“A servant with a message, my lord. She is from—” The butler cleared his throat, managing in that short sound to convey great disapproval. “She is sent from Lady Marchmont.”
“Oh, very well, show her in. Show all of London in!”
~ ~ ~
Lady Marchmont stood before her cheval glass smoothing her fingers over the transparent gown that her maidservant had just fetched for her. “You saw to it that he has the message?”
The servant nodded anxiously. “Yes, my lady. I told him all you said. How you would be at Vauxhall tonight and would wait for him in the Great Walk at the stroke of midnight.”
“Excellent,” the countess murmured. She pirouetted, well pleased by the thrust of her full breasts, clearly visible beneath the translucent silk. Her green eyes narrowed. “And you gave him the other message just as I told you? The one about the children?”
“Yes, my lady. I told him they had gone with Lady Devonham to the balloon ascension at Hampstead Heath.”
“Perfect,” Lady Marchmont purred in triumph. “Just let the Delamere vixen try to work her wiles upon him now.”
Behind her the maidservant cleared her throat.
“Yes?” the countess said impatiently. “What is it now?”
“It’s just that, well, the earl seemed different, my lady. Nervous like. His eyes kept going to the next room. ‘Twas almost like something was hidden there what he didn’t want me to see.”
The widow snorted. “Nonsense. You are just imagining things. Now be off and fetch my chocolate. I told Cook I wanted it here thirty minutes ago, and I will see the woman sacked if she isn’t more prompt in the future. You too,” the countess snapped.
“Yes, my lady. Right now, my lady.” The woman bobbed a quick curtsy and fled from the room. She had been wounded too often by the countess’s angry blows to risk another attack. And she well knew that when the Countess of Marchmont was in this wild frame of mind she could do anything.
Anything at all.
~ ~ ~
“Oh, Andrew, this is a perfect adventure!” Alexis clapped her hands in delight as the carriage drew over a hill, revealing a sea of other vehicles thronging the heath for a view of the ascension.
But India was already having second thoughts about bringing the children. The hills were packed with farm wagons, racing curricles, and spectators of all sorts. Sharp-eyed pickpockets jostled amid ladies of dubious virtue, drunken lords, and noisy villagers.
India studied the crowd anxiously. “This is not the best day to observe the ascension. Perhaps we should leave. The weather looks uncertain and there are too many carriages before us for us to have a good view.”
All three children cried out in protest. “There’s a path.” Andrew pointed where a farm cart had just moved. “I’m certain we can make it through.”
India sighed. The boy was utterly intent on seeing the ascension. What kind of an ogre would she be to deny him this simple pleasure? “Very well. But you must not leave the carriage. I’ll have the coachman turn so that you can look out through the window.”
“Look,” Andrew called excitedly, as they pulled to a halt. Through the trees the bright canopy of silk lifted skyward. “They’re about to fill the balloon. It is a very dangerous moment.”
“Why?” Alexis demanded, wriggling about on the seat.
“Because the gas they use is extraordinarily flammable.”
“Flam — what does that mean?”
“It means that the whole thing could explode at any moment.”
Alexis slid closer to her brother. “I’m going to hold my breath.”
India had the same thought. In truth, she had lied to Thorne about her experiences, which were still only a dream. Yet the rising silk make her blood stir, and she yearned to drift silent and free over the hills and hedges.
At that moment India heard her name called by a figure in a purple waistcoat embroidered with cabbage roses. “Monk, is that you?”
“Quite. But we never expected to see you here.” Beside the viscount, holding the reins of the curricle with exquisite skill, sat a man whose exotic cheekbones and lazy smile were very familiar to India.
“What, are you here too, Connor MacKinnon?” India smiled at the inscrutable friend of her eldest brother, Luc. She remembered their adventure freeing Luc and his wife from a villain bent on seeing Luc dead. “Don’t tell me that you are interested in balloon ascensions.”
