Kathleen Y'Barbo (6 page)

M
illie watched the man gather up his things and return them to his carpetbag. “What are you doing?”

He spared her a glance, offering a glimpse of eyes that held more than the appropriate amount of mirth given their dire situation. “I am preparing for my exit.”

“
Your
exit?”

He shrugged before returning to his work.

“Fine,” she said as the last of her patience threatened to evaporate. “Go ahead and leave without me, but make me one promise.”

“What is that?”

She winced as her head throbbed. “Do not tell anyone I am up here. Just come back and open the door.”

“I can’t do that,” he said as he closed the bag and set it aside. “The only way is to inform someone. To whom should I—”

“Of course you can,” she insisted. “If you are worried I will say something about your little plaything there, rest assured I will not.” When he did not immediately respond, she hurried to continue. “Believe me, sir. The last thing I want is for anyone to know I’ve been up here.”

His grin was swift and quite disarming. “Because you may want to hide up here again?”

“Not if I will be encountering you,” she snapped.

“You will not. Unfortunately, I do not make it my habit to test my devices atop the Cotton Exchange building.” He shrugged. “I prefer to do that closer to home.”

“And yet you are here. And not home, wherever that is. On New Year’s Eve, no less.”

“Yes, I am.” Obviously he would say no more about that. “How is your headache?”

The question came as an expected diversion.

“Improving.” Millie gave him a sideways look. “Where exactly is home?”

He sighed. “You will not let the topic go easily? Fair enough. I have been questioned by better inquisitors and survived.”

“Is that so?” She laughed but sobered quickly. “Where exactly did that happen?”

He slung the carpetbag over his shoulder and moved toward the roof’s edge. “I did not say, did I?”

“
Please
open the door once you are down on the ground,” she called as she huddled against the wall out of the worst of the wind.

“As I just said, I cannot do that.” He turned to look at her. “I’m not being deliberately uncooperative. The fact is, I left the key in...well, suffice it to say that per a prior agreement I returned it to its owner by way of leaving it on his desk.” He gestured toward the door. “Which is several floors beneath us.”

Her heart sunk. “I see.”

“Wait...you said you had a key. I do not mind using that to get you out.”

“Not possible,” she said. “I left it downstairs so I would not lose it.”

“Then I will just go down and get it,” he said, as if that were the simplest thing in the world.

“I left it under the rug on the inside of the building,” she amended. “And to be sure I was not followed, I locked the door behind me.”

“As did I,” he said as he slipped the device’s leather straps over his shoulders. “Do you wish me to tell your family, or should I go straight to the police? Perhaps I should find a doctor as well, unless you are certain you are not gravely injured.”

She groaned. “None are options I would choose. And no, my injuries are minor at best, and mostly to my pride.”

The truth on all counts. She would never allow her father to find out where she had gone, and except for an occasional twinge, her head already no longer ached.

“No?” He pulled an object from his pocket and held it up a moment before returning it there. This time the eyes that stared back at her held no amusement. “Well, if you are certain then.”

Was she? Temperatures were plummeting, and she would likely catch her death up here before morning even with the man’s coat. Then there was the issue of what Father would say when she finally was found.

Mildred Cope found shivering on the roof of the Cotton Exchange building? Surely the headlines would not be favorable?

MEMPHIS HEIRESS FREEZES TO DEATH WHILE ENGAGEMENT PARTY GOES ON WITHOUT HER.

She might not actually freeze to death, but she would be most uncomfortable. Hypothermia was a potential threat, though she might find something in the construction rubble to form a makeshift covering until...

Until when?

Until Father arrived to officially join the other members of the Exchange and tenants of the building for the grand opening ceremony? Indeed, she might be able to alert them and the assembled guests and newsmen through her screams.

Then the headline would read:

DISTRAUGHT FIANCÉE OF BRITISH NOBILITY PLUCKED FROM COTTON EXCHANGE ROOFTOP.

How would that look? Of course, that assumed Father and Sir William had made the announcement just prior to midnight as scheduled.

“Wait!” she called to the aviator, who was now standing on the edge of the roof.

He turned, the balloon bobbing a few feet from his head. “What is it? A message you would like me to pass on to the police?”

“No.” She walked toward him. Though her insides quaked at the thought of what she was about to do, Millie kept moving, propelled by thoughts of what might happen should she choose to allow him to leave without her.

“Are you certain we both cannot fit on that thing?” She gestured to the board that held his feet. “I could place my feet inside yours with my back to you. And that strap,” she said as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Could not it just as easily hold two as one?”

He seemed to consider the idea a moment. “The prototype is only made to accommodate one person.” He retrieved his notebook and turned a few pages. “All right, from what I see here, I think it might be possible for both of us to fly together.”

“Think?” She shook her head. “I am not so keen on that.”

He chuckled. “How quickly you change your mind. Typical woman.”

“I take offense, sir. I am a scientist, and a scientist bases decisions on facts, not suppositions. What you have offered is the supposition the machine will fly with both of us attached to it.”

“All right, I will tell you this much. One of the fellows bankrolling the project—”

“So this
is
a project,” she interrupted as she gave one of the ropes a yank. “What sort of project?”

“Something I am not at liberty to discuss due to issues of national security. However, I can say that one of the backers is a certain Mr. Taft, currently of Ohio but soon to be serving our country in a federal position.”

“And?”

“And Mr. Taft is...well, he is not a small man, and he had no trouble on a prior flight.”

“Your flying machine, does it work like the balloons I have ridden aboard in France?” She held up her hand to wave away any protest. “And yes, I realize you prefer I do not refer to this flying machine as a balloon.”

“A similar premise. If you close your eyes, you would likely not know the difference.”

