Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

“Who did? Who paid you?”

Again Parker’s gaze swept the area. “I don’t know their names.”

“Describe them.”

“Two men, one tall, the other heavyse

t with pale eyes and muscles thick enough to crush me. I know—he used them on me when I balked about throwing the second race.” The boy’s mouth trembled. “Please, Lord Tyreham, if they find out I told you this …”

“No one’s going to find out. You’re going to answer one final question, and then I’m going to walk away, and you can tell all your nosy pals, who at this very moment are straining to eavesdrop on our conversation, that I’m considering offering you a retainer for next season.”

A frightened nod. “What’s the question?”

“During these visits, did the men mention any names—most particularly the names of whoever sent them? Think, Parker. Think hard.”

Brow furrowed, Parker struggled to remember. At last, he shook his head. “No, m’lord. Never. They didn’t do much talking. They told me what they wanted, threatened me if I opened my mouth, and disappeared. I only saw them three times—when they made their first offer, when they paid me and ordered me to throw the second race, and when they paid me for that race. I haven’t seen them since. And I don’t want to.” He dragged his forearm across his sweat-drenched face. “Please, m’lord. That’s all I know.”

“I believe you.”

The jockey turned frightened eyes to Dustin. “Are you going to report me?”

“No. But, Parker, don’t throw another race. Ever,” Dustin warned, his lethal words a direct contrast to his tone and expression, both kept purposely affable for the benefit of passersby. “If those men should reappear, refuse them—threats or not. Otherwise, you can bid the turf good-bye. Is that clear enough?” He waited only for Parker’s emphatic nod. “Excellent. Your colleagues will never suspect a thing. Good day. And good luck in tomorrow’s race. May you run fortuitously and honestly.”

Turning, Dustin ambled off, satisfied that he’d acquired all the information Parker had to give.

Which wasn’t a bloody thing more than he’d already known.

The next two days proved equally futile.

Other than chatting with Lanston and concluding the final details pertaining to Stoddard’s Derby entry, Dustin was stymied at every turn. Of the additional seven jockeys he sought, three refused to say a word, their fear of physical harm obviously more powerful than their worry over losing their licenses; one took ill and didn’t ride; and three provided descriptions of the blackmailers that were nearly identical to Parker’s.

By the third day, Dustin was thoroughly disgusted, and more than a little uneasy. He hated leaving Nicole for so long, partially because he felt more secure when he was there to guard her tenuous role as Alden Stoddard, and partially because he missed her so much he ached with it.

For the umpteenth time in three days, his thoughts gravitated back to that crucial moment in the cottage doorway, the moment when Nicole had offered him her heart.

The reason I’m terrified is because I love you, too.

Her words, the look in her eyes, were ingrained in Dustin’s mind with all the clarity of the most vivid rainbow.

He’d won her love.

Now it was time to obliterate her terror.

With a wave of gratitude, Dustin acknowledged the crucial support he’d gained during their celebratory feast. Nick Aldridge had, at last, crossed that invisible threshold between certainty and uncertainty, thus becoming an ally. In addition, Nicole had finally agreed to discuss their future together; hell, to even admit they had a future together.

Still, he was a long way from realizing that future. He had to resolve this blasted mystery, give Aldridge back his life, and, most importantly, convince Nicole that their love could—would—triumph over their differences, sustain whatever trials life had to offer.

None of which he was accomplishing here. In fact, he was wasting precious time that could be spent looking for his one-time jockey, Alberts, who had doubtless been alerted to Dustin’s interrogation by now, and sprinted as far away as possible; time that could be spent preparing for the upcoming Derby.

Time that could be spent with Nicole.

He had to leave Newmarket. He’d stop only long enough to ensure Sullivan’s well-being, then return to Tyreham.

Resolutely, Dustin headed toward the spot just outside the racing grounds where he and Saxon had prearranged to meet.

Halfway there, he stopped.

Directly before him, angled and empty, was his carriage, several hundred feet from where he’d left it. Alongside the carriage stood Saxon who, upon glimpsing his employer, signaled him by indicating the wiry man who was struggling to free himself from Saxon’s iron grasp.