“Not I, my lady. I’ll choose a pitching deck and driving rain over one of those contraptions any day. I’m just here to keep an eye on Monkton.”
Beside him, the exquisite in purple satin began to sputter. “Not a bit of it!” He snorted in disgust as Connor MacKinnon’s emerald eyes lit with lazy humor. “Villain. You’ve spent too much time at sea, that’s your problem, MacKinnon.” The viscount surveyed the crowded slope. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen Thorne?” he asked casually.
India’s smile fled. “Not … today.”
“Odd. I don’t see him anywhere. Been acting devilish strange since he got back, if you ask me.” He looked at the children pressed to the window in India’s carriage. “Not the best place to bring a brood of children, you know. Nasty mix of people here. But no matter. Between MacKinnon and myself, we’ll keep you safe.”
At that moment a farm cart and a coach full of noisy young gentlemen pulled into place behind them. India sighed. “Since it seems we cannot leave now, I shall be glad of your assistance.”
Suddenly the crowd roared. The balloon canopy expanded to its full height and drifted above the trees. India’s breath caught as the bright silk dipped and swayed. And so it was that she did not at first notice Andrew slipping over the side of the carriage. By the time she did, it was too late, for her cry was drowned out by the excited shouts of the spectators.
She pulled on her cloak, calling sharply to Lord Monkton. “I must go. Keep an eye on the girls!”
“You can’t go! Not at all the sort of place for a lady.”
But he was too late. India had already disappeared, swallowed up by the boisterous crowd.
CHAPTER 16
Shading his eyes against the early afternoon sun, Thornwood studied the milling humanity in front of him. He felt his irritation turn into raw anxiety. For the third time since his arrival, he waved aside a woman displaying the better half of her chest and then tossed a handful of coins to the pair of urchins in ragged clothes who had followed him all the way up the hill.
What in heaven’s name was India about to bring the children to a place such as this? His fingers tensed on his reins, causing his great bay to dance skittishly. Every inch of ground seemed to be jammed tight with wagons filled with excited spectators. Dev picked his way to the top of the hill and there a terrible sight met his eyes. Young Andrew, his face white with fear, had one arm draped over the edge of the basket. Whatever the boy was saying was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. No one had seen that his arm was caught fast in the balloon’s rigging.
At that moment Thornwood’s attention was caught by a man trying to pick his pocket. Deftly, he caught the grimy wrist and twisted it aside. “I suggest you try your profession somewhere else.”
The man scowled, but hurried away.
When Thorne looked back, the basket was bumping and straining across the ground only seconds from ascent. And halfway over the edge of the basket, one slender ankle clearly exposed, hung a woman. Her auburn hair streamed wildly beneath the currents of the balloon.
Devlyn stared up in disbelief as he watched his wife rising over the hundreds of cheering spectators, a bright and entirely delighted smile on her face.
~ ~ ~
Somehow India managed to keep a smile locked firmly on her lips in spite of the fact that her fingers were clenched with terror on the flimsy wall of the basket.
At least Andrew was safe. She had managed to pull him free of the rigging just before the balloon swept off the ground.
Now she was caught.
In truth, the
trouble had all begun when Andrew had stumbled forward and in the process managed to get his wrist caught in balloon’s riggings. Desperately India had jerked at the ropes until he was finally able to pull free, but in the process her sash was tangled tight and she had been left with two desperate choices.
Was she to allow the balloon to rise with her sash entangled, resulting in her being stripped naked before a sea of onlookers, or to work her way into the basket herself and take an unplanned flight with the astonished operator?
She chose the latter. After her terror had faded and she had grown accustomed to the pitch and sway of the little basket, she began to see a strange beauty to the scene. Below her the figures slid away, growing smaller and smaller until they were no more than ants against the green heath. There was no sound except for the whistling of the wind, giving her the effortless sensation of a bird in flight.
“Is it always this way?” she demanded of the balloonist.
