For a second, she had an image of herself hurtling into the canal at full speed. She flinched back. “Oh no. No. There isn’t a chance of it. That is not at all what I had in mind.”
He pushed the contraption toward her. “Oh, yes,” he countered. “You are going to learn.”
She shook her head more violently. “First, your stupid veloci-whatever has nothing to do with the competition. Second, I could not walk on a fence rail without falling off, ever. I have no balance to speak of, let alone enough to manage that—thing. I’m not here to ride your da—your dratted veloci…tastrophe. You said you were going to help me win.”
“I did,” he said. “And this is how you’re going to do it. You’re going to—”
“Let me guess: I’m going to wear a revealing outfit, come flying through the crowd on a velocicylsm, hurtle through a flaming hoop, and land on the stage to tumultuous applause.”
He blinked and looked at her. “Well, that would be one way to manage it. But I had quite a different idea in mind. See, there’s a trick to riding a velocipede.”
“You have to be a lunatic.” Daisy sniffed.
“Correct,” Crash said. “You have to be a lunatic, although that is rather unkind to the lunatics, don’t you think?”
She made a noise in her throat in response.
“Here’s the trick: you have to not care. Our bodies learn motion from walking. When you’re walking, you learn to balance on your feet, to stay upright as you move. Height frightens us; speed more so. But all the rules we’ve told ourselves must be true about motion in general? They’re wrong when we’re on a velocipede.”
He was warming to his subject matter. He leaned the contraption against a bench and began to use his hands to demonstrate.
“On a velocipede,” he told her, “you don’t need to balance.”
“How do you stay upright?”
“The faster you go, the more stable you are.”
She snorted in disbelief.
“I know it sounds unlikely, but it’s true. When you turn, you might be afraid that you’ll fall. You won’t—but to make sure, you should lean into the direction you’re turning.”
“Poppycock.” She swallowed. “You’re trying to get your revenge. You’re trying to kill me.”
He gave her an unreadable look. “You never did believe me, Daisy. No matter what you think of the other times we disagreed, this time I am simply right. The velocipede is a simple application of the principles of natural law. You’ve spent your entire life learning lessons. Stupid lessons. Keep quiet if a man pinches your bum. Don’t speak loudly, or you’ll turn heads. Express yourself in the mildest possible terms, so that no one can have any objection. There are reasons you have to act that way on a daily basis. But if you want one damned chance at success at this competition you’ve entered, you’re going to have to forget them all. You can’t forget some rules and hope for the best.”
She swallowed. She looked at the machine leaning peacefully against the bench. “But I could die.”
He didn’t call her overly dramatic. He didn’t roll his eyes.
Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Daisy,” he said slowly, “I assume you entered the competition to establish yourself. Because you wanted lasting financial security. At present, your future rests entirely on other people continuing to provide you with gainful employment. What do you think would happen if that stopped?”
He didn’t need to ask her to imagine what would happen if she had no money. If she were tossed from her rooms, if she couldn’t afford bread, if her mother…
Daisy didn’t want to think of her mother. She swallowed. “I’m…I’m not going to win.”
“Ah, ah.” He held up a finger. “None of that. My only point is that there’s no way around risk.” He gestured her forward. “That is precisely why you’re learning to ride a velocipede. If you’re going to risk your life, you had best risk it properly.”
She frowned. She was fairly certain there was a flaw in his logic. He’d always been able to convince her of anything and everything. Wagers? They were harmless, so long as nobody bet money they couldn’t afford to lose. His prior liaisons with men and women? Well, so long as he was honest about what happened, and hadn’t lied to anyone, who was hurt by it? She’d been so turned around that she’d accepted it all. Even now, she was certain that he had been wrong. She just wasn’t sure how.
“One more thing.” His eyes met hers. “It’s called a velocipede. Or a bicycle. You’re not stupid, so use its proper name. Call the product I will be selling a velocitastrophe one more time, and I will…”
They watched each other for a long moment.
“You’ll what?” she asked. “Push me over?”
His lip curled in distaste. “I’ll make polite conversation. Like this: How is your fiancé, Daisy? When did you last hear about him? Was his last letter everything you hoped for?”
His eyes were dark and narrowed, looking down at her, and Daisy felt a little crinkle slide up her spine.
She swallowed. It was an excellent threat. “Him?” She hadn’t even given him a name. “Why would that bother me? I would gladly talk about…Edwin.”
“I’m sure you would. He sounds like quite the stick-in-the-mud. The two of you no doubt get along splendidly.”
Chapter Four
For a second, Crash thought Daisy would turn away. Instead, her chin went up. Her fingers, clothed in dark gray wool gloves, clenched at her side. Her eyes glittered like shards of blue glass.
“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m not afraid of you or your threats or your velossacre.”
“Velossacre?”
“I’m making this up as I go along.” She glowered at him defiantly. “It’s derived from massacre. If you kill me with that thing, at least you’ll hang for my death. I take what scant satisfaction I can find in this cruel world.”
Damn it all. He didn’t want to remember why he’d once liked her.
He simply tsked instead. “Daisy, you know that my slightly less-than-legal activities are chosen so as not to harm anyone. I’m a reprobate, not a villain. Veloci-probate hasn’t the same ring.”
Her nose wrinkled. “No. That sounds like an exceedingly swift Court of Chancery.”
“Ugh. Nobody wants that.”
She almost smiled. Almost. “Very well. How does one even get on this…monstrosipede?”
He wasn’t
going to take the bait. Instead, he guided her to a bench, one where she could hop up and reach the seat of his velocipede. It was a simple matter to brace the machine against his hip and gesture her forward.
“So,” he said. “Get on.”
“What, with you holding it?”
“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “With me holding it. Do you think I’m going to let you fall?”
She gave him a dark look. Her nose twitched. “You might.”
“I might,” he said, returning her dark look. “That’s one of the risks you’ll have to take.”
She glared at him for a long moment before gathering her skirts to the ankles, awkwardly straddling the metal top bar, and lowering herself gingerly to the seat.
She shut her eyes instantly, clutching the handlebar. “Oh, God. It’s very high. And extremely wobbly.”
“Well, then,” Crash said sarcastically. “I suppose our lesson is done. We’ll leave the having of trades to men, and you can keep on getting your bum pinched in your flower shop.”
Her eyes flew open.
“That’s better,” he said. “Yes. It’s high and wobbly. That’s because you’re not moving. Now I’m going to come round to the side, and you’re going to put your feet on the pedals. Understand?”
“But…”
He moved without waiting, and she winced as the machine lurched beneath her.
“You’re touching me,” she said as his hand landed against her spine. “I said, no—”
He pulled his hands away and held them up in the air. The velocipede faltered, tilted, and—
“Touch me!” she shrieked. “I lied! I don’t mind!”
He calmly took hold of her before she fell. “Come now, Daisy. I’m not touching you for my pleasure. If you die, I hang, and hanging is not in my plan. Besides, you have a sweetheart. I won’t do anything that your dear Edwin won’t approve of. My promise.”