They were going to give out entirely. And, if they did, her saddle would launch out, probably injuring another horse, definitely impeding the other jockeys and getting her disqualified from the race.
Those prospects were intolerable.
Hugging Dagger’s flanks, she eased around Tattenham Corner, then, as the other mounts slowed into the curve, she took advantage of her slim lead by maneuvering as quickly as she could to the far right, as close to the outside rail as possible.
Baker shot past on her left, breaking into the straightaway at a dead run just as her billet straps gave a telltale snap.
Don’t be distracted by the other riders, Nickie
, her father would say.
Do what you have to do. You’ll regain speed later.
Glancing quickly around to ensure no one was beside or behind her, Nickie eased her weight, letting the saddle and girth fly free. They whirled off to her right, striking the outside railing and hitting the ground fifteen feet to the right of any rider.
Beneath her, Dagger tensed, swerving away from the rail, losing his momentum as he struggled to steady himself.
Vaguely, she heard the startled shouts erupting from the crowds in the grandstand: “It’s the saddle!” “Baker’s ahead by four lengths!” “Not a hope of Stoddard recovering!”
Disregarding the uproar, Nicole gripped Dagger’s reins more securely, molding herself to his back as she fought to both reassure him and to regain control. “Easy, Dagger,” she murmured. “It’s over. We’re fine. Now let’s go for that post.”
Instantly, Dagger responded, recovering his balance and, a split second later, his speed.
A roar went up from the grandstand as Nicole and Dagger burst forward, leaving the rapidly approaching third-place jockey far behind and breaking into the straightaway.
Shutting out the commotion, Nicole had but one thought: catching up to Baker, then beating him.
Eyes narrowed with purpose, she leaned forward and squeezed Dagger’s sides, commanding the extra speed she needed.
The stallion blasted onward, galloping at a breakneck pace, reaching his competitor sixty yards shy of the winning post.
For the next few seconds she and Baker raced at a dead heat.
“I know, Papa,” Nicole muttered, a spark lighting her eyes. “That telltale burst of speed fifty yards from the winning post. Right … now.”
In a heartbeat, she and Dagger shot ahead, edging by Demon and flying by the winning post—victorious by a neck.
By the time she slowed down enough to bring Dagger around, the crowd was on its feet and a substantial argument—as she’d anticipated—was under way at the judges’ box, a mere ten yards away.
As Dagger’s owner, Dustin was right in the middle of it.
As Demon’s owner, so was Lanston.
Fleetingly, Dustin’s gaze darted to Nicole’s, his expression fierce with anger and worry.
“I’m fine.” She mouthed the words with a shaky grin, touching the brim of her cap to salute their victory—acknowledged or not.
His relief transmitted itself to her as clearly as if he were standing right beside her. With a solemn salute, he mouthed back, “You’re a hell of a lot better than fine.”
Then he returned to the battle at hand.
“How does it feel to be a Derby winner?” Dustin asked, entwining Nicole’s fingers in his.
She settled against the cottage settee, totally spent from the past few hours of grueling questions, hearty congratulations, and, upon her arrival at Tyreham, frenzied worry and furious outbursts from her father—followed, finally, by a warm bath and change of clothes. “I still can’t believe I won,” she murmured, grateful beyond words for Dustin’s intentional efforts to relax her. “How does it feel? Wonderful. Better than wonderful. Even better than the bath I soaked in.”
He pressed her palm to his lips. “You were astonishing. I’ve never seen such extraordinary riding in my life.”
“Neither have I,” Sully agreed, following Nick out of the kitchen while casting repeated, worried glances at him.
“Here’s your tea, Nickie.” Nick handed her a cup, still white-faced with the realization that his precious daughter could have been killed today. “Tyreham, do you and Saxon want another brandy? I’m having a third. Lord knows, I need it.” Even as he spoke, he was sloshing brandy into a glass. “I still can’t believe Raggert cut those straps.”
“Well, he did,” Saxon said quietly from the armchair in which he sat. “Although no one besides us and the duke and duchess of Broddington knows it. I’m only sorry I couldn’t get to the race in time to spare Miss Aldridge from her harrowing experience.”
“I’m not,” Nicole assured him, sipping her tea. “Much as I detest Raggert
and
what he did, I loved every minute of that race—even the most challenging seconds when I was scared silly. If you’d arrived in time to delay the starter’s flag, you would have had to provide an explanation. Lanston might have eluded us, and I would have had to forfeit my entry and my victory.”