“If one is lucky,” the man said. “Aye, it was a fair enough ascent.” His leathery face creased in a frown. “But you shouldn’t oughtter have jumped aboard like that, miss. It was too dangerous by half.”
“I’m afraid I had no choice. There was a boy caught in your rigging. When I tried to free him, my sash was knotted tight.”
The man’s eyes widened. “A close thing, that, and no mistake.” He cleared his throat. “In that case, I suppose you did right. Bloody brave, too, beggin’ your pardon.” He stuck out a hand, “Glad to have you aboard. I’m Smithson.”
India returned the quick handshake, then looked up at the brightly colored silk and the rigging that ran from the basket up to the balloon canopy. “I know a little about the process, Mr. Smithson, but not about the rip line. What exactly does that do?”
“Well, it’s like this, young lady,” the man began, obviously delighted to expound on his expertise. “You’ll spy a rope running from this basket here up to the top of the balloon. When I pull on it just a little, it forms a hole in the upper part of the balloon and that means we deflate. But dear me, it has to be done properly, so it does. Why, I remember last year in Yorkshire I went up with a friend of mine who made a mull of things. Almost lost his arm, he did.”
India’s eyes widened as she listened to Smithson’s hair-raising adventures. She did not notice, far below, a rider racing through the crowds in pursuit.
~ ~ ~
“Pull the rip line! Tighter, my lady. Aye, that’s it.” Fifteen minutes later Smithson had his hands full controlling the air valves and sandbags for ballast.
They were beyond the heath now, skimming in magnificent silence over the thatched roofs of a small village. Smithson had judged it was time to set down, but one of the valves was stuck and he was having trouble with the rip panel. Without that release of hot air they would never make it down safely. On top of that, one of the sandbags had come loose, plunging to the ground far below. With any more loss of ballast a controlled descent would be impossible.
India shivered slightly. At this height it was decidedly cooler than the ground and she wished she had her cloak. But being cold was the least of her problems, she knew. Smithson was struggling to keep an eye on the landscape while maneuvering the rip line when India saw one of the sandbags heave sideways and toss against its ropes. Quickly she leaned out over the basket and tugged it inside in the nick of time.
“Nice work, miss,” Smithson said tightly. “But I think I’ve got this line nearly free. Hang on tight. I’m going to try to set down.”
One moment they soared effortlessly on a silent sea of wind and then hot air rushed out the top of the balloon. The basket shuddered beneath India and the ground seemed to rush toward her. “The trees, Mr. Smithson!”
“Aye, I see them. With a bit of luck we’ll just manage to—”
The man muttered a curse as the basket skimmed a row of elm trees and dragged free. A field lay beneath them. They hit with two jolts, wind wrenching the silk out in a wild cascade.
India breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “I do believe that was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done, Mr. Smithson. Possibly also the most dangerous.”
The man nodded, a twinkle in his eye. “And I do say as how you’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, miss. Anytime you’re wishful of having another flight just you let me know.” He looked about at the lonely field and rubbed his neck. “And you may be certain I’ll have a word with that lazy apprentice of mine when he appears. It’s him as to blame for not securing those sandbags and nearly killing the pair of us. I only hope he followed close enough with the wagons so we don’t have to spend the night in this field.”
As he spoke, a figure broke from the clearing atop the hill. India frowned as a rider thundered down the narrow track, took a fence at the gallop, and pounded through the fields of clover.
Her eyes widened. It couldn’t be. Surely, this was the worst possible ending to a day that had been full of disaster.
The Earl of Thornwood vaulted from his horse and strode angrily toward the gondola. He bent forward, lifted India from the basket, and set her down hard on the ground.
“Thorne, I—”
“No, not a word. I don’t want to hear a single wild attempt at explanation.” A muscle flashed at his jaw. “I couldn’t believe my ears when Lady Marchmont sent word that you were going to the ascension with the children.”
