by Kelly Bowen
August stretched and wound his arm about Mary-Anne’s waist. “When we’re done with our drive, if you still feel you need to, we can. But, she dropped you to a warehouse, that’s not a home.”
His face, his eyes—were all serious.
“I do have a question for you, Mary-Anne. If I could make your dreams come true, what’s the reward? I was to make a nice percentage if I could make you a celebrated modiste. It needs to be a good deal.”
If only he knew that her soul craved to love him and be loved by him in the open out of the shadows. “You have ideas on this?”
A breeze picked up and she tugged up his collar. “Give me options, sir.”
He turned down a dusty road that separated two wide fields. No trees, just fences and grass. “I think if I were good and did everything right, then you could refuse me nothing.”
“That would be a hundred percent, August.”
“I can be greedy wagering deals with you, but I’d have to be exactly right.”
He’d planned something.
Something unexpected and unexpectedly generous.
Since their deal was done and this would be the last she saw of him, except for a chance meeting at one of her special weddings at St. George’s, she decided to indulge herself. “Yes, August, if you guess. A hundred percent yes.”
He leaned the inches that separated them and kissed her.
She held onto his neck and kissed him back with everything she couldn’t say—like love, and forever.
His lopsided smile straightened. “Just taking an advance payment and praying I am right.”
The next thing she saw was a balloon.
High in the sky, yards and yard of silk towering, towering seventy feet in the gorgeous blue sky.
“August?”
“You said this was your dream when I first kissed you. I want you to fly.”
“The expense?”
“Another favor. I make a little money from balloonists using my fields. One ride with my modiste won’t be too much of an expense. Since you are mine to command, I expect you to take my hand and come with me.”
She nodded, but her gaze stayed pinned to the balloon. “It looked so much smaller when driving with Old Sprinter.”
He put his hands about her waist and spun her around a few times before setting her on the ground in front of the gondola—a huge basket wrapped in red and white silk stripes. “Your horse is doing better, grazing in the far part of the fields. I’ll keep him and let him have a life out here. I don’t think he minds being out here with me.”
August sounded as if he had a secret, but she’d visit it and her old horse later. Now was time to fly.
“This isn’t too much.”
He lifted her into the gondola. “Not enough, not enough for you.”
A big metal pit stacked with hot coals was in the center positioned directly under the balloon.
She backed to the side staring at the fire.
“Mary-Anne, I will need something as a counterweight, while I stoke the flames for our pilot. Your reticule, perhaps? It’s very heavy.”
Mesmerized, she stared at the burning coals, the greedy orange and red streaks consuming embers.
“That was a joke.” He traced the air to the metal pit with his finger. “That’s the open brazier. Straw and coals burn in it to create rarefied air to lift us off the ground. It’s safe. You are safe.”
She heard his voice like a whisper. The crackling fire was louder.
“If you say so.”
“A man could grow accustomed to such an agreeable woman.”
A tall, thin fellow climbed into the gondola and went to the far side.
August spun her to view the ropes and land, not the brazier. He settled her in his arms tugging her close, shamelessly close, to his chest.
There were shouts.
Ropes were cut.
The gondola shook and started to lift.
Up, up, up. They climbed.
“As much as I enjoy holding you like this, the point of this was for you to fly. Open your eyes, Mary-Anne.”
His arms stayed tight and low about her middle, and she opened her eyes to everything.
Tops of trees.
Rooftops, red and thatch and tile.
The bells of churches.
And clouds. Lots of clouds.
She filled her lungs with the fresh air. “Everything looks tiny. I see those routes through London. Everything looks like ants.”
“We are high up.”
“It is glorious. This is what I wanted. This was my dream.”
He dipped his head to her. The shadow of his jaw tickled her cheek. “Now you will need a new dream. Whatever should we think of?”
“We? I thought our partnership was done.”
“Only if we think small. I’m thinking big, very big, Mary-Anne.”
It was wonderful and she relaxed against him until he found the pulsing vein of her neck. She moved away and clutched the side of the basket to steady herself. “I’m not wanton, August. I’m up here with you, and we sort of have a chaperone.”
“If I knew how to safely drive this thing, we’d be completely alone as we agreed, you obeying my every command. That sounds tempting. I’m going to have to learn to pilot one of these things.”
“But it’s too drafty up here for you.”
“I’ll weather it for you, dearest Mary-Anne. Now come back to me. That could be a directive if you are inclined.”
“You’re a terrible flirt.” She moved from him and saw the captain stoking the fire. The flames leaped up deep into the belly of the balloon like a girl running with her skirts in flames.
The heat whooshed about Mary-Anne. Her pulse ramped, kicking and pounding within her veins like a sister trying to get the attention of a sister, someone who’d rather die than open a burning door.
Mary-Anne sank to her knees.
August knelt beside her. “Tell me how to help.”
“The flames. They were everywhere. Emilae, she should have unlocked the door.”
“This is a controlled flame just like the hearth. You’re safe, safe with me.”
“This is what I wanted, August, to fly with balloons. But the fire makes it go.”
