When Sparks Fly (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Dear Charlotte,

Men don't believe that women are cautious because we witness their recklessness time and again. Even you must admit you let your emotions lead you into trouble.

Your cool-­headed cousin,

Michael

E
llie laughed, giddy at the thought that he really
did
want her, incredulous at his willingness to let fear for her safety come between them. Here she'd spent the entire day feeling sure that he didn't care for her, and
that
was what worried him?

“I mean it, blast you!” Martin said angrily, stepping back from her. “It's too dangerous here at Thorncliff.” From the look on his face, he really believed what he was saying. “What I do has risks.”

Ellie sobered as he began to pace his study in quick, jerky steps. “I realize that. And I'm not asking you to give up what's important to you. But your servants live here safely while you perform your experiments.”

“Notice that none of them are women. That's done on purpose.”

“Because women catch fire more easily than men?” she quipped, incredulous that this was his reasoning.

A scowl knit his brow. “Mock me if you want, but my male servants accept the risks. No female can be expected to do so. It's bad enough that I require
some
staff, but the idea of a poor maid dying because she passed the barn at the wrong moment—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I could never bear the thought.”

“Yet you could bear the thought of a male servant dying in an accident?”

“No!” He swore under his breath. “You don't understand. I keep my staff small to lower the risks. But a wife needs more servants—maids and footmen and a nanny for the children . . .” He cast her a horrified look. “
Children
. God help me! Can you imagine? You've already seen how hard it is to control
them
.”

“If you don't tantalize them with warnings about the mysterious barn, and if you teach them from the beginning to be cautious, they can be controlled as well as anybody. So can servants.” She thrust out her chin. “
And
a wife. There's no reason people can't follow reasonable precautions if they know the purpose.”

“The way you followed reasonable precautions last night?”

“Oh, for goodness' sake, that could have happened to any of us! Besides, you put out the fire before it half began, and I would have done so if you hadn't.”

“The point is—”

“The point is,” she cut in, “you act as if the rest of the world is generally safe, but it's not. Fire is a constant threat in the best of homes, what with candles and coals and sparks from the hearth.” She ticked things off on her fingers. “People take falls down stairs—will you block off your stairs, too? And it was purely by God's mercy that my aunt didn't die in that carriage. Or that we weren't sent flying into the trees when we skidded on the ice. Shall you banish carriages from your life, too?”

“If that's what it takes to keep the people I love from dying, then yes!”

And just like that, she understood his fears. It had naught to do with anything rational—it sprang from a deeper source. Instantly her heart went out to him. “Oh, Martin, I'm so sorry.”

He cast her a wary glance. “For what?”

She walked up to cup his cheek in her hand. “For everything—for what happened to your brother. For what that has done to you.”

His eyes were a stark, steely gray as they locked with hers. “I don't know what you mean,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes you do.” She caressed his beard-­stubbled jaw, wishing she could soothe his wounded soul just as easily. “This is about punishing yourself for Rupert's death.”

He closed his eyes, his throat working convulsively. “It has nothing to do with punishment,” he ground out.

“Doesn't it? You could have put an end to the gossip by telling your story and brazening out the rumors. Instead you trumped up these ridiculous reasons for staying here alone, cut off from anyone who might care about you. Because you're doing a self-­imposed penance for Rupert's death.”

“No . . .” he whispered, and tried to move away.

But she looped her hands around his neck and wouldn't let him go. “Yes. It hurts less to condemn yourself to a life alone than to face the hard truth that life is not safe. That you can't control what happens to those you love. That some things must be left to fate.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your guilt gives you an excuse not to get too close to anyone, so you don't risk it happening again.”

“You don't understand.” His eyes blazed at her, dark in their torment. “I would die if you were hurt. Or our children or—”

“So would I.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “But the answer is not to deny yourself family or friends or love. That only poisons the soul. Samuel Johnson said that ‘Solitude is dangerous to reason, without being favourable to virtue.' By condemning yourself to this lonely life, you save no one, not even yourself.”

“But by bringing you into my life, I risk putting you into danger.”

“No more than the danger you put yourself into every day. As long as we face it together, I can handle any such dangers.”

A muscle flicked in his jaw as he stared at her. “And what if
I
cannot?”

“Then you condemn me to a life of loneliness as well—to serve your penance with you against my will.”

“I don't believe that. Surely others will see what a jewel you are, men who can give you everything that I . . .” He choked on the words.

She took advantage of his jealousy. “And that's what you want?” She stretched up to brush her lips across his throat, desperate to make him understand what he'd be giving up. “For me to find some other fellow?”

His pulse beat hard beneath her lips. “I want you to be safe and happy.”

“In another man's bed?”

He uttered a low curse.

“Letting him do all the wonderful things you did yesterday when you put your hands on me?” she went on ruthlessly. “Letting him kiss and caress me—”

“No, blast you, no!” he growled, covering her mouth with his hand. “You know that's not what I want.”

When she kissed his palm, he seized her chin and stared at her a long, painful moment. Then another oath exploded out of him, and he took her mouth with his.

