Lady Saves the Duke

by Annabelle Anders

  When she pushed her plate away from her for the second time, Monfort glanced up and lifted one questioning brow. “If you are finished, we should leave now. Our outing requires that we have the cool of the morning air.”

  He was being mysterious. And that gleam had appeared behind his gaze once again.

  The slight hint of enthusiasm rubbed off on her immediately. “Let me fetch my bonnet.” She grinned. “And I’ll meet you in the foyer. Are we walking or taking the carriage?”

  “I will drive us in my curricle.”

  As Abigail stood, her anticipation grew. Was he going to take her to a stable to see some horses? Were they going to a race somewhere? He’d thought of this activity when she’d been talking about her fears. What was he up to?

  She thought again, for all of two seconds, that she ought to be frightened. But no. She trusted him. Since he’d come to Raebourne and proposed, he’d acted in her best interest on every occasion.

  Monfort easily assisted her into the gleaming yellow curricle. He showed her where to grasp and then, placing his hands upon her waist virtually hoisted her onto the platform. The seat was so high perched, she wondered if perhaps the ride itself was the surprise. But Monfort made no indication that such was the case.

  In no time at all, he sauntered around and climbed on unassisted. And then, looking very comfortable and self-assured, took the reins and urged the cattle forward. Although she sat several feet above the ground, she knew herself to be safe with him. He would never knowingly put her in any danger.

  After a few blocks, she wondered if he was taking her for a drive in the park. Were they going to go onto the water? Was he going to take her rowing?

  That must be it. He was going to take her rowing since the last experience she’d had…well…things had gone so awry. He was going to prove she could have a perfectly lovely outing on a rowboat.

  But then, as he turned into the park and down a path, Abigail’s breath caught in her throat. For awaiting them in an open stretch of lawn hovered a large colorful balloon attached to a basket that was meant to carry passengers into the sky. The fully inflated scarlet balloon reached higher than the trees off in the distance. It contrasted brightly against the greens of the grass and trees and the blue of the sky. Surely he did not intend for them to ride in such a conveyance? And yet…the duke was looking over at her with questioning eyes.

  And he was smiling.

  Chapter 11

  Monfort pulled the curricle to a halt and handed the reins to one of the grooms before jumping off and coming around to assist Abigail. Although Abigail’s misgivings at the thought of being carried away in a basket were enormous, this almost boyish excitement in him kept her from protesting.

  With a little impatience, he placed her hand upon his arm and dragged her over to introduce her to the pilot. Both men were discussing details and weather conditions, but Abigail failed to hear much of what was being said.

  When she could finally speak, she was not eloquent at all. “Surely not…? Monfort, you don’t intend for us to…?”

  But he was grinning and even laughing a bit as he took her hand. “I won’t force you, Abigail,” he said, momentarily serious. “But I believe that if you have the courage to fly above the rooftops of London, then surely you will feel better about looking its inhabitants in their eyes. What do you say, Abigail? Shall we fly today?”

  He looked so earnest, and so proud of himself, but what could she say? “Of course!” Hugging herself with her arms, she shivered. “What do we need to do?” This time she addressed the pilot.

  “Not much for you to do, m’lady,” the pilot answered cheerfully, “but climb into the basket.”

  Before she could say anything else, Monfort’s strong arms swooped her up and over the sidewalls of the basket. It was not reassuring at all to feel the squishy basket material beneath her feet as she stood directly under the balloon. And then with no hesitation whatsoever, Monfort hoisted himself over and stood beside her.

  “It is safe, isn’t it?” Abigail asked, feeling in need of more reassurance.

  Monfort laughed. “These have been around for nearly half a century now, Abigail. The heat from the burner causes the balloon to rise. Only the balloon isn’t called a balloon; it’s referred to as the envelope. Hydrogen balloons are all the rage right now, but I prefer the simplicity of this design. The heated air in the envelope causes the balloon to take flight.” The duke was telling her the ins and outs as well as the history of balloons, even that the first passengers to ever ride in one were a goat, a pig, and a rooster. And before Abigail could act on her misgivings, the ground receded and she was looking down upon the tops of the trees.