His lips met the crown of her head. “You don’t have to be strong. I’m here. I need you to trust me. Tell me about Emilae, Mary-Anne. Tell me what happened to your hands.”
Blinking until the memories eased, she buried herself in his arms.
August’s lopsided grin faded as his gentle eyes claimed hers. “Tell me.”
“My sister fell in love with the wrong man, a man my father did not like. He forbade their marrying, but their love couldn’t be stopped. Then he was gone, and Emilae was left to carry his child alone. Weeks of shame. The more her stomach showed, the worse things became. She’d lock herself in her bedroom crying. I heard her every night.”
“I’m so sorry, Mary-Anne.”
“A fire started in our house. Accident or deliberate, I don’t know. But my sister wouldn’t get out, wouldn’t unlock that door. I couldn’t get to her. I kept knocking, ramming. Everything was on fire. I kept hitting the burning door.”
August wiped her face of tears, his thumbs trailing her cheeks. “You did what you could.”
“No. Not everything. She was going to run away with him, but I talked her out of it. I told her to reason with our father, but he’s not a man of reason, only dictates. My sister would be alive if I had helped her outrun the shame.”
“Trying to save your sister is beautiful.”
“But I failed.”
“Mary-Anne, she wouldn’t or couldn’t be saved. But you lived. That’s all that is important now. Focusing on living, on our blessings, on generosity with our means, it’s all we can do.”
Arms wrapping about him, she clung to August because he was strong.
And he wasn’t judging her.
“I want you to take off your gloves.”
“I can’t.”
“We are up above everyone. It’s me, August, and since we are still dealing with my one hundred percent terms, you must.”
One look into his eyes and she saw no guile, just acceptance. With a stuttered sniffle, she tugged off her left glove exposing the hand with fewer scars.
“Is that enough? Can’t we compromise with just one rough hand.”
“No compromises today, my dear. Complete surrender.” He tugged the remaining glove halfway down her wrist, but she pulled it fully off. Her right hand was exposed to the world with the worst burns and a pinkie shortened by the flames.
She stood up with her ugly hands showing and clasped the side of the gondola looking out at London—the rooftops, the foaming waters of the Channel.
But August Sedgewick, sweet August kissed the left palm, along the deepest scars. Then he did the same to her right hand, planting small kisses from her wrist to her fingertips.
He put both of her hands to his lovely face. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Your soul is beautiful. Your face meets me every night in my dreams. There’s no one like you, Mary-Anne. I love you.”
August knew her secret, her darkest one of Emilae, and loved Mary-Anne still.
The gondola bucket rocked.
The balloon drifted over a rooftop, narrowly missing a stone chimney.
Mary-Anne went again into August’s embrace. If there was a way to be closer to him, to be more entwined in his life, she’d do it. She looked up at him. “I love you too, August.”
His smile was as heated as the sun, melting away any remaining resistance or caution.
“There’s one last thing I command you to do. Kiss me. Up here in the sky, close to the angels and the birds. Kiss me, Mary-Anne. Let know how much you love me.”
“As you command, Mr. Sedgewick.”
His head dipped, and she stretched on tiptoes to capture his mouth.
Sweet.
Sweet peace.
That was his kiss, his gift to her along with his love.
And when they returned to earth, she’d tell him her last secret for who else could she trust her fortune with than the man she loved.
It was well past four when August stabled the mount he’d given Mary-Anne in her mews. Then he and the woman he loved walked hand in hand back to her warehouse.
“There’s a question, I must ask you.”
She was all smiles when he opened her door.
August swept her inside. The love he kept restrained during the balloon flight and the carriage ride, waltzing her into the warehouse, boiled over like a teapot forgotten in a hearth.
Shedding his coat onto her work table, he moved to her. He plucked the ribbon free that held her bonnet and tossed it and her pins, loosening her tight chignon. “I want you free. You’re a work of art.”
He unbuttoned her coat and slid his hands inside.
The satin of her dress was smooth and he found what he hunted—ticklish spots and curves and joy.
He kissed her soundly until her breath came in pants. He stepped back and headed to the other side of her work table. “My passion for you is not fleeting. I want you. I love you. Will you marry me? Who do I need to ask for your hand?”
Her face exploded in a smile.
Until the door opened.
A nasty breeze and his brother entered her warehouse. “I hope I’m interrupting.”
August stepped in front of Mary-Anne. “Haverthon, why are you here?”
“You were to meet me and my lady friend in Hyde Park at two.” He tugged out their father’s glittering watch. “It’s well after two. I waited. You know how I hate that.”
“Haverthon, you should go. You’re not welcome.”
“That’s your opinion. I haven’t heard from Miss Nettlestrom.”
August shook his head. “Her name is Mary-Anne Nettles.”
Mary-Anne put a hand on his arm. “No, August. My Name is Mary-Anne Nettlestrom and before Lord Haverthon blurts it out. I am heir to the Nettlestrom Sugar Plantation. I’m an heiress sent to London by my father.”
He dropped to the table, sitting on the edge. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Too many men marrying for sugar money. I don’t want that. It was a small thing. You loved me before you knew. You’ve asked me to marry you. Does it matter?”
