Chapter Twenty-Three
Leticia fastened the frog closures of her plumb-colored pelisse, and donned a bonnet before she went to the morning room to await Tristan. She sank into a striped armchair and put on her kid gloves.
Why on earth had Tristan been so insistent on taking her somewhere? And why did he seem so crushed when she explained her plans with Lord Bradbury and Captain Kensington? The idea that Tristan would be jealous…no, a ludicrous thought.
What would it be like to be pursued by a man like Tristan, though? She almost sighed at the thought. Memory edged into her mind of her lips accidentally brushing his. The shock of that contact had sent alternating hot and cold chills straight down to her toes. Then he’d kissed her a second time and…oh my…
Instinct must have prompted that second kiss—nothing more. Heaven help her if he ever kissed her on purpose!
Perhaps all kisses were so exhilarating. She tried to imagine sharing such a moment with Lord Bradbury, a remarkably handsome man, as well as kind and attentive, with a wry sense of humor. She’d enjoyed viewing the Bridgewater Collection at Cleveland House with him. How would his kiss affect her? Somehow the idea fell flat. Perhaps she would not know until she shared such a moment with him.
Or Captain Kensington? He had not actively courted her, but he’d sought her out on occasion. Also handsome and kind, with a lively, albeit dark humor, the captain would make a desirable husband. In moments, she detected an underlying sorrow, the source of which she had yet to learn. He was mysterious. What would it be like to kiss him? That thought also failed to invite any excitement.
The idea of kissing Tristan—a real, purposeful kiss, left her breathless.
No. No. No. She must not think of a notorious roué in such a way. She remained safe as long as he stayed in the realm of her friend. Anything more would be a dangerous, foolhardy risk to her heart and peace of mind.
The front door knocker echoed through the foyer, and Leticia rose to greet Tristan. His smile met her. Stylish as usual but wearing grays and blues instead of his usual, more vibrant colors, he stood, tall and lean. His eyes, clearer than she’d seen in years, sparkled.
“Good afternoon, Tish.” His grin warmed her all over.
“Good afternoon, yourself. The weather appears to have bent to your will.”
“Because I asked for your sake, I am sure.” He affected a bow. “Are you prepared for a balloon ride?”
The nervous quiver in her stomach increased to that of a small cyclone. Still, it would not do to appear as frightened as a kitten in a den of wolves; Tristan would surely tease her for years.
She lifted her chin and gave a negligent wave of her hand. “Oh, certainly. I always do such things. They’re hardly exciting any more. Perhaps I’ll go on safari next.”
Grinning, he offered his arm. “I hope elephants and tigers don’t bore you. You might want to bring a warm cloak—it’s much cooler up there.”
Up there. Heaven help her.
Tristan smiled, so handsome and steady, that she squared her shoulders and grabbed a cloak.
Tossing the cloak over her arm, she said with false courage, “Lead on, good sir.”
Outside, an elegant barouche bearing his family coat of arms awaited them, complete with a driver and four horses. Battling back her nervous anticipation, she forced cheer into her voice.
“A barouche. How stylish.”
“It’s Richard’s. I know it’s ostentatious but my curricle was irreparable.” He drew a breath, his expression grim. The knot of his cravat moved as he swallowed. “I’ve ordered a phaeton and am having it built lower than the usual style so it would be more stable, and not require a ladder.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Still fashionable, but safer with four wheels instead of two like his curricle, a phaeton would be much steadier, especially if he had it lowered. The accident appeared to have instilled a sense of Tristan’s own mortality.
He glanced at her as if searching for a meaning behind her words. “I will never race again.”
His earnest, sorrowful expression tugged at her heart. A pity he must cast off a pastime that he clearly loved. Still, his recognizing the folly of engaging in such danger meant he’d be less likely to repeat it.
She touched his arm. “I look forward to seeing your new phaeton.”
His grim expression softened. “I’ll take you for a drive as soon as it’s completed.”
“I’ve never ridden in one.”
“Good. Then I look forward to being your first.”
A glint touched his eyes as he handed her into the luxurious conveyance and she sank into seat cushions softer than a feather bed. The folded down hoods made the vehicle perfect for seeing the sights of London. Being seen with Tristan made her want to sit up a little taller.
