Wishes in the Wind

  Nicole’s reply came in a heartbeat, which was all it took to elicit her father’s nod. “Tell them.”

  Waves of relief radiating through him, Dustin caught Nicole’s fingers, brought them to his lips. “You have my thanks.” He glanced over at Nick. “Both of you. Mine and my family’s. Now I can ensure everyone’s safety and get to the heart of the matter at the same time.”

  Nicole’s whole body tensed. “I don’t want you hurt,” she said fiercely.

  “Stop worrying, Derby.” Now he was able to grin. “Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about. Like fulfilling that claim you made yesterday.”

  “What claim?” Nick demanded.

  “I’m racing alongside Nicole today at Epsom,” Dustin informed him. “To add some healthy competition and a few obstacles to her run. She’s boasted that she’ll beat me by at least five lengths.”

  “Arrogant chit,” Nick chuckled.

  “Arrogant, perhaps.” Nicole’s eyes sparkled. “But right.” She rolled up her sleeves. “Give me a quarter hour to drink my coffee and eat a bite of breakfast. I’ll be at the stables by six. Ready to best you on the Derby course.” Sobering, she added, “Tell your family that I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do …”

  “You already have.” Dustin squeezed her hands then, reluctantly, released them. “A quarter hour, Derby. I’ll be waiting.”

  But he wasn’t.

  Nicole paced about the stables for ten minutes. Then she started worrying.

  “Calm down, Stoddard.” Brackley shot her an exasperated look as he tacked up Blanket, their newly purchased mare, in preparation for her morning exercise. “The marquis is a busy man. He knows where we are. He’ll be here.”

  “He said he’d be at the stables at six.”

  “Maybe he’s giving us time to ready Dagger and Winning Streak. Or maybe he overslept. When the hell did you become so skittish? It’s only ten minutes past the hour.”

  Pressing her lips together, Nicole fell silent. She couldn’t very well say she knew Dustin was awake because he’d been at her cottage less than thirty minutes ago, now could she?

  Something was wrong.

  She knew it. She felt it. It wasn’t the amount of time that had elapsed, for Brackley was right; ten minutes was negligible. It was intuition.

  The same intuition that told her Dustin needed her.

  “You’re right, Brackley,” she forced herself to say calmly. She stroked Blanket’s velvet muzzle, soothing her as she stomped about the stall. “Clearly, both Blanket and I are full of nervous energy. Why don’t I take her out and exercise her? It would ease your head lad’s morning schedule and divert my attention to something useful. I’ve already tacked up Dagger and Winning Streak. That leaves me nothing pressing to do before we depart for Epsom. So this would benefit us all. I won’t venture far. You can send for me when Lord Tyreham shows up.”

  “Sure. Good idea.” Brackley grinned. “Only don’t use up too much of that energy. You want to beat Lord Tyreham and Winning Streak.”

  Feigning a smile, Nicole gathered up Blanket’s reins. “I won’t.”

  She led the mare from the stables, abandoning all pretense the moment the door closed behind them. Gazing across the grounds, Nicole considered riding directly to the manor, then dismissed the idea. If something had happened at the house, something that would have altered the training schedule, she and Brackley would have been advised.

  Mounting Blanket, she followed the impulse that commanded she head back toward her cottage, this time not across the open grounds but by way of the woods.

  She was halfway there when she heard the struggle.

  “Happy, Tyreham? You’re not tough enough to take us both,” a deep voice growled.

  “Come on, Parrish,” another voice—this one taut with pain—inserted. “My side is killin’ me. And your head is bleedin’ bad. Let’s go.”

  “In a minute.” A sickening thud, followed by a groan. “That one was for my head.” Another punch. “That one’s for Archer’s guts.” A final blow, more vicious than the others. “And that last one’s to remind you to stay the hell out of things that don’t concern you. Cut out the late-night talks with your brother, because the next time it won’t be your blood, it’ll be your life. Yours and your nephew’s.”

  Nicole felt bile rise to her throat. Swiftly, she dismounted, tying Blanket to a tree, intentionally rustling the branches and making as much noise as possible.

  Her ruse worked.

  “Someone’s comin’,” she heard the lowlife named Archer mutter. “Let’s get outta here.”

  Swift movements, followed by a grunt of pain. “I can’t run. I think he broke my ribs.”

  “Then limp.”

  An answering oath, followed by slow, unsteady footsteps that grew fainter, more distant.

  The instant she sensed it was safe, Nicole dashed forward.

  She saw Dustin’s huddled form twenty feet away.

  “Dustin.” Dropping to her knees beside him, she eased him onto his back. With quaking hands, she smoothed hair off his bruised forehead, her insides twisting with fear.

  He blinked, trying to focus. “Derby?” Reflexively, his head turned in her direction, and he groaned.

  “Don’t move.” Nicole stabbed in her pocket until she found a handkerchief.

  “I heard … hoofbeats. Did you ride here?”

  She could scarcely think, much less answer. “Yes.” Her voice trembled as she dabbed the handkerchief to Dustin’s bloodied jaw. “Blanket is tied to a nearby tree.”

  “Derby … listen to me.” Dustin gripped her wrist, halting her ministrations and shuddering at the resulting pain he caused himself. “This might be … our only chance to stop them. They’re hurt, and they’re on foot …until the main road. Ride to the manor. Tell Poole … to get Saxon. To follow them. Race, Derby. As if this were the course at Epsom.”

  “I can’t leave you like this.”

  “Go, dammit!”

  The urgency of his tone convinced her. Jumping to her feet, Nicole rushed back to Blanket. An instant later, rider and horse tore off through the woods, not slowing until they’d reached the manor.

  Dismounting, Nicole dashed up the steps and pounded on the door.

  “Stoddard.” Poole greeted her with a disapproving frown. “You needn’t hammer. What can I do for you?”

  “Get Saxon,” she said, remembering the name Dustin had said. “Now, Poole. Lord Tyreham’s been hurt. Hurry, please.”

  Poole went sheet white. Without another word, he stalked to the foot of the stairway and did the unthinkable: “Thorne!” he shouted.

  Seconds later, a tall, formidably built man shot down the steps.

  “You’re Saxon?” Nicole demanded.

  “I am.”

  “Two men just attacked Lord Tyreham. He sent me to get you. He wants you to follow—”

  “Where was this?” Saxon interrupted. “Show me the direction. I’ll find them.”

  “In the woods just east of the tenants’ section.” She pointed. “They’re hurt and moving slowly. They were fleeing by foot to the main road. Take my horse.”

  Saxon was down the steps and mounting before she’d finished, blasting across the grounds like a storm wind.

  “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.”