“You would have done the same in my place.”
“That is different.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Pray don't tell me it is because you are a man.”
“It is, in part. I am physically stronger than you. You would have been no match for Lazzara had he tried to drag you under the water.”
His explanation mollified her a little. “I was not in much danger. Marcus taught me to swim when I was a girl, and I do it quite well.”
Damon's mouth curved wryly. “I cannot say I am surprised. You ride and shoot and fence with the best of them. And last evening you added thievery to your list of masculine accomplishments.”
Eleanor couldn't help but laugh. “But you agreed that you deserved my retribution.”
“I did.” He crossed the salon and stood gazing down at her. “Don't mistake me, Eleanor. What you did was remarkable-and incredibly admirable. Perhaps one woman in a million would have had the presence of mind, not to mention the courage, to act as you did. You risked your life to save his. But I don't want any harm to come to you.”
His dark gaze intent, Damon raised a finger to touch her cheek. It was a gentle caress, yet strangely tentative, almost as if he wanted to reassure himself that she was still there, alive and well.
Then his voice lowered to a rough whisper that was nearly inaudible. “I couldn't endure it if you came to harm.”
Without another word, Damon turned and left the salon, leaving Eleanor bereft of words herself.
It was a long, long while before she could summon her vaunted presence of mind in order to follow.
Refrain from nagging or complaining or scolding. Instead, give him reasons to cherish your company. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…
To Eleanor's gratification, the balloon ascension was not canceled. Yet even knowing of Damon's concern for her, she was surprised when he arrived in the Lazzara barouche the next morning to collect her and her aunt at Portman Place. As they were being assisted into the carriage, Eleanor sent Damon a quizzical glance, but he only returned an enigmatic smile.
Prince Lazzara did not look any worse for wear after his traumatic experience the previous afternoon, she noted with relief. Indeed, he appeared to have recovered fully, although he seemed a trifle embarrassed when he greeted her. He also seemed less effusive than normal as the barouche got underway, although Signor Vecchi was as charming and diplomatic as always when he again expressed gratitude for Eleanor's valiant action in rescuing his cousin yesterday.
The prince, however, recouped his spirits enough to display uncommon zeal as he explained to the ladies something of the history of ballooning.
“Various Frenchmen began experimenting with flying hot air balloons more than three decades ago,” Lazzara asserted, “and soon succeeded in crossing the English Channel. But after several fatal flights where the paper-lined silk fabric of the balloons caught fire, aeronauts began using hydrogen gas developed by English scientist Henry Cavendish, since gas-filled balloons are safer and can travel further.”
“The balloon today will be filled with gas?” Lady Beldon asked rather worriedly.
“But of course,” the prince replied. “My countryman, Signor Pucinelli, is an eminent member of Italy's scientific establishment and an avid aeronaut. He has endeavored to bring the delights of his passion to the public, and is currently visiting England at the invitation of your Prince Regent.”
Today's ascension, Lazzara added, would take place in an open meadow north of London, early in the day when the winds would likely be the weakest. Fortunately the weather boded to be fair. Bright sunshine warmed the cool morning air, while a scattering of puffy white clouds filled the blue sky above.
Eleanor felt an eager sense of anticipation as they drew closer. Even Beatrix, who had risen long before her usual hour for the occasion, seemed enthusiastic, since the outing afforded her more time in Signor Vecchi's company.
After a while, however, Eleanor couldn't help noticing that there were two rough-looking men trailing them on horseback. And when the barouche eventually turned off the main road onto a country lane, the riders followed.
“They are Bow Street Runners,” Damon murmured to her in a low voice. “I hired them to protect the prince.”
“Does he know?” Eleanor asked.
“Yes, I had a long discussion with him last evening.”
She wanted to question Damon about his conversation with the prince, but there was no chance, since just then they reached their intended destination.
As the carriage turned into a large meadow and came to a halt, she could see the balloon in the near distance. The giant, gray-and-red-striped globe, which rose almost seventy feet into the air, bobbed gently in the morning sunlight.
