Wishes in the Wind (11 page)

Dustin’s lips twitched. “I’m glad,” he said without a shred of remorse. “Because, despite the fact that I’m not a violent man, I felt suddenly compelled to kill each and every male who’s ever so much as touched you.”

“Once again, I appreciate your concern for my welfare. Although this time that concern was most unnecessary. To be blunt, the only male who’s ever touched me, as you put it, is you.”

Abruptly, the world looked brighter.

“Good. I intend to keep it that way.” He glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Dagger is back, having either received his exercise or provided Brackley with his. Before I take you out there and perform the introductions, may I have Nicole’s answer?”

She was frowning, evidently still pondering the undue severity of his reaction. Hell, he didn’t blame her. He’d been equally astonished himself.

“Dust …Lord Tyreham.” She searched his face. “You and I are worlds apart.”

“That, Derby, is not an answer.”

Another pause. “You did agree that I would race Dagger, no matter what my answer might be?”

“Only if Dagger agrees.”

“He will.”

A chuckle. “Then, yes. You’ll race Dagger. Regardless of your decision. You have my word.”

“All right.” Nicole sighed, looking eager and reluctant all at once. “Four o’clock. At the cottage. Come for tea.” An impish twinkle. “By the way, I’d suggest you eat beforehand. I have it on the best authority that my scones are more lethal than bullets. As for attire, you’ll have to endure my wearing breeches. And not only to avoid discovery. As I explained—”

“I remember.” Triumph, more intoxicating than brandy, surged through Dustin’s veins. “You don’t wear gowns.”

“Or corsets,” she reminded him.

“Or corsets.”

Their eyes met.

“Nicole …” Her name was as intimate as a caress, deliberately used to underscore what hovered between them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she managed.

Clearing his throat, Dustin reached behind him, turning the door handle to lead Stoddard to his future. “Have we covered everything, Derby?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Excellent. Then, let’s go. You’re about to meet your match.”

“It’s too late, my lord.” Passing through the doorway, Nicole brushed by him—and shivered. “I fear I already have.”

“H
OW WAS HE TODAY
, Brackley?” Dustin asked, striding into Dagger’s stall. “Did our glimmer of hope hold out?”

The groom shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, my lord. When I saw you manage to tack him up, I thought finally we were making some progress. I even succeeded in walking him—calmly—for a quarter hour or so. But then I attempted to mount him and, well, he wanted no part of that. He started his usual rearing and fussing like a scared cat.” Brackley frowned. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, sir, I don’t see much chance of competing in the Derby. Perhaps if Banks hadn’t retired just now, things would be different. Banks had a unique way of soothing mounts like Dagger. I’m afraid I haven’t that same ability. And with the Derby just weeks away, I don’t know if the dramatic transformation you seek is possible, my lord.”

“Well, we’re about to find out.” Dustin gestured for Nicole to join them in Dagger’s stall. “This is the lad I told you about.” Not even a heartbeat of hesitation accompanied the introduction. “Brackley—Stoddard, our new jockey. If Nick Aldridge’s recommendation holds true, Stoddard will easily match Banks’s rapport with horses and, thus, make remarkable headway with Dagger. After which, I’m convinced they’ll ride to a well-deserved victory in the Derby.”

“Stoddard.” Brackley inclined his head at Nicole, his expression friendly but dubious. In fact, he looked about as certain of Dustin’s prediction as a magistrate being assured a pickpocket had successfully mended his ways. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Nice to meet you, Brackley—and I do.” Relief rushed through Nicole. Brackley might doubt her skill, but he didn’t doubt her gender.

The latter was all that mattered.

The former she’d combat … and rectify.

So saying, she turned her attention to the sleek challenge now stomping about before her. “Hello, Dagger,” she murmured, walking, slow and easy, toward the magnificent deep brown thoroughbred.

Dagger’s head jerked around, and he eyed her cautiously, ears erect as he listened to the sound of her voice.

“Stoddard, I don’t know how much Lord Tyreham’s told you,” Brackley inserted. “But you’ve got quite a job ahead of you.”

“The marquis has prepared me for Dagger’s skittishness.” Nicole paused, glancing from one man to the other. “May I spend a few minutes alone with him?” she requested. “He’ll trust me sooner if he can concentrate solely on me. Distractions will slow down that process. And, as we all know, we haven’t the luxury of time.”

