Wishes in the Wind (29 page)

Her words, the look in her eyes, were ingrained in Dustin’s mind with all the clarity of the most vivid rainbow.

He’d won her love.

Now it was time to obliterate her terror.

With a wave of gratitude, Dustin acknowledged the crucial support he’d gained during their celebratory feast. Nick Aldridge had, at last, crossed that invisible threshold between certainty and uncertainty, thus becoming an ally. In addition, Nicole had finally agreed to discuss their future together; hell, to even admit they
had
a future together.

Still, he was a long way from realizing that future. He had to resolve this blasted mystery, give Aldridge back his life, and, most importantly, convince Nicole that their love could—
would
—triumph over their differences, sustain whatever trials life had to offer.

None of which he was accomplishing here. In fact, he was wasting precious time that could be spent looking for his one-time jockey, Alberts, who had doubtless been alerted to Dustin’s interrogation by now, and sprinted as far away as possible; time that could be spent preparing for the upcoming Derby.

Time that could be spent with Nicole.

He had to leave Newmarket. He’d stop only long enough to ensure Sullivan’s well-being, then return to Tyreham.

Resolutely, Dustin headed toward the spot just outside the racing grounds where he and Saxon had prearranged to meet.

Halfway there, he stopped.

Directly before him, angled and empty, was his carriage, several hundred feet from where he’d left it. Alongside the carriage stood Saxon who, upon glimpsing his employer, signaled him by indicating the wiry man who was struggling to free himself from Saxon’s iron grasp.

Evidently, Alberts hadn’t bolted fast enough.

“My lord?” Saxon began as Dustin reached his side. “Forgive me, sir, but I was bringing the carriage around as you instructed, when this poor fellow—Mr. Alberts, I believe he said his name was—stepped in my path. I tried to veer off, but one of the horses didn’t respond fast enough and clipped the gentleman’s shoulder. Mr. Alberts is being most noble about this, assuring me he’s unharmed.” Saxon glanced at the sputtering man, whose head was lowered in a frantic attempt to avoid being recognized. “But I’d feel infinitely better if you would check for yourself. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for injuring someone.”

Dustin’s stunned gaze flickered from Alberts to Saxon.

Saxon arched one brow ever so slightly.

Stifling laughter, Dustin joined in the game. “Of course I’ll check. Alberts, did you say?” With apparent surprise, he caught the jockey’s forearms, shifting him from Saxon’s hold to his own. “Why, it
is
you. Alberts and I are well acquainted,” he explained to Saxon. “In fact, he once rode for me. What a coincidence that it’s my carriage he happened to stumble into.”

“I didn’t stumble,” Alberts muttered, raising his chin as he realized his anonymity was gone. “This blasted driver of yours nearly ran me down. I was leaving Newmarket when he sped out of nowhere.”

“Leaving Newmarket?” Dustin frowned, outwardly puzzled. “But I assumed you’d just arrived. I’ve been here since the onset and haven’t seen any sign of you.”

“I-I’m not racing.” A dark look. “You, better than anyone, know why. You’re the one who ruined my reputation when you discharged me.”

“No, Alberts. That you accomplished on your own.” A thoughtful pause. “If you’re not racing, why are you here?”

“Is it against the law for a man to cheer his friends on?”

“Only if the reason he’s cheering them on is because they’re throwing races and sharing illegal profits with him.”

A flicker of fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? It makes good sense to me. If you can’t get a job, you can’t throw a race. But you can find substitute riders who, if they’re willing to supply you with a portion of their earnings, you agree to introduce to the appropriate backers. Could you have come to Newmarket for that purpose?”

Again, Alberts began to struggle. “Like I said, I came to see my friends, but I changed my mind. I was leaving when this bloody madman almost killed me.”

“Well, it appears you survived the ordeal,” Dustin observed, glancing at the supposedly injured arm which, like its counterpart, was moving to and fro in Alberts’s attempts to free himself. “Therefore, I needn’t summon a physician. However, I have a fine idea. As it happens, I’m also on my way out. Permit me to escort you wherever it is you wish to go.”

“I don’t want you to escort me anywhere. I’ll find my own way.”

