Wishes in the Wind (35 page)

“Where the hell did Saxon go?” A thunderous voice from the second floor landing brought Nicole’s head around. “He was ordered not to leave my son.”

Poole reacted at once, retreating to the foot of the stairs and angling his gaze upward. “It’s Lord Tyreham, sir,” he informed the powerful, dark-haired man whose uncanny physical resemblance to Dustin left no doubt as to who he was. “Stoddard says he’s been hurt.”

The duke took the steps three at a time, descending on Nicole like an avenging angel. “Where is he?”

“In the woods, Your Grace. He’s been beaten, badly I think. I wasn’t with him long enough to judge. He sent me to fetch Saxon—to pursue the assailants, which he just rode off to do.”

Alarm slashed across Trenton Kingsley’s face, and he turned to Poole. “Stay with my wife and son. I’ll go with Stoddard.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Nicole led Trenton across the grounds at a dead run.

“He’s through those trees.” She pointed.

Trenton lunged forward until he’d reached his brother’s side. “Dustin?”

One eye cracked open. “Did Saxon … ?”

“Stoddard delivered your message,” Trenton supplied. “Saxon went after those filthy bastards. He’ll find them. In the meantime, let’s put you back together.”

“Good.” Dustin seemed to relax, then tensed again. “Stoddard—where is he?”

“Right here, my lord.” Nicole walked forward, stifling a cry as she saw the small pool of blood that had gathered alongside Dustin’s head. Her hands balled into fists of impotent rage, and she struggled to repress her anger and her fear. If ever she needed to display the control one expected of a man, it was now, and not because she felt compelled to shield her identity from Trenton, for he’d know soon enough who she was, but because she wanted to offer Dustin the strength he needed.

Puffy eyes didn’t seem to dull Dustin’s insight, at least not when it came to her. “It’s not as bad … as it looks,” he managed. “They got mostly my head and my mouth … those areas bleed a lot.” A semblance of that devastating smile. “Besides, if you think I look bad … you should see them.”

Relief surged through her, mirrored simultaneously on Trenton’s face.

“Stoddard, can you help me carry him?” Trenton asked, turning to Nicole.

“Of course.”

“No, Trent.” Dustin inched his head from side to side. “Derby’s too … slight.”

“Derby?” Trenton frowned in noncomprehension, looking as if he were trying to determine whether or not his brother were delirious.

“Lord Tyreham calls me Derby because he hired me to win the Derby,” Nicole explained as briefly as possible. Now was
not
the time to pour out her whole story, reveal who she was. “And I’m perfectly strong and capable. If we make a seat with our arms, we can carry him without worsening any of his injuries.”

Trenton nodded. “Good idea.”

“You take most of my weight, Trent,” Dustin muttered.

“Stop worrying about me,” Nicole retorted, helping Trenton boost Dustin from the ground. “I’ll be fine.”

“Who’s worrying about you?” Dustin eased into the makeshift seat with a grimace, gritted his teeth as they moved carefully toward the clearing. “It’s me I’m worrying about. You might drop me.”

God, he was actually trying to make her laugh.

The generosity of his action spawned a rush of love in Nicole’s heart so intense, so profound, it brought tears to her eyes. And suddenly, with the clarity of a flawless diamond, she realized that all her objections, her halfhearted attempts at self-protection, were for naught. Even if the adaptations she faced were next to impossible, even if her heart ended up shattered, she loved Dustin Kingsley far too much to walk away. He was her fate, her future. And for however long Dustin’s “forever” lasted, in whatever capacity he wanted her—she was his.

Odd that so monumental a decision would strike now, under these unlikely circumstances. All her other firsts with Dustin had been in wildly romantic settings as magnificent as the man with whom she’d shared them. They’d met on a starlit night along the Thames, made love in a secluded cabin, shared twilight and stargazing in sensual, stolen moments. Yet here she was, silently committing herself to him for—what in her case could mean nothing less than the rest of her life—and it was under the most unromantic, harshly realistic circumstances imaginable.

Maybe it wasn’t so odd after all, she decided, sagging with relief as the manor drew near. Maybe it had taken the shock of seeing Dustin vulnerable, needing
her
, that had made her realize how badly she needed him.

And need him she did. Enough to bid her former life good-bye, to become a mistress, even—God help her—a marchioness, if by some miracle he asked.

A soft smile touched Nicole’s lips. The moment Dustin was able to have that talk, she was ready.