“Have you purchased a new team of horses?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I didn’t see any I liked at Tattersalls, but I’ll go again next week. My phaeton won’t be ready for another two weeks at least; I have time.” His dark eyes carried a luster in them she had not seen in years, and his steadiness gave him a new maturity.
She gazed at him, amazed at his transformation. “I’ve never seen you so bright-eyed. At least, not in years.”
He quirked a brow.
She searched for an explanation. “The more dissipated you grew, the more your eyes dulled. And then when you were hurt… Well, I’m glad to see you looking so well.”
His expression took on a far-away look that reminded her of the poetic romantic he’d been as a youth. “Too much drink has lost its appeal. I rather like having a clear head.”
She touched his hand where it rested on the seat between them. “I like it, too.”
The coachman turned into the park entrance. As they went deeper inside the haven of green, the noises of the city faded. The balloon rose above the trees like a giant, silver sun.
A quiver of excitement raced through her. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one of those.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Our schedule is busy. Besides, my aunt thinks they are dangerous.” She finally admitted, “I’m a bit frightened at the thought.”
“It’s very safe, I promise.” Tristan looked ahead. “We’re here.”
In a wide expanse of grass, a small crowd formed a circle underneath an airborne balloon tethered by ropes. A shimmer of silver wrapped up in an elongated ball soared overhead. The coachman drove them closer, revealing the balloon’s immensity, though it floated perhaps a hundred feet above the lawn.
Awed, Leticia craned her neck. “It’s huge.”
As Tristan helped her down from the barouche, she could hardly keep her eyes off the magical-looking craft.
“I’m happy to have impressed you.” A chuckle touched his rich voice.
Dragging her gaze away, she eyed Tristan who stood half a head taller than she. His hand, still on her arm, warmed through the fabric of her clothes to her skin. His scent, familiar but somehow more masculine-than-ever, burrowed deep inside her.
His eyes danced over her face, an odd combination of intensity and joy. “Your eyes look very green today, Tish.” The intensity vanished and her childhood playmate returned. He tapped her underneath the chin, snapping her out of whatever madness had seized her. “Shall we ride your balloon?”
She pushed back the quiver in her stomach and wound her arm around his. “Have you ever ridden one?”
“A few times as a child.”
She nodded and swallowed, but the nervousness only grew. Tristan paid their fare and led her toward the balloon. As they approached the send-off point, several men pulled on ropes as thick as their wrists to bring the balloon back to its starting place. The balloon sank to the earth, bringing a large basket filled with passengers. Workers tied the ropes while others attached large bags of sand to keep the balloon down. Starry-eyed adults and a few wide-eyed children climbed out of the large wicker basket using stepladders. Excited chatter filled the air as the passengers related their experiences. None of them looked terrified. She gulped.
A couple in line in front of them got in next, and the balloon rose, soaring effortlessly above them. Her nerves eased at the awe-inspiring sight.
“Amazing.” Leticia breathed.
Tristan stood next to her, letting her experience it without interruption. Strange how he always seemed to know what she wanted. Richard had never been in such harmony as she was with Tristan. Her love for Richard must have muddied her connection to Tristan.
What if the feeling she had always harbored for Richard had, in fact, been some form of hero worship instead of a healthy love between potential man and wife? She would have to give that further thought. It might help her identify her feelings with regard to Lord Bradbury and Captain Kensington.
Several minutes later, men with arms the size of pugilists hauled the air craft down using its ropes.
“The balloon stays tethered the whole time?” Leticia asked.
“It does,” Tristan said. “We can’t go flying all over London looking in people’s windows, you know.”
She tried to give him an answering smile but it probably came out wobbly.
“Almost our turn,” Tristan said.
Leticia donned her heavy cloak. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the frog closures.
Tristan’s sure hand held her steady as she mounted the stepladders on either side of the wicker basket. Her legs shook so badly she had to grasp the other pair of hands outstretched to help her. As Tristan climbed in after her, she peered around tanks and handles and gazed up at the balloon over her head. Harnesses connecting to ropes attached the basket to the ornate balloon, covered by some kind of netting, created an intricate network.
