When Sparks Fly (4 page)

* * *

Martin paced the floor in his study, shedding clothes as he went. First he tossed his constrictive coat over the chair by the fire, then dropped his choking cravat on his desk. It had been years since he'd had to dress formally for dinner, but after making such a spectacle of himself that afternoon, he'd wanted to show that he
could
behave with some semblance of propriety.

And it had seemed worth it at first, when Miss Bancroft had looked at him with a clear feminine interest. After that, even the children's endless questions hadn't plagued him overmuch, not while Miss Bancroft had been offering him her pert comments and occasional soft smile.

Though he'd reminded himself that she was only being nice to him because she didn't know the gossip, he couldn't help enjoying it. Or her endearing habit of pushing up her spectacles every few moments. Or the sweet way she chewed on her plump lower lip whenever something startled her.

Like his outburst at the end. He winced.
That
had made her eye him with horror. You'd have thought he'd threatened to murder her cousins, not merely take them in hand.

He hadn't meant to lose his temper, but the idea of those children gamboling in the barn where he did his experiments chilled his soul.

Not that his threats had helped. The lads were still ­curious—he'd seen it in their eyes. Tomorrow he'd have to pack everything up before they decided to start exploring. He couldn't be here to keep an eye on them—this close to Christmas and Boxing Day, he had several duties to perform involving his estate. And the lads wouldn't take his stricture seriously. Boys their age never did.
He
hadn't.

But girls were another matter.

He groaned, remembering the cherub's tears. He hadn't meant to startle her, poor lass. Nor Miss Bancroft, either.

Another groan escaped him. Hell and blazes, he'd ruined everything. Miss Bancroft would have no more soft smiles for
him
.

It was probably just as well. Eventually she would learn about the gossip and have the same reaction as everyone else. Even if she didn't, he couldn't allow a woman in his life. So he was better off
not
growing to like her too much. Thinking about her too much.

“My lord, might I have a word with you?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of that lilting voice. Did the woman read minds, too? And what did she mean by sneaking up on him in his own study—he'd retreated to this wing of the house for a reason, blast it!

“What is it, Miss Bancroft?” he said through gritted teeth, hoping his tone would put her off from what was sure to be a lecture.

It only seemed to embolden her. She actually entered the room and closed the door. “I need to speak to you about the children.”

“So do I.” Might as well have it out before someone got hurt.

He faced her, then caught his breath.

She looked entirely different without her spectacles, more approachable and less like a schoolmistress. Though not a raving beauty, she had wonderful eyes, and her skin held a youthful glow that made him think of peaches in spring—soft, tender peaches a man could sink his teeth into. And her lush figure—

“Where are your spectacles?” he bit out, to take his mind off what he wanted to
do
to that figure of hers.

“Where is your coat?” she countered, reminding him that he was dressed inappropriately for a gentleman alone with a lady.

He resisted the urge to make himself more presentable. After all, he hadn't asked her to invade his study. “It's where I always keep it when I'm not expecting company. Tell me, do you even
need
the spectacles?”

She gazed at him, perplexed. “I wouldn't wear them if I didn't.”

“You're not wearing them now.”

“True.” A sigh escaped her. “The fact is . . . well . . . I thought it might be easier to talk to you if I couldn't see you.”

That was
not
the answer he'd expected. She'd seemed so sure of herself this afternoon. And how could leaving off her spectacles make it easier to talk to him? “Do you do that with every man or just me?”

“Only men who make me nervous.”

He made her nervous? Of course he did. He made most women nervous.

“But that isn't what I came to discuss,” she went on.

“I didn't think it was,” he said dryly.

“First of all, I realize that we've inconvenienced you greatly.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered under his breath.

A fetching pink color tinged her cheeks. “I assure you that my father will be happy to repay you for any expenditures on our behalf—the food and the doctor and whatever other expenses you may incur.”

“I don't need your father's money.” The idea of her trying to
pay
for his hospitality sparked his temper.

“Of course not, but it's only fair that you be compensated for—”

“I don't want your money, blast it! This isn't an inn, Miss Bancroft, where you place your orders and get what you pay for. You'll have to make do with what I can offer. And if you can't, feel free to leave whenever you wish.”

A stiff smile tightened her lips. “You know perfectly well we can't do that.”

“Then you'll have to put up with my inadequate hospitality.”

