When Sparks Fly (5 page)

That didn't appeal to him, either.

Cursing himself for caring, he donned his clean waistcoat and coat, then headed for home. Darkness had fallen hours ago. He was late for dinner. Not that he minded—he'd rather avoid sharing another meal with Miss Bancroft. She was too potent a temptation, blast her.

He rode up in front and handed his horse to the groom. The smell of fresh-­cut cedar assailed him as he neared the entrance. He blinked. There were branches hung over his door. When and how had
those
got there?

Huggett. Of course. His infernal butler had ignored his orders! Just wait until he got his hands on the miscreant. Having strangers in the house had emboldened the man to greater heights of impertinence than usual, and he wouldn't stand for it!

Throwing the door open, Martin tramped inside. “Huggett! Get out here, you wretch! You know damned well what I think of this Christmas humbuggery!”

A voice piped up from the window. “Why do you call it humbuggery, sir?”

He whirled to find a dark-­haired lad standing there alone, staring at him with wide eyes. It wasn't a Metcalf; it was the friend. Charlie Dicks or Dickers or some such.

He could hardly tell the boy the truth—that anything to do with Christmas reminded him how he'd failed Rupert.

Then he glimpsed a burst of red color over the lad's head. God help him, the branches over the front door weren't the only ones. Greenery adorned every archway and window and mantel in the great hall. Whorled knots of it dotted the dining table, surrounding thick yellow Yule candles that, according to tradition, weren't to be lit until Christmas Eve. He walked about in a daze, noting how the branches were braided together, entwined with bright red ribbons that erupted at the ends into flamboyant bows.

This wasn't the work of Huggett. Only a woman could do this. One woman in particular, to be exact.

“What do you think?” came the hesitant voice of his tormentor, who'd apparently entered the room while he was looking it over.

Praying that she hadn't heard what he'd said to young Charlie, he faced her. Then he caught his breath, his blood jumping into a frenzy.

She stood surrounded by the other children, ablaze in a gown of fashionable red satin that displayed her lush breasts more temptingly than any Christmas treat.

She didn't seem to notice him gaping at her delicious bosom, for she babbled on. “Mr. Huggett was kind enough to let us into your attic where the Christmas ribbons and such are stored. Fortunately there were even some unused Yule candles. I suppose you stored them from a previous Christmas.”

He forced his gaze back to her face. “My mother probably did. My brother always got new ones from town, and I . . . er . . . haven't used any since . . . well . . .”

“His lordship says Christmas is all a humbug,” Charlie tattled.

As a stricken look crossed her face, he corrected hastily, “I didn't say that. Well, not
exactly
that. And I was referring to Mr. Huggett's habit of letting his other duties lapse so he can make the manor more festive. I didn't realize that Miss Bancroft—”

“We didn't use the footmen or Mr. Huggett, I swear,” she assured him, her hurt expression fading. She pushed up the spectacles that had slipped charmingly down her nose. “The boys and I did it all—went into the woods to cut the greens, found the ribbons and candles, and hung the branches. The only thing Mr. Huggett did was direct us where to look. And provide us with a cart.”

“And let you into the attic,” he said dryly. He'd wager Huggett had been behind it all.

But his anger was already waning. Oddly enough, the greenery reminded him less of that horrible Christmas when Rupert had been killed than it did his childhood holidays, when Mother and Father had still been present at their Christmas feasts. The bright memory of it burst through his senses, and he had to turn away to hide the quick pain of loss that followed.

“Well, you did an excellent job,” he choked out. “It's spectacular.”

“So you do like it,” she said, the whole tenor of her voice changing.

He nodded, unable to speak. That freed the children to swarm about him, pointing out what parts they'd done, how Percy had chopped the branches with an axe, and how Tim and Charlie had braided them under “Ellie's” instruction.

Although he'd heard them call her Ellie before, he hadn't realized how well it suited her. “Miss Bancroft” or even “Elinor” sounded very elegant and high society. “Ellie” sounded like a fresh-­faced country lass that a man could tumble in the hay.

By God, he mustn't think of her like that!

“Is everyone ready for dinner?” asked Huggett from the doorway.

Martin shot Miss Bancroft a surprised glance.

“We didn't want to eat without
you,
” she explained. “That would be rude.”

