Wishes In The Wind Part 35

"Is the carriage ready?" he asked Saxon as they approached.

"Yes, sir." Helping to ease Stoddard in, Saxon waited until Dustin had followed suit. Then he closed the door behind them, climbed into his own seat, and slapped the reins.

The instant the carriage was moving, Dustin turned to Nicole. "What happened? Did they hurt you?"

"No." Adamantly, she shook her head. "It was the two men you and Papa described. They waited until I was alone and out of view. Then they cornered me and informed me that I would throw the Derby. They gave me two reasons to do so-one, they'd pay me fifteen hundred pounds, and, two, if I didn't, I'd never walk-much less ride-again."

Dustin sucked in his breath. "And what did you do?"

"I waited, as we planned, until I heard Saxon round the paddock and head toward me. Then I thanked them for their kind offer-and refused it. I limped over to Saxon and asked him to bring the carriage around. The entire encounter lasted less than a minute."

Reaching over, Dustin pulled the curtains at the windows. Then, he tugged Nicole into his arms. "You're shaking. Derby, I don't want you frightened."

"I'm not frightened. I'm furious. I wanted to kill those animals for threatening Papa and for hurting you."

Dustin started, and laughter, a welcome balm to his frazzled nerves, rumbled inside him. "My precious Derby," he murmured, touched beyond words by the fact that this tiny, delicate woman would take on two brawny lowlifes to defend him. "My beautiful, fierce lioness. Protecting her cubs."

Nicole leaned back far enough to give him an offended look. "Are you mocking me?"

"Never." Dustin enfolded her closer, stroked her back. "I never imagined being loved so deeply. Thank you, Derby."

Nicole sagged against him, gripping the lapels of his coat and accepting the comfort of his embrace. "Now what happens?" she whispered.

"Now you go home and rest, secure in the fact that there are a host of able-bodied men protecting you and each other. And the day after tomorrow you do what you've waited all your life to do-you win the Derby."

"Whatever made me think I could win the Derby?"

Pacing the sitting room, Nicole glanced from her father to Sully, never breaking stride as she readjusted her cap for the twentieth time.

"Stupidity, probably," Sully replied with a straight face.

"Or arrogance," Nick proposed, sipping his coffee.

"Yeah, that, too. The elf is known for both."

"Perhaps we could withdraw her entry," Nick suggested thoughtfully, glancing at the clock. "We have nearly two hours before the race begins. That would give us ample time to explain to the judges that Stoddard is really inept and that Lord Tyreham and his entire stable staff were wrong when they deemed him the most brilliant young jockey to come along in years. After all, what do they know?"

"For that matter, what do we know?" Sully added. "We have no eye for talent. Why would we? We ourselves have little experience in the saddle. Therefore, we're in no position to deem another jockey extraordinary, to state our belief that he'll win the Derby by such a wide margin that the spectators will be gaping long after the winning post has been pa.s.sed."

"True." Nick shook his head sadly. "Pity, isn't it, that arrogance and stupidity should so foolishly influence someone's thinking?"

"Are you two enjoying yourselves?" Nicole demanded, her lips curving in spite of herself.

"We got you to smile, didn't we?" Sullivan grinned, setting down his cup.

"Yes, you got me to smile. Now if you could only race Dagger for me ..."

"Nickie." Her father rose, soberly placing his hands on her shoulders. "You've waited for this day all your life. You're ready as h.e.l.l for it. You know that Derby course better than you know your name ... both names." Smiling tenderly, he lifted her chin. "If I didn't think you could do it, I would have put a stop to this long ago. Do you think I don't understand the panic you're feeling right now? That Sully and I haven't felt it dozens of times?"

Nicole blinked. "Neither of you ever panics. You don't even seem nervous."

"We're good actors." Sully came to his feet. "It wouldn't soothe the men paying us if we paced about the paddock, wringing our hands before each race, would it? But don't kid yourself. We're as skittish as you, wanting to do the best we can every time we get in that saddle. But, Elf, your best is all you can ask for. Yours and Dagger's. You've readied both you and him in every way possible. Be proud of that. Race proud because of that. And leave the rest to fate."

