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Evidently, Alberts hadn’t bolted fast enough.
“My lord?” Saxon began as Dustin reached his side. “Forgive me, sir, but I was bringing the carriage around as you instructed, when this poor fellow—Mr. Alberts, I believe he said his name was—stepped in my path. I tried to veer off, but one of the horses didn’t respond fast enough and clipped the gentleman’s shoulder. Mr. Alberts is being most noble about this, assuring me he’s unharmed.” Saxon glanced at the sputtering man, whose head was lowered in a frantic attempt to avoid being recognized. “But I’d feel infinitely better if you would check for yourself. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for injuring someone.”
Dustin’s stunned gaze flickered from Alberts to Saxon.
Saxon arched one brow ever so slightly.
Stifling laughter, Dustin joined in the game. “Of course I’ll check. Alberts, did you say?” With apparent surprise, he caught the jockey’s forearms, shifting him from Saxon’s hold to his own. “Why, it is you. Alberts and I are well acquainted,” he explained to Saxon. “In fact, he once rode for me. What a coincidence that it’s my carriage he happened to stumble into.”
“I didn’t stumble,” Alberts muttered, raising his chin as he realized his anonymity was gone. “This blasted driver of yours nearly ran me down. I was leaving Newmarket when he sped out of nowhere.”
“Leaving Newmarket?” Dustin frowned, outwardly puzzled. “But I assumed you’d just arrived. I’ve been here since the onset and haven’t seen any sign of you.”
“I-I’m not racing.” A dark look. “You, better than anyone, know why. You’re the one who ruined my reputation when you discharged me.”
“No, Alberts. That you accomplished on your own.” A thoughtful pause. “If you’re not racing, why are you here?”
“Is it against the law for a man to cheer his friends on?”
“Only if the reason he’s cheering them on is because they’re throwing races and sharing illegal profits with him.”
A flicker of fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? It makes good sense to me. If you can’t get a job, you can’t throw a race. But you can find substitute riders who, if they’re willing to supply you with a portion of their earnings, you agree to introduce to the appropriate backers. Could you have come to Newmarket for that purpose?”
Again, Alberts began to struggle. “Like I said, I came to see my friends, but I changed my mind. I was leaving when this bloody madman almost killed me.”
“Well, it appears you survived the ordeal,” Dustin observed, glancing at the supposedly injured arm which, like its counterpart, was moving to and fro in Alberts’s attempts to free himself. “Therefore, I needn’t summon a physician. However, I have a fine idea. As it happens, I’m also on my way out. Permit me to escort you wherever it is you wish to go.”
“I don’t want you to escort me anywhere. I’ll find my own way.”
“Nonsense. Taking you to your destination is the least I can do. After all, it was my driver who nearly struck you down.” Dustin shoved Alberts into the carriage and climbed in after him, firmly shutting the door in his wake. “Now, where was it you were heading? Or shall I say, fleeing to? And which of the jockeys at this meeting have you convinced to forfeit their races?”
Alberts groped at the carriage’s other door handle, only to find his escape blocked by Saxon’s formidable presence. “What do you want from me?”
he demanded.
“Answers.” Abandoning the restraint he’d exhibited while in public, Dustin leaned forward, coiled and ready to strike. “You collected a thousand pounds for throwing my races at the fall meeting. Who paid you?”
“No one.”
“Shall I beat the information out of you? I’d be delighted to. In fact, I’d feel vindicated.”
The jockey paled, balking at the leashed violence in Dustin’s tone. “What do you aim to do with me?” he asked, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap.
“That depends on whether or not you answer me.” Dustin’s jaw tightened menacingly. “Consider this, Alberts. You’re in my carriage, alone and unarmed. You’re also without a job, thanks to your unscrupulousness. No one would notice or give a damn if you were to disappear—and I don’t mean only from Newmarket. Now, I repeat, who paid you?”
Albert’s pallor intensified. “Two men,” he blurted. “Not counting their friend with the scars. They told me what they wanted, offered me enough money to make it worth my while, and disappeared.”
Dustin had stopped listening an instant earlier. “Their friend with the scars?”
Recognizing his faux pas, Alberts again searched frantically for a way out, this time gauging the distance between Dustin and the door.
“Don’t even consider it,” Dustin warned, maneuvering himself until he was angled on the carriage seat. “Now, tell me about this scarred man.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He showed up at the paddock for a minute, gave the other men some instructions, then he left. The brawny one and the black-eyed one did the talking, at least to me.”
“Their friend—describe him. Where were his scars, on his face?”