Rude or not, no one had ever held dinner back for him. He didn't count the trays Huggett made sure were waiting in his study once he got around to ending his work for the day. That wasn't dinner—that was filling his belly.

Dinner was what his mother had presided over every night until her death ten years ago. And even she had said that if he wasn't at the table when it was served, he wouldn't get any. That had happened often enough, since he'd been the sort of contrary child to absorb himself so fully in his scientific experiments that he lost track of the time.

“Sir? Shall I have the footmen serve?” Huggett asked.

Martin looked at his butler, this time noticing how nervously he stood watching for his employer's reaction to the greenery. Huggett's question went beyond the matter of dinner. The man was asking for approval. He knew perfectly well he'd overstepped his bounds by encouraging Miss Bancroft and the children. Now he wanted absolution. The question was, would Martin give it to him?

He had to. Because chiding Huggett would mean chastising Miss Bancroft, and Martin couldn't bear to wound her again.

Forcing a smile to his face, he walked to the head of the festive table. “Yes, Huggett, have the footmen serve. We're ready to dine.”

Chapter Five

Dear Charlotte,

Be careful, my dear. One day when you least expect it, I may indeed show up on your doorstep and reveal myself to be nothing at all as you imagine.

Your cousin,

Michael

O
ver the next two days, Ellie noticed that she and Lord Thorncliff had muddled their way through to a sort of truce. He seemed less prickly. She couldn't attribute it to their decorating, because Charlie insisted that his lordship had called
that
“Christmas humbuggery.” The man had said something similar about the caroling when he'd rescued them. Clearly he had a peculiar dislike of the season.

Yet he'd not only tolerated their efforts, but was trying to be friendly in his own fashion. Although he spent his days elsewhere while she and the children explored his extensive grounds, he joined them for dinner at night. He even sat with them afterward in the parlor with the walls painted to resemble walnut paneling. He would go through the newspapers, or watch the children play charades, or listen to her read aloud from Byron's
The Siege of Corinth.
Sometimes he actually read to the children himself.

But the camaraderie ended after she brought the children up to bed. Then he disappeared, and they reverted to being strangers again. Even if she returned to the parlor, he didn't. Sometimes, as she read alone or sat with Aunt Alys in her room, she wondered if she'd imagined their amazing kiss.

On their fourth night at Thorncliff Hall, with Christmas Eve coming in two days, the children suggested that they play snapdragon.

“Are you mad?” his lordship said. “It's out of the question. There will be no burning bowls of brandy in
my
house.”

“It's not that bad, you know,” she put in, though his response didn't surprise her. “If you take the proper precautions—”

“The best precaution is not to play it at all. Such humbuggery gets people killed.”

“Snapdragon?” Percy said skeptically. “It's but a parlor game, sir. Our mother lets us play it every year.”

“Then your mother is a fool.” When the children bristled at that, he scowled and rose to his feet. “Forgive me, I'm not fit company this evening.”

And with that abrupt pronouncement, he left.

What on earth? She would have thought that a man who experimented with explosives would find snapdragon harmless, if not boring. It certainly didn't get people killed. That was ridiculous!

As she stared after him, Percy turned to her. “Can we play it
now
?”

“No, indeed. It would be rude to go behind his lordship's back in his own house.”

That ended the discussion. But later, after the children were tucked in and Ellie sat on her aunt's bed relating the day's events, that last encounter stuck in her mind. She wanted to understand why he was so prickly and unpredictable.

So she asked her aunt a question she'd been reluctant to voice until now, having not wanted to alarm Aunt Alys unnecessarily. “Have you ever heard of a gentleman called ‘the Black Baron'?”

Her aunt let out a heavy sigh. “I wondered how long it would take for you to hear of our host's reputation.”

“You
knew
?”

“Of course. One of the children mentioned the nickname, and I remembered the rumors. At first I was concerned, but he's behaved nothing but kindly to us. In my opinion that speaks louder than any gossip.”

“Exactly,” Ellie said. “Just because he's the most cantankerous fellow in Yorkshire is no reason for people to despise him. He may sometimes be rude and leap to conclusions about people with absolutely no reason, but—”

“You like him.”