  “Monfort! We’re flying!” The unexpected exhilaration sweeping through her could not be contained. It was as though she were dreaming. As she clutched the side of the basket, looking downward, the duke’s arms wrapped around her from behind. He rested his chin atop her head.

  Not thinking for even a moment, Abigail brought one of her hands off the basket and covered the duke’s arm with hers. She liked the feel of him behind her. She liked the security of being held by somebody who was good.

  The rhythm of his breath flowed through her as his body pressed flush against her own.

  It was a rather small basket, and he was most likely only standing so close to her so the pilot had space to maneuver his torchy thingy.

  Pleasure coursed through her veins, and in that moment, her emotions lifted higher, even than the balloon.

  The duke removed one of his hands and pointed. “Look there, Abigail, and you can see Cross Hall. And just beyond it is Grosvenor Square.” His breath caressed the skin just beside her ear. The sensation warmed her. Never had she experienced such…tingling intimacy.

  They went higher and higher and higher, straight up into the sky. With no wind to move them, they hovered directly over Hyde Park. Abigail could make out the spot where they’d taken off from, and a tiny little dot for the curricle they’d ridden over on…just barely. They were so very high up in the sky.

  She was jolted from her reverie when something the pilot was saying led the duke to step away, rocking her sensation of safety. Suddenly feeling quite alone, standing in a basket in the sky, she grasped the edge of the wicker wall with all her might.

  “So you still wish to go ahead with it, Your Grace?” The pilot lifted up a vest with straps from the floor.

  And the duke was nodding eagerly as he took hold of it and slipped his arms through the openings. “The conditions are perfect,” Monfort said as he tied the canvas vest snugly. “Mightn’t be so lucky next time.” The pilot was assisting him now, tightening the straps and tugging at the buckles. Abigail then noticed that ropes attached to the vest were strung up to the side of the balloon. A horrible foreboding struck her. She’d heard of such daredevil acts. She’d heard of such careless individuals who wished to test the boundaries of new inventions.

  “You aren’t thinking of—? You cannot possibly! Monfort! Alex, what in God’s name are you thinking?” Her outburst caught both Monfort and the pilot’s attention.

  The pilot rolled his eyes and moved to the opposite corner of the basket. Monfort stared over at her with some concern. Being careful of the ropes around him, he stepped closer and grasped her elbows. “It’s known as parachuting. I’ve been of a mind to try it since I saw it at a festival a few years ago. It’s quite safe, Abigail.”

  “Don’t you ‘it’s quite safe, Abigail’ me! I know when something is dangerous, and I know that jumping out of a balloon is one of them. Excuse me, an envelope!” Seeing the determined look upon his face, Abigail fought the tears threatening to overflow. “But if you want to kill yourself, don’t mind me! I’ll just sit up here and watch you throw yourself to your death. I’ll explain to your sister, your aunt—to your nephews—that their uncle just ‘wanted to try it,’ and that it was all really quite safe, not at all dangerous, as they scrape your body off the grass.” She was nearly sobbing as she sp
oke. Why would he do such a thing? Did he not really care if he were to live or to die? Life was precious! He was so very precious! How could he even think of doing something like this?

  And then she was in his arms, and he was shushing her softly.

  “Hush now, Abigail,” Alex said, shaking his head at the pilot. He would not do the jump today. Good God, the woman was becoming hysterical. She trembled in his arms. He pulled her closer and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. Her skin delicate and soft, with a few wisps of dampened hair clinging to it.

  “I couldn’t bear it if you died,” she mumbled into his shirt. “I simply couldn’t bear it.”

  He knew he would not die. Well, he was relatively certain he would not die. He’d merely been attracted to the thrill of it. How magnificent to fall from such a height with only the silk of a parachute to slow his descent.

