by Sally Orr
“Salt, that should do the trick.” The tang of salt should dampen his desires. He exhaled in relief; his composure returned to normal. In a matter-of-fact manner, she took her seat once more on his lap, and his ease instantly vanished.
Taking a measured pinch, she dropped the salt upon his tongue.
“You must have taken the wrong snuffbox,” he said. “This tastes sweet to me. It has none of the piquant sting I normally associate with salt.”
She examined the label upon the lid of the box. “No, it says salt.” She placed a pinch upon her own palate and moved her tongue around.
“What I wouldn’t give,” he whispered, his body stiffening. Damnation.
“Pardon?”
He closed his eyes and resolved not to fantasize over her agile tongue. Unfortunately, his mind was capable of imagining without any input from his eyes. Thank heavens she retreated to the opposite side of the balloon to record her observations. “What next?” he inquired in a somewhat choked voice.
“Pepper.”
He straightened his back. “Ha! That should be a refreshing, much-needed slap in the face.”
“Pardon?” Her angry, apple, amorous pout returned.
For some reason, she repeatedly returned to sit upon his knee, curious that. He was wondering what excuse he could use to ask her to politely rise when she wiggled slightly. Now he was in trouble; his breathing quickened.
A frown crossed her pretty face, and he knew she was completely innocent of his impending situation. The frown vanished, and she blithely continued with her observations. “At this elevation, I think we can confirm that the tongue becomes insipid, don’t you agree?”
He moaned and stared at her placid face. I must not think of the word elevation. He bit his tongue.
“Granted, we are not very high,” she said. “Still, I believe we have made progress toward establishing the altitude limits where we begin to lose taste.”
He inhaled as deeply as possible to slow his obvious panting. “Let’s get this over with. I am very eager to land.” He stared up at the balloon and focused on the lovely blue color—the same hue as her eyes. He focused on the rigging.
“Just one more.” She fiddled with the box and, in doing so, rocked upon his knee.
This time his moan could have awakened the dead. “What next?”
“Sugar.”
“Get on with it,” he said, his tone sounding like a growl. His sight fixed upon her lips.
She placed the sugar in his mouth and started to do the same for herself.
The second the pinch of sugar neared her tongue, he jerked forward, knocking the majority of the sugar upon her lower lip and chin. He moved his hands to cup the back of her head, pulling her forward until he could see only her beautiful sapphire eyes. “Miss Mountfloy, have you ever been kissed? As a scientist you must be curious. You must want to gather facts and learn what it feels like?”
* * *
Oh, Eve wanted to know all right. Give a thousand pounds, if she had the money. His warm breath was having a devastating effect upon her, so she searched deep within herself for the control she had mustered earlier, but she could not summon it. She gulped, fixed by the intensity of those frolicking green eyes. “No…I don’t think so,” she whispered, realizing the possible dangers of newly acquired knowledge.
“No, you’ve never been kissed?” He moved forward, their lips lightly touched. “Or, no, you are not curious?”
She prayed her voice sounded firm. “Both.”
He trailed his lips in a feather-like movement across hers before he lifted his lips to whisper, “If I were to use logic, I’d say you lacked knowledge then.” He hesitated. Their lips made contact again; he repeated the light brush then paused. “Service to a lady for me.” The soft touch of his mouth returned before he lifted his head. “Knowledge for you.”
Perhaps she gave a barely perceptible nod.
His lips closed upon hers while his hands moved to her back and pulled her close. He kissed her with a light touch, then after she made a tentative response in kind, he opened his mouth and fully kissed her.
She had a brief moment of coherence—This isn’t bad, shockingly invasive but, on the whole, quite pleasant. Then he kissed her deeply, and her analysis ended. She reflexively grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. A newfound type of joy overcame her, and she wanted to discover the full extent of this happiness. He used his tongue to tease and stimulate, so she returned the favor. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he was feeling a similar joy. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears, and an unfamiliar urgency grew inside her. The minute her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he pushed her forward to hold her at arm’s length.
He was breathing hard and wore a somewhat startled expression. “I suppose all ladies of science learn quickly.”
She ignored his comment and wondered if he found her forward behavior inexcusable or abhorrent. Doubt seized her, and she blushed for what seemed like forever. She escaped with quick steps to the edge of the basket and then leaned over to place her burning face in the bracing wind.
He began to sing, “‘Then turning around we parted, she speechless went her way, Because I could do nothing, but kiss the Queen of May.’”
“You know the oddest songs. Did you just make that one up?”
“No, it’s an old favorite. I even included it in a songbook I published.”
She was not going to make herself miserable thinking about his kisses. She needed to calm down, focus on the job before her, and make the final notes of the tasting experiment in the Results book. Once completed, she would ignore him and concentrate on landing the balloon today. Five minutes passed before her breathing returned to normal. In the early morning light, she watched the patches of green fields and dense woodland scoot by below them.
