Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

“That’s none of your business. Just do what we said and no one will get hurt.”

A muscle flexed in Dustin’s jaw. “I don’t take kindly to threats. Nor do I take kindly to orders. Now get out of here and don’t come back.” He pushed past them and kept walking.

“That nephew of yours—what’s his name, Alexander? He’s a real tough little fellow. I’d hate to see that change.”

Dustin froze in his tracks. Slowly, he pivoted to face his adversaries, fury washing over him. “If you come within ten miles of that child, I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

Surprise and a touch of fear registered on their unshaven faces. “Forget Nick Aldridge and we’ll forget your brother’s son,” the second intruder advised.

“I said get out. I meant it.” In two swift motions, Dustin shoved his own sleeves up and out of the way, his shoulders and forearms well-muscled from long years of horsemanship. “And don’t be fooled by my refined manners. If I need to show you the entrance gates by launching you through them, I shall.”

“Just remember what we said. We won’t be sayin’ it again.”

With that, they fled.

Blood continued to pound through Dustin’s skull, his thoughts running rampant as he considered the ramifications of what had just occurred. The bastards were common trash. Beating them senseless, satisfying as that might feel, would accomplish nothing. They were hired hands, paid for by someone they’d probably never seen, to do a job with no explanation other than how much money they’d make and who they should browbeat into submission.

Two things were certain: One, whoever hired those low-lifes was terrified of Nick Aldridge, and two, that bastard’s determination to keep Aldridge off the turf was savage enough for him to threaten people’s lives.

Which meant the stakes were high—most likely money or vengeance.

In either case, it raised new possibilities about Aldridge’s sudden disappearance from England. Had it truly been spawned by an injury or was it incited by the more compelling need for self-pro

tection?

Dustin rubbed his temples, qualms about Aldridge eclipsed by a more vital concern for Alexander. Not that he believed there was reason for worry, at least not while Aldridge remained in Scotland. Still, he didn’t intend to take any chances. He’d wire Trent, alert him to keep a close eye on his son …

“Lord Tyreham?”

Dustin’s head jerked around to see Poole, the distinguished Tyreham butler, standing a discreet distance away, hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes, Poole, what is it?”

The butler blinked—his only overt reaction to Dustin’s curt tone. “Forgive me for intruding, sir. But you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Entertaining was the farthest thing from Dustin’s mind. “Send whoever it is away. I need to dispatch a telegram to Spraystone at once.”

“Very good, sir. But I do think you’ll want to meet with this lad.”

“Lad?”

“Your visitor, my lord. It’s a boy who’s come in response to the personal you placed in the Gazette.”

Abruptly, Dustin became a captive audience. “The personal? Then it’s—” He broke off. “Did you say a boy?”

“I did.”

“Then it’s not Nick Aldridge?”

“No, sir. But, according to the lad—whose name is Stoddard, by the way—Mr. Aldridge instructed him to come to Tyreham.”

“Why?”

“To fill the proffered position.”

Dustin’s jaw dropped. “You’re telling me Nick Aldridge sent a substitute jockey here in his place?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, sir. Stoddard has a note from Mr. Aldridge, which the boy insists will explain everything. However, he will show it only to you. In person.”