“Just a bit farther,” Trenton muttered. He glanced at his brother. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better.” Dustin’s jaw was dotted with sweat, mixing with a fine trickle of blood. “Derby?” He tried to turn his head, then gave it up.

“I’m quite well, my lord,” she assured him as they neared the entranceway steps. “And you had best be, too. Oh, I’m not totally unreasonable. I’ll agree to postpone our Epsom competition for a day or two, but that is my absolute limit. After which, I intend to beat you by those five lengths I boasted. Perhaps six lengths, given the fact that you’re not quite yourself.”

Trenton’s head snapped around at the flippancy of her tone; and Nicole realized how cheeky she must sound—a jockey speaking with such familiarity to his employer.

In contrast, Dustin emitted a pained chuckle. “Don’t make me laugh, Derby. It hurts.”

“Take the stairs slowly,” Trenton instructed, turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

Poole flung open the entranceway door, rushing out to assist them. “The duchess and marquis are fine, sir,” he informed Trenton, assessing Dustin’s condition as he helped guide him inside. “They’re with Mrs. Hopkins in the nursery.” He frowned. “Lord Tyreham?”

“Hello, Poole,” A corner of Dustin’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I’m in bad need of a brandy.”

“I’ll bring one at once, sir.” With obvious relief, Poole glanced at Trenton. “Quinn went to fetch Dr. Welish. They should be back within the half hour.”

“Excellent.” Trenton gestured for Nicole to veer with him toward the staircase. “In the interim, I’ll take Lord Tyreham to his chambers and clean his wounds. Bring me some towels and a basin of water.”

“Very good, sir.”

Nicole walked gingerly up the stairs, helping Trenton balance Dustin’s weight. Finally, they reached the landing and rounded it, facing an endless hall.

“Which way, Your Grace?” she asked.

Trenton jerked his head in the direction of Dustin’s room. “It’s the last one on the right.”

Minutes later, they lowered Dustin to his bedcovers, where he gratefully lay back.

“The blood’s soaked down to his shirt,” Trenton bit out. “I’ll peel it away so it doesn’t stick to whatever bruises are beneath it. You get his boots and breeches.”

Nicole froze. “What?”

Trenton tossed her an exasperated look. “I said, get his boots and breeches off. It will expedite things for Dr. Welish. I’ll handle the shirt, which is a more delicate task.”

That depends on who you’re asking,
she almost blurted out.

Feeling Dustin’s eyes upon her, she glanced over, realizing by the slight twitch of his lips that he’d read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud.

“All right.” Ducking her head to hide her flaming cheeks, Nicole tugged off first one boot, then the other, wondering how the duke would react once he learned who she was.

“Let Stoddard go, Trent.” Evidently, Dustin had decided to take pity on her and salvage her modesty. “He looks worse than I do.” The statement ended on a groan, and Nicole’s head shot up, all nonsensical thoughts vanishing in the wake of his pain.

“Just a little more,” Trenton appeased, inching the shirt down Dustin’s arms, lifting him enough to yank it free, leaving a dozen angry bruises in its wake. “There. Done.” He looked up as Poole hurried in, carrying a basin and some towels, a bottle of brandy tucked beneath his arm.

“Dr. Welish is here, sir,” the butler announced.

“Good.” Trenton glanced at Nicole. “You do look shaken, Stoddard. Go to your quarters and rest.”

“No.”

The word was out before she could restrain it.

Trenton’s dark brows rose. “Pardon me?”

“It’s all right, Trent,” Dustin murmured weakly. “Let him wait in the sitting room.”

With an astonished shake of his head, Trenton conceded. “Fine. Wait in the sitting room.”

An hour later, Poole came to summon Nicole. “Lord Tyreham wishes to see you.”

She leaped to her feet. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, thank heavens. His lordship’s excellent physical condition prevented him from sustaining a more serious thrashing.” A smug lift of Poole’s brows. “It also helped him deliver an unexpected, and most certainly unwelcome, retaliation.”

Nicole found herself grinning. “How unfortunate for his attackers.”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” Poole sniffed. “In any case, the marquis is experiencing a bit of pain, but the brandy is already alleviating that. Overall, he’s doing remarkably well.” A brief flicker of emotion crossed Poole’s face. “Thank you, Stoddard. From all of us at Tyreham. Your swift and courageous actions spared his lordship further injury. We’re grateful.” He drew himself up, protocol restored. “You’re welcome to see him now.”