The balloon was covered by a net of rope webbing and attached to a wickerwork basket below, which in turn was tethered to the ground by sturdy ropes. The basket was large, perhaps ten feet wide by fifteen feet long, and shaped somewhat like Eleanor's copper bathing tub at home.
A crowd had already gathered for the spectacle, and as Prince Lazzara led his party a short way across the meadow, Eleanor heard a dark-haired gentleman shouting orders in Italian to a crew of workmen who were hard at work amid a plethora of casks and bottles and metal tubes.
Upon spying the prince, the gentleman broke away and came to greet them. When the introductions were performed, Signor Pucinelli acknowledged Damon with a beaming smile and said a few words in Italian, which Eleanor interpreted to mean something on the order of, “Lord Wrexham, how good to see you again.”
Apparently, the two men were acquainted, she realized, although that shouldn't surprise her, given that Damon had spent the past two years in Italy.
After another moment of conversing, the scientist returned his attention to the entire party and proudly explained in broken English the principles of creating hydrogen fuel, mixing iron shavings and oil of vitriol-sulfuric acid, to be precise-and the complex contraption he had designed to inflate the silken orb with gas, chiefly a tin hose connected to the mouth of the balloon.
“We are nearly finished with the inflation,” the balloonist said. “We can accommodate two passengers as well as myself.”
“But you will not actually take flight beyond the meadow?” Damon asked, his tone serious.
“No, no, my lord,” Pucinelli assured him. “My workers will keep hold of the gondola at all times, by means of long ropes. They will guide us around the field and then aid our descent as well. I expect to stay aloft for ten, perhaps twenty minutes. It is all quite safe.”
“It is much like,” the prince added, contributing his viewpoint, “towing a barge along the Thames, or piloting a gondola laden with goods along the canals in Venice. Except in this case, the men on the ground will prevent the balloon from flying away, thereby insuring a safe, open landing area.” He turned to the aeronaut. “Donna Eleanora is eager to experience the joys of flight, signor.”
Pucinelli beamed at her. “It is good to see such an intrepid young lady. If you will come this way…”
When he gestured toward the balloon, Eleanor moved closer, accompanied by Prince Lazzara and Damon, while her aunt and Signor Vecchi remained there to watch from a distance.
“Have you ridden in a balloon before?” she asked Damon curiously.
“Yes, with Pucinelli in fact, when I was last in Rome,” he answered.
They stood for another short period while Pucinelli supervised his crew, who were busily unhooking hoses and closing flaps at the mouth of the balloon, then safely storing the casks and fueling machinery.
When the aeronaut eventually signaled they could board, Damon guided Eleanor forward to the wooden access steps. “Allow me, my lady,” he murmured in warning.
Swinging her up into his arms, Damon mounted the four steps, then lifted her over the edge of the chest-high basket and set her on her feet inside. Then, to her puzzlement, he hoisted himself aboard.
“I thought Prince Lazzara was to be the other passenger
,” Eleanor said as his highness moved away to join their party.
“Not for this journey,” Damon replied in a mild tone.
She recognized the glint he always got in his eyes when he was about to do something outrageous, and her own gaze darkened with suspicion. “Just what are you about, Damon?”
“I convinced Lazzara to stay behind.”
“You convinced him…?”
“I told you, I have no intention of letting you go anywhere with him unless I accompany you. If someone wishes him harm, a balloon ascension could provide an ideal opportunity to target him.”
A sudden breeze made the balloon tug at its moorings, which caused the basket to sway. Jostled, Eleanor clutched at the rim as she pressed her lips together in exasperation. Damon was obviously worried for her safety, but she wasn't certain his excuse could be fully trusted.
“Is that your only reason for taking the prince's place just now?” she asked. “Or are you still intent on spoiling our courtship?”
