by Andrea Kane
“No, I’m not. I never killed anyone. I couldn’t kill anyone. It’s just that I’m drowning.” Lanston’s voice took on an hysterical tone. “I have more outstanding notes than I can count. Everywhere I turn, I owe hundreds of pounds. I tried everything, but time after time I encountered failure. Even with that bloody stallion. I bought him, beat him into compliance, and what was the result? For me he was a savage, for you he became a Derby winner. I sent Raggert to Tyreham not to harm anyone but to study your breeding methods, keep me apprised of your latest contenders, and hold you back long enough for me to win some races, recoup some of my losses. With Aldridge unavailable, I expected it to be easy. Then Stoddard showed up and ruined everything.”
“You didn’t anticipate Stoddard’s level of skill, did you?” Dustin grilled. “Nor did you expect him to refuse Archer and Parrish’s offer. Just as you didn’t expect Nick Aldridge to be so principled that he’d rather desert the turf than cooperate with criminals. But then, why should that surprise me? You can’t understand principles, Lanston. You have none.”
Lanston emitted a strangled sound. “It was survival, Dustin. Please … you must understand.”
“Oh, I understand, all right.” Dustin pivoted in his seat, glancing behind him to receive Saxon’s definitive nod. “We all understand.” he added, pointing.
Following Dustin’s gesture, Lanston leaped to his feet, becoming aware of his surroundings for the first time. He blanched as Saxon stepped away from his box, revealing the men his presence had concealed, the Stewards of the Jockey Club. Behind them, and all around the Kingsley box, clusters of noblemen muttered among themselves, shaking their heads in disgrace.
Dazedly, Lanston looked at Dustin. “You planned this?”
“Every bit of it,” Dustin confirmed. “Right down to eliciting the assistance of the Stewards in setting up this performance. These fine men have no more desire than I to have a criminal in their ranks.” Dustin turned to Saxon. “I presume we have enough evidence for the authorities.”
“More than enough, my lord,” Saxon assured him. “Right before you arrived at Epsom, I was handed a missive written in Blaker’s hand. He’s apprehended both Cooper and Raggert. It seems our ‘Coop’ is wanted in two English and three Scottish towns in connection with a series of violent crimes. As for Raggert, he’s terrified by the thought of Newgate and is more than happy to cooperate in any way that will reduce his sentence, including filling in any details we have yet to acquire. Archer and Parrish will be ferreted out by day’s end. And it will be my pleasure to escort the whole bloody lot of them to Scotland Yard.”
Lanston blinked, as if trying to make sense of something. “If you’ve had Aldridge all this time, why did you wait until now and go to such extremes to confront me? Why didn’t you end this weeks ago?”
“That’s the ironic part of it,” Dustin supplied caustically. “You see, Lanston, Nick Aldridge never heard your conversation with Cooper, never knew you murdered Redley. All he discerned on that day he strolled into the stables at Newmarket were two unlikely people having a private conversation. He was as bewildered as we by your sudden urge to kill him.”
With a low groan, Lanston buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my God. All the risk, the anguish, was for nothing.” Slowly, he raised his head, realization flickering in the hollow depths of his soul. “If Aldridge heard nothing, you had no actual proof of my guilt.”
“Precisely. Until now, that is. You’ve done an exceptional job of incriminating yourself.” Dustin glanced at Saxon. “He’s all yours.”
“As I said, a pleasure, sir.” Saxon grasped Lanston’s arm, led him off.
“Thank you, Tyreham.” Lord Chisward, the eldest of the Jockey Club Stewards rose solemnly. “I think I speak for everyone when I express my horror at the fact that corruption such as this was tainting the turf. But it’s over now, other than amassing the disreputable jockeys involved. Which, between the list you’ve supplied us and the results of our own investigations, we shall do posthaste. At which point the guilty parties will be dealt with—swiftly and severely. You have my word on that. Again I thank you for helping to bring Lanston to justice.”
“No thanks are necessary, Chisward,” Dustin responded. “In truth, I’m equally relieved to put this behind us, not only for the sake of the turf but for the sake of my betrothed”—he tucked Nicole’s arm through his—“and her father.”
