Wishes in the Wind (32 page)

Their bodies moved in wild unison, arching and falling in cadence to the relentless pounding of their hearts. The escalating tension reignited in Nicole’s loins, building and building until she thought she’d fly into a million scattered fragments. She clung to Dustin, begging him for things that would mortify her later, but for now were as necessary to her as breathing. In answer, he gripped her bottom, hauling her into his thrusts, opening her wider, more fully, with each motion, circling his hips until the friction on her—in her—was too excruciating to bear.

She reached her limit, dangled … and fell.

The contractions erupted, each wrenching spasm more potent than the last, gripping Dustin and drawing him into her core. Nicole cried out, shattering, dying, at the very instant that Dustin went rigid, shouting her name with a fervor that pierced her heart. His grip became bruising, crushing her to him with the frenzy of a drowning man. And then he exploded, pouring into her with great, pulsing bursts of release, seeking her womb in an inherent need to pour his seed as deep inside her as possible, to give her the very essence of himself.

It seemed to go on forever, this pinnacle of sensation, crashing and crashing like great untamed waves. Then, the waves subsided slowly, gradually, the aftermath drifting about them in dizzying clouds of fulfillment.

Awareness came gradually, in minimal degrees, contentment supplanting urgency as they lay together, still joined, gasping for breath, shaking with reaction.

Nicole began to cry, tears stealing from beneath her lids, trickling down her cheeks onto Dustin’s shoulders.

He rolled to one side, staying inside her, reaching for his discarded coat and wrapping it about them. “Don’t cry, darling,” he murmured, stroking her back. “Please don’t cry.”

That only made her weep harder.

“Nicole.” He took her face between his palms, thumbs capturing her tears as he gazed deeply into her eyes. “I didn’t mean for this to happen—not here, not now. But my feelings for you …” He drew a shuddering breath. “Did I hurt you? Is that why you’re crying?”

She shook her head.

“Then what is it? Regret? Shame? Because
those
reasons I could not, would not abide. What just happened between us was nothing short of a miracle, and miracles occur at their will, not ours.”

“It’s neither regret nor shame,” she choked out. “I wanted this every bit as much as you did. I just never expected to feel so … so shattered.” She looked up at him, bewildered and raw and achingly vulnerable. “Oh, Dustin, if I were terrified before, I’m panic-stricken now.”

His expression softened, enveloped her in warmth. “And if I were sure before, I’m surer now.”

“When you’re
with
other women …” She swallowed. “Is it always like this?”

“Never. It’s never like this.” Tenderly, he kissed her. “Perhaps that’s because I’ve never made love before tonight.”

God, how she wanted to believe that his love alone could make everything right. “Tell me again that you’ll overcome all the obstacles,” she whispered.

“Every last one. Derby, tell me your fears, and I’ll obliterate them.”

“No.” Nicole reached up, pressed her fingers to his lips. “Please, I’m not ready for this conversation—not tonight. Just give me the words.”

He gathered her close. “The future is ours, Nicole. I promise you.”

She grasped on to his pledge, closing her eyes and willing it to be so.

But in her heart she knew that just as twilight must descend to dusk, wishes must give way to reality.

“Two minutes forty-six seconds.” Brackley snapped his timepiece shut with a flourish. “That was last year’s winning time exactly.”

“It was indeed,” Dustin concurred, folding his arms across his chest as he watched Nicole bring Dagger around.

“You’re not pleased?” Brackley shot his employer a puzzled look. “I know Stoddard’s last run was six seconds faster, but Tyreham’s course is shorter, not to mention more familiar. Considering this was his initial run at Epsom, two minutes forty-six seconds is good, my lord.”

“It’s better than good. It’s excellent.” Dustin’s gaze was still fixed on Nicole. “However, bear in mind that it was achieved under unnaturally optimum conditions—good weather, no other horses to contend with, none of the pressure that will accompany the actual race. We need to provide a little authenticity to refine Stoddard’s skills.” He turned to Brackley. “Next session, bring Winning Streak. I’ll ride her, simulate a two-contender race with Stoddard, and maybe throw a challenge or two his way.”

Brackley heaved a sigh of relief. “For a minute I thought you meant to suggest Raggert for the job. I’m relieved you mean to do it yourself. Raggert and Stoddard don’t exactly get along.”

