by Regina Scott
His fingers groped for hers, and she flinched. Immediately he pulled back. “Lydia? Have I offended you?”
“No,” she told him. “I had a slight mishap with the coal. When the first rope snapped, the brazier tilted, and I had to remove a burning coal before it damaged the flooring.”
He took her hand, held it gently. “You were burned, and still you worked.”
The awe in his voice made her sound a saint. “You should have seen me with Gussie. I had hives more than once trying our preparations.”
“Never again,” he promised. Then he sighed. “Help me, Lydia. I want to resume where we left off, if you’re willing, but I have too much evidence that I trust too easily.”
Was that fear? How extraordinary. She would never have thought it possible. But she would not discourage his change of heart. If he did not trust it, perhaps she should resort to what he did trust.
“You use evidence to estimate probable outcomes,” she said. “It sounds as if you were unaware of certain evidence in the past, making you misjudge the results.”
“Yes.” He said the word so cautiously it might as well have been maybe.
“Allow me to give you more evidence. Since joining your household, have I ever flirted to gain an advantage over you?”
“Never.” Now he almost sounded disappointed.
Lydia smiled in the dark. “Have I worked unstintingly toward our success?”
“Yes.” This time the word was firm in his convictions.
“Then I believe I have proven myself trustworthy.”
“Indeed,” he said, and the word held a world of certainty. So did his look as he gazed fixedly at her. The breeze ruffled his hair. She could imagine running her fingers through those auburn locks.
Lydia blinked. “I can see your face.”
His gaze flew upward. “The moon’s out. Time to save our lives.”
Chapter Eighteen
Worth climbed to his feet and helped Lydia up beside him. What a wonder she was. The breeze brushed her curls back from her face, and her eyes lit at the sights below them. No matter how deep the conversation, how great the danger, she remained focused on what was important. At moments like this, he could only think he had been mad to ever doubt her.
“Worth, look!” she cried. “We’re lower.”
Indeed they were. In fact, they were dropping rather quickly. They passed a church steeple, the cross gilded by moonlight. He could make out brick chimney stacks, tiled rooftops. Beyond, a pond sparkled like a mirror. And farther yet, on what was likely the main road east, the bobbing lights of a carriage moved far too fast for the dark night.
Worth pointed. “That may well be Charlotte and the others. Quickly, now. Look for a place to put down.”
She seemed to accept the implication that he could force the balloon to land where he chose. Would that he had such confidence. Too many factors played a role—the direction and velocity of the wind as they neared the ground, the terrain, the weight. Still, he had more belief in their ability to land than in what else he must do tonight.
“There!” she cried, pointing. “That field. It’s broad enough and flat enough that we should be able to land safely.”
And it was near nothing larger than a hedgerow with no body of water close by. Perfect.
“Come over here,” Worth said, edging around the basket.
Lydia joined him, and the basket sagged to the north, tugging at the envelope secured to it. He took Lydia’s hand and eased along the rim, until the greatest drag was against the wind. The balloon slowed its flight.
Now came the more dangerous part. Worth released her. “Stay here.” When she looked at him askance, he bent and kissed her, quick and firm. Her eyes were wide as he pulled back.
“If anything happens, Lydia,” he said, “know that I have always cared about you.”
He grabbed the propeller and began cranking. The cedar paddles turned, fast, faster. His arms informed him he had overexerted himself. He ignored them.
The balloon swerved, and he lost his balance, tumbling down as the empty brazier fell with a clang.
“Worth!” she cried.
“Stay where you are,” he ordered, scrambling to his feet. He grasped the next propeller, set it whirling even as the other spun to a stop. When the balloon twisted this time, he was ready for it.
He would see this landed. Lydia’s life depended on it.
