As she climbed over the edge of the basket, she was just congratulating herself on her nimbleness when the toe of her elastic-sided boot caught. She stumbled and would have landed flat on her face if the stranger had not reached out and caught her.
Her breath whooshed out as she fell against him, his hard, masculine body a bulwark against hers. For a moment she could not think—her mind went completely blank. Shock, whispered a voice in her head. You aren’t used to being this close to a man. But it was more than that. Her senses were overloaded with information: the clean male scent of him, the dark shadow on his jaw above her, the heat of his palm on her back. Marietta found herself a little shaky just from being there, which was ridiculous enough in an untouched spinster, but for a ruined woman…!
The thought sent her instantly to the furthermost corner of the basket.
“Thank you,” she said, an afterthought.
Politely, he bowed his head; his eyes never left hers, and there was no smile in them. Nothing to tell her that what she had just felt had been experienced by him, too. Indeed the look he gave her made Marietta think he was also wishing her miles away.
“Perfect,” she muttered under her breath. “I am about to ascend in a balloon with a man in a mood.”
Mr. Keith had finished his preparations. He climbed into the basket with them, swinging his legs over the side with practiced ease. The basket was big enough for five, but it seemed only Marietta and her companion were to be passengers today. “Are you ready?” the aeronaught asked, but it was obvious he did not expect a negative answer. Marietta sat down and clung to the side and nodded vigorously.
“Get on with it, Ian,” the stranger said in a deep, impatient voice. He sat down and crossed his long legs.
“Dear me, Max.” Mr. Keith shook his head as if he found the other man beyond his comprehension, and then he called out to his helpers. The balloon was cast off without fuss, ballast was thrown out, and they began to rise, quite quickly, into the London sky.
“Oh!” Marietta gasped.
The ground was rapidly slipping away from her. The crowd—their faces lifted—was growing smaller and smaller. There was a strange silence, almost like a dream, as they rose higher. Below her lay Vauxhall Gardens, and then the Thames, and beyond that the bustle of London, with its pall of smoke, stretching away as far as she could see. The Houses of Parliament and St. Paul’s dome were visible, looking awfully small, and the green squares and parks stood out among the lines of streets and the boxes that were houses.
“You haven’t been introduced.” Mr. Keith spoke above the soft underlying roar of the city below them.
Reluctantly Marietta lifted her eyes from the Thames as the breeze tugged the balloon along.
Mr. Keith smiled at her as if he understood her sense of dislocation. “Miss Greentree, this is my friend, Max. Max, this is Miss Greentree.”
“How do you do,” Max said in a disinterested voice. He gave her a brief glance that was more indifferent than unfriendly, before turning once more to gaze down over the city spread beneath them.
Marietta shrugged off his behavior, and returned to her own perusal of the Thames, a glittering silver snake broken up by bands of bridges, with ships at anchor and steamboats like wind-up toys. Soon they were moving towards Richmond, sailing over fields and hills, leaving behind the smoke of London and its pointed spires.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Greentree?”
Marietta beamed at Mr. Keith. “It is even more wonderful than I imagined, sir.”
“Not anxious about heights then?”
“Oh no, not at all!”
He grinned at her, the lines about his eyes deepening. “I am glad. My friend here didn’t want to come. I insisted—when I knew you were the only one making the ascent today I thought he would be company for us. Now I wish I’d told him to stay home. He’s like a rain cloud in the corner there, threatening to spoil our fun.”
Marietta giggled, and then bit her lip when Max shot her a hard look from narrowed dark eyes.
“Perhaps I am not in the mood to enjoy myself,” he said in a low voice. “Perhaps circumstances won’t allow me to.”
Marietta gave him one of her unflinching stares. “But can’t you forget your troubles for now?” she demanded, not pretending she didn’t understand him. “Look down there. How can you not feel amazed by such a sight? How can your own concerns not seem insignificant, Mr…. eh…?”
