“And you.” The earl reached his side. “I thought you were ensconced at Tyreham with the trainer I wish I’d never given away—least of all to you.”
Dustin chuckled. “I was and I am. But I had business in Suffolk and couldn’t resist assessing things at Newmarket.”
“Are you entered in this meeting?”
“No. As you just pointed out, I’m preoccupied with getting things in order at Tyreham. So I withdrew all those entries I’d scheduled for the upcoming fortnight from this meeting at Newmarket straight through the Knowlet Stakes at Manchester.”
“Why? Because you wouldn’t win?” Lanston raised an amused brow.
“No, because I never do things by half measures, as you well know.”
“Well, take heart. You wouldn’t have won anyway, at least not at Newmarket. I’ve entered three of my prize mounts in the Two-Year-Old Plate, the Maiden Plate, and the Rous Stakes, respectively. I intend to sweep all three races.”
“Excellent. I wish you the best of luck. May you do precisely as you proclaim.”
Surprise flickered across Lanston’s patrician features. “It’s not like you to be so magnanimous, Dustin. Especially when I know bloody well that your plans for the remainder of the racing year hinged on retaining Nick Aldridge, who’s injured and out of the country indefinitely.”
“True. Well then, I suppose I’m far more charitable then even I realized.”
“Hah.” The earl’s pale eyes glinted. “More likely, your good nature spawns from the rumors I’ve been hearing about your anonymous Derby contender.”
Dustin’s expression was the epitome of innocence. “Anonymous? Really, Edmund. You, of all people, know who I’m entering. You sold Dagger to me.”
“I wasn’t talking about the stallion, although Lord alone knows how you expect that maniacal demon to take the Derby. I was referring to your new jockey—Stoddard, I hear his name is.”
“You hear correctly. And, if I might be so bold as to offer some advice, I’d suggest that should you be entered in the Derby—withdraw. You’ll only lose.”
“That sure, are you?” Lanston inquired idly, brushing an imaginary speck off his sleeve. “I’m impressed. Tell me about this fellow.”
“No.”
Lanston started. “What?”
A broad grin. “You heard me. I’m not going to reveal one bloody detail about Stoddard, other than what’s listed in the sheet calendar. You’ll simply have to wait and see for yourself.”
“Surely your strategic silence doesn’t apply to your friends?”
“It applies to everyone. Stoddard is new at this, as you’re aware, and I don’t want anyone upsetting him or breaking his concentration. Not a tout, a backer, even a close friend who, despite our long-standing association, also happens to be a competitor. No, Lanston, this is one victory I mean to protect … and to savor.” Dustin patted the earl’s shoulder. “Once the race is over, Raggert is welcome to fill you in on every aspect of Stoddard’s training. He timed the lad yesterday, as a matter of fact. Stoddard is already besting last year’s winner by more than a nose, and that’s without the advantages handicapping will afford us, given the meager number of races Dagger has taken part in.”
Lanston kept his face carefully devoid of reaction, the ever-so-slight dilating of his pupils the only indication of his concern. “I see. Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” He cleared his throat. “And Raggert? He’s working out satisfactorily, I presume?”
“He only started yesterday, but with qualifications such as his, I expect he’ll be an asset to Tyreham’s stables.” A knowing twinkle lit Dustin’s eyes. “By the way, should your inquiry about Raggert—uttered on the heels of my refusal to discuss Stoddard—be a reminder of the colossal favor you did me, issued in the hopes of inciting my guilt, you may save your breath. I’ve saved your neck on more occasions in the past than I’d care to recount. So consider us even. If, however, you are truly concerned with my view of Raggert’s skills, ask me again at Epsom. By then, I’ll have watched his training methods long enough to render an opinion.”
“You’re certainly in high spirits,” Lanston asked with a wry grin. “Even cockier than usual.”
“I suppose I am.” Abruptly, Dustin broke off, his gaze shifting to the paddock.
“What is it?” Lanston asked, following Dustin’s stare to the two jockeys who’d appeared.
“Someone I’m most eager to speak with.”
“Parker? Or Cralley?”
“Parker.”
“Why? Are you thinking of retaining his services?”
“Hardly,” Dustin muttered. “But I do have a host of questions for him.” He swung back to face Lanston. “Have you seen Alberts, by the way?”
