When a Rake Falls (24 page)

“No,” she repeated, shaking her head. If she were to believe her father, that Parker desired praise above all else, he would have given his speech at the Royal Institute, instead of stepping aside for her. She addressed Charles Henry. “I apologize for my outburst, sir. We will never marry, but my father is right. This is neither the time or place for this conversation.”

Her father's face reddened. He approached, slower and more measured than before. “Evie, remember what I told you. My failing eyesight demands that you remain here with me and Charles Henry. Think of your mother.”

Her mind cleared; she straightened. “I do think of her—and Tom.
Always
. I remember her wishes for my future as long as I live. She prepared me well, taught me every talent I needed to be happy as a wife. But most of all, she desired I find happiness with the man I love, as she did.”

Her father stilled.

“She loved you, and her desire for me was to find a man I truly love as a husband—and now I have found him. Please don't decide my fate on the inevitability of your failing eyesight. If you fear only I can help you, I believe you are wrong. We'll hire another assistant, so you will not be abandoned. But I
will
follow my heart and wed Lord Parker. It is the duty I owe to my mother, to Tom, and to myself.”

“Yes, yes.” Parker strode to the edge of the balloon and grabbed her father's coat from behind. He started to pull him to the edge, and several men joined him to haul her struggling father out of the basket.

The crowd shouted approval, surrounded Thomas Mountfloy, and restrained the aeronaut from climbing back into the basket.

She glanced at Parker, and he gave her a single nod. Her heart soared into the heavens.

Parker started to climb into the basket, but Charles Henry flung himself on his lordship's back. In one swift, elegant motion, Parker spun and delivered a bare-knuckled facer to the assistant.

Charles Henry fell back on the platform, sporting a bleeding lip.

The crowd cheered.

Drexel pulled the struggling assistant to his feet and restrained him. “Neatly done, Whip. What took you so long?”

Several members of the audience shouted for Drexel to release Charles Henry in heady anticipation of fisticuffs or an out-and-out mull.

Drexel flung the assistant into the crowd. He then ran to the marquess, and together they gave Parker a hand up into the basket with such force, he landed on the bottom in an upside-down lump.

The audience roared with approval.

Parker stood and gave Eve a formal bow. “My lady?” He held out his hand.

She clasped his warm palm and squeezed it. “Thank you.” They remained holding hands, and she clung to this simple, much-appreciated reassurance of his affection. More than likely, they both wore foolish smiles.

Her father managed to free himself and shouted, “Evie! Your duty is to me.”

Parker's eyes widened. “Duty!”

“Why did you say duty in that startling manner?” she asked.

“Step out of the balloon at once, sir,” her father shouted, heading in their direction.

“Stand fast,” boomed the marquess in the very tone that ordered his ancestors' troops into battle, the ghosts of those soldiers standing behind him now. His father took one step toward her father, and the men stilled.

Her father wore a menacing scowl, while the marquess held his stiff posture.

“Yes, yes,
duty
is a troublesome word.” Parker turned her swiftly, lifted her into his arms, and held her high off the floor of the basket, in the same manner as their first tussle over the gas valve in the balloon. “I don't want to take the chance you will run away.”

“Put me down, madman.”

“Is your lady proving troublesome, gov?” someone shouted. More laughter erupted.

“You shouldn't hold a lady like that, now should you, sir?” another voice chimed in.

Parker smiled and turned his head to face his audience. “I do beg your pardon. What did you say? Am I holding something?”

A member of the crowd shouted, “You're holding a lady, sir. In a most indecorous fashion.”

Parker looked down at her and winked. “Well, look at that. Yes, yes, indeed I am holding a lady. And I plan to hold this one until she agrees to be my wife. But all of you are making such a racket. Did any of you hear the lady say yes? I am certain that with all the hubbub, I must have missed it.”

“But the lady could be injured, sir.”

“Put her down at once,” Mr. Mountfloy shouted.

“Hmm, did you hear your father, Eve? I must say I disagree.” He raised his voice. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, as a logical gentleman, I plan to hold her until she agrees to be my wife.”

Her shock wore off, and now the absolute absurdity of her situation started her laughing.

“Are you injured?” Boyce whispered.

She laughed in whoops.

“Are you injured?” Boyce repeated.

She shook her head, unable to stop laughing.

The entire crowd started to laugh.

“Since I am unable to get down on one knee to propose for fear that you will run away, I must ask for your hand once more in this very awkward position. But so be it. Ladies and gentleman, a minute of silence please.”

The crowd became mostly silent.

“I love you, Miss Mountfloy.” Parker then whispered, “Perhaps the words ‘I love you' are too simple. How about you filled my inky vault of a soul with the living sparks of love?”

Besides his silly words, she detected something else in his voice. A tone, a wish, an intangible sound that rendered the sentiment truthful—he loved her. He truly desired her to be his wife.

