Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

“I’ll see him immediately.” Dustin took two strides toward the manor, then halted. “Poole.” He pivoted to face his butler, lowering his voice to a terse, confidential murmur. “Send a telegram to Trent. Address it only to Trent. I don’t want Ariana to read it. It will alarm her—probably without cause. Tell him that two men were here warning me not to hire Nick Aldridge. Tell him they mentioned Alexander in their threats. Urge Trent to keep an eye on his family but not to panic. I don’t think my unwelcome visitors will dare approach my nephew—not given Aldridge’s disappearance and not if they want to live.”

All the color had drained from Poole’s face. “Of course, sir,” he replied, his voice unsteady. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Tell me where I can find this Stoddard fellow. Because if he knows anything about what just happened here, I intend to find out.”

“He’s waiting in your study.”

Nodding, Dustin clasped Poole’s shoulder. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

“No one, my lord.”

“Thank you, Poole.” His jaw set, Dustin stalked toward the manor.

Nicole shifted in the study chair, wondering where the mysterious marquis of Tyreham was and wishing he’d hurry and make an appearance. The apprehension was almost more than she could bear.

Her disguise was flawless. She knew that. Her garb was that of a stableboy; every last hair swept up into a rigid knot beneath her cap; every sign of feminity concealed, as the binding around her breasts—which rivaled her corset in discomfort—could attest.

Clutching her father’s note, she mentally rehearsed the speech she’d prepared, reminding herself to further her cause by keeping her movements to a minimum during this, the sole one-on-one meeting she’d likely have to suffer with the man she meant to work for. After today she’d be with the horses, training, and he’d be in his mansion doing whatever it was a marquis did.

But she wasn’t leaving Tyreham without that job.

Behind her the door swung open, and she came slowly to her feet, unfolding from her chair like a man. It was time to convince him. She had to convince him. For her father’s sake … and her own.

She turned to face her challenge.

“Mr. Stoddard? I’m the marquis of Tyreham. I understand you wish to see me.”

My God, it was Dustin.

For a split second, Nicole felt her legs give out, and she feared, yet again, she might swoon—a sensation she’d only experienced twice, both times in this man’s presence.

Dustin—the marquis of Tyreham? How could this be happening?

“Stoddard?”

He was looking at her oddly, and she gave herself a mental kick. Pull yourself together, she commanded silently. In Dustin’s mind, nothing has changed since he walked through that door. He’s a breeder seeking the best damned jockey in England, and I’m some obscure boy intruding on a job intended for another. And I want that bloody job—Dustin or not. So, I’d better say something. Now.

“Yes—Alden Stoddard. Thank you for seeing me, my lord.” Good, excellent. Her voice was calm and pitched lower than usual, more like a young man’s than her own. She tugged at the brim of her jockey’s cap, grateful that it covered not only her hair but most of her forehead as well. Firmly, she reminded herself that Dustin had met “Nicole” under cover of night and, therefore, had not gotten a thorough look at her, also that while he looked much the same then as he did now—other than a change from evening attire to riding clothes—she’d been someone else that night at the Thames, not only a different person but a different gender. Hence, not only wouldn’t he see a resemblance, he wouldn’t even be searching for one.

“You’ve certainly piqued my curiosity, Stoddard,” Dustin was saying, simultaneously gesturing for her to be seated. He assessed her intently while she complied. Then he crossed over to his desk. “My butler tells me Nick Aldridge sent you.”

“Yes, sir, he did.” Nicole went taut as he walked past her, almost close enough to touch. Again she chided herself to forget that the man who was about to determine her future was the same man who’d invaded her dreams these past nights. If she didn’t, she’d never survive this interview, much less acquire the position.

“Why?” Dustin perched on the edge of the desk, his midnight eyes fixed, once again, on her face. “Why did Nick Aldridge send you?”

“It’s all here in this note, my lord.” Composing herself, she extended her hand, staunchly stilling its trembling. “I assume you’ve heard about Nick’s injury?”

“I’ve heard.” He took the letter, making no move to unfold it.

Nicole cleared her throat. “Well, he was very disappointed that he couldn’t accept your offer—at least not immediately. He sent me to fill in for him until he could ride.”

One dark brow rose. “And who, may I ask, are you? The name Alden Stoddard means nothing to me.”

Lord, he was formidable when doing business—a different man than the one who’d dried her tears. Well, perhaps that was better. It would make it easier for her to recall her purpose in coming. “I’m Nick’s protégé,” she said proudly. “I apprenticed under him for fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years? You must have been riding before you could walk.”

Angry color leaped to her cheeks. “I’m twenty, my lord. I was walking by the age of one and riding shortly thereafter.”