“Miss Aldridge,” Chisward turned to Nicole, “please extend our deepest apologies to your father. And tell him we welcome him back with the greatest of enthusiasm.”
“I will,” Nicole answered faintly. “Thank you.”
Hearing the tremor in her voice, Dustin glanced over, frowning when he saw tears glistening on her lashes. “Nicole?” His knuckles brushed her cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“He beat that beautiful, spirited horse,” she replied in an aching whisper.
Dustin needed no further explanation. “Never again,” he vowed quietly. “He’ll never abuse Dagger—or any other horse—again.”
“Yes, I heard that admission as well,” Chisward chimed in, with a hard shake of his head. “And from a renowned breeder, no less. Well, fear not, Miss Aldridge. With the list of crimes the earl has committed, he won’t be free to hurt anyone or anything for many years to come.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, attempting a smile.
Lord Chisward surprised them by abandoning his ever-present reserve and smiling back. “You, my dear, are a breath of fresh air after a sordid display like the one we just suffered. Tyreham is a lucky man. I wish you the best of luck, and I look forward to making a toast to that effect at your wedding. Now, run off—both of you—and congratulate your father. He’s earned himself another splendid victory.”
“I will, sir. And again, I thank you.” This time, Nicole’s smile came naturally.
“Oh, Tyreham?” Chisward prompted.
“Yes?”
“My only lingering regret is that you couldn’t convince Stoddard to stay on and further his racing career. Is there any chance he might reconsider?”
“Doubtful,” Dustin countered soberly, wrapping his arm about Nicole’s waist. “He was adamant when he left Tyreham, wouldn’t even leave a forwarding address. He said something about retiring from the turf to pursue a long-awaited dream. No, Chisward, I don’t expect we’ll be seeing Stoddard again.”
With a resigned nod, the elderly man made to leave. “Such a pity,” he murmured aloud. “A lad like that could have become another Nick Aldridge.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Dustin concurred. He arched a quizzical brow at Nicole. “Don’t you agree, love?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Nicole gazed up at her future husband, undisguised love shining in her eyes. “Being a dreamer myself, I understand Stoddard’s need to follow his.” She glanced toward the paddock, beaming as she witnessed her father’s joyous homecoming. “Besides,” she stated without the slightest tinge of regret, “Stoddard was exceptional, but, ultimately, there’s only one Nick Aldridge.”
Nineteen
LEANING OUT THE BEDCHAMBER window, the new marchioness of Tyreham reveled in the warm night air. Sounds of merriment still clamored loudly from the far grounds of the estate, equal amounts of champagne and ale being consumed as the party prevailed full force, despite the fact that the bride and groom had made their exit an hour ago.
Mrs. Dustin Kingsley.
Reverently, Nicole touched the golden band on her finger, wondering if it were possible to burst with happiness. At last, after a frenzied and interminable fortnight, she had, mere hours ago, walked down the aisle on her father’s arm and been joined with the man she loved.
The celebration that followed had been perfect, boasting a fascinating mixture of guests ranging from the distinguished Stewards of the Jockey Club to the joyful, raucous jockeys themselves.
A true melding of her life and Dustin’s.
Smiling, Nicole recalled one of the highlig
hts of the festivities: the moment she and Dustin had taken Brackley and Poole aside to a secluded cluster of trees in order to tell them the truth.
Solemnly, Dustin had explained that, as Brackley and Poole were more family than servants, he’d wanted to personally introduce them to his bride. Both men had been deeply moved, and Brackley had begun by humbly thanking Lord Tyreham for inviting him to this momentous occasion.
“My lady,” he’d then stammered, bowing awkwardly to her. “I’m honored to meet you.”
“And I as well, Lady Tyreham,” Poole had echoed, with a more practiced bow.
“Meet me?” With feigned surprise, Nicole had inclined her head quizzically. “Why, you both act as if we’re strangers.” Seeing their baffled expressions, she’d leaned forward, purposely lowering her voice to become Stoddard’s. “At least Dagger had the good sense to recognize me.”
