Wishes in the Wind (4 page)

The dizziness intensified as her corset stood its ground. In response, the collar of her gown seemed to tighten oppressively about her throat.
No
, she ordered herself silently, scrutinizing the passing carriages.
You will not faint. You can’t risk calling attention to yourself.

With staunch determination, Nicole pivoted, seeking a private spot, her gaze scanning the banks of the Thames. Unthinking, she darted toward the river walk, which stretched between the embankment road and the river itself.

Thankfully, there was a secluded, empty bench behind a marble statue and a row of trees. She dropped onto it, forcing her breathing to become slow and shallow until the dizziness receded.
Damn this bloody corset
, she fumed.
Gown or no gown, I’ll never again don one of these lethal stranglers.

Twenty feet away, couples were milling about, but the lush line of trees acted as a shield between Nicole and the walkway’s patrons. Safe and unseen in her tiny niche, she allowed herself to relax. She needed to plan her strategy, and she would—in a moment. But first her body needed to recoup its strength in order for her mind to function. And, in the absence of food, a brief respite would have to suffice.

Leaning her head back, she stared up at the sky, watching the twinkling of the stars as they appeared, one by one. This onset of night was magic—not just here, but everywhere. Even amid the chaos at the stables, everything seemed to slow at the spellbinding instant that twilight merged with darkness, as if to acknowledge the reverence of the occurrence.

A reminiscent smile played about Nicole’s lips. This was also the hour of night when, as a little girl, her mother would tuck her in and tell her stories—wondrous, fairy-tale stories that made her heart sing and her imagination soar. She’d hang on to every word, awestruck, somehow believing it could all be. But then, her mother had the power to make one believe, and Nicole knew why. It was because Alicia Aldridge herself believed.

Do you know what stars really are, Nickie?
She could almost hear her mother’s voice.
They’re bits of light offered to us by the magical sprites of happiness. They’re reserved for special nights and equally special people, because only those who see
—
truly see them
—
can reap their magic.

What is their magic, Mama?
she’d ask.
And am I one of those special people?

Her mother would smile that faraway smile.
Indeed you are. As for their magic, it’s an offering. A precious offering to seize and to nurture. So remember, darling, every time you
s
ee a star, you’re being offered a miracle. Wish on it
—
wish very, very hard, and that star, and all its enchantment, will be yours.

Forever, Mama?

Yes, my love, forever.

Two tears slid down Nicole’s cheeks, and she wrapped her arms about herself, capturing the memory as she studied the sky. This was the kind of night her mother had alluded to: clear, warm, and fragrant, alive with the blossoming buds of spring.

And illuminated by a sea of dazzling stars.

Dreamily, Nicole focused on a star that seemed to call out to her. It wasn’t the largest nor even the brightest of the heavens’ offerings. But there was something extraordinary about the way it glowed, as if trying to compensate for its diminutive size, that drew her to it, held her captive.

I’m wishing, Mama,
Nicole declared silently,
as I did on my locket. Only this time I’m wishing for the magic offered by that tiny star. Because, thanks to you, I still believe.

Her throat constricted, and more tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

“May I offer my assistance?”

Nicole froze at the sound of the deep masculine voice, dreams reverting abruptly to reality. She’d been discovered. Someone knew she was here. She had to escape.

Inching to the edge of the bench, she mentally gauged her distance to the road, preparing to bolt.

“Don’t run off. And don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you.”

A hard hand closed over hers, and the bench shifted as her unexpected companion sat down beside her.

“I’m not frightened,” she heard herself say, keeping her chin down. “I’m …” She broke off.
I’m what? Avoiding detection?

“I saw you clutching that lamppost. When you fled into the trees, you were white as a sheet. I was concerned you might faint.”

“I’m fine.” She stared at the tips of his polished evening shoes, feeling the warmth of his palm over hers. “But I’d best be on my way.”

His grip tightened, and an instant later a handkerchief was pressed into her other hand. “Try this. I’ve been told it works wonders. Guaranteed to dry a lady’s tears.”

Nicole couldn’t help it; she looked up, drawn to the husky teasing in his tone.

