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He spied her slight form, and his knees nearly buckled with relief. “Stoddard?”
She turned, taking a few hobbling steps in his direction. “Yes, my lord?” Her voice was calm, reassuringly even. But she was white-faced, her eyes huge, and Dustin knew instantly that those filthy lowlifes had approached her.
“I saw you massaging your thigh,” Dustin continued on cue. “Did you injure it?”
“Yes—slightly, sir. I believe it’s only a strain. But I would like to soak the leg as a precaution. Saxon happened by a moment ago, and I took the liberty of asking him to ready the carriage. If you don’t mind, may I return to Tyreham?”
“Certainly.” He was desperate to hold her, ensure himself of her well-being. “The Derby is two days away. We can’t take any chances of your muscles tightening up. We’ll leave for Tyreham right away.” Purposefully, he scanned the area. “I’ll instruct Brackley and Raggert to see to Dagger.” Catching sight of Brackley, he waved him over.
“Yes, my lord?” Brackley inquired.
“Stoddard’s left thigh is bothering him. I want to have it treated at once, before it becomes a problem. I’m taking him back to Tyreham. Can you and Raggert finish up?”
“Of course.” Unaware that the injury was fictitious, Brackley gave Nicole a paternal scowl. “I thought I saw you favoring that side when you dismounted. Is it bad?”
“No.” Nicole shook her head. “Just sore.”
“Well, you’re sheet white. Go ahead with Lord Tyreham.” Brackley surveyed the paddock. “I saw Raggert a few minutes ago. He’s around here somewhere. I’ll find him, my lord. And we’ll see to Dagger.”
“Splendid. I’ll send the carriage back for you.” Dustin led the way from the paddock, Nicole limping alongside him. He was silent, not trusting himself to converse until they were alone and he could speak freely.
“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?”
