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Nick sighed, his heart weighted by a foresight his daughter had yet to acquire. “Let’s put aside the issue of your racing but once,” he said lightly. “Apart from all the possible danger, you have one hell of a task ahead of you—readying this thoroughbred for the Derby. I needn’t tell you that if he’s really as skittish as the marquis says, he’ll require calming in order to be tacked and mounted, much less raced.”
“I know, Papa. And I’ll use all the skills you’ve taught me. I’ll make you proud, you’ll see.”
“I’m already proud, Elf. But I’m also worried. Not about the horse—if anyone can bring him around, it’s you—but about the situation.” Tension drew grim lines about Nick’s mouth, cast shadows of doubt across his face. “You mean the world to me, Nickie.”
“As you do to me. I’ll prevail, Papa. I promise.”
“You’ll be alone. Neither Sully nor I will be there to watch over you.”
That did it. Feeling her father’s pain, his need to simultaneously offer his blessing and withhold it, Nicole knew what she had to do. No, she silently amended, what she chose to do.
All night long she’d tossed and turned in her new bed, grappling with whether or not to tell him the truth: that Dustin knew precisely who—and what—she was. Her instincts had screamed yes. Her father deserved to know. She’d never before kept anything from him, and she so badly wanted to divulge the details of Dustin’s kindness, his vow to protect them. It would put her father’s mind at ease and, at the same time, somehow validate the unfathomable emotions Dustin evoked inside her.
Yet, her intentions could backfire. Given Dustin’s reputation, her father might balk when he learned that the womanizing marquis of Tyreham had realized from the start that his new jockey was female. Worse than balking, he might order her away—from Tyreham, from the Derby … and from Dustin.
The very thought spawned an unwelcome constriction in Nicole’s chest, one that had nothing to do with her binding and everything to do with her emotional and physical attraction to Dustin Kingsley. With great difficulty, and for the umpteenth time, she tried to squelch her flustered uncertainty. Flustered because—after but two kisses—she was already in over her head. Uncertain because, not only was she treading in uncharted waters, she was doing so with a man so devastating, so proficient in his charm, she could scarcely stay afloat.
“Nickie?” Her father was gazing expectantly at her, a myriad of questions in his eyes.
Abruptly, Nicole returned to the here and now, accosted by a cold dose of reality. This was what mattered, her conscience cried out, guilt rearing its ugly head. Her father’s safety, their future, her commitment to the weeks ahead. She had no room in her life for a casual dalliance. Especially now. And especially with the man who’d just hired her and now held her fate in his hands.
Once again, reality intruded, refusing to allow such self-deception. Who was she kidding? Nicole thought with a resigned sigh. A casual affair? She? Under any circumstances? Even with a man as sinfully tempting as Dustin? Never. The prospect was as inconceivable to her as lying or stealing, as unnatural as the corset she’d been forced to wear. Essentially, she was just too honest, too principled.
Too provincial.
And Dustin, warm and intuitive though he might be, was anything but provincial. That she’d deduced instantly, despite her sexual innocence. One didn’t need firsthand experience to recognize charisma like Dustin’s. It was a tangible entity—innate, unmistakable, bone-melting. As was the self-assuredness of his technique. The resulting message was clear: Dustin Kingsley knew women—intimately and often. In contrast, Nicole was a green schoolgirl, one who understood only the kind of fidelity and commitment her parents had shared, and who wasn’t equipped to handle the aftermath of Dustin Kingsley.
So, yes, the timing was irreconcilable.
But so were she and Dustin.
Nicole drew a slow, inward breath. There was no choice. She’d have to forget those heart-stopping moments in his arms. They’d been a dream, an illusive taste of forbidden fruit.
She couldn’t risk another bite.
“Elf?” By this time Nick sounded alarmed. “What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me. Is it about those thugs who threatened Tyreham?”
“No, Papa, nothing like that.” Nicole raised her chin, determined to give her father the truth, or at least the part that might appease him.
On the other hand, it might explode in her face.
Reflexively, her fingers skimmed her pocket, grazing the comforting outline of her wishing locket.
“I won’t be alone,” she plunged in. “Even without you or Sully to look after me, I’ll be in good hands.” Here goes. “Lord Tyreham will see to my safety. He understands what you and I are up against. He’s vowed to protect us.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“He knows, Papa.”
Silence. Then, “Exactly what is it he knows?”
“Everything. That Nick Aldridge is my father. That you’re right here at Tyreham, rather than in Scotland.” A pause. “And that Alden Stoddard is Nicole Aldridge—and a woman.”
Her father’s jaw dropped. “You told him?”
“Of course not. But then, given
the circumstances, I didn’t need to.”
