So where did that leave them? Did he intend to offer her his name or only his bed and his protection? And, even if it were marriage he had in mind, did she have the strength—or the will—to sacrifice her way of life for his? To become, of all things, the marchioness of Tyreham? A role which, regardless of what Dustin claimed or how smitten he was, would involve relinquishing the stables for the manor, overseeing a staff, entertaining noblemen, taking tea with their wives.
Dear Lord, how could she abide such an existence, much less conform to one?
“Nicole?” Dustin caught her face between his hands, tilting it back to read her expression. “What are you thinking?”
Her lashes lifted. “That there are so many obstacles.”
“I’ll overcome every damned one of them.” With that, he stood, tugging her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed. “I will, you know,” he vowed quietly, rebuttoning his shirt and waistcoat. Tenderly, he reached forward, touching her wishing locket and giving her that bone-melting smile. “I’m not so foolish as to let a miracle get away.”
Ten
THE MAN FROWNED. THE grounds outside Epsom were exceedingly muddy, leaving ugly stains on his fine leather shoes. That meant he’d have to return home and change—an annoyance that did not fit into his plans at all.
Whatever the cause for today’s meeting, it had best be important. Damned important.
“I’m over here,” came a raspy voice from a nearby cluster of trees.
The man veered toward it. “What is it, Cooper?” he hissed, glaring at the stable owner. “Have you found Aldridge?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Then what the hell was so important that you sent for me? Haven’t you learned from our previous complication that we’re not to be seen together?”
“Yeah, I learned.” Coop leaned against the tree, folding his arms across his chest. “But we have a problem you should know about.”
“Well?”
“Archer and Parrish took care of Sullivan. He told them nothing, and so far, he’s made no move to go to Aldridge. Neither, for that matter, has Aldridge come to him. But someone else did.”
“Who?”
“Tyreham.”
The man sucked in his breath. “Kingsley went to Sullivan? Why?”
“He must be snooping around, either to find Aldridge or to find out why someone else wants him so bad. I don’t know the details—Tyreham didn’t exactly invite Archer and Parrish in for tea and conversation, but Archer said Tyreham got to the cottage right after he and Parrish left. Obviously, he saw the kind of condition Sullivan was in. I’m sure the old jockey told him what happened. The question is, what does Tyreham plan to do about it?” He paused, massaging his scarred forearm. “And what do we plan to do about Tyreham?”
“Indeed.”
“That’s not all. After he left Suffolk, Tyreham made another stop on his way home. At Preighbrook’s.”
“Dammit.” The oath emerged in an angry hiss. “He must have connected Aldridge’s disappearance to Redley’s death.”
“Well, he sure as hell wasn’t paying a social call. Preighbrook’s so old he can barely stand up.”
“True. But, being as feeble-minded as he is, he also couldn’t have told Kingsley anything of importance.”
The toe of Coop’s boot dug into the ground, slashing blades of grass. “What do you want me to do, have Archer and Parrish thrash Tyreham?”
“I think not. Not yet.” The man pursed his lips, idly fingering his silk neckcloth. “First let’s see what the marquis has in mind. That should be easy enough to learn.”
“How? You can’t just walk in and ask him.”
“I needn’t do anything so rash as that. I have a new resource at Tyreham, remember?”
An ugly smile curved Coop’s lips. “I’d almost forgotten. Yeah, that’s right. You do.”
“I’ll contact that resource. In the meantime, tell Archer and Parrish to keep watching Sullivan’s house. It’s early yet. Perhaps news of the beating has yet to reach Aldridge—wherever he is. If I need further help with Tyreham, I’ll summon you.” A meaningful look. “Do not summon me.”
His glance fell on Coop’s forearm and, with a shudder of revulsion, he turned, retracing his steps over the damp grounds.
“You asked to see me, my lord?”
Poole stood at attention in the doorway to Dustin’s study.