“And yet you appear to be able to steer it with a precision my French aviator friend could not.” When he said nothing, she continued. “All right, I can see you have secrets of your own and are not keen on
sharing them yet. But one promise,” she said as she stopped just out of reach of the stranger.

“And what is that?” he asked, amusement crossing his devastatingly handsome features.

“Should I die and you survive, I would like you to tell anyone who asks that I was kidnapped.”

His laughter swirled around her like the icy wind. “I will do nothing of the sort.”

“Well, then,” she said as she moved a step backward. “May I at least request that you not tell anyone where you found me or how I came to be attached to that contraption with you?”

The stranger seemed to ponder the question a moment. “I am a God-fearing man, miss, so I will not lie. However, should you die and I survive, I can promise I will offer nothing of the circumstances as to how we came to be companions in this adventure. How is that?”

“What assurance do you offer?”

“The assurance that I have both the experience and the training to prove my claim.”

The way he spoke convinced her he was telling the truth. “I suppose that is fair enough. How do we proceed?”

“First, I need your promise that you have no more weapons hidden on your person. I do not want any nasty surprises should we hit the ground a little harder than expected.”

“Just how hard do you expect we will be hitting the ground?”

“I hope it will not be hard at all, but I will not leave this roof unprepared. Answer the question.”

“I have no other weapons.” She looked up at him. “At least none with bullets.”

He quirked a dark brow. “Or blades?”

“Or blades.”

“All right, then. Let’s begin.” The stranger gestured for her to come close, and reluctantly she complied. “It might be a little windy.” He glanced around and then yanked on the leather straps one more time before releasing what appeared to be a length of wood attached with wires. “You will place your feet here between mine,” he said, and she did. “Oh, and it could be a little bumpy, but I am fairly certain we will make it.”

“Fairly certain?” She froze where she stood.

“A figure of speech. Now, come on. Would not you like to be off this rooftop before next year?”

“Next year? Oh, I get it. It’s almost midnight.”

He pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket. “By my calculations we have just about seven minutes to spare.” Snapping the timepiece closed, he returned it to his pocket and then held out his arms to Millie.

“Just so we are clear, there is nothing holding me up here except you, a footrest, and that strap?”

“Sorry, but no.” He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it. “I have a strong interest in arriving on the sidewalk without damaging this device and without either of us acquiring any further injuries.”

“As do I.” Taking a deep breath, she allowed the stranger to position her in front of him and draw her close.

The feeling was not altogether unpleasant, nor was the masculine scent of soap and woody spice that clung to him as she rested her back against his chest.

“All right,” he said as he wrapped what appeared to be a leather belt around her waist and then cinched it tight. “This may be slightly awkward, but you need to be securely fastened in.”

Millie knew a woman like herself with such gentle breeding should not have felt so comfortable in such a possibly compromising situation. She rested her hands atop the belt and gave it a tug. “It appears to be secure.”

Warm hands topped hers to repeat the test she had just performed. Indeed the gesture was most pleasant, though enjoying it lasted only until she remembered their plan to plummet off the building together.

“Expect the sensation of falling quickly followed by a tugging motion that will temporarily lift us up. That will be the rope holding us to the building. Once I am certain we are safe to fly, I will release the rope and we should float down safely to the sidewalk.”

“Should?” she somehow asked through teeth that insisted on chattering from the cold. And yet it was she who wore the coat.

“Will,” he corrected. “Unless you would like me to fly you around some first. My calculations show we have at least another twenty minutes of flying time left.”

“Thank you, but no.”

Even as she said it, however, Millie could not help but feel the least bit intrigued with the possibility.

“No?” he paused. “You have changed your mind so quickly, have you? And you call yourself a scientist.”

She had seen him effortlessly flying the machine. And she had watched him land without any trouble. It was a lovely night. But what if someone saw her as she floated past with a man who was not her fiancé in a contraption that was, per the stranger’s own admission, merely being tested and not yet safe for the masses? And then there was her companion’s lack of proper outerwear, thanks to her.

“I will take your lack of response for a no. You are certain of your health?”

“My health is fine,” she assured him as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Let’s get this over with, please.”

He shifted positions, alerting Millie to their imminent departure. “On the count of four we will be off. For your part, just hold on tight and try not to make any sounds that might alert anyone to our flight. Can you do that?”

Millie glanced down from the dizzying height to consider the distance to the ground.
Other than scream
, she wanted to ask.

“I will try,” was what she said instead as she closed her eyes again.

The stranger turned them around so that they were facing away from the rooftop. The next maneuver would likely be to jump.

Or float.

Or fly.

Or whatever one called releasing all good sense and suspending oneself five floors off the ground tied to an experimental plaything.

Lord, please carry us down. I do not want to die yet, and I simply cannot do anything to prevent my move to England.

“Praying would not hurt,” the man added. “If you are of a mind.”

Millie opened her eyes and swiveled her head to look up into his face. “I am. And I already have.”

His expression faltered a moment, and then his smile returned. “Good. So have I. Now, on four. One—”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“I do not even know your name.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “No, you do not. Nor do I know yours.” He was silent for a moment. “Propriety would demand that we exchange names, but for reasons I prefer not to discuss, I am not keen to share mine. What about you?”

She thought of the ramifications of the stranger knowing where to find Father to tattle on her. Of what her father might think. Or say. Or do.

At the best he would be horrified. At worst, her engagement to Sir William would be ended and her deportation to England derailed.

“Good point,” she said. “Do forget I mentioned it.”

“Mentioned what?”

“Exactly. So how do you guide this contraption?”

His hand pointed toward a collection of pulleys hanging beneath the bottom opening of the balloon. “I can lift or lower the device by using these two and create a forward or backward speed by—”

“You are telling me you can fly this thing backward?” Millie shook her head. “Stop teasing me. That goes against the theories of air resistance as put forth by Cayley...”