Her breath suspended—only this time her corset had little to do with it.

He was perhaps the most classically handsome man she’d ever seen, undoubtedly a nobleman, and not only because of his elegant evening attire. He had a bold straight jawline and patrician nose that screamed aristocrat, and thick black hair over a broad forehead and equally black brows, all set off by penetrating eyes the color of midnight—eyes that now assessed her with the practiced skill of a man who knew women …intimately.

His perusal was thorough, his approval obvious, even to a novice like herself. She could see it in his smile, his lips curving ever so slightly, and in his eyes, a glint of admiration in their deep blue depths, the dark brows lifting in surprised pleasure.

For the first time in her life, Nicole was grateful to be wearing a gown, outdated or not.

“You’re far too beautiful to cry,” he murmured, reclaiming the handkerchief and gently drying her cheeks. “Further, you’re far too beautiful to be racing about London alone at night. Where were you headed?”

Nicole moistened her lips, her mind totally unable to formulate a suitable lie.

“What’s your name?”

She blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Your name,” he prompted. “You must have one.”

“Oh. Yes. It’s Nicole.”

He smiled, and Nicole found herself wondering just how long someone could exist without breathing.

“Nicole,” he repeated. “It suits you perfectly—beautiful and delicate. Have you a surname as well?”

That snapped her out of her reverie.

“I must be going.” She made to rise. “I’ve already been away too long.”

Those amazing midnight eyes narrowed. “Away? Away from whom?” His gaze fell to her left hand. “A husband?”

Nicole smiled at the expectant note in his voice. “No. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no husband.”

“Disappointed?
Au contraire,
my mysterious beauty, I’m elated.” He caught her wrist, stroked it ever so lightly. “Sit. Just for a few minutes. Until the color returns to your cheeks.”

She found herself complying. “Very well.”

“Since we’re exchanging only given names this evening, mine is Dustin.”

“Hello, Dustin.”

He grinned. “Hello, Nicole.” His thumb traced the pulse in her wrist. “Why were you crying? Is it a man? If so, tell me his name and I’ll beat him senseless.”

She was uncomfortably aware of the heat his touch evoked, making her wrist tingle and burn. “No, it isn’t a man. It’s many things. Memories, mostly.”

“Sad memories?”

“No, actually happy ones.” She swallowed. “I was thinking about my mother.”

“You lost her.” It was a statement, not a question, and Nicole’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Dustin answered her unspoken thought. “I’ve worn that particular look myself.”

“I see.” Nicole inclined her head. “Why are you here?” she blurted.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Is that a philosophical question or a specific one?”

“A specific one. Not ‘here’ meaning on this bench, but ‘here’ meaning on the river walk—alone.”

“Is going for a solitary stroll so astonishing?”

“For a man like you? Yes.”

“A man like me,” he repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re handsome, well bred, and devastatingly charming. Add to that the fact that it’s the height of the London season and countless parties are in progress. So why aren’t you there, surrounded by eager, adoring women rather than walking along the Thames by yourself?”

One dark brow arched. “I’m flattered. And dumbfounded. Are you always so honest?”

Nicole considered his question. “I think so, yes.”

“Very well then, I’ll be equally honest. I was invited to all those parties to which you refer, where I would mingle with all those women you just alluded to. And the very thought of spending another evening like that left me cold—cold and empty. So, instead I’m here, taking a solitary walk along the Thames. Now, have I shocked you?”

She studied his face, then shook her head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He leaned forward, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “What nearly caused you to faint?”

“Exhaustion, I suppose. I haven’t slept in several nights. I have a great deal on my mind.”

“Obviously.” His gaze intensified. “Would you like to talk about it? Perhaps I can ease your distress.”

Nicole sighed. “Not unless you can undo events that have already occurred, or right life’s wrongs and balance its inequities.”

“Only that?”

He was teasing again, in that disarming way of his, and Nicole found herself responding by speaking the emotional truth that had gnawed at her all week. “Sometimes it all seems like too much. Sometimes I don’t think I’m strong enough to overcome life’s obstacles.”