“No, they don’t.” Dustin shot Brackley a quizzical look. “What do you think of Raggert?”

A shrug. “He’s all right, I guess. Does his job. Although, while you were at Newmarket, he spent hours and hours overseeing Stoddard. He seems to think the boy will take advantage if left to his own devices. I disagree. I’ve never seen a more devoted jockey.”

“Did you mention that fact to Raggert?”

“Of course. But he insisted that with you away, it was his responsibility to make sure Stoddard was exercising Dagger right, riding him as often, but not more often, than he should. I stopped interfering. After all, it’s not my place to tell a trainer what to do.” Glancing in Stoddard’s direction, Brackley frowned. “Did you mean to return with Winning Streak this afternoon, sir? Because if you don’t mind my saying so, I think we should wait a day. Stoddard’s not himself this morning. He’s awfully pale, and he’s got circles under his eyes. My guess is that with the Derby looming closer, he’s starting to feel the strain. He’s not the type to talk about his worries, he keeps them to himself. But I do think he’s getting scared.”

A stab of guilt accosted Dustin as the ironic truth of Brackley’s statement struck home. “I couldn’t agree more.” Purposefully, he straightened, surveying the area just beyond the winning post where Nicole was cooling Dagger down. “Alert Saxon to ready the carriage. I’ll advise Stoddard that we’re heading back to Tyreham.”

“Of course, sir.” Brackley hastened off.

Dustin walked toward Nicole, thinking about the true reasons for her unsettled state, wishing he knew what to say, how to reach her. She’d been quiet and distant all morning, avoiding his gaze, not speaking to him unless it was necessary. Further, Brackley’s observation of her depleted state was accurate. She
was
pale, with deep circles etched under her violet eyes. Obviously, she hadn’t slept a wink. But, unlike Brackley, Dustin knew precisely why.

For the umpteenth time he berated himself for letting last night ensue without the preparation, the prelude, the formalized commitment he’d intended to elicit before joining his body to hers. He’d never believed himself capable of such a total and utter loss of control. But when she’d looked up at him with those smoky amethyst eyes, caressed him with those innocent, coaxing fingertips … Even now, he shuddered, just remembering.

Nonetheless, he should have resisted, knowing bloody well what the consequences would be. Last night had been devastating, overwhelming, and—to use Nicole’s own description—shattering. Afterward had been the time for hushed words, all-night caresses, discussions of the future—
their
future. Oh, he’d made an attempt, but she hadn’t been ready. It was too soon, her mind still dazed from the intensity of their union, her body still trembling as it struggled to recover. If only he could have held her longer, reassured her until her tremors had subsided and her mind had cleared. Then he would have enumerated the details he’d worked out to resolve their future, erased her fears, one by one, until she’d been as sure as he that they belonged together. But time was the one thing he hadn’t had—not when they’d already been away from the cottage for hours. So what had he done? Helped her dress, brought her home, and left her to her thoughts … and her uncertainty.

And to a woman like Nicole, who couldn’t give half measure, the only way to combat emotional uncertainty was with a wall of self-protection, a tangible barrier between them.

Given that reality, how the hell could Tyreham and Stoddard resume their casual rapport as employer and jockey?

“Hello, Derby.” Dustin reached the object of his quest, falling into step alongside her and Dagger. “Nice run. Excellent pacing.”

“But only adequate timing,” she supplied, staring straight ahead.

“Two minutes, forty-six seconds. I’d say that’s significantly better than adequate.”

“Better but not good enough.” Her brows knit, and she shifted a bit in the saddle. “I’ll run the trial again later today. Perhaps by then my … concentration will improve.”

“Your concentration was perfect,” Dustin corrected. “You’re just exhausted. And you won’t run the trial again today. You’ll run it tomorrow. With me as your competition, incidentally. That way we can work on your maneuvers as well as your concentration and pacing. As for today, we’re going back to Tyreham. You’re to do nothing but rest.”

In response to his proclamation, Nicole’s shoulders sagged with relief.

Dustin caught Dagger’s reins in an inconspicuous manner, gently bringing Nicole around to face him. “Are you all right?”

She lowered her gaze, staring at the saddle and not pretending to misunderstand. “Yes. Just tired and—” She broke off, a flush staining her cheeks. Again she shifted, this time with a flinch.