“Welcome,” the balloon operator said. “I’m your pilot. It’s a clear, still day—perfect for a balloon ride.” He grinned, his craggy face and missing teeth reminding her of an old sea captain.
“Excellent,” Tristan said.
“Release the ballasts,” the pilot called out.
As he opened a valve and pulled on a lever, workers removed the sand bags. They lifted off in a smooth, effortless rise. The ground fell away. Trees and people and buildings shrank below her. Fear arose and cut off her breath. Nothing seemed connected to her. What if she fell out of the basket? What if the balloon caught fire? What if the tethers broke and they floated away and never came back down? Her breath came in harsh bursts.
“Nothin’ t’ worry about, miss,” the pilot said. “All very safe. I’ve been doing this for ages.”
“If memory serves, this is powered by a type of gas called hydrogen?” Tristan asked the pilot.
“Aye. Makes the balloon lighter than air so it can go up.”
Up. Up and away from the ground. So far up…
Tristan touched her shoulder. “Tish?”
She turned to him, unable to speak.
Without a word, he drew her into his arms and held her while she trembled. He rubbed circles on her back, slow and soothing. “We’re safe. Hold onto me.”
Burrowing into him, she clutched him as if he alone protected them all from a horrible death. He held her, steady, strong. The mint in his clothes mingled with his bay rum aftershave and that uniquely adult Tristan scent, calming her fears—familiar and yet different in a way that left her baffled. His strong arms held her against his solid chest.
His beloved voice rumbled through her. “Look Tish—you will want to see this.”
Without moving, she opened her eyes. London Bridge, the spires of Parliament, the Thames winding like a shining pathway sprinkled with stardust—all of London lay before her like a detailed, colored map. Ships and other watercraft dotted the river like a child’s toys. The ocean’s great expanse shimmered in the distance. Land formations she never knew existed now revealed themselves in the layout below. Absolute silence reigned in this world above the land.
A cold breeze blew a strand of hair over her eyes. She pushed it back, mesmerized by the view, and by the singular experience of enjoying the flight within the safe harbor of Tristan’s arms. She looked up at him, her motion catching his attention. He slowly smiled, and her heart opened up like a flower to the sun.
A sublime transcendence settled into her heart. Tristan. Her dearest friend. And yet, something more, something encompassing friendship but carrying it to a new level of joy, peace, safety.
“It’s magical, isn’t it?” He spoke almost reverently as if reluctant to break the beauty of the moment.
She nodded, too awed to reply.
He looked back out at the panorama. “I’d forgotten what it’s like up here.”
The view. Of course. She rested her head against him, no longer afraid but absolutely craving more of him, more of his touch, more of…
She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought. Instead, they spoke in whispers, pointing out landmarks to each other. She could happily die here, in this quiet, surreal world, enfolded in Tristan’s arms.
The pilot pointed out some sights Leticia had not noticed, and she admired the scene.
“Here we go, now,” the pilot said. “Time to go back down.”
Tristan watched the pilot’s every movement, clearly fascinated. “Do you ever fly without a tether?”
The pilot nodded. “Oh, aye, but not in London. I go out a ways before I lift off—it’s easier to find a landing spot. Better visibility, too. Always an adventure flying untethered. No two flights are the same.”
They began the descent, so gradually that it seemed as if the ground rose to meet them. Tristan loosened his hold on her and she moved away from him. The closer they came to the ground, the greater the distance she put herself from Tristan.
They hit the ground with a soft thump and Leticia shifted her feet to stay balanced. With her hands folded, she waited as the land crew placed the stepladders. She drew a breath, ashamed for her panic, and for the unseemly way she threw herself at Tristan.
Some inner glow filled Tristan’s eyes and the smile he offered her eased the tension inside her. His glance reassured her as surely as if he’d reached out and touched her with his hand.
He held her steady as she climbed the stepladders up and over the basket, and joined her on the ground. As she wound her hand through his arm and they strolled to the waiting carriage, a new awareness of him tingled her senses—surely the euphoria of the balloon ride caused her unexplained reaction.