Dustin’s smile vanished. “But you are. And it’s not,” he replied, somehow not needing to ask for clarification of her veiled declaration. “I have it on the finest authority that when a problem becomes unbearable, a solution appears. Therefore, the very fact that you’re reaching your limit means your answer is near.”

She started, taken aback by his profound assertion. “Is that a promise?”

“So I’ve been told.” His forefinger traced the fine line of her jaw. “Let me help you.”

“I can’t.” She eased away, knowing she must.

“At least let me see you home.”

“No. It’s … far.”

“My carriage is parked just beyond these trees. My driver will take you anywhere you want to go.”

“No.”

“Very well, forget the carriage. I’ll walk you home.” He pressed a silencing forefinger to her lips. “I don’t care if it’s ten miles away.”

“Dustin—please. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept it.”

His fingers captured her chin, those midnight eyes delving deep inside her. “I have one final request, then. A goodnight kiss.”

“What?”

His glance fell to her mouth, but he made no move to draw her near. “You don’t have much experience with men, do you?”

“If you mean romantically, no. None.”

“I thought not. You’re too honest, too damned refreshing for it to be otherwise.” His hand slid around to cup her nape. “If I promise to let you go immediately thereafter—no questions asked—may I kiss you, Nicole?”

She searched his face bewilderedly.

“I realize it’s an outrageous request—outrageous and thoroughly improper—a request I have no right to make. But I’m making it nonetheless. And I want you to say yes.”

“Yes,” she heard herself whisper.

Tenderness flashed in his searing, midnight gaze. He framed her face between his palms, lowering his head until his lips brushed hers, once, twice, then settled on them for a slow, warm, exquisitely gentle exploration.

Nicole sighed, shifting a bit, unconsciously easing closer to the wondrous contact of his mouth.

He deepened the kiss slightly, molding his mouth to hers, nudging her lips apart to accept the initial penetration of his tongue. She made an inarticulate sound, swarmed by unfamiliar sensations, shivering with the awareness that she hovered on the brink of something new and dark and dangerous.

Slowly, Dustin raised his head. “Where do you live?”

The moment shattered, and Nicole leaped to her feet. “I must go. Now.”

“Just tell me where you live.”

“No more questions,” she reminded him, backing away. “Your promise, if you recall.”

Frustration drew his brows into a harsh, dark line. “How will I find you? I want to see you again, dammit.”

“That’s impossible.” Gathering up handfuls of material, Nicole prayed her customary speed wouldn’t be hindered by her gown. “Thank you for comforting me, Dustin. As you can see, the color has returned to my cheeks. Good night.” She bolted into the darkness.

“I hope this issue of the
Gazette
yields some results,” Nicole murmured, dropping into a chair and unfolding the newspaper. “Especially given what I went through to find it.”

Nick frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried sick about you. Next time don’t sprint off like an impulsive filly before you’ve checked to see if what you want is here—at the inn desk, of all places.”

“An impulsive filly? You sound like Sully.” Nicole flipped through to the ads. “But in this case you’re right. What I did was stupid.”

“Thank goodness, no harm came to you.”

Nicole felt hot color suffuse her cheeks—color she carefully hid behind the printed pages. “It never occurred to me to check with the innkeeper to see if he had—” She shot up, nearly knocking Nick over. “Papa! Look at this!” Shoving the newspaper into her father’s hands, she pointed to the first and largest paragraph on the personals page.

Nick Aldridge: As I’ve been unable to uncover your whereabouts so that we might talk face-to-face, I’m hoping to locate you through this personal. If you’re reading it, come to Tyreham Manor, Surrey, at once to discuss an exclusive retainer. Name your price. The marquis of Tyreham

With a muttered oath, Nick gripped the page, rereading the lines several times before raising his head. “Lord Tyreham is the finest breeder in England.”

“Breeder and racer,” Nicole amended. “I know. I’ve heard his name spoken countless times at the stables.” Her brows drew together. “Evidently, he placed this ad before word of your supposed injury reached him. I wonder what prompted him to place it now, of all times.”