The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

It would stop, Violet reasoned. The balloon would deflate, the basket would tip over with a thump, and she and Daniel would spill out into the mud. Comical but not deadly.

The basket reached the edge of the field, the balloon still pulling it. They went up over gorse and rocks that lined the field, and suddenly the world plummeted out from under them.

The half-deflated balloon sailed out over a river gorge, the river itself sparkling merrily at the bottom. The sides of the cliffs, pockmarked with snow, reached up to them.

Daniel’s curses changed to one long yell, Violet’s joining his. The balloon swept them across the narrow gulf and up the other side of the gorge, straight toward a line of evergreens. Daniel shoved Violet to the bottom of the basket and landed on top of her, curving his body over hers.

The basket broke through the saplings at the edge of the gorge, smacked into the boles of slightly thicker trees, and spun around once. A noise like a great wind shook the branches as the silk of the balloon caught, ripped, and snagged fast. The basket rocked, banged once more into the smooth side of a tree, and stopped.

Chapter 11

Daniel lifted his head. Violet lay very still beneath him. Her eyes were closed, and she had a bruise on her face.

The world had stopped spinning, and now wind moved them gently, the only sounds rustling branches and flapping silk. Daniel’s engine was dead, silent, and so was the wind machine.

“Are ye all right, love?” Daniel brushed tangled hair from Violet’s face, heart beating swiftly in alarm.

If he’d hurt her . . . If his arrogance had led to broken bones or worse, he’d never forgive himself. He could have left Violet alone, borrowed the wind machine and not insisted she come with him, but no. Daniel had wanted to show off to this breathtaking woman. He’d wanted Violet to throw her arms around him and exclaim how wonderful he was to be able to pilot a balloon.

“Violet. Lass, wake up.”

Violet blinked her beautiful blue eyes open. “Are we down?”

Daniel let out a breath of relief. “We’ve stopped. Are ye hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

Violet sat up, resting her back against the basket, and shakily pushed her hair from her face. Daniel ran his hands up her arms, squeezing a little, checking for broken bones. She let him, understanding what he was doing, though she watched him warily from behind thick lashes.

Daniel swallowed the need that had been maddening him and concentrated on making sure Violet was whole. She didn’t flinch until he ran his hands up under the warmth of her skirt, his touch skimming from ankles to knees.

“I said I was fine,” she said, jerking away.

Daniel withdrew, difficult when his fingers had brushed the soft heat of her thighs. “Need to check every bone. I broke my tailbone once, falling off a horse.”

“My tailbone appears to be unsevered,” she said primly.

The quiet words, contrasted with their wild ride over the gorge, made Daniel laugh. “I think I’m unsevered too. How about we find out where we are?” He put his hands on the lip of the basket and pulled himself upright. “Oh.”

Violet was up beside him in a hurry. “Oh,” she echoed. “My.”

The basket hung about twenty feet from the ground, nestled in the branches of two close-growing trees. The basket swayed the slightest bit, but it was stuck fast. The silk envelope, deflated, draped over trees, hung from branches, and dripped in tatters to the ground.

“Dupuis will not be happy with me, I think,” Daniel said. “Never mind. I’ll give him the cost of the balloon plus a little extra. He can make a better one.”

“He’ll understand if he’s such a great friend of yours,” Violet said.

Daniel gave her a look of surprise. “Not a great friend. I only met him a few days ago.”

Now she stared. “I thought you came to Marseille to meet him and try out your idea on the balloon.”

“No, I came in search of you, as I said. Meeting Dupuis was of secondary importance—I telegraphed friends here and asked them if they could point me in the direction of a fellow balloonist. Marseille is a good-sized city. I knew someone would know someone, and I’d heard of Dupuis by reputation.”

Violet’s lips were parted as she listened, uncertainty in her eyes. Daniel touched her cheek. When they were finished here—and safely on the ground—he’d explain a few things. He’d convince her he’d come to France for her. He could have stayed in England to try his experiments—he knew plenty of mad aeronauts there. He hadn’t thrown a few belongings into a valise and jumped onto the first train to Dover because he fancied the Mediterranean air. He’d make her see that.

First, though . . .

“I’ll climb down,” Daniel said. “And find a way to extract you. Won’t be long.”

He made sure his gloves were on tightly over his hands before he grasped the nearest branch and started to pull himself out of the basket.

The basket listed alarmingly, his weight and Violet’s together the only thing keeping it level. If Daniel climbed out, the basket would tip over, and Violet would fall.

“We both go at the same time,” Violet said. “I can climb a tree.” She looked at the branches around her and then down through them to the ground.

“We might not have to.” Daniel cupped his hands around his mouth. “Oi! Up here!”

Voices gathered below, answering shouts in French. Then followed a long debate, to which Daniel contributed, about the best way to get the crazy foreigners out of their love nest in the tree.