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“I suppose I am.” Abruptly, Dustin broke off, his gaze shifting to the paddock.
“What is it?” Lanston asked, following Dustin’s stare to the two jockeys who’d appeared.
“Someone I’m most eager to speak with.”
“Parker? Or Cralley?”
“Parker.”
“Why? Are you thinking of retaining his services?”
“Hardly,” Dustin muttered. “But I do have a host of questions for him.” He swung back to face Lanston. “Have you seen Alberts, by the way?”
“At Newmarket, you mean?” Slowly, Lanston shook his head. “Actually, I haven’t seen Alberts race since you discharged him. No one was particularly eager to take him on, knowing how displeased you were with his abilities.”
“Well, I hope to discuss those very abilities with him. So, if you happen to spy the fellow, let him know I’m looking for him.”
“Of course.” Lanston studied Dustin thoughtfully. “You aren’t reconsidering your decision to dismiss him, are you?”
“Not for a moment.” Dustin cleared his throat. “Edmund, would you excuse me? I want to speak with Parker before he’s immersed in preparations for tomorrow.”
“Of course. Will I see you at the Jockey Club later?”
“Absolutely. I have to collect Stoddard’s license and resolve a few details with the Stewards.”
“And then?” A corner of Lanston’s mouth lifted. “You do intend to stay for a portion of the meeting, don’t you—to witness my triumphs?”
“I’ll be here for a day or two. After which, I must get back to Tyreham and prepare for the Derby.”
“Splendid. That’s more than enough time for me to gloat over my soon-to-be victories.”
“Hmm?” Dustin’s mind was far away. “Oh, your champions, yes.” He patted his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll buy the victory drinks. In fact, I’ll begin with a prelude-to-victory drink. I’ll meet you at the Jockey Club in an hour.”
Leaving the earl, Dustin wound his way around to the paddock, strolling up to Parker. The jockey stood beside his mount, assessing the competition, his back to Dustin.
“What are you contemplating?” Dustin asked quietly. “How to win this race or how best to lose it?”
Parker’s head snapped around, and he stared at Dustin as if seeing a ghost. “W-what?” He swallowed, obviously attempting to bring himself under control. “Aren’t you the marquis of Tyreham?”
“I am.”
“You must have mistaken me for someone else. Who are you looking for, m’lord?”
“You.” Dustin glanced about the paddock. “How much did they offer you to throw this one? Five hundred pounds? More?”
Parker clutched the saddle of the thoroughbred beside him, his eyes darting about frantically. “No one’s approached me on this meeting. I swear it.”
“But they’ve approached you in the past?”
Sweat trickled down Parker’s jaw.
“The way I see it, you can answer me now or I can address my concerns to the Stewards. With very little effort, I’ll have your license revoked and ensure you don’t ride anywhere for a long, long time.”
“And if I answer?”
“Then I’ll turn around, retracing my steps from this paddock and retaining my silence. Given, of course, that you assure me you’ve thrown your last race.” Dustin’s stare was icy. “Well?”
“Twice,” the lad managed, his voice so low Dustin had to strain to hear it. “I only did it twice. Once at Doncaster, once at York. They gave me two hundred fifty pounds the first time, four hundred the second.”
