what those sandbags are for. They serve as ballast.” He pointed to the four corners of the basket, and for the first time, Eleanor noticed the small burlap bags piled there.
“How do you know so much about so many things?” she asked with a touch of wonder.
“I read a great deal. And as you know, this is not my first balloon flight.”
“Still, I am exceedingly impressed with your wealth of knowledge.”
Damon's mouth curved. “Save your praise until we are safely on the ground. I doubt the landing will be soft.”
He didn't have to spell out the dangers any further to her. If he released too much gas, they could plummet to earth. And even if they managed to regulate the speed of their descent, they could still crash into a forest or some other obstacle such as a farmhouse.
His gaze searching the earth below, Damon tugged on one of the valve cords. Except for a slight whis tling sound above them, his action initially seemed to result in no response. But then Eleanor realized that at least the balloon was no longer rising.
Damon pulled on the cord a fraction more. “If we begin to descend too rapidly, I want you to throw out a sandbag when I tell you to.”
Nodding, Eleanor shifted her position by several feet so she could easily reach the ballast if necessary.
A long silence followed while Damon tried to gauge what effect the venting was having on their altitude. It seemed as if they were drifting lazily, Elea nor thought, but in reality, they were being carried along on a steady breeze. Still, the flight felt serene and peaceful, almost calming in fact-except that shortly Eleanor began to wonder how they had ended up in this quandary in the first place.
“Why would someone sabotage the launching?” she asked Damon after a moment. “The prince is not even here.”
“An excellent question,” he responded almost grimly. “I cannot imagine why, unless the saboteur thought I was Lazzara. I didn't see the perpetrator, but I would guess he was one of Pucinelli's crew. An outsider would have looked out of place and likely been spotted.”
Eleanor winced inwardly at the thought of being trapped up here with the prince. With his extensive knowledge of ballooning, perhaps his highness would have proved to be as resourceful as Damon evidently was, but she felt far safer with Damon.
When she shivered, however, she realized she'd grown a little chilled, even though she wore a pelisse over her walking dress of jaconet muslin.
“Had I known we would be airborne for so long,” she commented in a wry tone, “I would have worn a warmer pelisse.”
Damon gestured with his head toward the floor. “There is a blanket for passengers in the corner behind you. Wrap it around your shoulders.”
“No, I don't want to be encumbered if I must wrestle with sandbags.”
Across the width of the basket, his gaze found hers. “Pucinelli was right. You are quite an intrepid young lady. Many women would have swooned or had an apoplectic fit by now.”
“I am not normally the swooning sort, despite my bout of weakness a moment ago.”
“I know.”
When he flashed her a grin, Eleanor smiled back- and immediately felt a warmth that she was hard-pressed to justify, given the peril they were in.
It was easier to understand the tingle of excitement that surged through her blood. Naturally she was affected by the sheer exhilaration of flying. The danger was strangely exhilarating also, as was the beauty of the morning.
Yet the greatest cause of her sudden high spirits, she suspected-as well as the inexplicable sense of joy she was experiencing just now-was Damon's presence. He always made her feel so alive, so free… as if she could conquer the world with him at her side.
In spite of the threat they faced, this flight was a moment of a lifetime, and she was glad to be able to share it with him.
When he returned his attention to the valve cords, Eleanor continued to watch him. She had certainly never expected this unlikely turn of events. Damon was proving to be her knight in shining armor after all, just as he had seemed two years ago.
As a girl, she'd harbored romantic dreams of finding a knight who would sweep her off her feet and end her loneliness, and what could be more wildly romantic than sailing off into the skies with him?
Averting her gaze, Eleanor smiled to herself, even while wondering how she could feel humor at a time like this.
“How far have we flown?” she asked to distract herself from worrying.
“It's hard to judge. I would guess ten miles or so, perhaps more.”
Another few minutes passed as they sank lower and lower. When they came closer to the treetops, Damon shut the valve for good.
“There, Elle… there's a meadow beyond that line of elms. I want to try to set down there.”
The grassy field was currently home to a small flock of grazing sheep, but Eleanor suspected Damon would attempt to maneuver past them. But then the balloon dropped so that they were barely skimming over the trees.
“We're too low-toss the ballast, Elle…”
Obeying quickly, she hefted one of the bags over the side of the basket.
Their craft bobbed back up a short way and cleared the treeline before starting to sink again.
“Another one. We're going down too fast.”
Again she did as she was bid, this time with better results. Their descent slowed to a safer speed.
“Now brace yourself, Elle,” Damon ordered. “And when we hit, try to absorb the impact with your knees.”
When she held tightly to the rim, he wrapped one arm around her from behind and grasped the basket's suspension ropes with his free hand.
The ground seemed to rush up at them, and Elea nor held her breath in apprehension.
It was indeed a hard, jarring landing, just as Damon had predicted. The basket struck with a jolt, then tilted and bumped along the ground as the balloon dragged them another dozen yards. When a contrary breeze struck, however, the silken mass lifted once more, causing the basket to suddenly right itself and then come to an abrupt halt.
With their own continued momentum, Eleanor and Damon went sprawling sideways, although he purposely took the brunt of the impact as they fell together on the floor.
They lay there unmoving, his arms wrapped around her, while overhead, the balloon slowly grew limp.
For a moment Damon simply stared at her. Eleanor could feel his heartbeat thudding against her breast, could see the fierce relief on his face, yet as the haunted glimmer in his eyes began to fade, she knew his concern had been for her, not himself.
Her own pounding heartbeat beginning to quiet, Eleanor let out her breath slowly. They had faced danger and survived unscathed.
Neither of them spoke a word. Then Damon's arms folded around her more tightly and his lips came crashing down on hers.
His unexpected action took away the breath she'd just reclaimed and caused a sweet shock of response in every part of her body. His kiss was hard and frenzied, expressing the almost desperate relief she had seen in his eyes.
Damon filled her mouth with his tongue, taking, demanding, igniting a burst of heat inside her so powerful, she felt weak with it. She returned his kiss avidly, though, eagerly fusing her lips to his, drinking him in like a woman dying of thirst.
To her dismay, Damon was the one to end their frantic embrace, although with obvious reluctance. Breaking off the scalding kiss, he drew back, and when he spoke, his voice was husky and raw. “Much as I would like to continue this for an eternity, it wouldn't be honorable to ravish you, Elle.”
“I suppose not,” she murmured, her own voice low and ragged.
From the expression on his face-part grimace, part hungry desire-she concluded that he was as painfully