“Not necessarily in that order of importance,” Dustin commented, his lips twitching.
“Speaking of Lanston,” Sully chimed in, “how did he behave during that bitter battle for first place?”
“Like a drowning man fighting for air,” Dustin supplied. “Oh, he was gracious as hell when the judges’ decision was announced, offered repeated congratulations to both Stoddard and me, but his pretense was far from convincing. In truth, he was white with fury. I think he wanted to kill me.”
“How could he think the judges would rule in his favor?” Sully barked. “The elf not only won bareback, she took the time and care to move aside so no one would be hurt or even slowed by that saddle when it sailed off. She lost ten good seconds doing that, if you ask me. Her winning time should have been reduced to two minutes twenty-nine seconds.”
“Two minutes thirty-nine seconds is fine with me,” Nicole demurred, “as is winning by a neck. My dreams were to run in the Derby and to win it. In committing those wishes to my locket, I didn’t specify an exact distance, by which I needed to win nor a specific time frame in which I had to do so.”
Throughout Sully and Nicole’s exchange, Nick had been staring broodingly into his brandy. Now, he slammed his goblet onto the side table, facing Dustin with blazing eyes. “Tyreham, what the hell is the matter with you? You allowed everyone on the turf to believe that some unknown, jealous mischief maker tampered with Dagger’s tack when you know damned well that bastard Lanston paid Raggert to hurt my daughter. Not only are you letting them both walk free and unaccused, you’re sheltering that son of a bitch Raggert under your roof, letting him keep his job. Have you lost your bloody mind?”
“Papa.” Nicole emitted a tolerant sigh. “Please stop bellowing and try to be rational. What good would it have done for Dustin to accuse Lord Lanston? What proof do we have? The tack Mr. Saxon found only condemns Raggert. Lanston could simply deny knowledge of the whole crime and walk away virtually unscathed. And since
he’s
the one we want, we have to tread very carefully.”
“Your daughter is right, sir,” Saxon concurred.
“I don’t give a damn.” Nick continued to glare at Dustin even as he addressed Nicole. “Elf, you could have been killed. It seems to me that protecting you and punishing the men who threatened your life should be first on the list of your husband-to-be.”
“Papa …”
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Dustin squeezed Nicole’s fingers and released them, leaning forward to meet Nick’s gaze. “Your father is right. It’s time I shared my plan with him—and with you.”
“Plan?” Nick demanded. “What plan?”
“The one Saxon and I worked out.”
“Actually, Lord Tyreham is being unduly modest,” Saxon inserted. “The idea was, for the most part, his. I merely elaborated on it.” A grin. “As I said, sir, you’d make an excellent investigator.”
“Dustin?” Nicole set down her teacup, brows drawn in puzzlement. “You didn’t mention any plan to me.”
“I intended to—after you’d had a chance to recoup your strength and I mine.” He stared into his empty goblet, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the dread I felt watching you slide wildly from side to side as you tore around that corner. I was so terrified you’d—” He broke off, swallowing.
“Well, by the grace of God, Nickie is fine,” Nick said in a mollified tone. “So tell us what plan you’re talking about.”
Dustin looked up, the predatory fire in his eyes burning away all traces of vulnerability. “The plan that begins with my feigned ignorance of Raggert’s guilt in severing those straps, despite the fact that I’d like to break every bone in his contemptible body, and culminates in sending him, Lanston, and all their filthy colleagues to prison. The plan that will further result in reinstating you as England’s finest jockey and in giving me the miracle I’ve awaited forever—your daughter as my wife.”
“S
TODDARD! ARE YOU UP
to being at the stables this morning?” Brackley tossed aside Blanket’s saddle and hurried up to Nicole.
From the corner of her eye Nicole saw Raggert step out of Blanket’s stall.
“I’m fine, Brackley. Thanks.” She gave him a faint smile. “Although I’m not eager to relive yesterday.”
“I don’t blame you. You could have been killed.” He patted Nicole’s shoulder. “Like I said yesterday, you’re one hell of a jockey. That Derby will go down in history.”
“I hope so. Because it’s my first and my last.”
In the distance, Raggert’s head came up.
“What do you mean?” Brackley asked, rubbing his chin.
