“Actually, I am,” she mumbled.
“Well, buck up, Elle. You need to help me determine how to get out of this predicament.”
She didn't have the strength to respond to his needling, yet it helped that the craft seemed to steady. When her stomach settled and her dizziness faded, Eleanor accepted Damon's aid and risked standing up again.
When she gingerly peered over the side of the basket, she could see the vast city of London behind them, with the River Thames meandering toward the sea like a winding ribbon. Ahead of them was a panorama of English countryside-a patchwork quilt of forests and fields and farmland stretching to the distant horizon.
“My heaven,” she breathed in an almost reverent voice. “What a magnificent sight.”
“Yes,” Damon agreed.
Eleanor let out her breath slowly. The sensation of flying was not what she had expected. “It is so quiet,” she observed. “It feels as if we are hanging perfectly still.”
“We aren't. The air currents are carrying us north. We just cannot feel them since the balloon is keeping pace.”
Relaxing her death grip a little, Eleanor took another slow breath. “Very well, what do you wish me to do?”
“Help me look for a place to set down.”
“Can you land the balloon?”
“I think I can operate the vent valve…” Looking up, Damon reached overhead for one of two ropes that resembled bellpulls. “See these cords? They are attached to a flap at the top of the balloon so gas can escape. I'll open the flap to let air out, so we will gradually lose altitude. The danger is coming down too quickly, but that is 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.”