Gabriel stopped. He faced the viscount, hard-pressed not to do the man violence. Indeed, were they not in full public view, he would do him violence, and hang the consequences.

“She’s told you what has transpired, I presume?” Compton asked.

“Every cursed detail,” Gabriel replied. He glanced after Effie. Parker was standing back from the balloon with a mutinous scowl, permitting her access to the wicker gondola. She climbed inside of it to retrieve Franc.

“It needn’t affect our business together,” Compton said. “So long as I have your word that Wingard’s papers are safe, and that you had nothing to do with Miss Flite’s regrettable actions, I am prepared for our arrangement to continue on the same terms.”

Gabriel’s gaze returned to his. “Our arrangement is finished,” he said. “You’re finished.”

Compton blanched. “Now see here, Royce—”

A shout drowned out the remainder of the viscount’s words. “What in blazes are you doing?” a fellow exclaimed. “Don’t touch those ropes!”

Gabriel turned sharply in time to see the balloon floating swiftly upward. The ropes that had secured it dangled from beneath. Someone had untied them from their moorings.

Parker.

The hulking brute stood back, admiring his handiwork with a leer of triumph.

Above him, Effie peered over the edge of the gondola in pale-faced horror. She held Franc tightly in her arms. “Gabriel!”

Gabriel’s heart leapt into his throat. Good God! She was still inside the basket! He sprinted toward the escaping balloon at a full run.

Parker moved to block Gabriel’s path on the grass. “You’re too late. That thieving she-cat is getting exactly what she—”

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. Drawing back his fist, he delivered two punishing blows in quick succession, one to Parker’s jaw and one to his injured left ear. Parker staggered back, stunned. Before he could recover his senses, Gabriel slammed his forehead straight down on the bridge of the butler’s nose. There was an audible crunch as the bone shattered.

Parker fell to his knees with a shrill cry, clutching his bleeding face.

Gabriel would have liked to continue the well-deserved beating, but there was no time. Catching the dangling rope in both hands, he pulled it with all his might.

“Gabriel!” Effie’s voice carried from the gondola, high-pitched with fright. “Don’t let me fly away!”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Gabriel shouted back to her.

A man in a shabby coat and cap ran to assist him. Another workman joined them, and then another. Together they heaved on the ropes to no avail. The balloon had caught a northeasterly wind. The ropes were already unfurled to their full length. The men’s arms stretched above them, struggling to hang on. If they persisted, they would be lifted off the ground right along with the balloon.

“It’s too late,” the first man gasped. “The scoundrel has thrown off some of the sandbags.”