“Max,” he said shortly. “And I am amazed. I’m just not in the mood to show it.”
Marietta laughed at him because he was so absurd.
She noticed a gleam in his dark eyes. He did look like a rain cloud, just as Mr. Keith had said. Or maybe he was more like a thunder cloud—a rather dangerous one. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to tease him, and yet Marietta suddenly and unexpectedly yearned to turn that frown into a smile.
“Haven’t you heard of Max?” Mr. Keith said, lowering his voice. “He’s the scandal of the moment. He has been turned out of his boyhood home by his cousin. Perhaps now you can sympathize a little with his unhappy mood, Miss Greentree, even if you can’t condone it.”
“Turned out of his home? No, I have not heard of him. I am only lately arrived in London. How could his cousin do that, Mr. Keith?”
“Well,” he considered his words. “This cousin has produced proof that Max is not his father’s legal heir. In short, that Max’s father is not his father after all.”
Marietta’s shocked gaze slid to Max.
“Now,” Mr. Keith continued on, “we could say ‘Poor Max,’ and feel very sorry for him, or we could look at the situation from a different angle. We could say that Max has been a prisoner of his upbringing, and now he has a chance to begin again. Start afresh.”
“I know what you’re doing, Ian,” Max said, giving his friend a narrowed look.
“Put aside your woes, Max. Life goes on.”
“You do not have as much to lose as I.”
“Think of your past as a shackle to be thrown off, Max. Just imagine how much lighter and freer you will be without it.”
“Lighter and freer to do what?”
But he sounded resigned, as though Mr. Keith’s attempts to cheer him up were something to be borne for the sake of their friendship.
“Max,” Mr. Keith said reprovingly, “Miss Greentree is probably the only lovely young lady in London who is ignorant of your situation. You should make the most of the moment, my friend.”
“Thank you, Ian,” Max said gravely, and turned his face away so that only his profile showed against the pale blue sky. Handsome, wounded, brooding—the words were descriptive of the perfect Byronic hero. If she was Francesca, she would paint a picture of him standing grimly alone on the moors, or write a poem in honor of his moody good looks. But she was not dark and dramatic Francesca; she was generous and impulsive Marietta. And despite her decision not to bother with him, her mind was already seeking for ways in which to tackle the fates and make his life better.
“Mr. Keith,” she said quietly, turning again to the aeronaught. “Has Max anything left at all? Of course,” with a glance at Max, “you do not need to tell me if it is personal.”
“But everyone knows, Miss Greentree. And yes, Max has a few odds and ends remaining.” There was a dry note in Mr. Keith’s voice that Marietta did not understand but she let it pass. “The thing is, Max loves his boyhood home, and of course he now has to deal with the shame of his birth, and the despoiling of his mother’s memory in the eyes of the world. He’s feeling a little lost.”
“It seems cruel and unnecessary of his father to let everyone know. Such a scandal is normally hushed up. In my own family my uncle has gone to great lengths to hide the slightest whiff of disgrace.” That was true enough, Uncle William Tremaine had been appalled when he learned of Gerard Jones and how gleefully the London gossips had taken to the story. He hadn’t spoken to her since, but she had heard that he’d declared her “her mother’s daughter well and trul
y.”
Marietta edged closer to Max, and he looked at her as if he would much rather she stayed away. But Marietta didn’t let that stop her, and in a moment she was sitting beside him in the basket, her arm bumping against him as a stronger gust shook them. He stared down with that haughty lift of his eyebrows, but she had never been easily intimidated and she wasn’t now. Clearly Max was in need of some good advice, and Marietta knew she was just the person to give it.
“Can your real father help you?” she asked him candidly. “Perhaps he is not even aware yet that he has been blessed with a son.”
Max gave a nasty laugh. “Perhaps he took to his heels and left my mother with no choice but to marry another man to cover her shame.”
Marietta sighed. “I am so sorry…Max. I am in a similar situation myself, you know, so I understand a little of what you must feel. I do not know who my father is either.”