“Nonsense. Taking you to your destination is the least I can do. After all, it was my driver who nearly struck you down.” Dustin shoved Alberts into the carriage and climbed in after him, firmly shutting the door in his wake. “Now, where was it you were heading? Or shall I say, fleeing to? And which of the jockeys at this meeting have you convinced to forfeit their races?”

Alberts groped at the carriage’s other door handle, only to find his escape blocked by Saxon’s formidable presence. “What do you want from me?” he demanded.

“Answers.” Abandoning the restraint he’d exhibited while in public, Dustin leaned forward, coiled and ready to strike. “You collected a thousand pounds for throwing my races at the fall meeting. Who paid you?”

“No one.”

“Shall I beat the information out of you? I’d be delighted to. In fact, I’d feel vindicated.”

The jockey paled, balking at the leashed violence in Dustin’s tone. “What do you aim to do with me?” he asked, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap.

“That depends on whether or not you answer me.” Dustin’s jaw tightened menacingly. “Consider this, Alberts. You’re in my carriage, alone and unarmed. You’re also without a job, thanks to your unscrupulousness. No one would notice or give a damn if you were to disappear—and I don’t mean only from Newmarket. Now, I repeat, who paid you?”

Albert’s pallor intensified. “Two men,” he blurted. “Not counting their friend with the scars. They told me what they wanted, offered me enough money to make it worth my while, and disappeared.”

Dustin had stopped listening an instant earlier. “Their friend with the scars?”

Recognizing his
faux pas,
Alberts again searched frantically for a way out, this time gauging the distance between Dustin and the door.

“Don’t even consider it,” Dustin warned, maneuvering himself until he was angled on the carriage seat. “Now, tell me about this scarred man.”

“There’s nothing to tell. He showed up at the paddock for a minute, gave the other men some instructions, then he left. The brawny one and the black-eyed one did the talking, at least to me.”

“Their friend—describe him. Where were his scars, on his face?”

“No. On his forearm. Lots of them.” Alberts shuddered. “It wasn’t pretty. Neither was he. He was hard as hell looking, like he’d just as soon kill you as not. The kind you don’t want to meet on London Bridge after midnight.” Renewed fear slashed across his face. “The kind you don’t want to cross. Understand?”

Dustin lunged forward and grasped Alberts’s shirt, dragging him up off the seat. “I understand. Now, it’s time you did the same. I want you to tell me every bloody detail you remember about this scarred man. Then I want you to get on a ship and take an extended holiday. Not only because you’re terrified of this scoundrel who, if he learns you’ve been talking to me, will take you apart piece by piece, but because your already floundering career will be over if you remain. Why? Because I’ll report you to the Jockey Club and ensure that your license is revoked and that you don’t work another day for the rest of your life. So, I’d suggest you take that vacation.” Dustin slid one hand into his pocket and extracted some bills. “I’ll give you two thousand pounds. Disappear until the fall meeting. Maybe by then those ruffians will have forgotten you, and, if I’m in a generous mood, I might help you get another retainer, albeit small. Maybe. And that’s only if I feel confident that you never intend to act unlawfully again.” Dustin dangled the money before Alberts’s ashen features. “Well? Have we a deal?”

“Yeah.” The jockey snatched the money. “He’s tall, maybe a little bit shorter than you. He’s got a thin nose and light brown hair. His build is only average, not real powerful or anything. But he’s scary looking—it’s something in his eyes. They’re like chips of ice. Blue ice. Also, it’s the way he moves. Like a cat about to spring for its supper.”

“How was he dressed?”

A shrug. “Same as me. Only not in racing colors. He looked like a regular stable hand. He’s not a blue blood, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I mean.” Dustin searched Alberts’s face, then flung him away. “I’m going to make sure no one is about who might ask questions. When I announce that it’s safe, I want you to get out and walk away. Don’t repeat this conversation to anyone and don’t show your face in England until September. Now, do
you
understand?”

Nervously, Alberts nodded.

“Good.” Dustin eased from the carriage and stretched, glancing idly about. Other than Lanston, who was chatting a short distance away with several other owners, the area was clear. Dustin leaned into the carriage, muttering, “On your way, Alberts.”

The wiry man was out and gone in a flash.

“Did things go to your liking, my lord?” Saxon inquired, strolling around from the other side of the carriage.