“At Newmarket, you mean?” Slowly, Lanston shook his head. “Actually, I haven’t seen Alberts race since you discharged him. No one was particularly eager to take him on, knowing how displeased you were with his abilities.”
“Well, I hope to discuss those very abilities with him. So, if you happen to spy the fellow, let him know I’m looking for him.”
“Of course.” Lanston studied Dustin thoughtfully. “You aren’t reconsidering your decision to dismiss him, are you?”
“Not for a moment.” Dustin cleared his throat. “Edmund, would you excuse me? I want to speak with Parker before he’s immersed in preparations for tomorrow.”
“Of course. Will I see you at the Jockey Club later?”
“Absolutely. I have to collect Stoddard’s license and resolve a few details with the Stewards.”
“And then?” A corner of Lanston’s mouth lifted. “You do intend to stay for a portion of the meeting, don’t you—to witness my triumphs?”
“I’ll be here for a day or two. After which, I must get back to Tyreham and prepare for the Derby.”
“Splendid. That’s more than enough time for me to gloat over my soon-to-be victories.”
“Hmm?” Dustin’s mind was far away. “Oh, your champions, yes.” He patted his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll buy the victory drinks. In fact, I’ll begin with a prelude-to-victory drink. I’ll meet you at the Jockey Club in an hour.”
Leaving the earl, Dustin wound his way around to the paddock, strolling up to Parker. The jockey stood beside his mount, assessing the competition, his back to Dustin.
“What are you contemplating?” Dustin asked quietly. “How to win this race or how best to lose it?”
Parker’s head snapped around, and he stared at Dustin as if seeing a ghost. “W-what?” He swallowed, obviously attempting to bring himself under control. “Aren’t you the marquis of Tyreham?”
“I am.”
“You must have mistaken me for someone else. Who are you looking for, m’lord?”
“You.” Dustin glanced about the paddock. “How much did they offer you to throw this one? Five hundred pounds? More?”
Parker clutched the saddle of the thoroughbred beside him, his eyes darting about frantically. “No one’s approached me on this meeting. I swear it.”
“But they’ve approached you in the past?”
Sweat trickled down Parker’s jaw.
“The way I see it, you can answer me now or I can address my concerns to the Stewards. With very little effort, I’ll have your license revoked and ensure you don’t ride anywhere for a long, long time.”
“And if I answer?”
“Then I’ll turn around, retracing my steps from this paddock and retaining my silence. Given, of course, that you assure me you’ve thrown your last race.” Dustin’s stare was icy. “Well?”
“Twice,” the lad managed, his voice so low Dustin had to strain to hear it. “I only did it twice. Once at Doncaster, once at York. They gave me two hundred fifty pounds the first time, four hundred the second.”
“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.
Evidently, Alberts hadn’t bolted fast enough.
“My lord?” Saxon began as Dustin reached his side. “Forgive me, sir, but I was bringing the carriage around as you instructed, when this poor fellow—Mr. Alberts, I believe he said his name was—stepped in my path. I tried to veer off, but one of the horses didn’t respond fast enough and clipped the gentleman’s shoulder. Mr. Alberts is being most noble about this, assuring me he’s unharmed.” Saxon glanced at the sputtering man, whose head was lowered in a frantic attempt to avoid being recognized. “But I’d feel infinitely better if you would check for yourself. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for injuring someone.”
Dustin’s stunned gaze flickered from Alberts to Saxon.
Saxon arched one brow ever so slightly.
Stifling laughter, Dustin joined in the game. “Of course I’ll check. Alberts, did you say?” With apparent surprise, he caught the jockey’s forearms, shifting him from Saxon’s hold to his own. “Why, it is you. Alberts and I are well acquainted,” he explained to Saxon. “In fact, he once rode for me. What a coincidence that it’s my carriage he happened to stumble into.”
“I didn’t stumble,” Alberts muttered, raising his chin as he realized his anonymity was gone. “This blasted driver of yours nearly ran me down. I was leaving Newmarket when he sped out of nowhere.”
“Leaving Newmarket?” Dustin frowned, outwardly puzzled. “But I assumed you’d just arrived. I’ve been here since the onset and haven’t seen any sign of you.”
“I-I’m not racing.” A dark look. “You, better than anyone, know why. You’re the one who ruined my reputation when you discharged me.”
