Wishes in the Wind (18 page)

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.”

A pained chuckle. “I expected as much.”

“They wanted me to assure you they’re both well, safely ensconced in a cottage at Tyreham, where Nick stays at all times.”

“I’m sure he’s thrilled with that arrangement,” Sully inserted dryly.

“You’re right, he’s not. But he realizes he hasn’t a choice. As for Nicole …” Dustin’s grin widened. “She’s playing her role to perfection. In everyone’s mind but mine she’s Alden Stoddard, a jockey who’s so damned good, he’ll be riding my stallion in the Derby. And believe me, that’s no easy feat. Like Nicole, Dagger is a handful.”

A faint, proud smile touched Sully’s lips. “The Derby—Nickie’s wished for that since she was barely more than knee-high, from the first time she watched Nick race.”

“So I’ve heard. Well, she’s going to get her wish. And more,” Dustin added with an equal measure of pride. “Not only is she going to run that bloody race, she’s going to win it.” Intently, he returned to the issue at hand. “Sullivan, I’m privy to the reasons for Aldridge’s concealment and Nicole’s masquerade. And I have a strange feeling ‘those reasons’ were the ones who beat you within an inch of your life. Am I right?”

Slowly, Sully nodded.

“Did you tell them what they wanted to know?”

“Of course not. I didn’t tell them a blasted thing.”

“Then they’re probably expecting you to dash off to alert Aldridge.”

“Right. With them at my heels. I already thought of that. That’s why I’m not moving a muscle.” Sully shifted, wincing as pain lanced through him. “Literally,” he muttered.

“Do you want a drink?” Dustin suggested. “It will help ease the pain.”

“Yeah, but not yet. I need a clear head for this talk.”

Dustin nodded, admiring Sullivan’s loyalty. “You’re a good friend. The Aldridges are lucky to have you.”

“It works both ways. Nick would do the same for me. So would the elf.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Dustin leaned forward, gripping his knees. “Can you describe the men who did this to you?”

Sully’s brows drew together. “One was heavyset and short.”

“Blue eyes?” Dustin questioned. “Very pale blue?”

“Yeah. The other was taller, kind of leaner. He had those black, piercing sort of eyes.”

“Dark hair? Dirty? Did the first one have a ruddy complexion, like he’d been drinking?”

A resigned nod. “I take it you’ve seen them.”

“Oh, I’ve seen them, all right. They came to my home. They threatened me and my family if I hired Nick Aldridge.”

“Dear God.” Sully leaned weakly back against his pillow. “Does Nick know this?”

“Yes. His description of the scum who tried to blackmail him at Newmarket matches ours. Same men. Same method.” Dustin rose and began to pace. “How long ago were they here?”

“I was only half awake when they broke in. The sun was just up. I’d say it was six A.M., maybe a little past. What time is it now?”

A glance at the clock on the mantel. “A quarter past ten. What else do you remember?”

“Not much. Other than demanding to know where Nick is, they didn’t talk. Except with their fists.” A pause. “Wait. When they were leaving, one of them called the other ‘Archer.’ I couldn’t see which was which. My eyes were too badly swollen.”

“Archer,” Dustin repeated. “Good.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted the list Nick had penned. “Sullivan, I know you feel like hell, but I need your help. Aldridge gave me this list of jockeys who have been throwing races for money. He thought you might be able to add to it. If I read you the names, would you be able to concentrate well enough to do that?”

Sully blinked through slitted eyes. “Nick really trusts you, doesn’t he?”

“I hope so.”

“What do you aim to do with this list?”

“Visit every damned person on it until I find someone who’s able to shed light on this scheme
and
the bastard who’s orchestrating it. You and I both know that these jockeys, like the two ruffians who assaulted you, are just hired hands. I want their employer. Because whoever he is, he’s not only tarnishing the reputation of the turf, he’s endangering people’s lives. People like Aldridge.” Dustin met Sully’s gaze. “And Redley.”

That reference made Sully start. “Nick mentioned Redley?” A dubious pause. “What did he tell you?”

