“Lord Lanston.” Nicole acknowledged the introduction with a cool nod.
“My, my.” Lanston stared, making no attempt to disguise his openly sensual appraisal.
Dustin’s fingers tightened around Nicole’s. “Lanston, I’d strongly suggest you erase that provocative expression from your face. Nicole is my betrothed.”
“Your betrothed?” That surprising piece of news diverted Lanston’s attention—both from his hungry assessment of Nicole and from the race. “When did this happen? I knew nothing about it.”
A warning glint flashed in Dustin’s eyes. “Ah, that’s because I know far more about you than you do about me.”
A shout from the crowd made Lanston whip about, alerted him to the unexplained excitement rippling around him, as well as the status of the ongoing race.
Awareness dilated his pupils. “Who’s that in front?”
“Hmm?” Dustin was deeply absorbed in the race. “Why, Winning Streak, of course.”
“Winning Streak?” Lanston turned sheet white.
“Lanston, I’d suggest you get your pound notes ready,” Trenton recommended icily, staring straight ahead, seemingly mesmerized by the event. “Winning Streak is already leading by a full length.”
Sweat drenched Lanston’s brow. “But I thought …”
“You thought?” Dustin prompted.
Abruptly, Lanston’s eyes narrowed on the more heavily muscled legs gripping Winning Streak’s flanks. “That’s not Stoddard.”
“No, it isn’t. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you—from Raggert?”
Lanston jerked about as if he’d been struck, a vein throbbing at his temple as he faced Dustin. “What do you mean?”
“I told you, Lanston. I know a great deal about you. In fact, I know everything.” Enmity tightened Dustin’s features. “Everything.”
“He’s in front by three lengths, Dustin,” Trenton announced. “And that’s after being absent from the turf for weeks. I’m impressed.”
“Absent from the …” The earl weaved, clutching the rail beside him. His wild-eyed gaze darted back to the course and froze on the jockey who was racing Dustin’s filly to victory. “Tyreham,” he rasped, “who’s riding Winning Streak?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“Who, dammit?”
“The most brilliant jockey on the English turf.” It was Nicole who answered, her chin coming up, pride and hatred converging in her tone. “My father.”
“Your father? Who the hell is—?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Dustin interjected. “I never did have the chance to complete your introductions. Lanston. My betrothed.” A lethal pause. “Nicole
Aldridge
.”
Lanston seemed to crumple before their very eyes. “Oh, my God,” he whispered.
“It’s too late to pray,” Dustin bit out. “Further, I doubt God aids murderers.”
“I didn’t murder anyone.” Lanston took an inadvertent step backward, looking like a trapped animal who sensed his own doom. “I know what Aldridge heard. He thinks I killed Redley, but I didn’t. Nor did I order Cooper to kill him—he took that upon himself. And he never would have if Redley hadn’t threatened to expose us. That’s the only reason Cooper silenced him. I never wanted anyone hurt. It was just the money.” He dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and began mopping at his face.
As if on cue, the crowd gave off a cheer.
“Well, Lanston,” Trenton pronounced over the commotion, “speaking of money, you’d best go home and amass yours. As of now, you have enormous debts to satisfy. Aldridge just took the Oaks—by more lengths than I can count.”
“Money?” Lanston repeated woodenly. “I’ve nothing left.”
“In that case, besides being an animal and a culprit, you’re also a pauper.” For the first time, Trenton met Lanston’s gaze head-on, letting the earl see the undisguised fury blazing inside him. “If you hadn’t already hung yourself, I’d kill you for threatening my son, you miserable bastard.”
Lanston sank to the bench. “Dustin, help me,” he managed.
“Help you?” Dustin could barely control himself long enough to bait Lanston into finishing what he’d begun: tightening his own noose. “You’re scum, Lanston. You might not have killed Redley, but you sure as hell hired men to kill Aldridge. Cooper, Archer, Parrish—they’re all out on the streets, looking for the very man who just took the Oaks Stakes. And let’s not forget Raggert. You referred him to me, sent him to Tyreham as your eyes and ears and eventually your muscle. You ordered him to stop Stoddard from winning that Derby any way he had to. But for the grace of God, that poor boy could be dead, too. So could any of the other jockeys he rode against, had Stoddard not been skilled enough to release that saddle where no one would be struck. In short, Lanston, each action I’ve recounted translates into attempted murder.”
Without pause, Dustin began counting off on his fingers. “Now let’s enumerate your other forms of violence. You hired men to beat Sullivan within an inch of his life, then rehired them to do the same to me. You also sent a warning note to my brother, threatening his son with physical harm. And we have yet to detail the theft, fraud, and blackmail that were involved in your unscrupulous scheme to coerce jockeys into throwing their races. And you’re asking me for help?”
“It wasn’t meant to be like that.” Lanston was shaking now, dragging his hand through his hair. “No one was supposed to get hurt, only frightened enough to succumb to our demands. I explained to you what happened with Redley. Aldridge was … a necessity. I wish to God he’d never walked into Newmarket that day, never overheard Cooper and me discussing Redley’s death, but he did. Still, if he’d only cooperated with us, demonstrated his allegiance by throwing those bloody races, I wouldn’t have had to instruct Cooper to kill him. But, as things stood, I didn’t know what his position was. Did he intend to blackmail us like Redley did? Or worse, did he intend to use the truth about Redley’s death to undo us, turn us over to the authorities? I agonized over these questions for days, gave Aldridge every chance to change his mind, but he didn’t. Instead, he disappeared. So what choice did I have? I had to have him found and eliminated. As for Stoddard, I told Raggert not to hurt him, only to stop him.”
“And how did you intend for him to do that—with a polite request?” Dustin shot back incredulously. “You’re twisted, Lanston, deluding yourself into believing that paying others to kill isn’t the same thing as killing. But it is. You’re as guilty as Cooper and Raggert.”
“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.”
L
EANING 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.