“Yes, Poole.” Dustin rose from behind his desk. “Come in. And close the door behind you.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Dustin waited until the task was done, broaching the subject without further preliminaries. “You’ve been with me a long time, Poole. I needn’t tell you how highly I value your abilities nor how greatly I rely upon your discretion.”
“No, you needn’t. But I thank you nonetheless.”
“I require a favor.”
“Anything, sir.”
“One that must remain strictly between us.”
“Of course.”
Slowly, Dustin walked around front of his desk, perching on its corner. “This pertains to the missive we sent my brother, the one that brought him charging to Tyreham like a rampaging steed, and to the hoodlums that necessitated my sending it.”
Poole’s expression remained unchanged. “I gathered as much, sir.”
“Your nephew, Thorne Saxon—he’s still residing in Surrey, is he not?”
“He is.” A flicker of comprehension. “He lives a mere ten miles away. And, if I might be so bold as to anticipate your next question, he’s now a fine, seasoned investigator. In fact, he just recently left the employ of Mr. Hackberth to strike out on his own.”
“Why? Hackberth is one of the most respected investigators in England.”
“Indeed, sir. But, at the risk of sounding overly boastful, Thorne has acquired quite a following—clients who had begun making specific requests for his services. Mr. Hackberth was exceedingly proud. After all, he was the one who taught Thorne all his skills. He was also the one who broached the subject of Thorne’s opening his own firm. According to Mr. Hackberth, there were a dozen and a half clients who would be delighted to take their business to him.”
“Impressive.” Dustin’s brows arched. “Also a generous display on Hackberth’s part. Not that it surprises me. From what I know of Hackberth, he’s a most gracious man. Heaven knows he has enough clients to spare a few. Still, giving Saxon his blessing was very kind of him.” A pause. “And very fortunate for me.”
“Shall I summon Thorne, sir?”
“If you would, yes. I’d like to hire him to be both a trained pair of eyes and a bit of brawn, should it be needed. As I remember, Saxon was powerfully built, even as an adolescent.”
“Even more so, now that he’s grown.” Poole cleared his throat. “Are you in danger, sir?”
“I hope not. But I’m going to be delving into the matter of Aldridge’s disappearance more fully. I’d like Saxon to accompany me.” A slight smile. “I hope he’s adept at handling a carriage.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t want whoever is behind this reprehensible scheme to know I’ve hired someone, or even that I’m taking precautions. Therefore, when Saxon travels with me, he must be disguised as someone easily overlooked.”
Poole’s eyes glittered. “Like a driver, for example.”
“Exactly.”
With a nod, Poole reached for the door. “I’ll summon him at once, my lord. He’ll be honored to serve you.”
“Thank you, Poole.”
Alone, and satisfied that he’d taken the necessary steps to ensure his own safety, just as he’d promised the Aldridges, Dustin resumed the line of thought that had preoccupied him throughout the night and into today.
Nicole—and their hour together in the cabin, sharing their thoughts, their dreams.
Their bodies.
With a harsh sound, Dustin reached for his coffee cup.
He’d be lying to himself if he denied that his contemplations ha
d repeatedly converged on those exquisite moments on the cabin floor.
Moments as unrivaled as they were unplanned.
A surge of tenderness claimed him along with the wonder of discovery. He’d told Nicole she was a miracle, and she was, but so was what had transpired between them, sensations so utterly distinct, so different from lust that they redefined the parameters of passion as Dustin had known them. The smoky longing in her eyes, the absolute trust in her motions, the honesty in her words. During that precious time before he’d regained his sanity, there had been no doubts, no boundaries. There had been only the two of them and the extraordinary feelings unfolding between them. True, Nicole had no basis for distinguishing lovemaking from sex. But he did—thanks to her. The contrast was humbling.
As was the realization that had he not recovered his senses, she would have offered him her innocence.
And hated herself afterward.
Frowning, Dustin gulped down his coffee, confronting the gnawing anxiety that was as real, and as intense, as his elation—an anxiety that had hammered at his brain throughout the long hours till dawn.
What emotional damage had been done during those few poignant minutes? And how could he rectify it, overcome Nicole’s guilt and regret, and convince her that what had happened between them was as right as dawn melding with day?