“How wonderfully helpful of the widow to pass along the information,” India said icily. “I can only wonder how she seems to be so well informed of my affairs.”
“She happened to see you and the children leaving your house,” Dev said flatly. “Her coachman has a brother who works in the stables across the street and he happened to mention where you were going.”
“Very convenient.” India’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose she just happened to mention this bit of news to you?”
“She sent me a note, quite properly thinking I would wish to know what dangers my wards were being dragged into.”
“Andrew sent a message back to you. I watched him write it.”
“It was so brief as to be useless.”
“Indeed. Yet the children were quite safe. Except for—”
“Safe? I saw with my own eyes what happened.” Thorne’s whole body was rigid.
“But I didn’t expect to—”
“That’s just the point, isn’t it? You never do think. An idea simply captures your fancy and you bolt like an ill-trained horse. Or perhaps,” Thorne continued angrily, “like that wild wolf you insist on keeping as a pet.”
“Leave Luna out of this.”
Thorne laughed coldly. “Luna. An appropriate name. The two of you are both struck with moon madness, if you ask me.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but the lady was not at fault.” Smithson was eyeing Thornwood, not liking the tone he was using to the companion who had just proved herself so useful in what could have been a disastrous flight.
“I’ll thank you to hold your tongue, my good man. This is between Lady Devonham and myself.”
“You are rude,” India hissed, her hands going to fists. “Perhaps you have always been rude and I’ve never seen it before. All your thoughts are devoted to yourself, what makes you happy, what makes you comfortable. Do you have any idea how those children feel cooped up in a dismal house with a dismal string of governesses who don’t care a fig about their happiness or welfare?”
Thorne’s eyes glittered. “I’ve paid well to have them attended.”
“Paid! Yes, that’s right you’ve paid. But money can’t buy affection. Money can’t buy time with the only person they trust. Are you such a fool that you can’t see that?”
“I think these matters are best discussed in private,” Thorne said curtly. “And then you may begin to explain to me how in God’s name you managed to create such an imbroglio.”
India took a step back, her face pale as ice and her blue eyes glinting with fury. “Explain? I think not, my lord. It would be pointless to waste another word o
n you!”
Smiling grimly, Thorne reached down and began to roll his cuffs over his muscled forearms. “No matter. We’ll have plenty of time to talk while I take you back to your carriage.”
India’s face filled with color. “You wouldn’t dare.” She took a step backward, her body rigid.
The next moment, Dev’s hard hands were at her shoulders.
“I’ll not stand here and see the lady harmed, do you hear me? Let her go this minute.”
But Smithson might as well have been talking to one of the Elgin marbles. Thorne’s fingers tightened on India’s shoulders as he saw the anger in her face, the rigid line of her body, the high color in her cheeks. Her hair was blown in a wild red cascade about her shoulders. Suddenly Thorne remembered how she looked, slanting over the edge of the basket. The little fool might have been tossed out and even now been lying with her neck crushed.
Her breast pressed soft and warm at the inside of his elbow and he felt the curve of her hips beneath her soft muslin gown. His body tightened with a storm of angry need. Sweet heaven, how did she manage to strip him of sanity again and again?
In Brussels he had thought her charming, adventurous, with great joy and wit, but now Devlin saw that she was far more than that.
India Delamere was a woman who would never be broken to his bit or any other man’s. And that very recklessness of hers stirred some answering sense of adventure in him, something Devlyn had thought long buried beneath the cold facade that long months of war had given him.
And now, with one brush of India’s soft hips, with one glimpse at her full satin curves, he came perilously close to forgetting duty and honor and country.
He tried to hate her for that. He worked hard at summoning up that anger. But Thorne was too honest for the strategy to work for long.
No, his real anger was for himself for failing to realize his danger while it was still early enough to extract himself. Now he could no longer ignore his feelings. When she was away from him, he found himself dreaming of her honesty and vibrancy, counting the minutes until he would see her next.
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