He broke off, unsure whether he should acknowledge what had happened between them.Perhaps it would have been better not to say anything at all.
She cringed.“Don’t speak of it.”
Somehow, hearing her say the words that he had just been thinking irked him.“You will let me touch you,” he growled, “but I am not allowed to speak of it?”
“That will never happen again,” she snapped.“And you are being very ungentlemanly in mentioning it now.”
Pain bleated against his skull.He did not understand why they weren’t allowed to speak of what had happened between them.He understood that she did not wantmorewith him, that she did not seek a more lasting attachment with him, and he understood why.The life he could offer her was not one to which she was at all accustomed, to say the least.He was a most unsuitable match for her.But why did that mean they could not speak of what had passed between them?
“Your first night at Parkhorne,” he said, “was a mishap.Neither of us was conscious of the mistake before it had been made.But yesterday—”
“Another mistake!I would have never acted so if it weren’t for—if we hadn’t been—it is not fair to blame me for it.”
He started in surprise.“I blame you for nothing.”
“I am sure it shames you,” she said, “to have done what you did withme—”
As the words left her mouth, the basket lurched horribly.She was thrown back into his arms, and he caught her, stabilizing her and himself by grasping onto the edge of the basket.He looked down and saw that one of the tethers had come loose.He couldn’t see what was happening on the ground exactly, but he could discern that one of the balloon men was on the ground.And he could hear shouting and something, perhaps, about adog…
“Dear God,” Scarlett cursed.
And then the basket lurched horrifically in the other direction—and the balloon began to float upward.
Goddamn it, they were trulyaloft.
The men had somehow lost control of the balloon.And they were floatingacrossthe meadow.
“Christ!”he exclaimed.
The basket was upright now, but he was completely frozen.All he could see were the people on the ground beneath them getting smaller and smaller—and that they had begun to drift over the meadow to the east.
To his surprise, he felt a small, warm hand squeeze his own.
“Don’t worry, Mr.Brown,” a sweet voice said,hersweet voice, that pierced his panic.
And then, without warning, they were drifting downward.
She had let open the vent, he realized.She had thought to act where he had failed.
He still found himself unable to speak and her hand returned to his.
His breath came fast and shallow.
His vision blurred.
Yet again, Miss Scarlett Perkins had left him breathless.
Chapter Sixteen
“It was allMiss Perkins, I assure you,” Mr.Malcolm Brown said for what felt, to her, like the hundredth time since that afternoon.
As he said the words, he grinned, showing himself to be more handsome—no,beautiful—than ever.His smile, in this context, was almost rakish, and it did dangerous things to that place between Scarlett’s thighs.
Since she landed the balloon, Malcolm had been telling anyone who would listen that it was her quick thinking that had saved them.
“If it weren’t for Miss Perkins,” Malcolm said now, “I’d be halfway to France, I’m sure.”
He was recounting the tale to Mr.Larchman and one of the local landowners, a Mr.Dermott, who had been frequently present for these evening meals.Neither man had witnessed the kerfuffle today.