He joined her at the side of the basket, apparently composed. “I really think we should head in that direction.” He pointed to a flat patch of green next to a village only partially hidden by low clouds. “How do we get over there?”
“As you may have observed by now, you cannot direct a balloon. We are dependent upon the prevailing wind.”
He huffed. “Before we lifted off, I had planned to invest in balloons—a good idea for hauling cargo, you know—but now I see balloons have no use.” He lowered his eyes for a brief second. “No practical uses other than science—um—but besides atmospheric studies, what good are balloons?”
She grinned, knowing this was her chance to explain her love of science. “What’s the use of a baby?”
He gave her a hard stare. “Right. A baby might become Newton.”
“Or Newton’s mother. If you consider history, once man dug out the first canoe, did he build a ship of the line the next day? You should consider the process of scientific discovery like building an Egyptian pyramid. With each result we obtain, we add a stone. But we do not know where our stones will be in the final structure. One person will have the honor to put the last stone on the top and gain all of the fame over his great accomplishment. But all of the other stones are needed in place before he can set the final stone.”
“So today we are piling stones on a pyramid?”
“In a way, yes.”
“Sounds like not enough glory if you cannot be the fellow who puts the final stone on top.” He scratched his head. “You have convinced me balloons are really like canoes, so it is too early to invest in them.” Something caught his eye, and he leaned way over the edge of the basket. “Look! That man below is waving at us. Good morning!” He leaned over and waved both arms. “Forgive me, I mean bonjour, bonjour.” He pointed below him. “Look at that old man. What a grump. He’s shaking is fist at us. What did we do?”
“He is probably worried we will land in his field. Many farmers get violent when balloons land in their fields and ruin their crops. In the past, we have had to pay f
armers on several occasions just for the chance to recover our balloon. I hope we don’t have any unpleasantness today.”
“Are we going to land in his field? What are the French words for, ‘Sorry I damaged your vegetables’?”
“We have a speaking trumpet in the box if you wish to carry out a conversation. But I recommend you observe the trees. Do you notice anything amiss?”
He leaned over to examine the terrain below them. “No.”
“We are not in France.”
He spun to face her. “We must be. A minute ago, I saw the French flag. With all that turmoil overseas now, I’m not quite positive what the flag looks like these days. Perhaps blue or maybe white with those little gold French fleurs. Well, I just saw a blue flag with gold spots, so we must be in France.”
“I recommend you examine the tree shadows carefully. You will notice the shadows are falling in the direction we are traveling. Since it is still morning and the sun is in the East, we must be traveling westward.”
Within a minute, they glided over a single tree in the middle of a large field. “What?! We are not in France? Dash it all. Where are we?”
Six
“I’m afraid it means what you think,” Eve said. From the life-or-death urgency in his tone, she had underestimated the seriousness behind his goal to reach France.
He ran to the opposite side and stumbled on a wicker birdcage, causing the balloon to sway violently. They grabbed the sides so as not to be hurled overboard. When the basket stopped swinging, he finished scanning the countryside and stood in place, his mouth open.
“Since we are traveling in the same direction as the shadows, we must be heading west over England. We could’ve been well over France in the night, and then as the gas cooled, we descended into a westward air current. Layers of air currents blowing in different directions simultaneously, or even changing directions, is one of the many interesting discoveries made by aeronauts. My best estimate is that we lost altitude during the night, then moved into a prevailing wind blowing back toward England. By the description of your blue flag, we are probably in Sussex.”
“Sussex! Pleasant place and all, but dash it, I need to be in France.” He paced three steps forward and three steps back. This caused the basket to sway again, so he stopped pacing and glared at the balloon above him.
She stood beside him. “It’s not that bad. Once we land, you can return to the coast, cross over to France on the packet, and then renew your journey on horseback. When you recount your tale to the earl, you can describe your courageous flight to the English coast in a balloon, and it will be true. You can leave the second leg of your journey to France out of the story. I’ll wager no one else thought of traveling across England by balloon.”
“Ha! You are right.” Lifting her off the floor, he carefully swung her around. “This calls for a song.” He hesitated and tilted his head to the side, perhaps waiting for her remonstrance.
She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and tried to ignore the press of his strong fingers around her waist. “I’ve learned your singing is like the duck’s quack—a noise natural to you. So you sing, and I’ll prepare for the landing. Now please put me down.”
“Noise?” He frowned for a second. “Right, I teased you, so I deserved that. Yes, yes, you’re a fine and clever girl.” He put her down and leaned over the side to serenade the fields below. “’Tis glory, proud glory enraptures the mind, and strengthens the hero in flight. Roll de roll dee.”
As she went about making her preparations to land, she found herself tapping her foot to the tune. He had an excellent voice that could only be described as a deep harmonious rumble. She carefully pulled open the valve and began to monitor their descent.
“Then fame let thy trumpet, thy trumpet resound, and echo the strain to the skies! Roll de roll do.”
