Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

“I realize it’s an outrageous request—outrageous and thoroughly improper—a request I have no right to make. But I’m making it nonetheless. And I want you to say yes.”

“Yes,” she heard herself whisper.

Tenderness flashed in his searing, midnight gaze. He framed her face between his palms, lowering his head until his lips brushed hers, once, twice, then settled on them for a slow, warm, exquisitely gentle exploration.

Nicole sighed, shifting a bit, unconsciously easing closer to the wondrous contact of his mouth.

He deepened the kiss slightly, molding his mouth to hers, nudging her lips apart to accept the initial penetration of his tongue. She made an inarticulate sound, swarmed by unfamiliar sensations, shivering with the awareness that she hovered on the brink of something new and dark and dangerous.

Slowly, Dustin raised his head. “Where do you live?”

The moment shattered, and Nicole leaped to her feet. “I must go. Now.”

“Just tell me where you live.”

“No more questions,” she reminded him, backing away. “Your promise, if you recall.”

Frustration drew his brows into a harsh, dark line. “How will I find you? I want to see you again, dammit.”

“That’s impossible.” Gathering up handfuls of material, Nicole prayed her customary speed wouldn’t be hindered by her gown. “Thank you for comforting me, Dustin. As you can see, the color has returned to my cheeks. Good night.” She bolted into the darkness.

“I hope this issue of the Gazette yields some results,” Nicole murmured, dropping into a chair and unfolding the newspaper. “Especially given what I went through to find it.”

Nick frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried sick about you. Next time don’t sprint off like an impulsive filly before you’ve checked to see if what you want is here—at the inn desk, of all places.”

“An impulsive filly? You sound like Sully.” Nicole flipped through to the ads. “But in this case you’re right. What I did was stupid.”

“Thank goodness, no harm came to you.”

Nicole felt hot color suffuse her cheeks—color she carefully hid behind the printed pages. “It never occurred to me to check with the innkeeper to see if he had—” She shot up, nearly knocking Nick over. “Papa! Look at this!” Shoving the newspaper into her father’s hands, she pointed to the first and largest paragraph on the personals page.

Nick Aldridge: As I’ve been unable to uncover your whereabouts so that we might talk face-to-face, I’m hoping to locate you through this personal. If you’re reading it, come to Tyreham Manor, Surrey, at once to discuss an exclusive retainer. Name your price. The marquis of Tyreham

With a muttered oath, Nick gripped the page, rereading the lines several times before raising his head. “Lord Tyreham is the finest breeder in England.”

“Breeder and racer,” Nicole amended. “I know. I’ve heard his name spoken countless times at the stables.” Her brows drew together. “Evidently, he placed this ad before word of your supposed injury reached him. I wonder what prompted him to place it now, of all times.”

“That’s no coincidence.” Nick’s scowl was grim. “Tyreham’s gone through some disappointing jockeys lately. At least he believes they were merely disappointing. I know otherwise. The fact is that at least one of them—Alberts—was taking money from the bastards who attempted to blackmail me.”

“He threw his races?”

“Exactly, a reality I’m sure the marquis is totally unaware of.”

“That’s all the more reason you’d be the ideal candidate for him,” Nicole declared proudly. “You’re not only the best jockey in England but the most ethical one as well.”

“A lot of good that does me.” Nick slapped the newspaper down. “Damn! Tyreham will have prime contenders in every race this summer—Epsom, Goodwood, the July Stakes at Newmarket. How can I miss this opportunity?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I swear I’d take my chances and resurface if I weren’t so afraid those bastards would hurt you.”

“Let me answer the personal.”

Nick stared. “Nickie, are you insane? What would you tell the man? That you’re Nick Aldridge?”

“No, of course not.” Nicole interlaced her fingers, resting her chin atop her hands. “I’ll tell him the truth.”

“The truth?”

She grinned. “Well, a combination of the truth and the story Sully and I concocted—a story that has doubtless reached Lord Tyreham’s ears by now and has, therefore, dashed his hopes of procuring your services any time in the near future.” She paused. “Therefore, I shall ride to Surrey to interview with the marquis. I’ll tell him I apprenticed under Nick Aldridge for fifteen years, since I was scarcely more than a tot. I’ll tell him Nick and I have a very special rapport, that he taught me everything I know about horses. All of which is true.”

“I see. And, given the close friendship you and Nick Aldridge supposedly share, I’m sure good old Nick must have told you exactly where he’s staying. Have you thought about how you’ll get out of sharing that information with the marquis?”