“It matters if you don’t sign the registry properly.” August took her hand in his, her bare hand in his. “No, it doesn’t.”
Haverthon clapped. “I’m so glad you didn’t toss this jewel away because she lied about who she is. Get her in order after you marry and have possession of her wealth.”
With a sigh, August coughed and then chuckled. “I should be mad at you, Haverthon. But if it weren’t for your foolish benefactor challenge, I would have given up chasing Miss Nettles or shall I call you Nettlestrom, now?
Mary-Anne stepped away from him. “What benefactor’s challenge, August?”
“Yes, Augustus, dear brother, tell my future sister of the challenge.”
“Haverthon, stop your jokes. It had to be you. Who else would get me to sell my art to invest five thousand pounds into Miss Nettles, Miss Nettlestrom’s dress business? Then he would pay me twenty thousand pounds. That’s dowries for our youngest sisters, if I succeeded.”
“So the little woman was a key to a fortune no matter what you did. August, I must say, you are industrious. I’m impressed.”
Mary-Anne spun and faced the earl. “Leave my warehouse. You hurt a dear friend of mine. Madame Labonne saw you at the theater. She saw you laughing at her. I hope when you wise up to her value, she never takes you back.”
His brother frowned then adjusted his cuffs. “She’s entertainment, paid entertainment. I’ll have her back if I want her. That’s how the world works. You’d be in the same position if your father hadn’t been deluded into marrying your enslaved mother.” He winked at her. “August, did you know there’s a brothel filled with women like this, but with finer hands?”
The rage August had bottled up broke free. His fist connected with Haverthon’s jaw. The man flipped over a pile of fabrics and dropped onto the floor.
But August wasn’t done. He jerked his brother up. “That was for insulting the woman I love.” He punched Haverthon again. “And this is for Sarah, our sister.”
The man went down again, his back slamming onto the worktable.
“Stand up, so I can hit you for every time I had to negotiate with Carruthers over Sarah’s marriage settlement. For every penny I pinched and haggled to gather the money you refused to help with, the protection you promised on Papa’s deathbed.”
He kicked at Haverthon’s leg. “Get up.”
Mary-Anne came behind August and put her arms about him, clamping her hand upon his fists, bare hand to bare hand. “Leave, Lord Haverthon. Never come back.”
The earl picked himself up and swiped at his busted lip. “August, when you come back to your reason and get your woman in order, find me. I have some investments that are lucrative.”
“You know I don’t spend money on foolish things. I make investments in things that matter. You heard my wife-to-be. Get out.”
Holding his jaw, Haverthon left.
August slammed and bolted the door.
Then he turned back to Mary-Anne, his arms crossing. “Seems we both have been less than honest.”
“Yes.”
“But I am in love with you, Mary-Anne. I don’t mind you being an heiress. That sounds so shallow. What I mean is I love you, please love me.”
“You said that perfectly. And I understand that you did this challenge for your sisters. I understand loving a sister.”
“Then, Mary-Anne,” he fingered her ear, tugging a curly lock. “Tell me you’ll marry me in spite of things.”
“If you love me in spite of things.”
He took Mary-Anne in his arms and kissed her in spite of bad beginnings, a bumpy balloon ride, and a boorish brother. She loved him, making his heart more generous and bi
gger than ever before.
“August, shouldn’t I meet your sisters before we wed?”
“You will. We have four weeks of banns to be read. We’re not eloping, Miss Mary-Anne Nettlestrom. Though I wish I could change that name sooner. Mary-Anne Sedgewick has a much better sound. Makes you sound sweet and delectable not prickly.”
He kissed each of her captured hands. “Marry me in St. George’s in a beautiful gown.”
“You want to marry in St. George’s? That’s a lot of expense, August.”
“I promised you’d make the most talked about dress, the gown of the century. It is only fitting that it’s yours. We’ll marry in St. George’s, in front of God and everyone. That might include Haverthon, he hates to be excluded and shows up where he’s not wanted. Maybe Sarah and the baby and her husband will come too.”
She put her arms about his waist. “What of my business? Don’t expect me to quit. The clients I serve need me.
“No, I will continue with my horses and landholdings and balloons. You should continue with your business, but you will give your assistant more tasks to do. Did I mention, I’m not good with sharing? I have a number of bad habits. How will you ever put up with me?
“I will manage because I love you, August.”
He was about to kiss her when the chill in the air sent a shiver to his skin. “I’m also going to be over the hearth and fireplaces. No catching colds.”
She nodded and laughed. “If I’m over your clothing selection, then yes.”
August put a few coals into the hearth, but was careful to make the flames look controlled. “Does this mean my sisters will have discounted dresses?”
“Always looking for a deal, my darling August.”
“Yes, and the benefactor’s challenge has given me the best deal, you.” He’d found peace and love every time he kissed Mary-Anne.
Epilogue
In the reverend’s office at the rear of St. George’s, Mary-Anne fixed the veil and the long train of the bride’s gown. The creamy dress with silver lace edging the hem was exquisite and as Mary-Anne’s husband, August would say, very expensive.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sedgewick. I ripped the sleeve in the carriage. I thought I’d ruined my big day.”