Max stared at her as if he had wandered into a nightmare and could not find his way out. Marietta felt her face color. She hadn’t meant to tell him that, and her words had sounded odd, but she had been trying to comfort him. And anyway it was the truth; she didn’t know who her father was. Her mother, the courtesan Aphrodite, knew, but she hadn’t spoken of it, and besides, Marietta wasn’t sure she wanted to meet him. More than likely her father would want to avoid her, just like everyone else.
“I think,” Max said at last, in a weary voice, “that you are trying to be kind. I beg you not to be. I do not want your kindness. Despite what Ian believes, I just want to be left alone.”
“To wallow in your bad fortune?” Marietta asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing that angry sparkle return to his eyes. “Max, don’t you know that we make our own fortune, good and bad? That is what I intend to do—”
The wind had been growing stronger, and now there was a violent gust. Beneath them treetops swayed, and a herd of cows mooed and tried to flee from the balloon. Mr. Keith had been going about the important work of controlling his balloon, but Marietta had been aware of him listening to their conversation with interest. Now he glanced at her and nodded his head, as if keen to egg her on. But Marietta had said all she had to say. If Max wanted to revel in his bad fortune, then she was content to let him.
There was another sharp gust—the basket swayed. “I’m going to start our descent,” Mr. Keith said. “The wind is stronger than I anticipated, so be warned: our landing may not be a gentle one.”
Max frowned at him, and Marietta sensed the unspoken anxiety in their exchanged looks. She swallowed, and peering over the side, knew she had no desire to tumble to earth from this height.
“You must brace yourself, Miss Greentree.” Mr. Keith was brisk. “The basket may well fall over when we land, but if you hang on tightly you will not be cast out of it. Max?”
Marietta turned blindly toward her brooding companion and saw him nod. Whatever Mr. Keith had asked of his friend had been agreed upon. And then they were descending, and rather quickly.
The silk flapped overhead, and the basket swayed alarmingly. The wind was even stronger down here, and the aeronaught cast a worried glance at the farmer’s field below—what had looked green and softly undulating now appeared less and less inviting. Marietta gave a cry as the basket struck ground and bumped roughly once and then again. They were dragged along, bouncing, as the quickly emptying envelope flapped wildly. And then they began to tip over.
A strong arm clamped about Marietta’s waist, anchoring her, and her face was pressed into a broad chest. She was enveloped, swallowed up by her companion. And safe. Despite the seemingly endless journey along the ground, Marietta felt remarkably safe in the shelter of Max’s arms.
That was why she clung to him, she told herself later, her nose deep in the folds of his necktie above the buttons of his waistcoat, her head full of the clean, masculine scent of him. A particularly nasty bump flung her upwards but he hung on to her, swearing under his breath, calling out to Mr. Keith to “Get on with it!”
And then, at last, they came to a standstill. They were down, and the cacophony of sound gave way to an eerie silence. Marietta lay still, aware of the large body beneath hers, of each breath gently lifting and lowering her. She raised her head and looked about, her fair hair tangled and falling down, her bonnet nowhere to be seen.
The basket was on its side in the farmer’s field, its contents scattered, and the silk envelope flapping gently. A horse was standing some paces away, tail twitching, keeping a suspicious eye on them. And then Mr. Keith was on the move, checking his equipment, frowning as he worked.
And Max…
Max was lying on his back, looking up at her, an expression of long suffering on his handsome face. Just at that moment, a thick strand of her hair slipped out of its pins and tumbled across his cheek and into his eye. He sighed as if he’d just about had as much as he could take.
Marietta felt the heat suffuse her face—the man was insufferable. “Excuse me,” she said in the chilliest tone she could manage in the circumstances, and proceeded to clamber off him. It was awkward, and her skirts and petticoats seemed to have become tangled up with his long legs. She folded her knees up, the better to crawl, but she had hardly begun when he grabbed her against him, cursing, and rolled to one side with her still clasped in his arms. With a gasp, she wound her arms about his neck and held on, his hair like rough curled silk against her fingers.
