“No doubt,” he said, grinning. “Although it’s not precisely how I would like to spend my last minutes on earth.”
“What would you do instead? Place wagers on the odds of surviving?”
He reached up to stroke away that tormenting wisp of hair, and let his fingertip slide over her lower lip. If Green weren’t two feet away, he would kiss her right now. “No.”
Her lips parted. She understood his meaning. “Well.” She cleared her throat, still gazing up at him. “I suppose you wouldn’t be able to collect on those wagers anyway.”
“No. But I would try to settle another wager.”
Her cheeks flushed dark pink. “Oh?”
He smiled and dipped his head, until his lips brushed her ear. “Surely you wouldn’t deny a man’s last request ... to hear his given name.”
She jerked and gave a shaky laugh. “Rest assured, you would hear it, loudly and repeatedly—mingled with a great many curses and condemnations.”
He laughed. “That’s the usual way I hear it. But tell me truly.” He swept one hand to the side. “Surely this is worth chancing it.”
Joan looked out over the mist and caught her breath. She had been so fascinated by watching the ground recede, and then by the way he held her, that she’d barely taken in the view. By now they had risen so high, the men holding the ropes beneath them were small figures blurred by the fog. But rolling down the hill toward the river lay a beautiful vista. London had never seemed so small. She squinted at the tiny buildings, searching for anything to anchor the scene.
“Is that St. Paul’s?” she asked excitedly, pointing at a familiar dome.
“Yes, and there is Westminster Abbey.” He turned and gestured to the east. “On a clear day one can see the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, and if we were to go a little higher, the crenellations of the Tower of London.”
“Oh, my,” Joan breathed. She tried to pick out streets and familiar places, but it was all so different from up here. London looked as quiet and sleepy as any country village, with none of the noise and smell and bustle she identified with it.
Just like the man behind her. With his boots braced wide and one hand on the overhead bracket that held the burner, Tristan Burke bore no resemblance to the infuriating rake who teased her at Lady Malcolm’s ball or the arrogant boor who called her an umbrella. His face was alive in a way she’d never seen before. He threw his head back and inhaled deeply before looking right at her with those brilliant green eyes, and burst out laughing as if he couldn’t contain the joy inside him. “Isn’t this grand?” he shouted over the burner.
Joan smiled back. It was. She’d never dreamed of doing this—and she kept a firm grip on the edge of the car, just in case the wind grew too strong—but it was exhilarating. His obvious, unfettered joy only added to it. When he was happy, Tristan was...
She turned her gaze away from him. He had leaned over to ask Mr. Green something, and since the car was so small, he had to press against her. She could feel the warmth of his arm around her waist right through her dress and spencer. This was by far the longest time they had spent together without arguing, and the unfortunate result was only that she found herself wishing he would be like this all the time. When he was in this mood, she couldn’t help reconsidering her answer to Evangeline, about bringing him up to scratch. Not that she knew what her answer to any marriage proposal would be, but she had an alarming feeling she would like being courted by Tristan, very much. Part of her didn’t want this balloon voyage to end, and for a moment she even thought of telling Mr. Green to cast off his ropes and let them drift on the wind for hours, away from London and society and everyone who would be shocked speechless to see her with him.
Not for the first time, she felt a bit annoyed by that. He wasn’t so very high above her touch; she was a baronet’s daughter, after all, with very respectable connections. It was true that he was wealthier than her father, but Papa was hardly destitute, and his title was far older than the Burke viscountcy. Why shouldn’t she have as much of a chance at someone like Tristan as any other girl in London? Handsome men had married plain ladies before. She might be an Amazon, but, as Evangeline had observed, he was even taller. And as much as he could infuriate her, she was becoming more and more certain that he wasn’t the rude reprobate she had accused him of being. Alice Burke had called him horrid, but even Joan had never seen him behave that badly. He had only responded to her as she had treated him—which only made her wonder what would happen if she tried flirting with him...
They stayed aloft a while longer, taking in the view from all sides as Tristan pointed out whatever landmarks grew visible as the mist burned off. The clouds were blowing away, and the sun had come out. It made the viewing much better, but it was still considerably cooler here than on the ground, and Joan finally rubbed her arms, wishing she had worn something warmer than her gray spencer.
“Are you cold?” asked her companion. Without waiting for her reply, he ducked around the burner. “Mr. Green,” he called. “We’re ready to descend now.”
“Oh, it’s not that cold,” Joan protested, but he pretended not to hear over the wind. He drew her close again and turned the front of his driving coat around her. Joan closed her eyes and let him hold her, again wishing they could stay aloft longer—especially like this. Tucked inside his coat, securely held in his arms, she had absolutely no wish at all to go back down.
But Mr. Green was already leaning over, waving his hat at the men on the ground. Within moments she felt the first pull on the ropes, reeling them back to earth. Slowly the grand view disappeared from sight, until they settled back onto the grass with a thump.
Tristan leapt from the car first and held out his arms. When she put her hands on his shoulders, he lifted her right over the side as if she were a mere slip of a girl. She stumbled a bit when her feet touched solid ground again; it was remarkably steady after the sway of the wicker car. But his hands were at her waist in an instant, steadying her, and Joan had to make herself move away, she liked the feel of it so much.
He said a few words to Mr. Green, to whom Joan curtsied and said thank you as well. They left as the men swarmed the balloon, retying the ropes that held it down and loading the car with ballast.
The world looked very flat and small from down here, after the view from on high. Joan pictured again the rolling hills and winding river, the clusters of buildings and the gleaming spires of churches, and gave a happy sigh. What an adventure! She never would have dreamed of such a sight.
“Thank you.” She paused, then repeated, “Thank you, Tristan.”
At the sound of his name, his head came up, and he looked at her sharply. His piercing green eyes were wary for a moment, and then a smile bent his mouth. “Ah, the lady triumphs. I owe you a shilling.”
Joan rolled her eyes. “Keep the bloody shilling. I was merely trying to thank you.”
His smile dimmed, and for just the flash of a moment, he looked uncertain. “I had to do something impressive.”
“Why? A simple drive was all I expected.”
“A simple drive!” He made a bored grimace. “Who wants that? So conventional, so ordinary, so dull—your own words, madam.”