“I didn't say it was inadequate!” Her expression showed sheer exasperation. “Goodness, you are so prickly. ‘You would rouse to anger a heart of stone,' as Sophocles says.”

He blinked. “You're quoting
Sophocles
? What sort of heiress are you?”

“I happen to read a lot,” she said defensively. “Poetry mostly. Which you would have found out for yourself if you'd conversed with us at dinner instead of blustering and shouting.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That is exactly why people gossip about you. Has it occurred to you that they might call you the Black Baron because of your black temper?”

If she only knew. “Thank you for the commentary on my character, Miss Bancroft. Now, if you'll excuse me—”

“I'm not finished,” she said blithely. “As I was saying, we're very grateful for your taking us in under difficult circumstances.” She paused meaningfully.

“But?”

“But it does not give you permission to alarm the children.”

He hated it when she was right. “I wasn't trying to alarm them,” he said testily. “I was trying to make sure they don't go near my barn, something
you
might consider helping me with.”

“For goodness' sake, what's so important about your precious barn?”

“It's full of explosives.”

“Explosives!” Her eyes widened. “Why on earth would you keep explosives in your barn?”

“I've been developing a fuse to make them safer for the mine. It requires experimentation with black powder and sulfur and the like, all of which are highly dangerous.”

“But why
here
? Why not do it there?”

“Because too many people have access to things at the mine. There's too much chance for a visitor or a stranger to get hurt.” As Rupert had. “I can keep a better eye on things here. My servants know they risk their positions if they go anywhere near that barn or let anyone else near it.” He scowled at her. “But your cousins may be a problem, given how unpredictable boys are.”

That seemed to dampen her fire a bit. “If you would just explain to them about the explosives—”

He snorted. “Right. Tell a lot of curious lads that there's a barn full of exciting chemicals next door. That would be like setting a match to the powder. Didn't you see how your cousin's eyes lit up when he asked if I kept rifles in there? Don't you know
anything
about boys that age?”

“No, I don't!” Her tone held desperation. “I'm not used to taking care of them!”

She had a point. According to Huggett, their nurse had been clever enough to escape corralling the rambunctious cubs during the holiday. He could hardly expect their rich cousin to step into her shoes with any degree of competency.

“Then here's a little lesson for you,” he said. “Boys of that age enjoy blowing things up.
I
certainly did. It's how I got interested in explosives in the first place. And if your rascal cousins find out I've got something as fascinating as black powder in my barn, it'll be impossible to keep them out.”

She sniffed. “Well, now that you've roused their curiosity, they're sure to attempt it anyway. Keeping them in the dark is as bad as telling them the truth.”

“Then give them a lie, blast it! Tell them whatever you like—I don't care. Just keep them away from that barn!”

“I'll do my best,” she said with a weary shake of her head, “but I can't make any promises. They have minds of their own sometimes.”

“Fine. But if they follow their minds into my barn, I will tan their hides.”

“You will not!” she protested. “You have no right!”

“That won't stop me.”

She planted her fists on her shapely hips. “If you lay one hand on those boys, I swear I'll make you regret it.”

“Really?” he said, choking down a laugh. With her green eyes snapping at him and her bosom shaking beneath her low-­cut gown, she looked like an avenging angel. Or at least an avenging dairymaid. “And what exactly will you do?”

Clearly she hadn't thought that far. “I'll . . . I'll . . . tell my father,” she said stoutly.

“Go ahead.” He stalked toward her. “Tell him that I disciplined his reckless nephews to keep them from killing themselves. I'll wager he takes
my
side in the matter. He knows what explosives can do.”

She paled as he neared her. “He still won't approve.”

“Let him disapprove—that won't change how I behave. He can thrash me senseless, for all I care.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Papa is nearly fifty—he can't possibly thrash you.”

“Then what do you hope to achieve by tattling on me to him?” He came right up to where she stood before the closed door and loomed over her in a deliberate attempt to intimidate her. In this one matter, he meant to have his way.

Straightening her spine, she stared him down. “Step back, sir.”

He leaned one arm against the door. “Or what? You'll tell your papa?”

“I'll do this.” She promptly kicked him in the shin.

“Ow!” he cried as he pushed back from the door and bent to rub the sore spot. The chit had quite a kick, blast it.

“
That
is for acting like a beast,” she said primly. “And if you continue to do so, to me
or
the children, I shall kick the other shin. Just see if I don't.”