"Fate," Nicole repeated. Abruptly, her eyes lit up. "My wishing locket." She dashed upstairs, returning instantly with the necklace. "I need this with me today. Since I dare not wear it as Alden Stoddard, I'll carry it in my pocket. Then, I'll feel as if Mama's with me throughout the race."

"She's always with you, Elf," Nick said softly. "As am I."

Nicole clasped her father's hands. "I wish you could truly be there, accompany us to Epsom and watch me compete in my one and only race."

"I know, Elf." For a brief, uncharacteristic moment, Nick enfolded her against him, gave her a hard hug. "But Sully will be standing in for me. And just as Alicia can see you, so can I, and we're both very, very proud."

"Thank you," Nicole murmured into his shoulder. "Armed with that knowledge, I'm sure to succeed."

Nick kissed the top of her capped head. "I never doubted it."

Slowly, Nicole drew back. "I love you, Papa," she whispered. Turning, she squared her shoulders. "I'm ready now."

Saxon frowned.

Something was bothering him. And that something was Raggert.

Until two days ago, his opinion of the trainer had been much the same as Nicole Aldridge's-and with equally as little solid fact upon which to base it. He didn't like the trainer, didn't trust him as far as he could throw him; but, as he'd explained to Miss Aldridge, being distasteful did not necessarily designate someone a criminal. And, after scrutinizing Raggert for weeks, doing everything short of following the trainer to his quarters at night, Saxon had found nothing illegal about the man's actions.

But Raggert's behavior these past two days had altered. He'd become skittish, jumpy, keeping mostly to himself rather than hovering about Stoddard. More distressing was the fact that this change had first occurred directly after Stoddard's final practice at Epsom.

His scowl deepening, Saxon gazed out his bedchamber window. The duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Broddington had settled themselves beside Stoddard in the Tyreham carriage, and the very object of Saxon's deliberation-Raggert-was climbing into the rear seat, ready to embark on his Derby Day excursion.

He always seemed to be at the right place at the right time, didn't he? Just as he'd been in the paddock at Epsom throughout Stoddard's encounter with Archer and Parrish. It was more than possible he'd heard every word they said. In fact, if Saxon were to heed his instincts, he'd swear Raggert had been trying to hear every word.

Immediately thereafter, the trainer had disappeared-at the precise moment as had Archer, Parrish, and Lanston.

A staggering and less than believable coincidence.

Where the h.e.l.l had Raggert gone? And why?

To report to Lanston.

The possibility reared its ugly head for the dozenth time since Monday. Could Raggert be working for Lanston, sent here to gather information on Stoddard? Was he spying on the jockey's activities, asking pointed questions to report back what he learned? If so, Nicole Aldridge's suspicions had been well-founded, and Raggert was, indeed, the informant they sought.

The theory made a world of sense. If Lanston were losing money, it would help to know how to beat his most noted compet.i.tor, the marquis of Tyreham-especially in light of the fact that Tyreham had just hired an unknown and reputedly spectacular new jockey. What better way for Lanston to keep up on Tyreham's thoroughbred stock and be apprised of Stoddard's riding potential than to refer a splendid but unscrupulous trainer to work for the marquis?

But all that was minor compared to the more sinister and immediate likelihood at hand: the integration of Raggert's unique position at Tyreham with Lanston's desperate need to win the Derby.

That led Saxon back to pondering Raggert's close proximity to Stoddard at the time when Archer and Parrish proposed their little business deal. If Raggert were a.s.signed to eavesdrop, he'd probably rushed off to inform Lanston that Stoddard had no intention of throwing the Derby Stakes. At that point, with monetary ruin at stake, Lanston would have panicked, having no choice but to ensure Stoddard lost the race anyway. And who better to secure that loss than Raggert, who not only lived at Tyreham but hated and resented Stoddard?

Saxon gripped the window ledge. Had Raggert done precisely that? And, if so, was it too late to thwart whatever plan he'd set into motion?

Restlessly, Saxon peered out, counting the occupants of the carriage. Trenton and Ariana Kingsley, Raggert, Stoddard, Sullivan, and Lord Tyreham. Brackley had already ridden off astride Dagger in order to give the thoroughbred a brisk mile-and-a-half walk in preparation for the race.