Swallowing, Nicole nodded. Then she hurried into the hall and up the stairs to Dustin’s room.

Trenton answered her knock. “Stoddard.” There was a definite gentling to his tone.

Had Dustin told him?

No, Nicole decided, studying the duke’s face. There was no indication that he knew.

“Trent, let me speak with Stoddard alone.” Dustin’s voice was tired but definite.

His brother’s jaw tightened. “If this is about Aldridge …”

“Later, Trent,” Dustin interrupted. “Give me a few minutes. You’ll have your answers.”

With a curt nod, Trenton left, closing the door in his wake.

Nicole crossed the room in a heartbeat, kneeling beside the bed. “Are you all right?” She reached out, touched the bandage that traversed Dustin’s ribs, her lashes damp with the tears she could no longer suppress.

His hand lifted, fingertips catching the moisture on her cheeks. “You’re beautiful. And, yes, I’m fine.”

She kissed the hollow at the base of his throat, one of the few exposed spots that wasn’t reddened, swollen, or bandaged. “At the moment, I’m anything but beautiful. I’m murderous. I want to kill those animals myself.”

She felt his chuckle ripple against her mouth. “Had I known how fiercely protective you are—and how adept at transporting me around—I wouldn’t have hired Saxon.” He framed her face, lifting it so their gazes locked. “Do you think you got to Saxon in time?”

Nicole nodded. “Yes, I do. Your attackers were badly hurt, creeping away rather than fleeing. The one named Archer was groaning that his ribs were shattered, and the other one—Parrish—apparently had a bleeding head. You were most effective in maiming them, my lord.” She attempted a smile. “I, too, was most effective. As you requested, I raced to the manor in record time. I only hope I manage to be as swift on Derby Day. The same applies to Saxon, who wasted not an instant, mounting Blanket and dashing off mere seconds after hearing my story. Further, it stands to reason that he found Archer and Parrish. If he hadn’t, he’d have returned to Tyreham by now, which he hasn’t. So I’m sure he’s following them, just as you wished.”

“Nicole.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “I needed this moment alone for two reasons. First, to convince you I was fine, to see you, to touch you, to have you beside me. And second, to make certain, before I reveal everything to Trent, that this is still truly what you want.”

“It is,” Nicole answered softly. “For all our sakes, I want them to hear the truth.” Her palm gently caressed Dustin’s jaw. “Incidentally, your brother is a wonderful man. A bit severe, but wonderful. He loves you very much.”

“The severity is a facade. You’ll soon see that for yourself.” Dustin kissed her fingers. “Thank you, Derby, not only for sharing your secret but for coming to my rescue.”

“I knew,” she whispered. “Somehow I knew you needed me.”

“Does that surprise you?” he asked, his voice husky. “That’s fate, my darling. Fate and love. Just as your mother described.”

Trembling with emotion, Nicole touched her lips—ever so lightly—to his swollen mouth. “Heal quickly. We have much to discuss.”

An intense expression crossed Dustin’s face, awareness penetrating the effects of the brandy, alerting him to the fact that something had changed. “Today, Nicole. We’ll talk today. I don’t care what time or how, but I can’t go through another night without resolving things between us.”

“Nor can I.”

He caught her hand. “Stay at Tyreham today. I don’t want you at Epsom without me.”

“What will you tell your staff?”

“The truth—or part of it. My bruises will be visible for some time, so we can’t avoid revealing the fact that I was beaten. We’ll say it was an attempted robbery and that you and Blanket made enough of a commotion to frighten my assailants off. I’ll tell Brackley you’re too shaken up to ride. How’s that?”

“I shouldn’t miss a day of practice.”

“You won’t be. You rode Blanket like a demon from hell. It’s enough for one day. Nicole, if I can’t be there to shield you, you can’t go.”

She saw beyond his command to the love that inspired it. “All right.”

“No argument?”

“No argument. I’ll simply conserve my energy for tomorrow, when I defeat you at Epsom.”

“I have a better use for that energy, Derby, one I intend to explore soon. Very soon,” Dustin repeated huskily, his eyes darkening as he took in her revealing flush. “You’d best go get Trent now, because in exactly one minute I’m going to forget my injuries and our whereabouts and drag you into this bed.”

Nicole scrambled to her feet, propelled not by embarrassment but by the realization that, should Dustin do precisely what he’d just professed, she wouldn’t have the strength, nor the inclination, to stop him.