“Careful, Miss Greentree, I may need to father a son and heir one day.” His voice, with its slight mocking drawl, tickled her ear. “But then again, who would want my child?” he added, and she realized the mockery was for himself.
“Oh, Max, I’m sure someone would!” she said, before she could consider her words. “Not me, of course, I-I am not…but someone…”
Her clumsy attempts to make him feel better touched him. He smiled. A slow smile that lifted the corners of his unhappy mouth and made his brooding face come alive with humor.
“Perhaps we won’t make an heir just yet,” he said, and began to untwine her arms from his neck and untangle her skirts from his legs. He eased himself out of the basket and pulled her after him. He held her briefly, his hands on her waist, allowing her to catch her balance, but as even that made her oddly breathless, she was relieved when he finally stepped away.
“Thank you,” she said with stiff politeness. “I am grateful.”
“You’re not hurt?” He ducked his head to see into her face, he being so much taller than she. Close up, his eyes weren’t quite so dark, and there was a little scar on his chin.
She made herself look away. “I’m perfectly all right, thank you.”
Evidently he believed her. He turned to Mr. Keith. “You’ve made better landings, Ian.”
“And worse ones, Max.” Mr. Keith didn’t even look up from what he was doing. “Don’t be ungrateful. You’re in one piece, aren’t you?”
Max grunted, then took a few steps away and gave a bone-jarring stretch.
Marietta stood and watched—she could not seem to help it. The pull of his big body—and he was big, she could attest to that—the fluid movement of his muscles and sinews, the purely sensual enjoyment on his face as he tested himself. Marietta decided there was something very attractive about Max, but at the same time she was aware of wanting to remove herself as far from him as possible.
“Miss Greentree, you are unhurt?” Mr. Keith had finally remembered there was something other than his balloon that might be broken.
“Yes, thank you. Max…kept me safe.”
Mr. Keith’s mouth twitched. “I thought he might,” he said evenly.
Max stopped in mid-stretch, turning to glare at him over one broad shoulder. “I’m not a nursemaid, Ian.”
Stung, Marietta straightened to her full height—and still had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “For your information, sir, I am well past the age when I need a nursemaid.”
Max sneered—or at least Marietta, who had never seen a sneer before but had read about them in
books, thought that’s what he did. “Are you? You look a mere child to me.”
Again she felt her cheeks flush red. A child? It was a long time since Marietta had felt like a child. Some people mistook her petite stature and vivacious manner for immaturity but they were mistaken. She was a grown woman with a mind of her own and a particularly strong will.
“Most of my friends already have their own households, and nursemaids for their children,” Marietta replied in what was for her a subdued tone.
“But not you, Miss Marietta?” Mr. Keith smiled, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.
“No.” Marietta smiled back, but her gaze slanted sideways toward Max. “I have no plans to marry. Ever.”
Max made a sound like a snort. “In my experience all women want to marry,” he said, as if he were an expert. “What else would they do but marry?”
“Yes, you’re right,” she said dryly. “What else can they do? Respectable society and those who command it have made it impossible for a woman to survive without the shelter of a husband. But I am…different, and I have no intention of being told how to live my own life. I am going to do something else.”
Max had the gall to lift his eyebrows, his smile supercilious. “I see. Perhaps you are going on safari to Africa, Miss Greentree. Or taking a climbing trip in the Highlands. Or setting up a shelter for orphans where they are taught to play the piano, as one eccentric lady has done.”
Did he mean Vivianna? Her elder sister had begun the Shelter for Poor Orphans some years ago. “I believe that life should be savored to the fullest,” she said, glaring back at him. “And I mean to taste it, every single drop.”
It was true, in a way the ruination of her reputation had set her free to explore other pathways. There was a certain freedom in knowing you couldn’t make things much worse than they were already.
Rules of Passion Page 2