All those attending the Derby were accounted for.

And since Saxon's own job was to stay behind and, along with his uncle and Mrs. Hopkins, oversee young Alexander, all he had to do was wait.

By the time he'd collected his pistol and slipped a metal file in his pocket, the carriage had disappeared around the drive, along with the very suspect he intended to investigate.

Determinedly, he headed for Raggert's quarters. Pausing at the doorway, he glanced about to ensure he was alone, then extracted his file and, with one swift slide, gained the entry he sought.

There was enough light shining from the window to guide his way, and Saxon moved about, checking the drawers, wardrobe, even the pockets of Raggert's clothing for signs of anything incriminating.

He found it beneath the bed.

There, wrapped in a concealing sheet and shoved beneath the bed's far corner, was a horse's girth-complete with billet straps and covers-distinguished by a tiny gold plate engraved with one word: "Dagger."

Saxon stared at his findings, his mind already at Epsom. Swiftly, he stuffed the girth back into the sheet and restored it to its hiding place. Relocking the door, he took the grounds at a dead run.

Minutes later, having alerted his uncle to the urgent nature of his business, Saxon leaped into the phaeton and took off for the Derby.

The starting flag rose ... and hovered.

Rather than the dread she'd antic.i.p.ated, all Nicole could feel was an acute surge of relief. She was undiscovered. Thanks to Dustin's planning, she'd successfully fooled the Clerk of the Scales, the starter, and the other jockeys. At long last, the race was about to commence. Now she had only one thing left to do.

Win.

"We can do it," she informed Dagger softly. "I know we can."

The flag dropped.

And the Derby had begun.

Urging Dagger forward, Nicole glanced neither to the left nor the right. She was oblivious to the crowds and the cheers, focused only on Dagger and where she intended him to go.

They were out in front, leading everyone but Baker who was directly to her left, closer to the inside rail. Dagger was taking the ascent beautifully, but it was her job to determine the best place to move forward and, ideally, over-to dominate the inside rail in order to shorten her distance to the winning post.

Pacing, Nickie, she could hear her father say. Don't avert your head. It will confuse Dagger and slow you down. Trust your instincts. Then follow them.

Leaning forward in the saddle, Nicole pushed Dagger for a spurt of speed. He complied, and an instant later, they shot ahead of Baker and Demon, then over to the inside rail.

Tattenham Corner was just beyond the curve of the horseshoe. That meant the sharp descent would soon be upon her. She had to take the curve slow and easy, pace Dagger as they shifted downward, then hold that pace as they headed into the straightaway that would take them to the winning post.

It was at that moment Nicole felt her saddle slip.

The slightest of motions, she felt it nonetheless. And so did Dagger. He missed a step, then regained it, as Nicole fitted herself more snugly against him. The saddle was loose, there was no doubt about it. But why?

Legs gripping Dagger's sides, Nicole forced herself to concentrate on the course. They were rounding the curve now, shifting into the decline as Tattenham Corner loomed just ahead.

The saddle jerked to a side.

"Something's wrong." In the grandstand, Dustin came to his feet like a bullet, his gaze fixed on the deep green color of Nicole's cap.

"What do you mean?" Ariana demanded.

"I mean, Stoddard is off balance. Something's wrong."

"Dustin," Trenton said quietly, "that corner is known to be brutal. Surely-"

"Something is b.l.o.o.d.y wrong," Dustin ground out. Shoving past his family, he barely heard Sullivan's grunt of agreement. Threading his way through the crowds, he could think of but one thing: getting to Nicole. Whatever the h.e.l.l was happening, it was out of her control.

Nicole was thinking much the same thing.

As Tattenham Corner bore down on her, Nicole frantically examined her options. She was still ahead-but not by much. Her wide lead had been cut down to about several lengths, she'd guess, and that promised to diminish further with her saddle impeding her speed. It was sliding freely now, the girth slipping beneath Dagger's body, the straps holding the left side of the girth in place growing more and more slack.

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 rea.s.sure 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 compet.i.tor 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 antic.i.p.ated-was under way at the judges' box, a mere ten yards away.

As Dagger's owner, Dustin was right in the middle of it.