Page 82 of Courting the Country Miss

“Aye. Makes the balloon lighter than air so it can go up.”

Up. Up and away from the ground. So far up…

Tristan touched her shoulder. “Tish?”

She turned to him, unable to speak.

Without a word, he drew her into his arms and held her while she trembled. He rubbed circles on her back, slow and soothing. “We’re safe. Hold onto me.”

Burrowing into him, she clutched him as if he alone protected them all from a horrible death. He held her, steady, strong. The mint in his clothes mingled with his bay rum aftershave and that uniquely adult Tristan scent, calming her fears—familiar and yet different in a way that left her baffled. His strong arms held her against his solid chest.

His beloved voice rumbled through her. “Look Tish—you will want to see this.”

Without moving, she opened her eyes. London Bridge, the spires of Parliament, the Thames winding like a shining pathway sprinkled with stardust—all of London lay before her like a detailed, colored map. Ships and other watercraft dotted the river like a child’s toys. The ocean’s great expanse shimmered in the distance. Land formations she never knew existed now revealed themselves in the layout below. Absolute silence reigned in this world above the land.

A cold breeze blew a strand of hair over her eyes. She pushed it back, mesmerized by the view, and by the singular experience of enjoying the flight within the safe harbor of Tristan’s arms. She looked up at him, her motion catching his attention. He slowly smiled, and her heart opened up like a flower to the sun.

A sublime transcendence settled into her heart. Tristan. Her dearest friend. And yet, something more, something encompassing friendship but carrying it to a new level of joy, peace, safety.

“It’s magical, isn’t it?” He spoke almost reverently as if reluctant to break the beauty of the moment.

She nodded, too awed to reply.

He looked back out at the panorama. “I’d forgotten what it’s like up here.”

The view. Of course. She rested her head against him, no longer afraid but absolutely craving more of him, more of his touch, more of…

She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought. Instead, they spoke in whispers, pointing out landmarks to each other. She could happily die here, in this quiet, surreal world, enfolded in Tristan’s arms.

The pilot pointed out some sights Leticia had not noticed, and she admired the scene.

“Here we go, now,” the pilot said. “Time to go back down.”

Tristan watched the pilot’s every movement, clearly fascinated. “Do you ever fly without a tether?”

The pilot nodded. “Oh, aye, but not in London. I go out a ways before I lift off—it’s easier to find a landing spot. Better visibility, too. Always an adventure flying untethered. No two flights are the same.”

They began the descent, so gradually that it seemed as if the ground rose to meet them. Tristan loosened his hold on her and she moved away from him. The closer they came to the ground, the greater the distance she put herself from Tristan.

They hit the ground with a soft thump and Leticia shifted her feet to stay balanced. With her hands folded, she waited as the land crew placed the stepladders. She drew a breath, ashamed for her panic, and for the unseemly way she threw herself at Tristan.

Some inner glow filled Tristan’s eyes and the smile he offered her eased the tension inside her. His glance reassured her as surely as if he’d reached out and touched her with his hand.

He held her steady as she climbed the stepladders up and over the basket, and joined her on the ground. As she wound her hand through his arm and they strolled to the waiting carriage, a new awareness of him tingled her senses—surely the euphoria of the balloon ride caused her unexplained reaction.

She met his gaze. “What an unforgettable experience. Thank you.”

His familiar grin, yet warmer somehow, appeared. “It was most assuredly my pleasure.” Tristan the rake resurfaced with a teasing light glimmering in his eyes. “If I’d known all I had to do to get you into my arms was take you in a balloon or some other great height, I would have done it years ago.”

Her world righted itself, and she whacked his arm. “Tell anyone about that and I’ll tell your cook to put mushrooms in your favorite stew.”

He shuddered dramatically. “No need to resort to cruel threats. Your secret is safe with me.” Grinning, he led her up the rise to a walking path. “Shall we take a walk or do you need to return right away?”

“I have no engagements.”

They walked and talked, and their familiar friendship returned. Yet, that underlying awareness of Tristan remained, each breath he took vibrating through her, each smile bringing an answering one to her lips, each mood, every expression echoing in her heart.

The sunlight flirted with the leaves overhead, sending shafts of light on his face, his hair. As they walked, a cat drowsing in the sun startled and slunk off into shrubbery, and Tristan quoted a poem by Keats about cats.