Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

Crossing over to his desk, Dustin collected the necessary papers. He would expedite the business ahead. After which, he intended to make his way over to the tenants’ section of the estate to hold a discussion whose potential impact eclipsed all else from his mind.

A discussion that could very well determine his future.

No one answered Dustin’s knock.

Given the situation, that came as no surprise.

Waiting until he’d given the cottage resident ample time to reach the door and be silently poised to listen, Dustin knocked again, this time quietly announcing, “It’s I, Tyreham.”

The lock slipped free of its bolt, and the door eased open a bit, then halted, as the still-unseen occupant assessed his visitor from within. A heartbeat later, the door swung wide. “Come in.”

Dustin entered the cottage and faced the slight, dark-eyed man he recognized immediately as Nick Aldridge. “Throw the bolt,” he advised. “No sense taking chances.” He waited until Nick had complied, then extended his hand. “Aldridge. ’Tis a pleasure.”

“An honor to meet you, my lord,” Nick replied, gripping Dustin’s fingers. “There aren’t words enough to thank you for your help.”

Waving away the thanks, Dustin glanced about.

“We can talk in the sitting room,” Nick supplied. He led the way to a small but cozy chamber. “What can I offer you?” A scowl. “Neither Nickie nor I are very adept in the kitchen. I can’t vouch for the refreshments—other than our liquor, of course.”

Recalling Nicole’s description of her culinary skills, Dustin stifled a grin. “No refreshment is necessary. I ate a large breakfast not too long ago. Besides, I’d rather not waste time. You and I have a lot to discuss.”

“Indeed we do.” Nick gestured for Dustin to be seated, after which he lowered himself into an armchair.

“First, let me apologize for arriving early,” Dustin began, perching at the edge of the settee. “I realize you weren’t expecting me until noon. But my morning interview was as brief as it was successful, and, given that I was most eager to meet with you, I took the liberty of coming directly to your cottage. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”

“Of course not.” Nick shook his head, leaning forward with avid expectation. “You had time for a morning meeting? Does that mean the elf—” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Nicole—brought your stallion around?”

The term of endearment was as touching as the paternal pride that accompanied it. “In record time,” Dustin reported with a grin. “Within an hour she and Dagger were trotting, moving together as if they’d been a team for months rather than minutes. Your daughter’s abilities are staggering.”

Pride glowed on Nick’s face. “She is extraordinary, isn’t she? A born rider from the time she was a tot.”

“So you said in your letter of recommendation.”

Nick’s smile faded. “I’m sorry for the deception. Had there been another way—”

“There was no deception,” Dustin interrupted. “You might have fabricated the name Alden Stoddard, but the many claims you made about him were true.”

“Let’s not play games, my lord, well-intentioned or not. Your assumption was that Stoddard was male. There are no female jockeys.”

“There are now.”

“No one knows that, except Nicole and me. And now you.” With that, Nick shifted in his chair. “Pardon my bluntness, sir, but before we delve into Alden Stoddard or the circumstances that necessitated inventing him, we need to discuss Nicole and your expectations of her.”

“I agree. We do.” Dustin’s tone was equally candid. “You’re her father. Air your concerns and I’ll address them.”

“Fair enough.” A flicker of surprise—and perhaps admiration—flashed in Nick’s eyes. “To begin with, I’m worried about the idea of Nickie racing.”

“You don’t think her capable?”

“Capable? Hell, she’s better than nearly every jockey I’ve ever been up against. What I’m worried about is her well-being.”

“Her well-being?” Dustin frowned. “How will competing in the Derby jeopardize that? Are you concerned it’s too much too soon? That the pressure on her will be too great?”

An ironic snort. “Quite the opposite. Not only does Nickie ride like she was born for it, she thrives on pressure. I expect she’ll stay calm long after the others are sweating profusely.”

Well-being. A sudden, unnerving thought struck Dustin. “Do you have reason to suspect the bastards who threatened you will recognize Nicole?”

“Definitely not,” Nick answered with the kind of conviction that suggested long hours of contemplation. “To my knowledge, those men have never laid eyes on Nickie. And even if they have, they’ll believe what everyone else does—that she’s in Scotland. With me. Tending to my injury. Besides, they’d never see through her disguise. It’s too bloody good. Nickie made sure of that—given she’d have to get by the other jockeys, most of whom are my friends and have known the elf since she was a tot. She took extra precautions to fool them, lowering her voice, altering her mannerisms, and … er, binding herself down.” Nick flushed. “Anyway, combine all that with the cap she wears that hides half her face, and my colleagues would have to be looking damned close to see a glimpse of the real Nickie, which they won’t be. Not at Epsom. All their attention will be focused on their own mounts.” A troubled pause. “At least, I pray that’s the case.” Nick rubbed his palms against his breeches. “My nagging fear is for the time immediately preceding the race. Nickie will need to weigh out a quarter hour before the Derby’s onset, draw a lot for her starting position, line up at the gate. That’s when she’ll be most vulnerable. Stoddard is new to the turf. The Racing Calendar will have printed his name as your stallion’s jockey of record, so speculation will be rampant. It’s only natural for the other jockeys to want to size up an unknown competitor. If they should stare long enough …”