“No, Alberts. That you accomplished on your own.” A thoughtful pause. “If you’re not racing, why are you here?”
“Is it against the law for a man to cheer his friends on?”
“Only if the reason he’s cheering them on is because they’re throwing races and sharing illegal profits with him.”
A flicker of fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? It makes good sense to me. If you can’t get a job, you can’t throw a race. But you can find substitute riders who, if they’re willing to supply you with a portion of their earnings, you agree to introduce to the appropriate backers. Could you have come to Newmarket for that purpose?”
Again, Alberts began to struggle. “Like I said, I came to see my friends, but I changed my mind. I was leaving when this bloody madman almost killed me.”
“Well, it appears you survived the ordeal,” Dustin observed, glancing at the supposedly injured arm which, like its counterpart, was moving to and fro in Alberts’s attempts to free himself. “Therefore, I needn’t summon a physician. However, I have a fine idea. As it happens, I’m also on my way out. Permit me to escort you wherever it is you wish to go.”
“I don’t want you to escort me anywhere. I’ll find my own way.”
“Nonsense. Taking you to your destination is the least I can do. After all, it was my driver who nearly struck you down.” Dustin shoved Alberts into the carriage and climbed in after him, firmly shutting the door in his wake. “Now, where was it you were heading? Or shall I say, fleeing to? And which of the jockeys at this meeting have you convinced to forfeit their races?”
Alberts groped at the carriage’s other door handle, only to find his escape blocked by Saxon’s formidable presence. “What do you want from me?”
he demanded.
“Answers.” Abandoning the restraint he’d exhibited while in public, Dustin leaned forward, coiled and ready to strike. “You collected a thousand pounds for throwing my races at the fall meeting. Who paid you?”
“No one.”
“Shall I beat the information out of you? I’d be delighted to. In fact, I’d feel vindicated.”
The jockey paled, balking at the leashed violence in Dustin’s tone. “What do you aim to do with me?” he asked, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap.
“That depends on whether or not you answer me.” Dustin’s jaw tightened menacingly. “Consider this, Alberts. You’re in my carriage, alone and unarmed. You’re also without a job, thanks to your unscrupulousness. No one would notice or give a damn if you were to disappear—and I don’t mean only from Newmarket. Now, I repeat, who paid you?”
Albert’s pallor intensified. “Two men,” he blurted. “Not counting their friend with the scars. They told me what they wanted, offered me enough money to make it worth my while, and disappeared.”
Dustin had stopped listening an instant earlier. “Their friend with the scars?”
Recognizing his faux pas, Alberts again searched frantically for a way out, this time gauging the distance between Dustin and the door.
“Don’t even consider it,” Dustin warned, maneuvering himself until he was angled on the carriage seat. “Now, tell me about this scarred man.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He showed up at the paddock for a minute, gave the other men some instructions, then he left. The brawny one and the black-eyed one did the talking, at least to me.”
“Their friend—describe him. Where were his scars, on his face?”
“No. On his forearm. Lots of them.” Alberts shuddered. “It wasn’t pretty. Neither was he. He was hard as hell looking, like he’d just as soon kill you as not. The kind you don’t want to meet on London Bridge after midnight.” Renewed fear slashed across his face. “The kind you don’t want to cross. Understand?”
Dustin lunged forward and grasped Alberts’s shirt, dragging him up off the seat. “I understand. Now, it’s time you did the same. I want you to tell me every bloody detail you remember about this scarred man. Then I want you to get on a ship and take an extended holiday. Not only because you’re terrified of this scoundrel who, if he learns you’ve been talking to me, will take you apart piece by piece, but because your already floundering career will be over if you remain. Why? Because I’ll report you to the Jockey Club and ensure that your license is revoked and that you don’t work another day for the rest of your life. So, I’d suggest you take that vacation.” Dustin slid one hand into his pocket and extracted some bills. “I’ll give you two thousand pounds. Disappear until the fall meeting. Maybe by then those ruffians will have forgotten you, and, if I’m in a generous mood, I might help you get another retainer, albeit small. Maybe. And that’s only if I feel confident that you never intend to act unlawfully again.” Dustin dangled the money before Alberts’s ashen features. “Well? Have we a deal?”