~~~
Lydia clung to the rim, gaze on Worth. No captain on the bridge of his ship, ordering his men to fight the storm that threatened to drown them, had ever moved so fast. He ran from propeller to propeller, tugging here, pushing there. The balloon darted like a bird in flight. She blinked and saw the top of a tree pass the basket, branches out as if to catch the bright fabric. Grasping the rim, she stared down at the ground.
They were close. The moon still held strong enough that she could see the waving grain below. They would likely have to compensate some farmer for his loss, but far better to land in that green sea than the chilly waters awaiting them farther out.
“Almost there,” she called. “A little to the right.”
He started laughing. “This isn’t a carriage, Lydia. I can’t turn the horses to dodge through traffic.”
“I think you’re doing marvelously,” Lydia assured him. “To the right!”
He cranked on a propeller. Then he released his hold and ran to her side.
“Down,” he ordered, crouching and pulling her with him. He wrapped his arms around her, bent his head over hers, shielding her with his body. Lydia clung to him and said a prayer.
The basket struck hard, jarring every bone in her body. It bounced up, then came down again, the impact rattling her teeth. The wicker cracked to one side of Worth and broke open, reeds poking free. Worth grunted as a piece slashed past him.
At last the basket shuddered and lay still, the envelope sagging toward them until it blocked the light from the moon.
“Quickly,” Worth said, unfolding himself from around her. “Before the fabric falls.” He scrambled over the rim, then reached in and helped her out. Together, they ran away from the slumping envelope.
Worth stopped a dozen yards beyond, and Lydia turned with him to look back. Like butter on a hot roll, the envelope was melting over the basket, until all she could see was scarlet, dark in the moonlight.
“Well,” Worth said, dusting off his hands. “That’s done.”
“Can it be saved?” Lydia asked, feeling as if she’d left a part of herself in the basket.
“We’ll have to rebuild the wicker,” Worth said, gaze on the balloon as well. “Check the fabric for any strain. Possibly reconfigure the brazier. But yes, I believe we will be able to salvage the balloon.”
She felt like sagging as well. “Oh, good.” She took a step away from him, and the enormity of what they’d just experienced hit her. They might have lost all opportunity to prove his work to the prince. He might have been killed. She might have been killed. She swayed on her feet.
Worth caught her, cradled her against him. “Easy. Our colleagues will be here shortly.”
Lydia nodded. With his arms around her, his voice murmuring near, she could draw breath. They were alive. She sent a word of thanks heavenward.
“I realize I’ve put you in a difficult position,” he said thoughtfully. “You and I have been alone together, for hours. Your reputation will be compromised.”
Lydia snuggled against him. “Good thing I’m no longer on the marriage mart.”
His arms tightened around her, as if he would keep her safe from any calamity. “I cannot be so sanguine. The ton is not kind to those who decide to leave it. I would not see you shunned, Lydia. This incident tonight is at least partly my fault for failing to foresee all the potential outcomes and taking steps to mitigate them.”
“No one can think of everything,” Lydia said, warm in his embrace. Was that his heart she heard beating against her ear? Such a firm, comforting sound.
“Nevertheless, I tak
e responsibility,” he insisted. “It would be best if we married.”
Lydia’s eyes popped open. “What did you say?”
“That I take responsibility for the night’s problems.”
She pulled away from him. It might have been the moonlight, but he seemed to have paled. He certainly did not look like a man intent on proposing to the woman he adored.
“Not that part,” Lydia said. “The other part. Did you just ask me to marry you?”
He grimaced, and her heart sank faster than the balloon. “Technically, I advised you of my intention to remedy the situation. That is what a gentleman does under such circumstances.”
A gentleman, not a man in love. He had said he had always cared, but not enough, it seemed. Not for her were the tender words, the yearning glances.
“I see,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for your concern, but you need have none for me. Everyone assumed I’d compromise myself sooner or later. Now it’s done, and I can get on with my life.”
He blinked. “Are you refusing me?”
“Yes,” Lydia said, though a part of her protested. “I am.”
He was gaping. Really, it began to be insulting. Did he think she couldn’t see what he was trying to do?