She met his gaze. “What an unforgettable experience. Thank you.”
His familiar grin, yet warmer somehow, appeared. “It was most assuredly my pleasure.” Tristan the rake resurfaced with a teasing light glimmering in his eyes. “If I’d known all I had to do to get you into my arms was take you in a balloon or some other great height, I would have done it years ago.”
Her world righted itself, and she whacked his arm. “Tell anyone about that and I’ll tell your cook to put mushrooms in your favorite stew.”
He shuddered dramatically. “No need to resort to cruel threats. Your secret is safe with me.” Grinning, he led her up the rise to a walking path. “Shall we take a walk or do you need to return right away?”
“I have no engagements.”
They walked and talked, and their familiar friendship returned. Yet, that underlying awareness of Tristan remained, each breath he took vibrating through her, each smile bringing an answering one to her lips, each mood, every expression echoing in her heart.
The sunlight flirted with the leaves overhead, sending shafts of light on his face, his hair. As they walked, a cat drowsing in the sun startled and slunk off into shrubbery, and Tristan quoted a poem by Keats about cats.
“Does everything remind you of a poem?” she asked.
His mouth curved upward on one side. “I suppose a great deal does.”
Elizabeth loved poetry too—something that had drawn Tristan and Elizabeth together for their brief fling in a time that now seemed so long ago. Perhaps time did heal all wounds, for the wound of losing Richard to Elizabeth had vanished.
As they completed their walk and boarded the carriage, Tristan cocked his head. “An ice from Gunther’s?”
“How well you know me.” She smiled.
As they sat in the carriage enjoying ices, Tristan devouring his, he put a hand on his head. “Ow.”
A bit smug, Leticia shook her head. “You ate yours too quickly; eating cold that fast always causes head pain.”
He winced. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
“Not much experience with ices, I imagine?” she said sweetly.
“No, my friends and I preferred to take refreshment in other ways, as you well know, you saucy wench.”
“I hope you don’t still call me that when we’re old and gray.”
He leaned back, that gleam coming back into his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll have a new nickname for you by then—if you stop acting like a saucy wench.”
“Never. You wouldn’t know me then.”
“True. Very well, let’s think of a new one. How about…pet.”
She made a face.
“Ducks?”
She made a gagging sound.
“Dear?”
“Hmm.” She pretended to consider.
The gleam turned to a hot, sultry glower she’d never seen before. Very slowly, his lips and tongue moved forming, “Love?”
Every drop of moisture in her mouth evaporated under the heat of his stare. Leticia, the proper young lady, the friend, the rational being, collapsed and incinerated. Out of the ashes flew a new creature, one born of instinct and need. Her focus fixated on his mouth. Her lips starved for his kiss. Her arms ached to wrap around him. Her body craved his arms to enfold her. A temptation assaulted her to cast off her dish of ice and throw herself at him and do more than seek comfort in his familiarity.
The spoon cut into the edge of her fingers, snapping her out of such madness. Cold realization hit her like an icy wind.
This, then, must be the reason why every lady, proper or not, threw themselves at Tristan’s feet. He need only give them that look, and they lost all reason. No man should have that much power.
Anger that he’d had so much control over women all these years raced through her. If she’d been made of paper, the heat of her rage would have blackened her.
She tossed her head. She tried to make her voice sound teasing, but her brittle anger hurled her words at him like darts. “Don’t look at me like that, you rake. That obviously works with others, but you can be assured that I’m impervious to such a cheap ploy.”
He jerked back. Blinked. Confusion and hurt flitted over his features. “What?”
A Gunther’s waiter who passed by the carriage caught her eye. “I’m finished.” She handed her half-eaten dish of lemon ice to him. Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them back. She would not cry in front of Tristan. The shameless womanizer! To think she almost fell for his game. How many he had seduced with such a look, she hoped she never knew.
“Please take me home.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and grappled at her tattered composure.
Tristan handed his dish to the waiter and spoke to the coachman. As the carriage pulled into traffic, neither of them spoke.
His hand enclosed hers. “Tish?”
She stared straight ahead. If she looked at him now, she’d lose control and yell or cry.
