Enchantée(51)

“And loud.” Secretly, though, she didn’t mind. If anyone were to be calling her name, she was proud to have it be this handsome boy.

“Soon busybody Madame Lamotte will be down in the street, curtseying and squinting at him. Better hurry, Camille.”

The less Madame knew of Camille’s affairs, the better. She unhooked the latch, felt the window frame tilt unsteadily around her, and leaned out. “Monsieur!”

He looked up. “Mademoiselle Durbonne!” His voice bounced against the buildings on its way up to her. “I’ve come with a surprise!”

Etiquette said she should ask why, delay, pretend that she was doing something he’d interrupted, but all she could think of was taking her cloak and hat and racing down the seven flights of stairs.

Sophie gave her a little shove. “What’s wrong with you? Say something!”

“Oh? What is it?” Camille called back, flinching at the foolish words as they came out of her mouth.

“Bien s?r, to fly!”

“Oh, Camille,” Sophie gasped, “he wants you to fly in his balloon!” She squeezed Camille’s hand. “Say yes!”

Fly? Sweat pricked on Camille’s back. She could barely manage to go out on the roof. To fly in the sky? She thought of the way the ground had dropped away under her when she’d caught the balloon. That had been only a tiny distance off the ground and she’d thought she might die. “I can’t go up—in the balloon,” she said to Sophie. “I’ll fall out.”

“Is the great magician, Camille Durbonne, afraid?” Sophie said gleefully. “Afraid to fly through the air? Afraid to say yes to a boy?”

She was. And what if it was more than that? What if, when he got to know her better, she was nothing like what he imagined she might be, like a coin turning back to a nail? Or, what if she cared for him and he did not feel the same? What if she lost, again?

Lazare stood, waiting. He was waiting for her.

Sophie gave Camille a little shove. “You’ll never know unless you say yes.”

“Monsieur, tell me this first,” Camille called. “Have you found a better kind of ballast?”

Lazare looked puzzled, then threw his head back and laughed. “Of course! No problems with the landing this time. I promise.”

So many promises.

Camille took a deep breath. A breeze from the street lifted the ends of her hair and twirled them around her face until they flew like banners. Yes, something deep inside her demanded. Say yes to this.

“Alors, if you’ve solved that problem, then yes. I’ll come.”

“Fantastique!” Lazare stretched out his arms like wings, as if he would lift off right there in the street.





26


She found Rosier waiting in the carriage when she came down to join Lazare.

“Mademoiselle!” he said, his words tumbling out. “You will make us a part of aeronautical history! A girl, in a balloon, in the air! Who else has done it? No one, that’s who,” he said, before Camille could respond. She didn’t care one whit about aeronautical history. At this moment, all she cared about was remaining in the balloon without her body flinging itself over the basket’s wall.

“Just imagine the poster we will print!” Rosier sketched a rectangle in the air. “You in the chariot, soaring above the waters of the Seine. Perhaps next time your sister will join us. Sisters Soar Across Paris!”

“Please,” Camille said from between clenched teeth. “Don’t speak of it.”

“What?” Rosier said, chastened. “Have I offended?”

“C’est rien,” Lazare said. “Just leave Mademoiselle be.”

Camille was finding it hard to speak. Her mind hadn’t stopped racing since she’d seen Lazare in the street, and now he lounged on the seat opposite her. Though he’d bent his long legs at an angle to make room for her, his knees still pressed against her petticoats. It felt too hot in the carriage. She wanted to lower the window.

Rosier tapped on the glass, startling her. “Could you draw a map, mademoiselle?”

She shifted in her seat, which only brought her closer to Lazare’s legs. “Why?”

He appraised her, like a thief casing for a heist. “It’s Armand. He doesn’t want you on the balloon, especially his balloon. I’ve tried to tell him that your being there will be a boon to our finances—First Girl in the Air!—but he has no vision.”

“It’s not his balloon.” Lazare tucked an arm behind his head and stretched back against the upholstery. “Not even close.”

“He thinks it is. Therefore, I scheme. If Mademoiselle were to draw a map, one that we might use to raise money for the balloon flight over the Alps—”

“That’s all?” Camille asked. “He won’t have any other objections? Say, that I’m a girl and not a boy?”

Rosier made an irritated noise. “Bah! That you’re a girl? That’s precisely the point! Armand is a fool. His brain’s been addled by fumes. And numbers.”

“He’s not the only one whose brain’s been addled,” Lazare said. He’d thrown his head back against the top of the seat, and Camille tried not to stare at the curve of his throat, the tender spot under his jaw where his pulse beat, slowly, slowly. He was so at his ease and she was so utterly unsettled. It wasn’t just the idea of going up in the air, though, that was her most pressing concern. There was also him.