For a long, thoughtful minute, Dustin assessed her from beneath hooded lids. Then he nodded. “All right. Brackley and I will wait in my office.”

The groom’s jaw dropped. “My lord? Are you sure that’s wise? Dagger’s a handful, even for me to control alone, and I’m twice Stoddard’s size.”

“Our new jockey is right,” Dustin replied, gazing intently at Nicole in silent conveyance of his faith. “Drastic circumstances call for drastic action. Therefore, if Stoddard feels he can handle Dagger on his own, let’s give him a chance. He’ll call us if he needs assistance.”

“I certainly will. Thank you, my lord,” Nicole responded, gratitude shining in her eyes.

Brackley scowled but said nothing further, following Dustin from the stall.

Nicole waited until their footsteps had faded into the distance. Then, she turned her attention to Dagger.

The thoroughbred stared at her, ears forward, tail swishing nervously as if he were preparing to balk at the slightest provocation.

“You’re frightened,” Nicole noted softly, wondering what scoundrel had abused this beautiful stallion to make him so apprehensive. “I’m sure you have good reason. But no one here is going to hurt you.” Inching closer, she placed a sugar cube on her palm and extended it for his inspection.

Dagger sniffed at her hand, then leaned forward warily before snatching up the treat and gobbling it down.

With calculated deliberation, Nicole remained as she was, making no sudden moves either to shift her palm to stroke him or to snatch her hand away. “The marquis is right about you,” she concluded, surveying the thoroughbred’s powerful body and long, lean limbs at close range. “You are extraordinary. Now we need only reaccustom you to trusting your rider, and victory will be ours. My instincts are never wrong, Dagger. We’re going to be incomparable together, you and I.”

The horse never blinked. But Nicole could actually sense his fear abate.

Why? she mused. She’d scarcely spent five minutes alone with him, not nearly enough time—skillful though she might be—to accomplish the arduous task of winning him over.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, Dagger?” she confirmed aloud, taking the risk and lifting her fingers to caress his muzzle, purposely keeping her hand where he could scrutinize her every motion.

In response, Dagger whinnied softly, announcing his approval.

Nicole smiled, continuing to stroke the jagged white streak that spanned his muzzle from top to bottom; a stark contrast against his chocolate brown coat. “You were aptly named,” she told him, tracing the bold marking with her forefinger. “This does indeed resemble a dagger. But you’re not dangerous. You’re proud and devoted—
if
you’re treated with the respect you deserve. If only you could tell me who mishandled you. It certainly wasn’t Lord Tyreham, nor was it Brackley. The marquis is a wonderful man who believes in you, and who is as devout a horseman as I. And, as for Brackley, I know his manner is curt, but his concern for you is genuine. Yet you don’t trust either one of them, not completely. Is it their size? Was the man who hurt you tall?”

In response, the thoroughbred nuzzled the side of Nicole’s neck.

Man.

Her own word reverberated in her mind, and comprehension erupted.

“What a fool I’m being,” she exclaimed. Glancing about, she leaned close to Dagger’s ear, lowering her voice to a breath of sound. “You know who I am—or rather, what I am, don’t you? Of course you do. I can fool people, but they haven’t your keen instincts. You know I’m a woman. That’s why you’re unafraid. Of course whoever unnerved you was a man—who else would be tending to you? Well, you need no longer fear such abuse. Lord Tyreham would only hire men as kind and compassionate as he. And he is kind. Believe me, I know.” Nicole’s nod was emphatic. “He’ll look out for you just as he’s looking out for me. As will I. Your future is secure, my friend. But, Dagger,” she whispered, “in return, you must keep my secret. We’ll let them think it’s my size that soothes you—and my skill, of course,” she added with an impish grin. “But the fact that I’m female must remain between us. Us and Lord Tyreham. Agreed?”

Nudging her pocket, Dagger hunted for another cube of sugar.

“Blackmail, h-m-m?” Nicole’s brows rose, and she offered her coconspirator what he sought. “Very well. Our bargain is sealed. Now, shall we walk the course together? I’d like to have you trotting by day’s end and cantering by tomorrow. That way, we’ll be galloping by midweek and exploring the training grounds at Epsom by week’s end. How does that sound?”

Another whinny.

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

Forty-five minutes later, Nicole and Dagger were taking Tyreham’s course at a brisk trot, the fluidity of Dagger’s gait astounding even to Nicole.