“What did I do?”
She clamped her mouth shut. So much for him knowing her so well.
“I promise you, whatever look you thought you saw, was not some tool in my seduction repertoire. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t have an arsenal of weapons to use on women. Even if I did, I’d never use it on you.”
She sighed. “I know—you use them on women you find attractive.” She removed her hand from underneath his. Why, then, had he used it on her?
“Is that what this is about?” He leaned over and peered at her face from under the brim of her bonnet. “Tish?”
She sighed again and looked at his face. Her smile probably came out sad. “’Tis of no consequence.”
“Don’t you know how attractive you are?”
“It doesn’t signify. Do forget I said anything about it.”
He took her hand in his and pulled it against his chest. She half expected him to start spouting outrageous sonnets or something, but his expression remained serious, despite the fondness in his eyes. “Leticia Wentworth. You are one of the prettiest ladies I have ever seen. Every man who sees you knows it. I didn’t refrain from flirting with you all these years because I found you unattractive; I never flirted with you because it felt wrong. I have known you all of my life—loved you as a friend all of my life.”
Which did make sense, curse him.
“I would never attempt to trifle with your heart or your sensibilities. Things have changed between us. We’ve survived many difficulties, you and I.” He enfolded her hand with both of his, still holding it against his chest. “Don’t you know how much you mean to me?”
His dear, familiar face filled her vision, eclipsing all else. He had loved her as a friend all of his life. Of course he did. Therein lay the blessing. And the curse.
Bittersweet, she smiled. “Forgive me for overreacting. I know we are good friends, you and I, and I know why you never flirted with me.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Do you? In truth?”
As they approached the house her aunt had let out for the Season, Leticia looked up at him. He sat so very near that she wouldn’t need to move much to kiss him. Just lift her head and…
She cleared her throat. “Thank you so much for the balloon ride. It was unforgettable.”
“It was for me, as well.” That lazy glint returned. “Do feel free to pretend we’re way up high any time.”
She let out a scoff and whacked his arm again.
“We can still view the Elgin’s Parthenon Sculptures if you wish. I’ve never seen them and would love to see them with you.”
He hadn’t taken other women there? Where did he take women he courted? Of course, now that she thought of it, he had never courted a lady before. She stopped that line of thought before she ground her teeth into powder.
“Thank you. I would like that, too.” Now why had she agreed to it? Spending more time in Tristan’s company was a pointless exercise. And quite possibly dangerous. Lord Bradbury would take her to see the famous marble sculptures if she asked him. However, viewing them with Tristan appealed in ways she couldn’t begin to explain.
He grinned. “Tomorrow?”
She nodded. “I am engaged for the evening, but I’m available all day.”
A slight pause, curiosity brightened his eyes and he opened his mouth to ask her something, but with a slight shake of his head said instead, “Until tomorrow then.”
If she were of an inclination to place wagers, she would have wagered that he wanted to ask her about her evening plans, and with whom. Since when did he refrain from expressing his thoughts?
For some reason, she needed him to know she would not see Lord Bradbury tomorrow night. “I’m attending a small dinner party hosted by Mrs. Goodfellow.”
His gaze slid her way. “Bradbury or Kensington invited?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
His posture relaxed. Puzzling. Why the sudden dislike of her spending time with the gentlemen he’d previously been so happy for her to meet? Again, flared a faint suspicion—hope?—that he was jealous. Ridiculous.
He handed her down from the carriage and escorted her to the front steps. The noise from the streets seemed loud and busy, as if everyone in the district were nearby.
She made a loose gesture to the door. “I’d invite you in but my aunt is likely still gone with Isabella.”
“Of course.” He bowed low over her hand, then continued to hold it as he straightened. “Tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Tomorrow.”
He held fast to her hand. Her focus fixed on his as if somehow every muscle in her body had frozen in place. He swallowed. Twice. Then he released her hand and backed away. As he strode down the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder, smiling, and looking almost triumphant.
Released from whatever spell she’d been under, Leticia went inside.
What a confusing situation! She should have refused to see him on the morrow. Spending so much time in Tristan’s company had both an unexplained and uncomfortable effect on her sensibilities.