Would she ever forget the looks on their faces?
“Damn.” Brackley’s mouth had dropped open. “I mean … forgive my language, my lady. I mean …”
“I know what you mean.” Nicole had squeezed his arm, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, “Now this must remain our secret. I have no intention of relinquishing my Derby victory.”
Poole had stored for a full minute before speaking. “All this time …”
“All this time,” Dustin had assured him cheerfully.
Somehow, Nicole doubted poor Poole would ever recover from the fact that he hadn’t guessed the truth.
The bride’s musings were interrupted by a quiet click from behind her.
Pivoting about, Nicole’s heartbeat accelerated at the sight of her husband leaning back against their connecting bedchamber door, studying her from beneath hooded lids. Clad only in his dressing robe, he surveyed her hotly, drinking her in from the crown of her dark, unbound hair to the soft curves of her body, visible through her thin lace-trimmed nightgown.
“At last,” he said huskily. “The ultimate wish fulfilled.”
Crossing over, he drew her away from the window and into his arms.
Nicole gripped the lapels of his robe, her palms opening over the smooth silk. “And what wish is that?” she asked softly.
“You.” Tenderly, his thumbs caressed her cheekbones. “Do you know how many times I’ve stood in that doorway, scrutinizing this room and wondering if I’d ever find a reason to cross its threshold, a woman to fill its emptiness—and mine?” His gaze fell to Nicole’s wishing locket, and he caught it in his palm. “Perhaps your locket’s magic has extended to me, as well.”
“I’m sure it has,” Nicole breathed. “Everything about tonight is magic.”
Dustin’s midnight eyes darkened, his fingers tunneling through her hair. “Did I allow you enough time to get ready?” he asked in a tone that clearly said he had no intentions of granting her even one second more.
“Oh, indeed you did, my lord.” Nicole gave him a radiant smile. “I’m beginning to see the benefits of a lady’s maid. It’s amazing how much faster one can dress and undress with the proper assistance.”
“Really? Well, I hope you haven’t become overly accustomed to your new maid. You won’t be seeing her for many, many days. Then again—” Dustin’s hand tightened on his wife’s nape, urged her forward to receive his kiss. “You won’t be dressing, either.”
Nicole’s eyes drifted shut as Dustin’s lips brushed hers, a brief, heated caress that made her body tremble, her breath expel in a rush.
“My beautiful bride,” he whispered, “I’ve nearly died dreaming of tonight.”
“I’ve nearly died waiting for it,” she confessed, twining her arms about his neck.
He kissed her again, this time more deeply, caressing the delicate line of her spine and exploring her mouth with tenderness, desire, and a carefully leashed restraint that Nicole wanted no part of.
“Dustin—” She drew back, searched his face. “It’s been forever.”
“Longer,” he corrected. “But I want our wedding night to be everything you ever wished for.”
“It already is. It became that the instant we were pronounced man and wife.”
“Ah, Nicole.” Dustin’s embrace tightened, and he seized her mouth with a kind of raw desperation, opening it to his v tongue, his taste, his possession. “I love you. God, I love you so much.”
She pressed closer, thinking that nothing could be more right than this exquisite, incomparable moment—only to find that the next one surpassed it. With uninhibited joy, she gave herself up to her husband’s spell, kissing him back with all the fervor in her soul.
Dustin groaned, lifting her up and into him, devouring her mouth with an urgency that far transcended the physical. His tongue sought and found every tingling surface, stroked them with tender, heated caresses that branded them as his. Molding her to fit against him, he held her there, cupping her bottom and pressing his rigid erection into the warm haven between her thighs, kissing her again and again until neither of them could think, or talk, or breathe.
Nicole’s head was spinning, her body liquid with longing as the hard ridge of Dustin’s flesh throbbed against her yearning core, burning through the fine layer of her nightdress. She wanted to part her legs to him, feel him thrust deep inside her, fill the hollow void he’d created and only he could fill. Instinctively, she moved against him, and he made a rough sound deep in his throat, crushing her closer still, his hands moving reverently over the hidden curves of her body.