“Yes. Finally, I learned something I didn’t already know.” Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “But before I divulge the details, how the hell did you know who Alberts was, much less that I wanted to detain him?”

Saxon’s lips curved. “Unearthing information is what you pay me to do, sir. While you’ve been probing for clues, I’ve been listening outside the stands. One of the benefits of being a driver is that in the eyes of the aristocracy you’re invisible. Two of the Jockey Club Stewards wandered by me, engaged in conversation. When I heard your name mentioned, my ears perked up. They were discussing Alberts and his failing career. One of them brought up the fact that you’d dismissed him. I found myself wondering if he could be one of the jockeys you intended to interrogate. An hour later, Parker—who I believe was the first rider I saw you question and who, incidentally, was the pathetic lad who’d intended to throw a race and share the profits with Alberts—waylaid a man as he arrived at Newmarket. He called the fellow Alberts, informed him that their ‘arrangement’ was off, and suggested that he leave, given that you were grilling those you suspected of throwing races. As luck would have it, you were, at that moment, making your way from the course. I saw you. So did Parker and Alberts. Parker darted off. Alberts prepared to flee. I couldn’t allow that to happen. So, at the right instant, I modified his plans. It was simply a matter of timing.”

Dustin shook his head in amazement. “Your uncle was right. You are extraordinary.”

“Just doing my job, sir. But, thank you.” Saxon inclined his head. “I assume you were on your way to advise me that we’ll be leaving Newmarket?”

“Definitely. I have one stop to make in Suffolk. Then, it’s home to Surrey.”

“Dustin?” Lanston strolled over, a perplexed look on his face. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, why?”

“I saw Alberts leap from your carriage and bolt. I thought perhaps you’d had words.”

“We did.”

“About last fall?”

“About the differences that prompted my discharging him, which I hope I’ve now resolved.” Dismissing the subject, Dustin clapped Lanston on the arm. “In any case, I was about to come looking for you to congratulate you again on your victories and to say good-bye. I must be heading back to Tyreham. My Derby preparations await. Will I see you at Epsom?”

The earl gave an adamant nod. “I wouldn’t miss it. I look forward to witnessing this phenomenon of yours, this Stoddard fellow, racing Dagger.” A challenging lift of his brows. “Who knows? Perhaps I’ll offer you some healthy competition during the remainder of the meeting.”

“Perhaps.” With a broad grin, Dustin climbed into the carriage. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“You can’t count on anything. That’s the most important lesson I can teach you.”

Nick Aldridge paced about the cottage sitting room, his brow furrowed in concentration as he instructed Nicole.

“I know that, Papa.” She perched on the edge of the sofa. “After all these years of watching you, I’ve learned that one can rely only upon one’s wits.”

“Good girl. Because you can’t control the weather, the conditions of the grounds at Epsom that day, or any unplanned complications that might occur during the race. All you can do is know that bloody course like the back of your hand and size up the other jockeys to the best of your ability.” Halting, Nick leveled his gaze at Nicole. “We’ll deal with how to handle the other jockeys—averting their various maneuvers to crowd you out, identifying the best ways to thread through their midst, and a host of other techniques—next week. But for now, let’s deal with you. To begin, where would you ideally be situated if you had your pick of the lots drawn?”

“At the rail, of course.”

“What if you weren’t?”

“Then I’d look for the first opportunity to squeeze by and get there.” She grinned, holding up her palm to ward off her father’s oncoming admonishment. “‘Look’ is the wrong choice of words. Sense. I wouldn’t spend an extra minute watching the other jockeys. I’d only give them an occasional glimpse to assess their respective positions. To avert my head would be distracting to Dagger and detrimental to our speed.”

“Pacing,” Nick corrected. “Pacing is what will ultimately win you this race, Nickie. And pacing does not always mean speed.”

“No, it doesn’t. Especially not on the Epsom course. I have to contend with that difficult turn at Tattenham Corner, not to mention the steep downhill section. Those are the times when I’ll have to slow down, be precise.”

“Exactly. Precise and smooth. The slightest hesitation could cost you the race. Now, combine your memories and your instincts and tell me, how would you take the Derby course?”

Nicole frowned. “I’d feel better about answering that question if I’d already ridden it.”