“Yes.” She caught her aunt's knowing expression. “No! I-­I mean, not how you think. I'm merely grateful to him for giving us aid, that's all.” As her aunt's eyebrows arched higher, she protested, “He's not my sort, much too uneven in temper. Besides, any man who thinks Christmas is humbuggery isn't suitable marriage material.” Even if he
were
interested in marriage. Which he wasn't. But she wasn't about to reveal that embarrassing truth to her aunt.

“You can't blame him for not liking Christmas, given that his brother died during the season.”

“What? How did you know
that
?”

“Everyone knows. The man was killed in a mine explosion.”

“Oh, dear.”
That
was the reason Lord Thorncliff disliked Christmas—because it reminded him of a painful time. Her stomach roiled—how awful of her to have pursued her plans without a care for his opinion! What he must have thought, have felt . . .

But wait, surely Mr. Huggett had known. Why hadn't he stopped them?

“That's why they call our host the Black Baron,” her aunt went on. “Some people hold him responsible for the accident.”

“Why?” Ellie asked. “What happened?”

“No one's really sure, which is why people invented nasty stories to explain it. It seems his lordship's late brother hosted a house party here at Christmas, and the guests witnessed the two men arguing. Then the present Lord Thorncliff stormed out and went to the mine, followed by his older brother. Some time later, an explosion occurred. And that was the last of Rupert Thorncliff.”

“That doesn't mean our host is responsible.” She couldn't have mistaken the abject grief on Lord Thorn­cliff's face at the mention of his brother's death.

“No, of course not, and an inquiry exonerated him of any blame. But he did inherit everything as a result, which is why some said that the younger brother took the opportunity to gain the title and the property.”

“I don't believe it,” Ellie said stoutly.

“Neither do I.”

Ellie's righteous indignation grew the more she thought about it. “Why, he doesn't even seem to care about the title. He's certainly shown no interest in lording it over people. He speaks of society with disgust.”

“I think that's part of the problem. His brother was a sociable fellow, loved and admired for his gregarious manner and generosity to his friends. Whereas from what I understand, Lord Thorncliff was much as he is now. People tend to side with the people they like, even if it flies in the face of logic.”

“But they shouldn't spread gossip without knowing the circumstances.”

“I agree.”

“The Black Baron, indeed. That's just
cruel
.”

“Absolutely.”

“They ought to be ashamed of themselves!”

“Certainly.” Her aunt's lips tightened as if she fought a smile. “But I don't know why you care if you're ‘merely grateful to him for giving us aid.' ”

Ellie dropped her gaze. Her aunt saw far too much. “I just don't like to think of anyone being branded a villain wrongly.” Giving an exaggerated yawn, she rose, too full of emotion to endure more probing. “I think I'll retire now. The children want to hunt for a Yule log tomorrow, and that will be exhausting.”

“Sleep well, my dear,” her aunt said softly.

Ellie pressed a kiss to her cheek, then headed into the next room. But as she settled into bed beside Meg, the mystery of the previous baron's death continued to absorb her.

The very idea of Lord Thorncliff arranging his ­brother's death was so unfair! She couldn't believe it. She wouldn't believe it. Nonetheless, she spent a restless night in lurid imaginings that only ended when she fell into a dreamless sleep in the wee hours of the morn.

When she awakened, she realized two things at once. She'd slept later than usual. And the house was quiet. Too quiet, given that the boys generally woke at dawn. Even Meg was missing, although a peek into Aunt Alys's room revealed her curled up with her mother, having a story read to her.

“Where are the boys?” Ellie asked.

Aunt Alys looked up. “Outside, I imagine. Percy said that's where they were going while they waited for breakfast. I told them to let you sleep.”

Had the boys headed into the woods alone? Surely not. It wasn't like them to go so far without breakfast. But a niggling sense that something was wrong made her rush to the window in her room that overlooked the woods in back. As she threw open the casement, she heard a roar that was unmistakably his lordship's.

Oh, no, the stone barn. A quick glance showed the boys frozen in their tracks at the door as his lordship stalked toward them. Bother it all, that wasn't good.

After throwing her cloak over her night rail and buttoning it up swiftly, she shoved her feet into her half boots. Then she fairly flew down the stairs and out along the path to where the barn squatted a short distance away. As she neared the group, she spotted the barn door's padlock, with what looked like a wire hanging out of it. They'd tried to pick the lock? He was going to kill them!