  But this woman. This woman in his arms was terrified for him. And discovering this, somehow melted his insides just a little bit. “I won’t die, Abigail,” he promised. “I won’t jump.”

  Silly promise, really. He of all people ought to know that such a promise was a joke.

  What had Hyacinth said when she’d threatened to go out on the ice that day? You worry far too much, Monfort. Don’t be such a spoilsport! And then she’d died. And she’d taken the children with her.

  “I won’t jump, Abby,” he repeated, something of a lump forming in his throat. And then he turned her around so that she was looking away from him. He stepped away and began removing the jumping vest. The pilot assisted him in silence until it was once again stashed in a corner of the basket. He was a little bit annoyed with himself for allowing Abigail’s fear to stop him from doing what he’d wanted to do, but he was even more annoyed with himself for planning to try the jump with her in the balloon in the first place.

  There were a tremendous amount of people who depended upon him. In the event of his death, no apparent heir stood by, ready to take up his responsibilities. He’d acted on impulse while setting the flight up, just yesterday.

  Abigail, herself, was dependent upon him—for virtually everything now. And they were not yet married. If he were to be killed, she probably assumed she’d be right back in that terrible predicament she’d been in before he’d proposed.

  Was that why she’d been so terrified?

  “I’ve changed my will to provide for you in the case of my death,” he said, warmth draining out of him.

  He preferred this cold feeling.

  Emotions were like a disease.

  Abigail looked at him over her shoulder.

  She’d composed herself somewhat, but her eyes were still pink and a little swollen. She furrowed her brows as though confused. “I…didn’t even think of that.”

  Was she lying? Her hands shook visibly as she brushed a wayward piece of hair back from her face. She released her hold on the basket and turned around to face him fully, both of her arms now wrapped in front of her abdomen. The expression on her face hardened as she realized his insinuation.

  “Well, if that’s the case, go ahead and jump, by all means. Don’t mind me. If I’ve nothing to lose, then give it a try, Your Grace.”

  Ah, well, Miss Abigail Wright was angry.

  He’d not seen her angry before. Weepy, frightened, charmed, and yes, even sexually aroused, but he’d not seen the woman angry before. Angry and proud.

  She gestured toward the corner of the basket where he’d tossed the jumping vest with a nod of her head and then turned her back to him. The pilot raised his brows at Alex in question, but Alex merely shook his head.

  Abigail Wright was more woman than he’d realized.

  He stepped up beside her putting his hands along the edge of the basket. He could almost physically feel the tension emanating from her. “My apologies.”

  Abigail raised one hand to wipe at her eyes. “You don’t need to apologize. I understand how you might think that.” She spoke into the empty air. Now it was she who sounded emotionless.

  “I didn’t do it to scare you,” he said. “I simply wanted to do it.”

  She slid her eyes toward him without turning her head. “I beg you, don’t do it in my presence then, Monfort.”

  It was Alex’s turn to look off into the distance. “I didn’t think of how you might react. I suppose I thought you’d think it something of a lark.” Just as Hyacinth had when she’d gone out onto the ice without his approval.

  A small hand landed atop his. He turned his head just in time to see her swallow hard.

  “I’ll be taking her back down now, Yer Grace.” The pilot was tinkering with the burner. “If you’re ready, that is.”

  Alex nodded his assent and then turned back to watch the skyline of London rise before them. It was unusually clear today, the warmth of the weather precluding the necessity for most homes to build fires. And it was still early.

  When he’d proposed to Abigail, he’d not considered having any feelings for her. Feelings were never a good idea. Best to keep things cool—to keep his distance.

  Was that possible, though, to have a satisfying sexual relationship with one’s wife? Even Elise had become emotional when he’d called things off. And before that she’d become possessive.

  Hyacinth had never been possessive. She’d been thrilled when he’d finally directed his attentions elsewhere.