Dustin tensed, a new worry intruding. “Are you hurt? Did you injure yourself?”

Her flush deepened. “No.” A spasm of pain crossed her face. “May I dismount now?”

Realization struck Dustin with all the force of a tidal wave.

“Damn.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I never thought … it didn’t occur to me that … Derby, I’m such a bloody fool.” He helped her dismount, silently castigating himself for his utter stupidity. He’d been so busy worrying about her emotional state, he’d completely overlooked her physical one. The way he’d taken her last night, with a bottomless craving he couldn’t plunge deep enough to assuage, it was a wonder she could walk, much less ride. It had been her first time. And not only had she been a virgin, she’d been so small, so tight. What she needed today was to soak in a warm bath, not to gallop across Epsom Downs.

Had he lost his bloody mind?

“Derby …” He gazed down at her, seeing the discomfort on her face and loathing himself for causing it. “I’m sorry.”

She reacted instantly to his self-censuring tone, a brief, reminiscent smile touching her lips. “Don’t be. I’m not. As for the soreness, I’m sure it will be gone by tomorrow.” Selfconsciously, she glanced about. “Where’s Brackley?”

“With my driver. Advising him that we’re preparing to leave.”

“What explanation did you give him?”

“None. It was his suggestion that you forego riding until tomorrow. He saw how exhausted you are. By now I’m sure he’s also noticed the three touts that are combing the stands, scribbling down the incredible speed at which you just took the course, waiting to besiege you with questions. Derby, we can’t leave things this way,” he inserted abruptly. “We have to talk. Not now, obviously. And not later today, because I want you to have a warm bath and go to bed, but soon. Tomorrow. Before you’ve had too much time alone—time in which you’ll doubtless convince that stubborn mind of yours to believe in truths that are, in fact, utter falsehoods.”

Nicole absorbed his speech, understanding flashing in her eyes. “Very well, my lord. I’ll have that bath
and
a good night’s sleep, then early tomorrow morning, you may speak to me as kindly and convincingly as you know how. But be advised that no amount of persuasion will soften me into taking it easy with you. Should you presume to race alongside me at Epsom tomorrow, I shall beat you by at least five lengths.”

Dustin blinked at the unexpected change in tenor. Then a surge of love rushed through him at the humbling realization that by resorting to spontaneous banter, Nicole was trying to console
him.
“Is that so?” he asked huskily.

“It is, indeed, not only so but a promise.” She paused, holding his gaze. “And like you, Lord Tyreham, I never make promises I don’t intend to keep.”

“The duke and duchess of Broddington are here to see you, sir,” Poole announced from the study doorway. Dustin’s head came up. “Here? It’s nearly midnight” He was on his feet, striding toward the doorway. “Is Alexander …?”

“The young marquis is well and with his parents,” Poole was quick to answer. “But His Grace is quite upset, as is the duchess. They wish to see you at once. Shall I send them in?”

“Of course. And have their rooms made up. It’s much too late for them to travel back to Broddington tonight.”

“That’s already taken care of, sir. Mrs. Ladley is making up the rooms herself.”

Footsteps pounded through the hallway, and Poole stood aside as Trenton stormed into the study. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Where’s Ariana?”

“Right here,” she replied, walking into the room, her face drawn with worry. “Trenton, I let Mrs. Hopkins take Alexander upstairs to bed. I didn’t want to, but he’s half asleep. The instant we’re finished speaking with Dustin, I’m going up there.”

“What the hell is going on?” Dustin demanded as Poole left the room, closing the door in his wake.

“You tell us.” Trenton glared at his brother, a muscle working furiously in his jaw. “And don’t even think of putting me off this time. God damn it, this is my son we’re talking about.”

Dustin sucked in his breath. “Has someone tried to harm Alexander?”

“Not yet. But someone sure as hell intends to.” Reaching into his pocket, Trenton extracted a folded sheet. “This arrived at Broddington not two hours ago. Read it.”

With a sinking heart, Dustin took the paper.

Broddington:

Tell your brother to stop poking where he doesn’t belong.

If he doesn’t, you can bid your son good-bye.

“Dammit.” Dustin scanned the page twice, then lowered it to his desk. “I never believed they’d actually involve Alexander in this. I thought they were bluffing.”