Lord Thorncliff hoisted Percy and Charlie in the air by the backs of their coats. As Tim stayed well out of his reach, he raged at them all. “Do you never listen to anyone, you fools? I said not to go near it, and I meant it! By God, I'll cane every one of you for this—”

“My lord, please!” she cried, hurrying forward.

As he turned a wild-­eyed gaze on her, she stopped short, remembering the terror on his face when he'd ranted about why they must stay away from the barn. What had he said? That he kept things in 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.

Like his brother?

Oh, Lord,
that's
why the idea of anyone going near his explosives enraged him. And probably why he was experimenting to find safer ways to use them, ways that she and the children were jeopardizing by their mere presence here, since he seemed reluctant to work on his experiments while they were his guests.

How could she blame him for being angry at the children? He was trying to keep them safe.

“I have to punish them,” he said in a hollow voice, his eyes fixed on her.

She swallowed. “Yes, you're right.”

He blinked.

“What?” Percy cried as he squirmed in the baron's grasp. “Ellie, you can't let him cane us!”

Glaring at Percy, she crossed her arms over her chest. Aunt Alys wouldn't be happy about this, but neither would she want to see her boys blown to bits. “He warned you not to go near it. He couldn't have made it more clear. You were the ones who didn't heed his warnings.”

“I
told
you we should have waited!” Tim cried at the two older boys. “I told you he hadn't left the manor yet!”

Lord Thorncliff's face flushed a mottled red. “You thought to avoid me, did you?” He shook Percy. “Young fools—thank God I had to fetch something out here. One day you'll be glad of it, even with the caning I mean to—”

“Please, sir, don't!” Charlie cried as he wriggled in the air. He had enough sense to realize that bargaining was their best chance now that Ellie wasn't taking their side. “We swear this is the last time we'll ever go near your barn!”

“Damned right it is!” the baron growled and shook them both again.

“Please don't cane us, sir!” Percy chimed in. “We won't do it again, we swear!”

“You expect me to believe that?” he said gruffly.

She couldn't help noticing that he still hadn't done more than growl at them.

“Upon our souls, we swear it!” Percy said. “Tell him, Ellie!”

It was good to see someone put the fear of God into the boys. “Tell him what? I'm not sure you can be trusted, either.”

“Ellie!” Tim's clear sense of betrayal vented itself in violent tears. “We only . . . d-­did it because you . . .
w-­wouldn't let us p-­play snapdragon.”

“So you're saying it's
my
fault?” she retorted.

“Shut up, Tim!” Percy cried. “You're not helping!”

But Tim was wound up now. “I-­it's s-­so boring here . . .” he said between sobs. “Our toys a-­are at home a-­and Mama is . . . always tired, and you—”

“For the love of God,” Lord Thorncliff grumbled, lowering the boys to the ground. “Don't blame this on your cousin. She's been running herself ragged trying to keep up with you lot.”

She shot him a surprised look. “How did you know?”

“I've got eyes, haven't I? Besides, when I get home, Huggett tells me everything that you . . .” Coloring a little, he muttered an oath under his breath, then turned a scowl on the boys. “All right—I won't thrash you, but you'll spend the rest of the morning scrubbing pots for Cook. Is that clear?”

The boys bobbed their heads vigorously.

“After that, you must promise to stay with Ellie at all times. Otherwise—”

“We promise, we promise!” Percy cried.

Her breath caught in her throat. Not only had the baron softened his stance toward the boys, but he'd defended
her
. He'd even used her given name. Did he realize that? Did it mean anything?

With a glance at the still-­sniffling Tim, he sighed. “And if you uphold your promise and behave yourselves today . . .” He cast them a considering glance. “Then we'll play snapdragon tonight.”

The boys stared at him, stunned, then let out a whoop of joy. “Snapdragon!” they cried, dancing about him. “Snapdragon tonight!”

“
Only
if you behave!” he shouted over the din. When that sobered them, he lowered his tone. “Because if I catch you near this barn again, I'll thrash you within an inch of your lives. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” they cried in unison.

“Now go eat breakfast. I'll be along shortly to inform Cook of your duties.”

They needed no more excuse to head for safety inside. But Ellie didn't follow them. Instead she watched as Lord Thorncliff unlocked the padlock to make sure it still worked, then went inside the barn. She trailed in after him.