  But his relationship with her could hardly have been deemed to have been satisfying sexually. He could count the times they’d been together on less than two hands. And there had not been much satisfaction for either of them. Hell, truth be told, there’d not been any satisfaction in it at all.

  He glanced over at Miss Wright.

  Miss Abigail Wright.

  He liked to think of her thus. He was safer that way. Safer to think of this marriage in terms of saving Miss Wright, rather than taking Abigail to be his wife.

  And yet something about her affected him. Looking at her evoked a physical urge to take her in his arms. She had been brave this morning. Not only in going along for the flight, but she’d stood up to him. Good God, she’d not only stood up to him, but she’d ordered him not to take the parachute jump. Ordered him!

  And she’d succeeded.

  Oh hell.

  If Abigail could handle him so easily, she had nothing to fear from the ton.

  ****

  Penelope was true to her word, and just two days after removing to her parents’ house, she made a visit to Cross Hall.

  On her Lady Accelerator, no less.

  Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with exertion. “Oh, Abigail,” she said as they walked the contraption around to the back of the house together. “You must give it a go. The trick is to continue to move your feet as though walking while keeping your head up. If you run, you can lift your feet and glide.”

  They arrived in an open area, and Penelope handed the contraption over to Abigail. Abigail’s first thoughts were that the large thin wheels looked impossible to balance upon and the seat incredibly uncomfortable. In spite of her misgivings, she stepped over the middle bar and straddled the apparatus with one foot on each side of it. Her dress made it impossible to see her feet. “How on earth, Penelope?”

  Penelope took hold of the front handles and urged Abigail to scoot onto the seat. With a tremendous amount of faith in her cousin, Abigail slid upward and back. Once sitting, she began to walk the contraption.

  Penelope’s strength alone prevented her from careening onto her side. “This is impossible!” Abigail declared as Penelope moved around to her side and ordered her to move her feet faster. But Abigail did as she was told and found herself moving ahead of her friend. She went all of about ten feet before toppling over, banging her hip and arm rather painfully into the ground.

  She endured a few more attempts until she was able to traverse about twenty or so feet. And it was something of a thrill, terrifying and painful though it might be. By the end of the lesson, more than a few scrapes and bruises adorned Abigail a
nd she’d torn her dress. But she’d experienced something singular. Empowerment.

  Propelling the Accelerator, or hobbyhorse as some called it, required physical exertion of the rider. It was not at all the same as riding atop a horse. After setting it aside, the ladies found a bench under a shady tree and both sighed. They were worn out and tired, but Abigail wanted to enjoy her cousin’s company longer.

  “Monfort took me up in a balloon yesterday, if you can imagine.” She went on to tell Penelope the entire story of how Monfort had thought to jump out of it and how she herself had experienced something of an apoplexy at the thought of him doing such a dangerous thing. “It’s as though he thought nothing of what the people who cared about him would do if he were to be hurt…or worse…as most likely would have been the case had the parachute contraption failed him.”

  Penelope was looking down at her hands but glanced over at Abigail when she spoke. “Do you? Care for him, that is?”

  Without having to think, Abigail nodded. “I do. That’s the problem. And he had the nerve to accuse me of only being concerned for my own security.”

  “Were you?” Penelope asked. “If I were in your predicament, I cannot honestly say that isn’t the first thing that would come into my mind.” Penelope knew all too well what Abigail would be forced to face if this marriage were to fall through. And if the duke were dead, it would most definitely fall through.

  “The crazy thing is,” Abigail almost whispered, “all I could imagine, as he stood there attached to that silly contraption, ready to jump to his death, was waking up the next morning to a world without him. He is so full of energy, vitality, I feel as though I absorb some of it each morning when we go riding. It’s silly, really, in that most of the time he is critiquing me or telling me to sit up straight, but there are moments, Penelope, when I feel we are growing somewhat close. And I…”

  “You what, Abby?”