She tied off the valve line, leaned over the side, and visibly inspected the burlap bags holding the sand ballast. They were ten pounds each, and she could either cut the bags to let out approximately half of that weight, or untie the rope and release the full ten pounds. After counting the number of sand bags, she concluded they had plenty of ballast for any contingency they might face. In her final preparation for landing, she untied the rope holding the grapnel onto the basket. Looking at the ground below, she figured they were at approximately a thousand feet. Thankfully, the terrain appeared to be mainly cultivated fields separated by hedgerows, but scattered between every five or six fields stood thick woods, probably remnants of the Weald’s primeval forests. There was nothing more she could do now but wait for the balloon to lose altitude.
“The aeronaut in flight more valiant is found, when glory, bright glory’s the prize! Roll de roll di.”
At the moment, she did not want to think about the word di. Landing a balloon was always difficult and fraught with many unforeseen types of danger—not to mention it would be her first time landing by herself without expert assistance. Experience in handling the grapnel and ballast bags was crucial to a successful landing. She then explained Parker’s duties during their upcoming landing and was grateful that he appeared to understand her instructions.
Glancing again at the rapidly approaching ground, her palms dampened. She needed to draw deep from within her stores of courage. When her brother’s ship had flailed upon the rocks, Tom had rescued six people before he had been taken by the sea. If Tom had had the courage to save other lives before himself, logically as his sister, she too must possess similar courage.
“I am going to miss this balloon.” Parker grabbed the harness and leaned forward over the green English countryside. “Cradled in its rope and wicker embrace, I have never felt so free. Although we are dependent on where the wind blows us, even that fact gives us independence. We cannot change the wind.” He turned to face her and winked. “We cannot change the wind—yet.” Clutching the edge of the basket, he held one arm outward. “We cannot choose our direction or our fate. We have to pluck up and move forward—accept what comes.”
“I disagree,” she said. “Life is full of choices, and we can—to a certain extent—control our fate by our decisions. The same situation occurs up here in the balloon. We can control our fate with the valve, the ballast, and perhaps the guide rope. But—”
“You don’t feel the freedom?” He turned to face her. His fetching brown locks whipped around his face in a teasing dance that framed his emerald eyes.
She gathered her wits and avoided looking into those seductive eyes. “I don’t understand you. Perhaps freedom is not a concept I consider, since I’m bound by duty in so many ways.”
He moved to the center of the basket, raising both arms skyward. “No, freedom is absolute. It is all around us. Come, come. Give me your hand.” He held his palm out. “Let me show you freedom.”
Those damnable locks danced and muddied her brain again. How could he show her freedom? Was he going to point at the clouds and make some metaphor about freedom? What could freedom mean to a Tulip? Were kisses involved? Eve decided not to pursue these questions. “Look! We are about to land.” She turned to focus on the rapidly approaching ground.
“We are?” He joined her at the side of the basket. “Doesn’t look like we are descending very fast. Any way to speed it up?”
“We could rend the balloon. The problem with this option is that we will descend with the approximate speed of the duck.”
“I have no intention of meeting the duck’s fate,” he said. “Though I’m sure the fellow is all right. Just a nasty scare.”
In silence, they watched the balloon lose altitude.
She repeated the normal procedure to ground a balloon, including ways to prevent several of the possible mishaps that might cause a violent landing. They were within yards of the green field below, but a thousand feet to the West, she noticed a small stand of woods. Within the next sixty seconds, she would have to decide whet
her to keep her course or release some ballast to fly over the trees. She bit her lower lip, glanced at Parker, and examined their situation again. She made a decision and prayed it was the right one. By her current estimate, the gas should escape fast enough to land in the cultivated field growing rapidly larger directly below them.
“Here we go.” He jumped up and down several times, causing the basket to sway and the ballast bags to bang against the side of the basket.
The noise and the sway jangled her nerves. “Listen, madman, a safe landing is serious business.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“Now would be a good time to take the grapnel and ready yourself.” They were a couple of hundred feet over the ground, and the balloon had lost over half of its gas.
“Yes, yes.” His face brightened, and he almost leaped to the side. Grabbing the rope, he held the grapnel in the ready position. He then stared at the ground, crouched like a cat ready to spring into action.
She held up her hand, waited, and yelled, “Now.”
“Right, here goes.” He threw out the grapnel, and they watched it fall until it dug into the dirt below.
“Job well done,” she said, bracing herself for the jolt she expected when the basket reached the end of the grapnel’s line.
A second later, a strong breeze kicked up.
The wind quickly lifted the basket over fifty feet into the air. She looked up at the shimmering balloon and realized her worst fears had come true. Even though the silver balloon was less than a quarter inflated, the wind pushed the remaining gas in a flattened arc, kept in place by the rigging. As a result, the balloon now looked and behaved like a giant parachute.
The grapnel ran out of line and violently tipped the basket sideways. The balloon seemed to be pulled by an unseen hand determined to drag it into the woods. She made a hasty decision and shouted for Parker to release the grapnel line.