But I’ve had plenty of time to think since then. And I’m furious at myself for allowing you to push me into this insanity.”