“That’s really what I came here to tell you, and what I intend to tell Lord Tyreham.” A resigned sigh. “Brackley, I’m not suited for racing. I have the skill, but I haven’t the grit or the strength. I’m totally spent from weeks of nonstop training. My nerves were raw enough just thinking about competing in the Derby. Then yesterday— well, I could have died or killed someone else. That reality did me in. Affinity for horses or not, it’s not worth it. So I’m packing away my Derby victory and bidding the turf good-bye.”
“Stoddard, you’re talking crazy. Do you know how good you are? What kind of future you’re passing up?”
A nod. “Yeah, I do.”
Brackley drew a sharp, inward breath. “Lad, the race only happened yesterday. You’re still reeling from the shock. Why not take some time off—hell, maybe even skip the whole summer racing season. Then in the fall, you can reconsider.” An attempted grin. “Not every race is as exciting as yesterday’s Derby. I’ll bet you find most of them uneventful and boring. But you’re too damned good to walk away.”
“Right now, I have to.”
“Look—I have an idea,” Brackley tried, gesturing about the stables. “I need more hands around here than I can count. How about if I arrange with Lord Tyreham for you to work with me, exercise the horses, maybe break in the new foals. Temporarily, of course. Until you feel up to racing again. The money won’t be as good as a jockey makes, but you won’t starve either. And you’ll be able to stay where you’re happiest, where you belong—around horses.”
Nicole felt a surge of warmth at the generous offer Brackley was extending—maybe even at his own expense. If Brackley assumed that taking Stoddard on meant the lad would get a portion of the work, he probably also assumed he’d get a portion of the pay.
I wish I could tell you, my friend,
she mused silently.
But I can’t. Not yet. Still, your kindness won’t be forgotten. Soon I’ll be able to repay you.
Her own reflection spawned an inner smile. It appeared there would be definite advantages to becoming the marchioness of Tyreham, after all.
“Stoddard?” Dustin flung open the door to the stables. “Ah, there you are.” He stalked over to where she and Brackley stood. “Are you feeling better today?”
“Yes, my lord. I am. However …”
“Excellent. Because I’ve just arranged for the most extraordinary opportunity.”
“Sir?”
“During your final practice at Epsom, Lord Lanston put a splendid idea in my head. After seeing you race yesterday, I was more than eager to realize his suggestion. I’ve done precisely that. I spoke to the Stewards early this morning, and, given your superb performance at the Derby yesterday, they’ve agreed to allow us to enter the Oaks Stakes, which is taking place at Epsom tomorrow.”
Nicole blinked. “But it’s too late to enter …”
“I’ve been granted special permission. The Stewards unanimously agreed you’re too bloody good a jockey to limit to one race.” Dustin glanced at Brackley. “The Oaks, as you know, is for three-year-old fillies. I’ve entered Winning Streak. She and Stoddard will take the race without batting a lash.”
“I’m sure they will, my lord.” Brackley cast a questioning look at Nicole, who lowered her gaze to the ground.
“My family’s waiting, so I must be getting back to the manor,” Dustin concluded, apparently oblivious to Stoddard’s less than enthusiastic reaction. “But as soon as Winning Streak is tacked up, I want you to take a few trials on her. Oh … Raggert.” Dustin seemed to spy the trainer for the first time. “It’s a good thing you’re here. This situation concerns you, too, on a most crucial level.”
The trainer inadvertently stiffened.
“I don’t like to upend your schedule without notice,” Dustin continued, seemingly unaware of Raggert’s tension. “Therefore, I shan’t expect you to assist Brackley and me in working with Stoddard today, but tomorrow I have a conflict. Long before I realized I’d be entering Winning Streak in the Oaks, my brother and I arranged a business meeting for tomorrow morning. And, as the duke and his family will be departing for Broddington directly after the close of the Epsom races, there is no other time for us to conduct this meeting. Therefore, I’ll need you to oversee Stoddard during his final trial tomorrow morning. Brackley will time him. I’ll be back before the race, after which, you’re free to take the rest of the day off. Does that present any problems?”
“No, sir,” Raggert replied, nearly sagging with relief. “I’ll make sure they’re ready to do their job at the Oaks.”
“I’m sure you will, Raggert.” With a cool nod, Dustin turned. “Congratulations again, Stoddard. You were amazing.”