“Admit it, Worth,” she said. “You don’t want to marry me. I would never take advantage of the situation to force it on you.”
His hands disappeared around his back. “Some would counsel you to.”
“Beau? Certainly. My brother would be beyond delighted if he learned of this, which is why neither of us is going to tell him.” She made her gaze as stern as possible and hoped he could see it in the dim light.
“You astound me,” he said. “I endanger your life with this balloon. I kiss you not once but twice. You have every right to demand to know my intentions, to insist that I offer marriage. Yet when I do, you do nothing to seize the prize.”
“A person, Lord Worthington,” Lydia said, “is not a prize to be won, despite what my brother thinks.”
He flinched, but Lydia’s gaze went past him to where a light bounced at the edge of the field. Voices called on the breeze.
“Oh, look,” she made herself say. “There’s Charlotte. We’re saved.”
For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why that fact didn’t make her happier.
~~~
Lydia picked up her skirts and waded through the grain, voice raised in answer to Charlotte’s frantic calls. Worth couldn’t make himself follow. It was as if the balloon of his world had tilted, sending him tumbling into thin air.
Despite his misgivings, despite his concerns, despite his doubt in his own abilities, he had proposed to the most fascinating, captivating woman he’d ever met. A woman who had claimed to have once loved him.
And she’d turned him down, even knowing her reputation would be in rags and she could well be lost to all good Society.
How ironic. He now knew that Lydia could be trusted to look out for his best interests. He could trust her with his heart. She simply no longer wanted it.
He made himself trudge across the field in her wake.
“Oh, Worth.” Charlotte hugged him tight as soon as he was in reach as Bateman, holding a lantern, gave him a nod of obvious relief. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Worth told his sister. “And I believe the balloon can be salvaged.”
“The balloon?” Charlotte disengaged and glared at him. “The balloon? Beast might have been killed trying to save you, but do you think to ask after him?”
Worth frowned as his bodyguard shifted on his feet. “Bateman came with you, evidence enough that he took no serious harm. But I am pleased to see him.”
“You’ll be less pleased to see that lot,” Bateman said with a nod across the field to where more lanterns bobbed. “Someone’s noticed us.”
“I’ll pay fair restitution for whatever damage I’ve caused,” Worth told him.
Bateman nodded. “Right. Get into the carriage, and I’ll make the arrangements.”
Charlotte lay a hand on his arm to stop him. “What if it’s dangerous?”
“I’m not afraid of a farmer,” Bateman said. Then he grinned. “Especially not when I have his lordship’s money to spend. Go on, now. I’ll be back shortly.”
Worth offered Lydia his arm, but she linked arms with Charlotte as they waded through the last portion of grain for the road beyond, where Petersham waited with the horses.
Charlotte peppered Lydia with questions as they waited for Bateman, and Lydia cheerfully answered. Not once did her gaze touch his. It was almost as if he had ceased to exist.
He shuddered at the thought, and Charlotte glanced his way where he sat across the coach from them.
“I should have thought to ask,” his sister said. “Are you hurt? Cold? We have blankets and medical supplies.”
“I was struck by a piece of wicker and will likely have a bruise,” Worth told her. “See to Lydia’s hand. She burnt it on a hot coal.”
Lydia’s smile remained bright as Charlotte transferred her attention to her. “A minor mishap, but a bit of cream and a bandage would not be remiss.”
Charlotte pulled out a case from where it had been stored under her legs and opened it to reveal various ointments, bandages, and polished wood strips that would likely serve as splints for broken bones.
“When did you put this together?” he asked as his sister drew out a jar of cream and a long bandage strip.
“When I realized you were intent on pursuing work that could maim or burn you,” Charlotte said.
“Very wise,” Lydia said. She peeled back her glove with a grimace. In the glow of the carriage lamps, he could see the misshapen red patch across her palm and fingers.