Turning away, she reached for the door handle, but he caught her by the arm before she could leave. He swung her around, ignoring her expression of outrage, then swiftly bracketed her body between his two arms to trap her against the door.

“So I'm behaving like a beast, am I?” he bit out. “Very well, since you refuse to be sensible about your cousins, you might as well kick my other shin. Consider it an advance payment for when I am forced to tan those boys' hides because they've ventured where they shouldn't!”

He hadn't meant to lose his temper again, but he'd never liked being threatened, and certainly not by some society chit.

“If you don't move back, sir, I
will
kick you again,” she retorted, though her cheeks grew flushed and her voice had lost some of its fervor.

Suddenly he realized just how close she was. Suddenly he was painfully aware of how full were the breasts that rose and fell between them, how close were the hips pressed to his. In that moment he didn't care about the boys or the barn or her father. Especially when she chewed nervously on her lower lip, her plump lower lip that tempted him to taste and touch and sample its sweetness.

His gaze fixed there, and his breath quickened . . . along with his blood and pulse and everything else in his body that responded to her soft, warm flesh.

“Go ahead and kick me,” he said in a guttural voice. “You're probably going to anyway after I do this.”

Then he lowered his head to kiss her full on the lips.

Chapter Four

Dear Cousin,

My neighbor is a respectable married attorney with three children. But if you find those credentials insufficient, you're always welcome to look in on me yourself.

Curious about your identity as always,

Charlotte

E
llie was shocked into immobility. An attractive, virile man was sealing his mouth to hers. And he wasn't after her fortune.

That had never happened. For that matter, only two men had
ever
kissed her, and neither kiss had been like this. Warm. Searching. Thorough.

Very, very thorough. His lips played over hers with the heady assurance of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. And to whom. What an intoxicating thought! A man was kissing her because he wanted to.

No, that couldn't possibly be the reason.

She drew back to search his face for an explanation. “Why are you—”

“I don't know,” he said, clearly flustered, though his eyes had turned a molten silver that made her heart race. “You just looked like you needed kissing. And I wanted to be the one to do it.”

His gaze trailed down to her mouth, and he swallowed. Then he cupped her chin in his hand, running his thumb along her lower lip. “I'm afraid you'll have to delay kicking me in the shin a little longer.”

“What?” That was all she managed before he was kissing her again.

Only this time he did it differently, his thumb pressing her lips apart so he could dart his tongue inside, first warily, then more boldly. It was the most thrilling thing a man had ever done to her.

Her bones wobbled, then liquefied. If he hadn't been holding her against the door, she would have slid right down it. Which left her only one choice—throw her arms about his neck so she didn't fall.

No wonder Robert Burns spoke of being “by passion driven.” She seemed to be vaulting into the unknown without a rope.

When her hands locked about his neck, he uttered a sound low in his throat, then dragged her closer, pressing his weight into her, engulfing her with his heat. She could feel the rich warmth even through his lawn shirt. His tongue did heady, wicked things to her mouth, delving and plunging and making her giddy with the pleasure of it—

“My lord?” came a voice so close it sounded as if it were right at her head. That was followed by a knock that made them both jump. “Are you in there?”

Mr. Huggett! Oh, dear.

Lord Thorncliff muttered an oath under his breath, but didn't move away. She didn't mind. She rather liked the feel of his body plastered to hers. It was cozy. And very intimate, especially when his hot gaze pinned her while his hand trailed to her ribs, then her hips, in a caress that left small fires blazing wherever it passed.

“What is it, Huggett?” he asked in a throaty voice.

“I told Miss Bancroft I would speak to you—” the butler began.

“It's all right.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She already did herself.”

“But I promised her—”

“Good
night,
Huggett,” Lord Thorncliff said firmly. “I'm sure whatever you have to say can wait until morning.”

“Very well, sir,” came the butler's reply, followed by footsteps retreating.

Silence reigned. Painfully conscious of how close they'd come to being discovered in a compromising position, Ellie slid from between the door and Lord Thorn­cliff.

The reckless kiss had astonished her. Flattered her.
Confused
her, especially having come from the churlish baron. She couldn't look at him or catch her breath, and her belly churned alarmingly, making her feel jumbled up inside.

What was a proper lady to say after a man kissed her senseless?

