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“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 passed.”
“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 hell 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 duchess 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 hell 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 competitor, 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 assigned 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?