“Dustin.” She tore her mouth from his. “Please—take me to bed.”
Her plea was more than enough.
Wresting himself away, Dustin seized the hem of her nightdress, pulled it over her head, and cast it to the floor. “You’re even more breathtaking than I remembered,” he managed hoarsely, his ravenous stare raking her with a need that made the throbbing inside her quicken.
With a heated shiver, Nicole reached forward, unbelting his robe and pushing it open. He flung it alongside her nightdress, then swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
“I want you more now than I did before—more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life,” he rasped, lowering her to the sheets. Ever so lightly, he traced the curves of her breasts, brushed the hardened peaks of her nipples, then stopped, fanning her hair out over the pillow and standing back to make love to her with his eyes.
Nicole’s breath was coming in shallow pants, her whole body flushed with arousal. Lying perfectly still, she surveyed her husband, wondering at the incredible sexual magnetism he exuded, as natural to him as breathing. He wasn’t even touching her, yet her body was throbbing in conjunction with each shift of his intensifying scrutiny. She nearly sobbed aloud when his gaze found the core of her femininity, his expression growing taut with strain, hot with desire. “Dustin.” She was hardly aware she’d said his name, her own greedy stare instinctively dropping to his rigid manhood, now huge and pulsing with its need for her. Awed, her gaze returned to—and locked with—his.
Dustin took an inadvertent step toward the bed, then checked himself, his jaw clenched against the tide of sensation they both knew was already out of control. “No,” he attempted, giving voice to the words. “I want to make this last for hours, days …”
“Dustin … please,” Nicole whispered, opening her arms to him.
Restraint vanished.
With a growl of capitulation, Dustin covered Nicole with himself, seizing her mouth in a kiss so openly carnal that Nicole moaned with the dizzying impact, arched instinctively against him. “Yes,” she breathed as his lips left hers, blazed a trail down her body, igniting an inferno every place he touched.
“Perfect,” he muttered against her breast, drawing the aching nipple into his mouth. “You’re heaven.”
“Oh, Dustin.” Nicole’s eyes drifted shut, and she shivered, holding his head to keep him there even as her body arched to lure him further along his path.
He captured her hands in his, intertwined their fingers as he shifted to her other breast,
bathed it in liquid fire, then inched his way down the bed, worshipping her with reverent strokes of his mouth.
Abruptly, Nicole needed to share the magic, to discover the warmth and textures she’d been unable to explore during their one all-too-brief joining.
Wriggling free, she urged her startled husband to his back, running her palms over the powerful breadth of his shoulders, down the contours of his hair-roughened chest. “It’s my turn,” she whispered, gazing up at him.
Excitement flashed in Dustin’s eyes. “I’m all yours,” he murmured huskily, stretching his arms overhead.
Nicole felt a surge of exhilaration. She shifted her hands, teased his nipples with her thumbs, and was rewarded by his low groan of pleasure, the tightening of his nipples beneath her touch. Venturing downward, her fingers traced the steely muscles of his abdomen, the corded muscles of his thighs, and her gaze returned to his, saw the shimmer of anticipation reflected there.
She answered it.
Dustin went taut when her fingers closed around his shaft, stroked its rigid length. A hard shudder wracked his body, and he groaned—a primal sound of male need—before he seized her wrist, taught her the pleasure she was capable of bringing him, then relinquished himself to her magic.
Eagerly, Nicole complied, glorying in her husband’s blatant masculinity, her own wondrous sense of abandon as she teased him with featherlight strokes of her fingertips, more purposeful sweeps of her palm. A sudden thought struck her, and on impulse, she lowered her head, murmuring, “The way you made love to me in the cabin—with your mouth—would that please you as well?”
“I won’t survive,” he ground out, trembling as her hair swept his thighs.
She paused, giving him a siren’s smile. “Try,” she breathed, taking him into the warm cavern of her mouth, tasting him as he had her.
Dustin nearly launched off the bed. Whip-taut, he arched like a bowstring, gripping the headboard to steady the harsh tremors wracking his body. “Nicole, I can’t.” Even as he commanded her to stop, his hips lifted, begging her to take more of him.