Actually she wasn't supposed to let him kiss her senseless in the first place.

“Forgive me, Miss Bancroft,” he said. “I should not have . . . that is, I know it was impertinent of me to . . .” He trailed off awkwardly.

“It's all right.” At least he felt as strange about it as she did. “I didn't mind.”

“There's that, at least.”

The odd statement made her glance at him. He suddenly looked very young to her. “How old are you?”

The question seemed to startle him. “Twenty-­seven. Why?”

“I thought you were . . . older,” she said inanely. “But . . . well . . . you're not terribly much older than I am.”

A shutter darkened his features. “I'm not looking for a wife,” he said bluntly.

After what they'd just shared, the words were a slap in the face.

She must have recoiled, for he cursed, then added, “That didn't come out right.”

“Still, I understood it.” Dragging the remnants of her dignity about her, she forced a smile. “Fortunately I'm not looking for a husband.” She had to escape before he realized how he'd upset her. “With that being the case, I'd better go.”

“Miss Bancroft, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't—”

“I'll see you at breakfast, sir,” she said before he could make it any worse than it already was. Ignoring his muttered curse, she hurried out.

She managed to restrain her tears until she reached her room, but had to pause outside the door once they started leaking out. Meg generally slept through anything, but she mustn't awaken to find Ellie crying her eyes out. It would mean excuses and secrets no five-­year-­old could keep. And Ellie would die before she allowed Lord Unpredictable to learn how his cold statement had wounded her.

Curling her hands into fists, she fought for control over her wildly surging emotions.
I'm not looking for a wife.

Of course he wasn't. Not a plain wife like her, anyway. She leaned against the door. A titled gentleman could have his pick of the ladies, foul temper or no.

Why bother to kiss her, anyway? She thought back to their conversation. Oh, of course. He'd probably figured it would distract her from his threat to punish the boys. It had, too.

Given his probable financial difficulties, she should be glad he hadn't schemed beyond that. If he'd allowed Huggett to discover them in an embrace, he'd have accomplished what no fortune hunter had managed. And that would be disastrous. Truly.

Tears stung her eyes again. It was a pity that she didn't
feel
as if she'd made a narrow escape. But who could blame her? He was the first man to rouse her desire.

A disturbing thought wafted through her mind—was it possible that desire could compensate for the disadvantage of having a man marry her for her money?

Don't be absurd. Nothing compensates for that, and you know it
.

Then why did it hurt so much that he'd rejected her? She ought to be glad.

A sound from the stairwell startled her. She couldn't stand out here all night, nursing her wounded feelings. Goodness knew they'd been battered before; she would survive this time, too.

Slipping inside, she undressed, donned her night rail, and joined Meg in bed. The dear girl cuddled up to her when she lay down, and Ellie clung to her for comfort.

But even Meg's sweet smell couldn't make Ellie forget what had happened. If not for his mortifying comment, Lord Thorncliff would fit her fantasy image of a husband. He was certainly dangerous and wild. Though she wasn't sure about the poetry in his soul, there was plenty of poetry in his kisses. She lay awake for hours, replaying every moment.

Even after she fell into a fitful sleep, she dreamed she was a ragweed growing among lilacs. When Lord Thorncliff came to pluck flowers, he trod upon her without noticing, and all she could do was lie there crushed.

After a night of such misery, she was awakened far too early, when the boys rushed in shortly after dawn. “Meg! Ellie! You have to look outside!” they cried as they danced about the bed. “The snow is everywhere!”

Tim tugged on her arm. “Come on, get up! We want to make snowmen!”

“Go away,” she groused, burying her head in the pillow. She was
not
in the mood for her cousins.

They didn't care. They bounced on the bed until Meg kicked them crossly. The ensuing scuffle meant there would be no more possibility of sleep.

The children wanted to go right out, but she insisted upon their washing up and stopping in to say good morning to their mother before she made them dress warmly. After that, only Mr. Huggett, with his promises of hot muffins and treacle, could tempt them to stay inside any longer.

As the boys gulped their breakfast, Mr. Huggett bent to say in a low voice, “I understand that you spoke to his lordship about the stone barn last night.”

Fighting a blush, she rose and led him out of the children's earshot. “I did indeed. He explained to me about his . . . er . . . experiments. Unfortunately I fear that his reaction at dinner merely heightened the boys' curiosity.”