“Splendid,” she praised, patting the stallion’s neck and slowing him to a walk. “You could win this Derby even with a less experienced rider on your back. Your trot is so graceful, I can hardly wait to see your canter. However”— Nicole’s jaw set, long years of training supplanting enthusiasm—“wait I shall. Until tomorrow. We’ve done enough for today, given how long it’s been since you were ridden. It’s time to cool down and head back to the stables.”

For the first time since she’d mounted, Nicole relaxed her concentration enough to take in her surroundings. With a start of surprise, she realized she had an audience.

Dustin and Brackley stood at the end of the course, beaming from ear to ear. Brackley was shaking his head in welcome astonishment, wiping his brow and muttering under his breath.

But it was the look on Dustin’s face that made Nicole’s heart leap.

Pride, pure and abundant, transmitted itself to her, coupled with a victorious gleam of pleasure.

“Incredible,” he called, saluting as she and Dagger approached. “You’ve humbled us, Stoddard.”

“You sure as hell have.” Brackley was still shaking his head. “I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“I got lucky,” Nicole answered. “Whoever intimidated Dagger was obviously big. I’m short and slight and too young for my voice to be threateningly deep.” She tossed them a saucy grin. “True, I’m also a superb rider. And Dagger is a superb mount. The combination is unbeatable. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Dagger and I will meet you at the stables.”

“You were right, my lord,” Brackley stated as their new jockey urged Dagger off. “Stoddard is everything Aldridge claimed he’d be.”

“He certainly is.” Dustin nodded, his penetrating gaze fixed on Nicole. “Everything Aldridge claimed and more.”

Abruptly, he turned away, taking out his timepiece and glancing at it. “Brackley, show Stoddard around the stables, and introduce him to the rest of the staff. I’ve an interview with a prospective trainer in an hour and a meeting at noon.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Disregarding Brackley’s puzzled expression, Dustin headed off, never pausing until he’d reached the manor, crossed the hall in long, uncompromising strides, and locked himself in his private study.

He was in trouble. Deep trouble.

Pouring himself a drink, Dustin stared out the bay window, oblivious to Tyreham’s magnificent wooded acres. Instead all he saw was Nicole, sitting straight-backed in the saddle, as natural astride Dagger as if she’d been born there. She’d handled herself and Dagger with all the finesse of a seasoned jockey, not a novice. Novice? Hell, his last three jockeys, each boasting a decade of experience, would have benefitted greatly from her instruction, she was that good. His practiced eye had seen Nick Aldridge’s influence in every facet of her performance: stature, technique, fluidity, coordination. Even her judgment when it came to assessing a horse’s limitations. She was indeed her father’s daughter, reflecting every iota of Aldridge’s intuitive skill in the tactics she’d taken with Dagger. In less than an hour, she’d transformed him from an unapproachable tempest to the champion he was meant to be.

She was superb.

But, contrary to Nicole’s misgivings, that wasn’t the cause of Dustin’s inner turmoil.

His lips curved into a mirthless smile. Nicole had accused him of undervaluing her abilities because she was a woman.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

Not only did he recognize her exceptional talent, he had no trouble accepting and heralding her as the best damned rider he’d ever seen. In truth, he’d be willing to bet more than his reputation; he’d bet his entire fortune and his whole line of thoroughbreds that she’d win the bloody Derby.

Further, he wouldn’t deprive her of that victory for anything on earth.

Thus, her concerns were unfounded. Between her skill and his resolve, he’d easily convince the entire racing world that Nicole was Alden Stoddard.

But deluding the public was one thing. Deluding himself was quite another.

This brought Dustin to his true quandary, the reality of which had struck him, full force, as he watched Nicole complete Tyreham’s course, her face flushed with the thrill of victory.

He could herald her as a jockey, but he could never—not even for the shortest of durations—view her as a man.

Biding his time had suddenly become an untenable option.

Tossing off his drink, Dustin stared broodingly into the empty goblet.

He’d expected Nicole’s masquerade to present difficulties; but never had he anticipated his feelings for her to be so powerful that he’d be unable to squelch them, even for a day. Yet, that’s precisely what was happening. Just now, seeing those amethyst eyes alight with triumph, her half-hidden face so spontaneously beautiful—jockey cap or not—his conscience and determination had waged major battle with his instincts. Ultimately, he’d needed every ounce of self-control not to haul her off Dagger’s back and into his arms, to feel her joy and hail her accomplishment as the wondrous feat it was.