Charlotte tsked as she spread ointment on the spot. “We must find a better way to handle the coals.”
“Agreed,” Lydia said. “I’m just glad this was the worst of our injuries.”
Charlotte closed the jar and set it back among the others. Worth took up the bandage.
“Allow me.”
Lydia’s eyes widened as he reached across and gently took her hand. So small, so fragile, yet so capable. He wrapped the bandage carefully, then slipped the end through the folds on the back of her hand to hold the linen steady. Glancing up, his gaze met hers at last.
He might not understand people, but he knew tenderness when he saw it. As if afraid of what she had revealed, Lydia pulled back her hand and looked away.
The door opened before Worth could speak, and Bateman climbed in to sit beside him.
“You’ll be getting a bill shortly,” he told Worth. “But Farmer Tremont agreed to watch the balloon until we can fetch it.” He thumped on the ceiling, and the carriage set off, swaying over the uneven ground.
Charlotte put away the case. “Treacherous balloon. I still don’t understand how it broke free.”
“It had help.” Bateman’s voice was grim. “I had just enough time before we pulled out the carriage to tell that the ropes didn’t snap under the strain. They were cut.”
Lydia cradled her hand close and made him wish he could do the same. “Who would cut the ropes?”
Bateman crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s what I want to know.”
“As I doubt you allowed a stranger on the premises,” Worth said, “I’d say someone on the staff is out to stop us. And that person is in league with John Curtis.”
“John Curtis,” Charlotte cried, head snapping up.
“Of course!” Lydia cried. “How else could he have learned about the balloon?”
“Someone else knows?” Bateman glanced between them.
Worth nodded. “Curtis took Lydia aside at the Halston lecture and asked her to meet him so he could question her further.”
Charlotte stiffened. “Let me guess. Ices at Gunter’s.”
“Yes,” Lydia admitted. “How did you know?”
Charlotte drew in a breath, then sat taller. “Because he tried the same tac
tic with me. He approached me at the Baminger ball and begged me to meet him at Gunter’s the next day so he could mend the rift between him and Worth.”
“Mend the rift,” Lydia echoed. “His exact words.”
Worth shook his head. “The dastard. If he wanted to make things up to me, he could have approached me directly.”
“Well,” Charlotte said, “you did make that rather hard, Worth. You refused to see him when he called and gave him the cut direct at Lady Baminger’s ball. But I’m ashamed to say I believed his heartfelt pleas. I agreed to meet, then quickly became overset thinking how you’d react if you’d discovered my plan. I’m the one who told him we were working on a balloon.”
Worth stared at her. “Why? You knew what he’d done.”
“I knew he published your work as his own,” Charlotte said.
Lydia gasped. “What?”
“I thought perhaps it had been a mistake,” Charlotte immediately protested. “He certainly acted as if he wanted to make amends. And he said certain things that made me think he had interests other than making amends.”
“What interests?” Bateman asked, voice no more than a growl.
Charlotte raised her chin. “Nothing that was real or important. After a few moments in his company, it became clear his only interest was in Worth’s work. I begin to think he has no ideas of his own, only what he gleans from associates. He cares for no one and nothing but achieving further glory.”
She sounded so bitter. Had Curtis dared dally with her, attempted to convince her he cared about her? For the first time in his life, Worth wanted to hit someone. Lydia must have heard the same thing he did, for she put a hand on Charlotte’s arm in obvious support.
He prided himself on his mental abilities, but what a fool he’d been. Charlotte had been friendly with John Curtis when the man had been working with Worth. Perhaps she’d hoped for more than a friendship. Most of the men who had once courted her had fallen away, he had assumed because Charlotte had not encouraged them to stay. Perhaps it hadn’t been Charlotte but her intellectual pursuits that had deterred them. Until Lydia had returned to his life, Worth had never considered how difficult it must be for a lady of their class to indulge in natural philosophy. If Charlotte had married Curtis, she might have been able to continue her studies.