“Only that Redley was killed because he was stupid enough to try blackmailing his blackmailers.”

“That’s all any of us knows.”

“Well, I plan to call on the Viscount Preighbrook, Redley’s last employer, on my way back to Tyreham. Maybe he’ll remember something of consequence.”

“Um-hum. The St. Leger was Redley’s last race, the one he threw riding Preighbrook’s filly Nightingale.” Sully cocked a brow, studying Dustin with shrewd comprehension. “I’m not a suspicious man, but I’m not a stupid one either. You gave Nick a place to stay knowing damned well his presence could put you in danger. You’re letting Nicole run the Derby knowing damned well it could threaten your hard-earned, well-respected reputation as an owner and breeder. The truth is, you don’t have to do either. You’ve got more than enough money to hire people who’ll protect your family and keep your staff honest, which would shield you from this whole ugly mess. Why are you taking such a strong personal interest in the Aldridges?”

Staring at the list of names, Dustin smoothed the rumpled sheet. “My reasons, like my interest, are personal.”

“I gathered as much.” Sully’s eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t help but notice the fervent way you talked about the elf. She wouldn’t happen to be that ‘personal reason,’ would she?”

Dustin’s head came up. “And if she is?”

“Then you’ve got me to answer to.”

“Wonderful. That’s two fathers I have to contend with.”

A reluctant grin tugged at Sully’s lips. “I’m as tough as Nick. Especially when it comes to the elf.” His grin faded. “You care for her?”

“I do.”

“I mean
really
care for her; you know—decently? Properly?”

“Honorably?” Dustin added wryly.
“I’m
not stupid either, Sullivan. I understood what you meant. The answer remains yes.”

Sully pushed himself up a bit, ignoring the pain incited by his motion. “Then what are we waiting for? Read me that list. Then hand me that drink. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

It was nearly four o’clock when Dustin’s carriage rounded the bend and pulled through Tyreham’s iron gates.

With a final glance at the updated page of names, Dustin pondered the results of his day.

Stopping at Preighbrook had been a waste of time. The elderly viscount, who six months ago had been merely absentminded, was now totally senile, barely able to recall Dustin’s name, much less the events of last fall’s races. Questioning him had been futile.

So much for Preighbrook.

Sullivan, on the other hand, had been a great help. Not only had he added three names to Nick’s list, he’d provided an update on every jockey’s racing schedule, so that Dustin might be able to find them more easily. Armed with that, Dustin had taken his leave—but not before making the necessary arrangements to ensure Sullivan’s safety.

To that end, he’d assigned one of the Tyreham footmen, Tuttle, to remain at the cottage, tending to Sully’s needs and standing guard in the event the intruders should reappear. An unlikely prospect, to Dustin’s way of thinking. Especially given the fact that they were probably lying in wait, watching for signs of Aldridge’s appearance, or Sully’s
disappearance
—should he happen to recoup enough strength to dash off and warn his friend.

Unlikely or not, Dustin wasn’t taking any chances. Tuttle would remain with Sully for several days. At which time, Dustin would return, check on Sully, and apprise him of any developments in the investigation.

Despite a fine show of bravado, Sullivan had looked relieved as hell for the precautions, thanking Dustin profusely
after
he’d issued an hour’s worth of advice on the proper way to treat Nicole.

That memory elicited a grin. Leaning back against the carriage seat, Dustin pondered Sully’s sage, though pointedly virtuous, recommendations. How many years had it been since anyone presumed to advise him on the handling of a woman? Further, if someone had, would he ever have tolerated such interference, much less sat still long enough to hear it?

Never—until Nicole.

As it was, he found Sullivan’s commitment to Nicole rather touching. Touching
and
revealing. Thanks to the injured jockey’s sermon, complete with an array of details describing Nicole’s upbringing, Dustin now fully understood the basis for her surprising ease with the male gender, despite her total lack of sexual experience. The reality was that, by growing up at the stables amid a host of men, she’d learned to regard them as family, if not in blood, then in fact.