“And just to be safe”—he chuckled—“I love you with my heart, my head, and of course, let's not forget our Sussex horse, Brutus, my stomach. I'll even be generous and throw in all of my organs. I love you.”

“Put me down.” When her feet hit the bottom of the basket, she began to sing, “Yes, I will marry you, and together our love will ring true. Gammon tum doodley, I do.”

The audience cheered.

He coughed once. “You're singing—singing!”

“Yes.” She started laughing again. “I plan to sing every day of my life from now on.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to announce that the lady has accepted my offer.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. Everyone seemed to rush forward to express their congratulations.

She and Parker leaned over the side, shaking every hand offered.

Her father strode up to the edge of the basket and scowled. “We will speak of this scandalous scene later this evening. Now the two of you must get out of this balloon. We have a flight planned for today.”

“Of course.” She stepped away from the crowd, then perfunctorily reached for an instrument to pack.

Parker nodded in the direction of Drexel, who then whispered something in the marquess's ear. The two gentlemen separated and headed in opposite directions.

“Evie,” her father repeated, “your lordship, step down immediately.”

Seconds later, the right side of the basket lifted. Her father and Charles Henry moved to stop Drexel from releasing the ropes holding the balloon. Before they could regain the ropes to anchor them, the left side of the basket freed itself. The marquess and Drexel had untied the ropes holding them earthbound.

The balloon gracefully rose upward.

Below them, the audience screamed and shouted and laughed.

Parker held Eve tight, both of them laughing the entire ascension, until their upward movement slowed. “Away from my view fly the world and its strife, the banquet of fancy's feast is my wife,” he sang.

She joined his serenade. “My spirits are mounting, my heart's full of glee. In your eyes, true love do I see.”

Parker wrapped his arm around her shoulder and repeated his declaration into her ear before thoroughly kissing her. “I love you.”

“I will never tire of hearing those words.” She sighed, still under the heady effects of absolute bliss.

“Are you well? Your eyes appear glazed.”

“There is something about the mesmerizing tone of your voice I enjoy, a sort of rumbling perhaps.”

“Rumbling? I don't know much about noises, but my father can imitate every birdcall. Does my rumbling voice bother you?”

“Oh no, not
bother
exactly. It gives me a funny feeling everywhere inside my body though.”

“Rumble is good.” Parker gave her a sly smile that lingered on the corner of his mouth. “May I request permission to kiss my intended again? There. Did I rumble that time?”

She chuckled and nodded.

Parker proceeded to kiss her thoroughly once again—an experiment she truly enjoyed and returned, if not with great finesse, at least with all of her heart. “I love you too,” she managed to whisper when the opportunity arose.

Glancing up at the balloon, she noticed hundreds of what looked like little pieces of paper flying around the basket. “Look.”

They stood and discovered hundreds of white and colored butterflies hovering near their basket. The air seemed alive. Some flew upward, some downward, and some even flew into and around the bottom of the basket. They became surrounded with hundreds of gleaming wings appearing to fold upon themselves, shimmering like a moving cloud.

“How beautiful,” he said, lifting his hand and holding it steady to see if a butterfly might land. “Have you ever seen this before? Is this a new discovery that you must report?”

She slowly twirled, absorbing the beautiful sight. “Yes, I have seen this twice before, but not this many butterflies. Funny thing, birds are frightened by balloons, and I've never seen a bird at this elevation. But insects don't appear to be afraid.” She held his free hand, and they waited until a tiny creature landed on Parker's hand. The animal flexed his wings. “I think they have come to wish us well, like the guests at a wedding.” She leaned close to the creature still on Parker's hand. “Thank you, little one.” The butterfly rose in the air to join the others.

He grinned broadly.

They held hands and watched the butterflies circle and dance, until they dispersed and flew away some ten minutes later.

“I suppose we must land before we go too far,” he said. “And because we are under circumstances that are not ideal for romance, I can promise you much more
rumbling
in the future, when we are alone.” He placed his forehead on hers. “Then one day, soon I hope, I will demonstrate my love all night long until you know what happens?”

She smiled. “I cannot imagine. Let me guess: I sing?”

He lowered his eyelids until he appeared almost sleepy. “After our nights of lovemaking, I promise you will want to sing every day we are married.”

She absolutely believed him. “I'm not much of a songstress, but I can make a sound of
apparent
satisfaction
.”

His eyes widened before they both burst out laughing.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, silently vowing to never let go. “And besides my testimony, you can use my singing as proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“Proof that you won the earl's race, because your actions have been the true definition of Service to a Lady.”

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Sally Orr worked for thirty years in molecular biology research. One day, a cyber-friend challenged her to write a novel. Since she is a hopeless Anglophile, it's not surprising that her first series is Regency romance. She lives with her husband in San Diego, surrounded by too many books and not enough old English cars.