Damon's mouth quirked. “I confess that played a role in my rationale. I don't intend to let you wed him, Elle.”
Miffed by his nonchalance, Eleanor eyed Damon reproachfully. “If Prince Lazzara is not coming, then you needn't be concerned for my safety, which means you needn't come either. In truth, I would rather go with Signor Pucinelli by myself.”
Damon cocked his head. “The decision is not open for argument, sweeting. If you don't want my presence, then we will both remain here safely on the ground. I can lift you out as easily as I lifted you in.”
She hesitated, aware that Damon could be even more stubborn than she. “That won't be necessary,” she finally muttered. “I don't want to miss the chance to take a balloon flight.”
“I suspected as much,” Damon said wryly.
The basket rocked again, nearly making Eleanor lose her balance. Clinging to the rim, she decided that a gust of wind must have buffeted the balloon, causing it to rise a short distance. And yet the ground continued to fall away below them.
Then she heard Damon's low curse, followed shortly by Signor Pucinelli's startled shout from below. It took Eleanor a moment to realize what had happened: The basket had somehow been liberated from its tether and no one was holding the guide ropes. She and Damon were lifting off, just the two of them, with no one to pilot the balloon.
Pucinelli came running toward the rising gondola along with his crew, but they were too late. Although one man made a mad lunge for a dangling rope and managed to grasp it for an instant, after being dragged along the ground a dozen yards, he lost his purchase. When the rope was ripped from his hands, the balloon shot upward, sailing off into the blue.
From below, Eleanor heard shouts of surprise and horror, including what she thought was her aunt's frantic voice. Her own startlement at their abrupt ascent, however, was tempered by a sudden suspicion. “What is this, Damon, an abduction?”
His scowl dismissed her question as nonsense as he surveyed the scene below. “Why the devil would I risk your safety by arranging an abduction? I had nothing to do with this, Eleanor. My guess is that someone unfastened the moorings.”
When he emitted another oath, Eleanor glanced down and became even more aware of the danger. They were at least a hundred feet above the earth by now, imprisoned in a weaving basket held aloft by a manufactured swath of fabric that would soon lose its buoyancy. Far below, the spectators looked like a milling colony of ants, while the meadow where they had launched was fast disappearing.
Eleanor suddenly felt light-headed, while her stomach lurched. When her knees were struck by a similar weakness, she sank down to the floor of the basket and leaned her forehead against her updrawn legs.
“You aren't turning vaporish on me, are you?”
Damon said bracingly as he went down on one knee beside her.
“Actually, I am,” she mumbled.
“Well, buck up, Elle. You need to help me determine how to get out of this predicament.”
She didn't have the strength to respond to his needling, yet it helped that the craft seemed to steady. When her stomach settled and her dizziness faded, Eleanor accepted Damon's aid and risked standing up again.
When she gingerly peered over the side of the basket, she could see the vast city of London behind them, with the River Thames meandering toward the sea like a winding ribbon. Ahead of them was a panorama of English countryside-a patchwork quilt of forests and fields and farmland stretching to the distant horizon.
“My heaven,” she breathed in an almost reverent voice. “What a magnificent sight.”
“Yes,” Damon agreed.
Eleanor let out her breath slowly. The sensation of flying was not what she had expected. “It is so quiet,” she observed. “It feels as if we are hanging perfectly still.”
“We aren't. The air currents are carrying us north. We just cannot feel them since the balloon is keeping pace.”
Relaxing her death grip a little, Eleanor took another slow breath. “Very well, what do you wish me to do?”
“Help me look for a place to set down.”
“Can you land the balloon?”
“I think I can operate the vent valve…” Looking up, Damon reached overhead for one of two ropes that resembled bellpulls. “See these cords? They are attached to a flap at the top of the balloon so gas can escape. I'll open the flap to let air out, so we will gradually lose altitude. The danger is coming down too quickly, but that is what those sandbags are for. They serve as ballast.” He pointed to the four corners of the basket, and for the first time, Eleanor noticed the small burlap bags piled there.