“Perhaps the footmen and I should aid you in keeping them entertained.”

“No, Lord Thorncliff made it very clear he can't spare any of you,” she said. “Besides, we're already taxing his meager resources to their utmost, and I wouldn't wish to make that any worse.”

“His meager resources?” Mr. Huggett said with surprise.

“It's all right.” She patted his arm. “I assure you none of the servants have been gossiping, and I understand why you can't discuss such things with strangers. But I drew my own conclusions. The lack of staff, the condition of the manor . . . clearly your employer is having financial difficulties.”

Mr. Huggett closed his gaping mouth, then gave her a considering glance. “As you say, it would be wrong of me to discuss the matter.”

“I understand. That's why I spent last night considering how to manage the children by myself.” During those periods when she was trying
not
to remember Lord Thorncliff's thickly muscled arms and poetic kisses. “Since you and the staff can't be spared to gather the usual Yuletide greenery, I thought the children and I could do it. It would be a way to repay his lordship for his kindness while also keeping the boys out of trouble.”

“Gathering greenery!” Mr. Huggett exclaimed, a strange gleam in his eye. “What an excellent idea, the perfect pastime for the young gentlemen.”

She nodded. “We've done it for the last few years, so we know what to gather and how. The boys climb trees like little monkeys. I've already spoken to my aunt about it, and she heartily approved. I had some concerns about their handling an axe, but she says Percy has done it before, and his friend Charlie seems sturdy enough. I will need some items from you, however.”

“Certainly! We have the axes, of course, and you'll require a cart if you're to gather a great many branches.” He lifted one eyebrow. “You
were
planning to bring enough for the entire manor, weren't you?”

“Oh yes, as much greenery as we can find.”

“Be sure to strew it everywhere,” he said, with an odd glee in his voice. “We could use a touch of the season around here.”

“We'll make it very nice. A grand house as lovely as this deserves no less.”

He eyed her closely. “So you like the place? You don't find it gloomy?”

“Gloomy! Certainly not.” She cast a quick glance around the great hall, with its oak-­paneled walls, its aging tapestry hanging at one end, and its weathered floors. “It reminds me of a drawing I once saw of the Royal Palace of Hatfield, where Queen Elizabeth loved to stay. It's the sort of ancient English house that makes me think of glorious days of yore.”

Then she colored. “Forgive me, I read a great deal of poetry. Sometimes it seeps into my conversation.”

“Nothing wrong with that—it gives you a certain sparkle.”

She laughed. “I don't know about that.”

“Trust me, Miss Bancroft.” With a genial smile, he led her back to the table. “You mustn't let the master's grumbling dim your spirits. You are the brightest thing to have landed on our doorstep in a long time, and you should enjoy yourself. You
and
the children.”

“Very well,” she said, feeling less melancholy. “I shall certainly try.”

* * *

It had taken Martin half the day to pack away the chemicals, black powder, and flints he used in his experiments. It had taken him far longer to stop thinking of Miss Bancroft and her wonder of a mouth. Even riding to the mine to make sure the weather hadn't created problems for the men hadn't driven her from his thoughts.

With a groan, he washed up at the basin in the mine manager's office. But though he splashed icy water on his face, it didn't wash the taste of her from his lips or freeze the warmth that rose in his loins whenever he thought of how yielding she had been, an irresistible blend of fire and innocence. And if he could actually court her—

Court her! He must be mad. He couldn't court anyone, certainly not now, when he was so close to hitting upon the right formula for what he called his “safe fuses.” Even after he developed the right mix of powder and the mechanism for conveying it to the explosive, it could take months to test it under different conditions. No woman should be around during such experimentation. It was too dangerous, too distracting.

Besides, Miss Bancroft still didn't know that marriage to him could brand her for life in society. Marrying her would only lend fuel to the fire, too—they would say he married her for her fortune, just as they said he killed his brother for the title and property.

Never mind that he didn't want the title or need her fortune. He didn't follow society's rules for gentlemen, so that gave them excuse enough to gossip about him. God only knew why
she
wasn't put off by his lack of courtly manners.

Or perhaps she was. Certainly his idiot comments after kissing her last night hadn't endeared her to him, judging from how the color had leached from her face. Perhaps he
should
tell her about the gossip to push her over the edge. She would retreat to a safe distance, removing temptation from his reach and ending any chance of unwise intimacies.