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“Derby?” Trenton frowned in noncomprehension, looking as if he were trying to determine whether or not his brother were delirious.
“Lord Tyreham calls me Derby because he hired me to win the Derby,” Nicole explained as briefly as possible. Now was not the time to pour out her whole story, reveal who she was. “And I’m perfectly strong and capable. If we make a seat with our arms, we can carry him without worsening any of his injuries.”
Trenton nodded. “Good idea.”
“You take most of my weight, Trent,” Dustin muttered.
“Stop worrying about me,” Nicole retorted, helping Trenton boost Dustin from the ground. “I’ll be fine.”
“Who’s worrying about you?” Dustin eased into the makeshift seat with a grimace, gritted his teeth as they moved carefully toward the clearing. “It’s me I’m worrying about. You might drop me.”
God, he was actually trying to make her laugh.
The generosity of his action spawned a rush of love in Nicole’s heart so intense, so profound, it brought tears to her eyes. And suddenly, with the clarity of a flawless diamond, she realized that all her objections, her halfhearted attempts at self-protection, were for naught. Even if the adaptations she faced were next to impossible, even if her heart ended up shattered, she loved Dustin Kingsley far too much to walk away. He was her fate, her future. And for however long Dustin’s “forever” lasted, in whatever capacity he wanted her—she was his.
Odd that so monumental a decision would strike now, under these unlikely circumstances. All her other firsts with Dustin had been in wildly romantic settings as magnificent as the man with whom she’d shared them. They’d met on a starlit night along the Thames, made love in a secluded cabin, shared twilight and stargazing in sensual, stolen moments. Yet here she was, silently committing herself to him for—what in her case could mean nothing less than the rest of her life—and it was under the most unromantic, harshly realistic circumstances imaginable.
Maybe it wasn’t so odd after all, she decided, sagging with relief as the manor drew near. Maybe it had taken the shock of seeing Dustin vulnerable, needing her, that had made her realize how badly she needed him.
And need him she did. Enough to bid her former life good-bye, to become a mistress, even—God help her—a marchioness, if by some miracle he asked.
A soft smile touched Nicole’s lips. The moment Dustin was able to have that talk, she was ready.
“Just a bit farther,” Trenton muttered. He glanced at his brother. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better.” Dustin’s jaw was dotted with sweat, mixing with a fine trickle of blood. “Derby?” He tried to turn his head, then gave it up.
“I’m quite well, my lord,” she assured him as they neared the entranceway steps. “And you had best be, too. Oh, I’m not totally unreasonable. I’ll agree to postpone our Epsom competition for a day or two, but that is my absolute limit. After which, I intend to beat you by those five lengths I boasted. Perhaps six lengths, given the fact that you’re not quite yourself.”
Trenton’s head snapped around at the flippancy of her tone; and Nicole realized how cheeky she must sound—a jockey speaking with such familiarity to his employer.
In contrast, Dustin emitted a pained chuckle. “Don’t make me laugh, Derby. It hurts.”
“Take the stairs slowly,” Trenton instructed, turning his attention back to the matter at hand.
Poole flung open the entranceway door, rushing out to assist them. “The duchess and marquis are fine, sir,” he informed Trenton, assessing Dustin’s condition as he helped guide him inside. “They’re with Mrs. Hopkins in the nursery.” He frowned. “Lord Tyreham?”
“Hello, Poole,” A corner of Dustin’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I’m in bad need of a brandy.”
“I’ll bring one at once, sir.” With obvious relief, Poole glanced at Trenton. “Quinn went to fetch Dr. Welish. They should be back within the half hour.”
“Excellent.” Trenton gestured for Nicole to veer with him toward the staircase. “In the interim, I’ll take Lord Tyreham to his chambers and clean his wounds. Bring me some towels and a basin of water.”
“Very good, sir.”
Nicole walked gingerly up the stairs, helping Trenton balance Dustin’s weight. Finally, they reached the landing and rounded it, facing an endless hall.
“Which way, Your Grace?” she asked.
Trenton jerked his head in the direction of Dustin’s room. “It’s the last one on the right.”
Minutes later, they lowered Dustin to his bedcovers, where he gratefully lay back.
“The blood’s soaked down to his shirt,” Trenton bit out. “I’ll peel it away so it doesn’t stick to whatever bruises are beneath it. You get his boots and breeches.”
Nicole froze. “What?”
Trenton tossed her an exasperated look. “I said, get his boots and breeches off. It will expedite things for Dr. Welish. I’ll handle the shirt, which is a more delicate task.”