He’d never forget how bereft she’d looked, her awe transforming to shame even as they dressed—shame and self-reproach. Further, she openly placed blame for what had occurred not with him but with herself—a fact as untenable as her ensuing reaction. The result was that along with her gown, she’d restored that damned emotional barrier she’d erected between them, and no matter how valiantly Dustin had tried, he’d been unable to tear it down again. Not during those last seconds at the cabin, nor during their silent walk to her cottage. Several times his frustration had been so great he’d actually considered breaking his vow to Aldridge and spiriting Nicole away, just to rekindle her wonder, her dizzying joy, and, yes—if he were to employ that esteemed honesty she’d taught him—to keep her beside him, where she belonged. Lord, how he’d wanted to obliterate her self-condemnation, her qualms, her bewilderment; to see her face suffused with the exhilaration she’d displayed earlier.
And blame? Well, if blame were to be assigned, he should be its sole recipient. Because he was seasoned enough to have anticipated how devastating it would be to a virtuous young woman like Nicole to realize she’d come so close to surrendering her innocence. That unlike he—who understood that, despite the beauty of their physical encounter, their most profound sharing had occurred before they’d even touched—Nicole was too young, too naive to make that distinction. And, as much as he’d yearned to make her see the strength of what existed between them, he knew she wasn’t ready. It was too soon to expect her to relinquish her doubts and fears, too soon for her to make the ultimate commitment he sought.
And yet he’d let things get out of hand anyway, knowing full well there’d be a price to pay. On their first evening alone, during their first moments of privacy—no, in light of all that, there wasn’t a doubt with whom the blame rested.
With him.
It didn’t ease his conscience one iota that she’d been as eager as he, nor that she’d unfurled more completely with each of his intensifying caresses. In fact, it made him feel all the more a cad. Because he was well aware she’d been drowning in her first taste of passion, lost to newly discovered sensations more acute than she’d ever encountered, much less overcome. Lord, she’d never even been kissed. In short, she hadn’t a clue of the power desire wielded. He was the experienced one; she the novice. It had been his responsibility to set the limits, and he’d failed.
Dammit, he should have stopped sooner. Instead, he’d lost all control, nearly taking her virginity—and on the cabin floor, no less. With a half hour to return her to Aldridge’s quarters.
Aldridge. His reception certainly hadn’t helped matters. They’d arrived at the cottage to find him waiting like a cursed bloodhound, whipping open the cottage door so rapidly it left no doubt that he’d been pacing just inside it. And while Dustin had ensured that every article of Nicole’s clothing, every hair on her head had been wholly restored, he could do nothing to repress her guilty expression, nor could he force her averted gaze back to her father’s.
Aldridge’s curt goodnight had been as cool as his countenance, filled with more than a touch of suspicion. Hell, Dustin hadn’t a doubt that, were Nick not confined to his quarters, he would have stalked outside, dueling pistol cocked and ready.
And the bloody clock was first chiming ten.
Dustin slammed his cup to the saucer.
Why hadn’t he followed his instincts and told Nicole what was in his heart—given her the words. Lord knew, he’d started to, not once, but countless times. I love you. Three words he’d never spoken to another, words that had been lying in wait for just the right woman.
For Nicole.
The question was a rhetorical one. He knew perfectly well why he’d refrained from uttering his profession of love aloud: because he hadn’t a clue how Nicole would receive it. Especially offered in the aftermath of passion. Would she believe it? Embrace it?
Were she any other woman, Dustin’s answer would have been an unequivocal yes. The women he knew would have swooned with pleasure to be offered his heart—especially because it would be one step closer to his title and his money. But Nicole wasn’t other women. She wouldn’t welcome such a declaration unless she deemed it true. And he wasn’t at all confident she did—at least not yet. What he was confident of was the fact that she loved him in return, a certainty born of emotion, not arrogance. Yet, certain though he was of Nicole’s love, he was equally convinced that the enormity of what was happening between them was escalating too fast for her to handle. Especially in light of the fact that she was still grappling with her preconceived notions of who he was, how he lived, not to mention the aversion she had to his bloody title.
