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“Well, I do. It’s up to us to determine the cause of Dagger’s jitters and ease them. I don’t give a damn how long it takes. We’ll just have to be patient, even if it means deferring his racing victories until the fall meetings. Forcing ourselves on him won’t work. We’ve got to earn his trust, win him over.”
“All right, my lord,” Brackley agreed dubiously. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Dustin turned on his heel. “I’ll be back after lunch.”
Striding through the stables, he silently berated himself for his brusqueness. It was totally unlike him, but he couldn’t seem to snap out of this foul mood. Hell, he was as ornery as Dagger, the only difference being that, in his case he knew the precise reason for his uncustomary black humor.
And that reason was an apparition named Nicole.
Dammit. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on a bloody thing since he’d met her. He’d left London, gone home to Surrey in the hopes that he’d lose himself in his work: hire an exceptional jockey, select the right trainer, establish an affinity with Dagger.
Yet all he seemed to do was visualize a beautiful, anguished face, feel a soft, trembling mouth under his.
Nicole, Nicole what? Where was she from? How could he find her? They’d never crossed paths before—that was a certainty. But then, why would they? Her unadorned gown and total lack of artifice suggested she didn’t travel in his circles, where the ladies were dazzling, wealthy, fashionable.
Contrived.
And so bloody shallow it sickened him.
She was different. And not just because she stood apart from the practiced members of the ton. It was she herself, a blend of innocence and wisdom whose beauty was as delicate and natural as the first buds of springtime. And yet beneath that fragility, Dustin perceived a strength of character as rare as it was compelling.
How many years had it been since he’d met someone, male or female, so totally lacking in pretense? When was the last time he’d talked, really talked, with a woman? Nicole’s behavior diverged totally from what he’d come to expect: she seemed comfortable with him as a person, yet achingly self-conscious with him as a man.
What was she frightened of? Why had she run? Where the hell had she run to?
There had to be a way to find her. But how? Where should he search for a woman like Nicole? He couldn’t knock on every door in London, though the idea grew more tempting by the minute.
He’d take out another personal.
That notion brought him up short. It was the only logical solution. He’d find the right words, make the ad so straightforward and earnest that it would convince her to meet him again—anywhere she chose.
Lost in formulating his message, Dustin exited the stables, his dark mood supplanted by anticipation.
“Tyreham. We’ve been waitin’ for you.”
The raspy voice brought him up short.
Blinking, Dustin shielded his eyes from the sunlight. A wary tingle shot up his spine as he regarded the two unkempt men blocking his path. “Who the hell are you?”
One muscular arm shot out, fingers grasping Dustin’s shirtfront. “Friends. Here to warn you to stay out of trouble.”
Shards of fury sparked in Dustin’s eyes as he fought free of the punishing grip. “Get your hands off me. Now. Before I lose my temper.”
He was shoved against the stable wall.
“You’ve been lookin’ for Nick Aldridge. Don’t.”
Stepping purposefully away from the wall, Dustin advanced toward them, memorizing their faces and builds. The one who’d spoken was short, heavyset, with a ruddy complexion and glazed blue eyes. His companion was a few inches taller and a bit less muscular, with unruly black hair and a dark-slitted gaze.
“Your information is outdated,” Dustin informed them, brushing off his collar. “Nick Aldridge is in Scotland recuperating from an injury, or haven’t you heard?”
“Yeah, we heard.” The shorter man began the deliberate task of rolling up his shirtsleeves. “But if he should make a startlin’ recovery and answer your ad, send him away.”
“Why? Do you gentlemen have something against a man working for a living?”
“Some men, yeah. Aldridge is one of ’em.”
“Who sent you here?”
