In the blink of an eye Joan went from being weak with relief to being keenly aware of how close he was to her. The seat seemed to have shrunk as she stared at the coin balanced on his well-muscled thigh, so near her own. “We haven’t got a wager; both parties must agree before it is binding.”
“Ah, you’re a coward.”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Then you know you would lose.”
She tore her fascinated eyes off his knee. “Perhaps I just don’t want to take your coin.”
“I see.” He pinched the shilling between two fingers and held it up, studying it. He handled the horses quite easily with one hand, the reins playing between his gloved fingers. “You drive a hard bargain, miss. The stakes are far too low for a gamester of your style, it appears. I’ll make it a guinea.”
“You could make it a monkey and I wouldn’t play,” she retorted airily.
“A monkey!” His eyes lit up. “Great God, what a contest that would be! It must be some feat of great daring and skill that will decide the matter; five hundred pounds is no trifle ... What was it we were wagering on?”
Joan had to laugh. “Do you wager on everything?”
“It makes most things more interesting.”
“A mere shilling can transform a question of no importance into something that must be accomplished at all costs?” She shook her head. “Gentlemen are the oddest creatures.”
“I never said this question was of no importance.” He dropped the shilling back into his pocket and turned the curricle off the road, slowing the horses as he drove over the grass. “Rather, a wager was one means of gaining the desired result.”
“You never thought of asking courteously?” Joan clutched the edge of the curricle with one hand and her bonnet with the other as the vehicle lurched over the uneven ground, heading uphill.
He gave her an odd look, half amused, half alarmed. “And ruin my hard-won reputation? What on earth for?”
“Well, it’s often easier,” she observed. “And it costs you nothing.”
“Hmm.” He stopped the horses and set the brake, then turned to face her. “But if you don’t win a shilling from me, how can I win a shilling from you?”
“Who says you’ll ever win a shilling from me?” she asked, trying to ignore the way her heart leapt. That damned wager about kissing; now he was looking at her mouth with far more interest than a single shilling could inspire...
Slowly he leaned toward her. Joan held her breath. “I like contests,” he murmured. “And I intend to win this one. Shall we get down and walk?” he added in his normal voice. “Kit, hold the horses.” He jumped down from the carriage as his tiger went running to the horses’ heads, and held out a hand to help her. “Joan?”
She realized her mouth was hanging open, and snapped it closed. She had just noticed a balloon, rising above the mist like a multicolored cloud. “Someone’s going ballooning!” she exclaimed. “How exciting! I’ve only seen one once before, last year for the King’s coronation. Do you think they’re going up soon?”
“Yes.” He waggled his fingers. “Will you step down now?”
She let him help her down, gazing breathlessly at the balloon all the while. It was beautiful, towering over the field in vivid stripes, like a sectioned orange in red and white. Long lines of ropes crisscrossed around it, forming a net that tapered down to a basket that looked ludicrously small beneath the balloon. Joan needed no urging to keep up with Tristan as he led the way up the rise across the damp grass. She’d never seen a balloon up close. It was enormous, but beautiful.
A man in country clothing strode out to meet them. “Lord Burke,” he said genially. “Good morning, sir. Madam.” He made a quick bow but hardly spared her a glance.
Tristan tipped his head back, squinting at the sky. “How are the prospects this morning?”
“Very good, very good. The mist is burning away, but the cool air is a benefit. The burner is working well today; we’re nearly ready to be away.”
“Excellent.” Tristan glanced at Joan. “Shall we go up?”
Her mouth fell open again. “Up? In the balloon?”
“No, in the car beneath it,” he said. “The balloon is filled with gas. There’s no place for you in the balloon.”
“I—we—you can’t mean it,” she protested, looking up at the balloon with trepidation. Now that she looked closely, she could see the fabric ripple, exactly like a piece of fine silk when caught by a breeze. It looked more fragile than beautiful from this near. The thought of taking flight in it was deeply alarming. She was sure Mother would faint dead away at the thought. Proper ladies surely would. And yet...
“I mean to go up,” said Tristan, his eyes glinting with the same wild excitement she felt, although apparently undiluted by any fear. “I thought you would find it thrilling. No more circuits of the park.”
She turned her dazed eyes to the balloonist, who nodded vigorously. “It’s quite all right, ma’am. I’ve gone up dozens of times.”
