She had been thrown clear of the gondola. But what of her passengers? Miss Glory? Erno? Reverend Allgood? Rory raised her head, attempting to call out their names, but her voice came out in a wheeze. God, how it hurt to talk, even to breathe. When she tried to move, everything hurt. She must have broken every bone in her body this time.
Rory blinked, shaking her head to clear it. She managed to get some air into her lungs in a few pain-wracked gulps and then raised herself up onto her elbows. She was alarmed to find herself draped by heavy yards of blue silk, but only for a moment. She had crept about beneath the balloon’s envelope to attach rigging enough times that she did not feel unduly worried at the prospect of being smothered by the Katie Moira’s collapsed weight.
She crawled forward, trying to find her fellow travelers. Perhaps she hadn’t broken any bones after all. The chief hindrance to her movement was the damn dress, its folds tangling about her legs. It seemed to take forever to reach the edge of the balloon cover. She did not know whether to feel encouraged or alarmed when she did not encounter the forms of any of her passengers.
Beyond her, she became aware of muffled voices, the thud of running feet. Brushing aside the edge of the silk, she poked her head out and felt the welcome rush of cool air against her cheeks. As she struggled to rise, her hand came down upon the toe of a man’s shoe. Her nose all but collided with a pair of legs encased in elegant gray trousers.
Hunkering back on her heels, she tipped her head up. There seemed no end to those long legs, but she did come eventually to large fists propped against flat hips, a silk waistcoat straining across a hard stomach and broad chest, a pin-striped coat set over powerful, squared shoulders.
Rory had a hazy memory of having glimpsed those shoulders, that tall frame before. Of course, he was the one who had tried to help by attempting to grab on to the balloon’s tow line. But as Rory stared upward into the stranger’s face, he did not look so helpful now. In fact, he looked very much as if he were ready to murder her.
Two
The breeze tossed dark strands of hair across the man’s forehead, but it did nothing to soften his harsh expression. Rory took brief note of his inflexible jaw, his slightly crooked nose, his heavy black brows drawn together, but it was his eyes that caught and held her. Dark eyes, magnetic eyes, roiling-with-fury eyes. The mere contact of his gaze made Rory feel as though she had crashed all over again.
He reminded her of a thunder god she had once read about in school—that is until Sister Mary Margaret had caught Rory and rapped her knuckles for studying myths instead of her catechism.
When the man bent down and reached for her, Rory shrank back instinctively. His hands caught her about the waist and hauled her to her feet, not ungently but in a manner that brooked no resistance.
Rory swayed slightly. She braced her hands against his chest, could feel the tension coiled there and drew back as though she had been scorched.
“You all right, miss?” The question was curt, but the solicitude seemed genuine enough.
Rory nodded, struggling to catch her breath.
“And where is he?”
“Huh?” she croaked, puzzled by the angry question.
“The jackass,” the man said, his restrained rage breaking through. “The fool who dumped this thing on—Never mind!”
Rory was still trying to make sense of his words when he released her. The force of that bludgeoning stare turned elsewhere. He strode away from her to where several other gentlemen were helping the Reverend Titus Allgood to free himself from beneath the balloon. The little minister looked as if he were about to kiss the ground and every one of his rescuers.
“Thank you, Lord, thank you,” he said, casting his eyes heavenward. His quavering gratitude disappeared when he saw the tall, angry man bearing down upon him. Rory watched in astonishment as the man seized the minister by his collar.
“You stupid bastard! If I find you have injured anyone, I’m going to break your neck. I’ll give you five minutes to get that damned balloon of yours off this lawn.”
Reverend Allgood was too terrified to get out even a squeak of protest. Rory thought the minister looked about to faint again and hurried to intervene. She winced at a sudden shooting pain in her ankle, but she still managed to hobble forward.
She tugged at the angry man’s sleeve. “You’re making a mistake. He’s only the minister who performed the wedding ceremony.”
The man’s dark eyes flashed at her again, but he did not release Mr. Allgood. “What?!”
“We had a wedding in the balloon.” Rory yanked on the man’s arm until he let go of the minister.
“Congratulations,” the man grated. “Then I collect it’s your new husband I want to kill.”
At that unfortunate moment, Erno emerged from beneath the balloon, pulling his bride after him. Glory Fatima appeared in blushing splendor, her charms all but spilling free from herspangled bodice, much to the admiring gasps of the men and the shocked cries of the ladies.
Rory was relieved to see the rest of her passengers unharmed, but the relief was short-lived as the furious man prepared to descend upon them. What was the matter with this fellow—charging down upon people like a raging bull without waiting for explanations?
Rory limped into the man’s path, nearly colliding with the wall of his chest. “Erno is not my husband. That is his wife and it’s not their balloon either. Who the devil are you anyway to go about threatening everybody?”
“I’m Zeke Morrison and this is my property.”
“Oh.” So this was John Ezekiel Morrison, the millionaire she had heard so much about. She might have guessed as much, except that Morrison didn’t look mysterious or sinister, merely bad tempered.
“Would you mind telling me who owns that contraption?” he demanded.
