“This is Mr. Charles Green, who lofted the balloon from Green Park last year for the coronation,” Tristan put in. The balloonist swept off his broad-brimmed hat and smiled politely, although not managing to hide his eagerness to be off. “We should be able to view all of London from five hundred feet.”
“Five hundred feet!” She began shaking her head. “Oh, no, that’s much too high.”
“It’s only a little higher than the dome of St. Paul’s. Come—you may hold my hand.”
“Fifty feet,” she said, trying to tug free of his grip.
“Three hundred,” he countered.
Joan anxiously surveyed the balloon. It swayed gently from side to side. A dozen men stood around the car beneath it, obviously waiting for it to ascend. “My father will kill you if I fall to my death.”
Tristan turned his back to Mr. Green and clasped her hands between his. “If you don’t want to go up, you don’t have to. But it’s beyond thrilling—to slip free of the earth and rise like a bird ... I can’t even describe it. We can go up a short way and you may decide if we go higher.”
“What if Mr. Green wishes to go higher than I do?” she whispered.
“He’ll do what I ask him to do,” he said. “Where do you think he got the funds for his new burner?”
Her eyes widened. “You invested in this?”
“It’s ingenious, the way he’s got it arranged. It burns ordinary gas, rather than hydrogen. The burner is more efficient, and it costs far, far less—” He stopped and grinned. “But you aren’t interested in all that. Will you come up with me?”
Her heart began to pound. His enthusiasm was contagious, and now that she’d got over the surprise of it, the idea grew more appealing by the minute. She pressed his hand and smiled, a little nervously. “Yes.”
Tristan felt a wild exultation when she agreed. She put back her head to study the balloon again, her eyes bright and a small smile curving her lips, and he very nearly leaned down to kiss her, right in front of Green and all his men. That was the look he’d been hoping to put on her face, pleased and excited even if a bit uncertain. Instead he squeezed her hand and followed Green, feeling like a boy on the brink of a great adventure.
The car was woven of stout wicker, with a wooden floor. It wasn’t very large, and equipment took up some space. As Green and his men worked to get the balloon ready, Tristan drew Joan back against him. “We’ve got to stay out of their way,” he explained when her coffee-colored gaze flashed at him. “Wouldn’t want to upset the aeronautical preparations.” His hand lingered on the curve of her hip. Thank God she’d bought some decent gowns and left off wearing a dozen petticoats. He could feel the shape of her through the crisp cotton, and it fueled a hundred wicked images he’d sworn he wouldn’t let himself picture.
He took a deep breath, which only served to remind him how delicious she smelled. He was proving himself a very great idiot. A few desultory dances, a call or two, and he could have satisfied his obligation to Bennet. He was sure that’s all Bennet had had in mind when he extracted Tristan’s vow. There was certainly no need to wager on how well he could kiss her, because he wasn’t supposed to kiss her again—even if he thought about it every time he saw her, and definitely not because she sometimes looked at him in direct challenge that all but demanded he kiss her into soft, happy silence. He ought to spend less time with her, not more.
But after tea the other day, when she looked so shockingly lovely and he couldn’t think of anything but touching her, Tristan had been determined to do something to please her, as a way of making up for his past failings. Taking her ballooning seemed an excellent choice: something she’d probably never do on her own, but thrilling and exotic. He wanted her to remember this morning for the rest of her life. He knew he would.
Green cast off another bit of ballast, and the car wobbled, rising an inch or so off the ground. Joan gasped and clutched at his arm. “I forgot to ask how we shall get down again,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“My assistants will pull us down,” said Green. “In free flight, we would cast all the ropes off, but Lord Burke assured me he didn’t wish to spend the day drifting through the skies—although it is one of the most remarkable sights man may see,” he added with a hopeful glance at Tristan.
“Not today.” But Lord, he wouldn’t mind it. As Green cast off the rest of his ballast and the ropes creaked and the balloon rose into the steel-blue sky, Tristan wanted to shout aloud in elation. This was what he loved, a triumph of science and engineering combined with the unparalleled thrill of thwarting gravity. He spread his feet for balance, and unconsciously put his free hand on Joan’s back to steady her; she still clung to his other hand where he held the wicker car’s edge, but she was leaning forward to peer over the edge and didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh my,” she gasped. “We’re so high!”
He grinned. They couldn’t be more than thirty feet off the ground. “Just wait. Look at the view.”
Green had chosen a spot on Parliament Hill, which already commanded a good view of London. As they rose above the mist and trees, the city spread beneath them like a land of mystery, a gauzy blanket of fog shrouding all but the tallest buildings. The Thames wound through it like a dark vein, sparkling in the east where the clouds must have cleared. The land was a patchwork of verdant fields sliced by hedges, with small towns such as Camden and Islington looking like villages of children’s toy blocks.
A gust of wind set the wicker car to swaying; the balloon strained at the ropes with an audible whoosh. Joan gave a little cry, gripping his arm with renewed strength.
“Are we falling?” she gasped, craning her neck to see the balloon above them. “Is it bursting?”
“No.” He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her closer. To his great surprise—and pleasure—she let him, even pressing against his chest, although her eyes remained fixed on the balloon. “It’s perfectly normal.” He had to put his mouth close to her ear as Green fiddled with his burner and it roared anew. “The wind is stronger up here.”
She glanced at him. The wind had loosened a wisp of hair from beneath her bonnet, and it teased around her mouth. “You’ve done this before?”
“Three times. As you can see, I have yet to suffer any grievous harm.”
“All it takes is one time,” she retorted, but he felt her body ease against his.
“If we plummet to the ground, I shan’t argue at all if you ring a peal over me as we fall.”
She blinked, then smiled. And then she laughed, her eyes glowing. “I would blister your ears for taking me to my death!”