Didn’t she understand that he’d gladly relinquish it all for her?
The answer was, no, she didn’t. Not fully. Not yet.
Therefore, expressing his love might have bound her to him or it might just as easily have driven her away.
The latter prospect had effected his silence.
But not for long. Because, precisely as he’d sworn to Nicole last night, he intended to overcome every obstacle in their path and, come hell or high water, make her his.
Soon.
“Pardon me, sir.” Poole’s reappearance interrupted Dustin’s silent resolution.
“Yes, Poole?”
Poole stepped around the partially open door. “You asked me to advise you when Mr. Raggert arrived at Tyreham. Well, he’s been shown to his quarters and is unpacking.”
“Excellent.” Dustin rose. “Are you off to your nephew’s house?”
A nod. “But before I go, I have two unexpected visitors to announce.”
Dustin went taut. “Is it those hoodlums again?”
“Oh, nothing like that, sir. These are welcome guests, not destructive—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door jerked forward another notch, clipping Poole on the shoulder and, having caught him off guard, sending him off balance.
Unceremoniously, and seemingly without regret, Alexander Kingsley crawled swiftly into the study, casting a curious glance at the astounded butler who was in the process of regaining his footing.
A crack of laughter erupted from Dustin’s chest. “Not destructive, you were saying?” Crossing the room, he scooped up his nephew at the same instant Ariana burst in. “Alexander? Where did you …?” She halted, sagging with relief when she saw her son in his uncle’s arms. “Thank goodness. I put him down only long enough to hand Poole my coat and admire that lovely new fern in your entranceway. When I turned, he was gone.”
“Thirty seconds. That’s all the time he needs.” Dustin gave his sister-in-law a warm hug. “What a splendid surprise!
To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“To the fact that your nephew’s been demanding ‘Un’l’ since you left Spraystone. Evidently, he misses you.” She turned to Poole. “Forgive me, Poole. Are you all right?”
“Perfectly all right, Your Grace.” Poole had already straightened his uniform. “Would you or the young marquis care for some refreshment before I take my leave?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
“Then I’ll be going. I shan’t be long, my lord,” Poole added with a meaningful look at Dustin. “If you need anything, just ring for Quinn.”
“Quinn?” Ariana repeated in surprise. “Isn’t he Lord Tyreham’s driver?”
“He is, Your Grace. But prior to that, he was a footman. And, given the onslaught of guests we expect to arrive in conjunction with the races at Epsom, we’ll need additional assistance in the manor. Thus, Quinn has been reassigned and a temporary replacement driver engaged. I’m off to fetch him now.” Poole bowed. “Your Grace, Lord Tyreham, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course. Thank you, Poole.” Dustin bit back a smile. If Poole ever tired of his role as a butler, there was definitely a place for him in the theatre.
“Dustin?” Ariana glanced from the now empty doorway to her brother-in-law, looking totally perplexed. “Have we come at a bad time? I know that May is the heart of the spring meetings, but when Trenton returned yesterday, he announced that you wouldn’t be participating in any other races until that jockey you were seeking, Nick Aldridge, had recovered and was back in England.”
“Trent didn’t stay long enough for me to update him on the situation,” Dustin responded smoothly. “I’ve found another jockey, Nick Aldridge’s protégé, as luck would have it. He’s superb. Better than that. He’ll be riding my stallion Dagger in the Derby. Not only riding,” Dustin amended, “but winning.”
“That’s wonderful.” Ariana transferred a wriggling Alexander from Dustin’s arms to hers. “But, in that case, Alexander and I will be on our way.”
“Nonsense. I’m not entered in the second set at Newmarket, nor any other race prior to Epsom. Further, I’m always delighted to see you—and my favorite little tyrant.” A speculative pause. “Although I am a bit curious as to the timing of your visit. After all, Trent was here only yesterday.”