“How do you know so much about so many things?” she asked with a touch of wonder.
“I read a great deal. And as you know, this is not my first balloon flight.”
“Still, I am exceedingly impressed with your wealth of knowledge.”
Damon's mouth curved. “Save your praise until we are safely on the ground. I doubt the landing will be soft.”
He didn't have to spell out the dangers any further to her. If he released too much gas, they could plummet to earth. And even if they managed to regulate the speed of their descent, they could still crash into a forest or some other obstacle such as a farmhouse.
His gaze searching the earth below, Damon tugged on one of the valve cords. Except for a slight whis tling sound above them, his action initially seemed to result in no response. But then Eleanor realized that at least the balloon was no longer rising.
Damon pulled on the cord a fraction more. “If we begin to descend too rapidly, I want you to throw out a sandbag when I tell you to.”
Nodding, Eleanor shifted her position by several feet so she could easily reach the ballast if necessary.
A long silence followed while Damon tried to gauge what effect the venting was having on their altitude. It seemed as if they were drifting lazily, Elea nor thought, but in reality, they were being carried along on a steady breeze. Still, the flight felt serene and peaceful, almost calming in fact-except that shortly Eleanor began to wonder how they had ended up in this quandary in the first place.
“Why would someone sabotage the launching?” she asked Damon after a moment. “The prince is not even here.”
“An excellent question,” he responded almost grimly. “I cannot imagine why, unless the saboteur thought I was Lazzara. I didn't see the perpetrator, but I would guess he was one of Pucinelli's crew. An outsider would have looked out of place and likely been spotted.”
Eleanor winced inwardly at the thought of being trapped up here with the prince. With his extensive knowledge of ballooning, perhaps his highness would have proved to be as resourceful as Damon evidently was, but she felt far safer with Damon.
When she shivered, however, she realized she'd grown a little chilled, even though she wore a pelisse over her walking dress of jaconet muslin.
“Had I known we would be airborne for so long,” she commented in a wry tone, “I would have worn a warmer pelisse.”
> Damon gestured with his head toward the floor. “There is a blanket for passengers in the corner behind you. Wrap it around your shoulders.”
“No, I don't want to be encumbered if I must wrestle with sandbags.”
Across the width of the basket, his gaze found hers. “Pucinelli was right. You are quite an intrepid young lady. Many women would have swooned or had an apoplectic fit by now.”
“I am not normally the swooning sort, despite my bout of weakness a moment ago.”
“I know.”
When he flashed her a grin, Eleanor smiled back- and immediately felt a warmth that she was hard-pressed to justify, given the peril they were in.
It was easier to understand the tingle of excitement that surged through her blood. Naturally she was affected by the sheer exhilaration of flying. The danger was strangely exhilarating also, as was the beauty of the morning.
Yet the greatest cause of her sudden high spirits, she suspected-as well as the inexplicable sense of joy she was experiencing just now-was Damon's presence. He always made her feel so alive, so free… as if she could conquer the world with him at her side.
In spite of the threat they faced, this flight was a moment of a lifetime, and she was glad to be able to share it with him.
When he returned his attention to the valve cords, Eleanor continued to watch him. She had certainly never expected this unlikely turn of events. Damon was proving to be her knight in shining armor after all, just as he had seemed two years ago.
As a girl, she'd harbored romantic dreams of finding a knight who would sweep her off her feet and end her loneliness, and what could be more wildly romantic than sailing off into the skies with him?
Averting her gaze, Eleanor smiled to herself, even while wondering how she could feel humor at a time like this.
“How far have we flown?” she asked to distract herself from worrying.
“It's hard to judge. I would guess ten miles or so, perhaps more.”
Another few minutes passed as they sank lower and lower. When they came closer to the treetops, Damon shut the valve for good.
“There, Elle… there's a meadow beyond that line of elms. I want to try to set down there.”
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