As he kissed her with a savage passion he'd never shown before, she exulted. Here was the fervent lover she'd imagined in her dreams, who couldn't live without her. He couldn't seem to get enough, plundering her mouth as his hands roamed her body to take wanton liberties with a reckless urgency that thrilled her.

“Ellie,” he rasped as he branded her cheeks and jaw and brow with burning kisses. “Ellie . . . why must you persist in bedeviling me?”

“Because that's what it takes to have you,” she answered truthfully. “And I am willing to fight for what I want.”

A rough laugh escaped him. Then he scooped her up in his arms and stalked toward a door at the back of the study.

“Where are we going?” she breathed.

“You win, love.” His raw gaze pierced hers. “You wanted a night of passion, so I'm taking you next door to where I've been sleeping this past week.” His voice grew husky. “I'm taking you to my bed.”

Her heart leaped. Having him make love to her was more than she'd hoped for. But as they entered the room, she knew it would never be enough. Even his temporary lodgings bore traces of him—a monogrammed shaving set left askew on a table, a black waistcoat dangling from a chair post, the scent of saltpeter he could never erase from his clothing . . .

She buried her face in his chest. She didn't want to think about tomorrow.

Apparently neither did he, for he set her down beside the bed and began to claw off his clothes, a wild creature wanting freedom from the trappings of civilization. “You think you can handle the dangers, do you?” His eyes darkened to slate as she took down her hair and undid her gown. “You think you can live with my unpredictable hours, my unsociable moods, my risky experiments.”

The unspoken promise of a future that lay in those questions made her heart leap. “Yes.” She shimmied out of her gown. “I'm not afraid of danger or risk.” As he ravished her with his gaze, she reached back to untie her corset. “And I'm not afraid of
you.
”

“Such a brave little soul,” he growled. Now wearing only his drawers and shirt, he slipped behind her, clearly too impatient to wait for her fumbling attempts to remove her corset. As his fingers worked the laces loose, his mouth burned a path of kisses up from her shoulder to her ear.

“But I wonder,” he went on, “how brave you'll be once you see what's to come.” He dropped her corset to the floor, then filled his hands with her breasts, kneading them through her chemise. “I wonder how you'll react once you realize the many wicked, lascivious things I want to do to you—”

“Do them all!” she cried, turning into his arms. “Every single one!” She tore open his shirt in a frenzy of desire, and when he yanked it off she reveled in the sight of his bare chest, swathed in muscle, ornamented with black curls, and all hers for the taking. “Do everything, I beg you.”

“God help me,” he muttered as she explored him
with her hands, his breath growing more ragged by the moment.

When she paused shyly at the waistband of his drawers, he caught her hand and urged it inside to caress him
there
. “You said you weren't afraid. . . .” he taunted her.

“I'm not,” she said shakily, though she wasn't sure what to make of the hard, thick length of him. Seeing the modest privates on statues had given her a rather different expectation of what a real man's might be like. “I must say this is quite a substantial . . . collection of parts.”

With a ragged laugh, he moved her hand to his buttons. “Then take off my drawers. Let's see just how brave you really are, love.”

She did as he bade, feeling a bit nervous. But that was nothing to what she felt when she unveiled his rigid flesh, saw it thrusting forward boldly, eager for her perusal. “Heavens,” she whispered, half in excitement, half in alarm.

“Still want your ‘night of passion'?” he asked hoarsely.

Her answer was to slip off her chemise, then climb onto the bed and lie back with a tremulous smile. His eyes went wide, then scoured her with excruciating leisure, taking in her heavy breasts, her rounded belly, her wide hips.

“I was wrong,” he uttered in an aching whisper as he followed her onto the bed. “You're not merely pretty, love. You're beautiful. More beautiful than any man could ask for.”

Her tears started anew, not only because of his words, but because of his worshipful expression. She'd never hoped for such from any man, and now . . .

Now he lavished his reverence on every part of her that she'd maligned for being unattractive. He molded her breasts, licked at her belly, fondled her between the legs until she ached so badly for him that she began to beg for release. By the time he rose up to press his flesh against her tender parts, it was almost a relief.

His gaze played hotly over her body as he prepared her with his fingers. “So warm, so lovely,” he murmured, easing himself inside her. “And all mine.”

“Yes, yours.” She clung to his shoulders, more than a little anxious at the unfamiliar sensation of having him there, so palpable and hard and insistent.

“Be brave a little longer, love,” he whispered, his brow taut with the effort of taking his time with her. “If you can hold on, I promise not to make it too awful.”

Awful?

Then he drove himself to the hilt inside her. The surprise of having him seated so deeply startled her more than it pained her. Then he began to kiss her above, and move inside her below, and even
that
fleeting pain was swiftly forgotten.

Because she was riding with the corsair, undulating over seas, hastening before the wind, toward adventure and discoveries and, yes, danger. The more he moved, the more she craved it, arching to meet his plunges, digging her fingernails into his back.

“Ellie . . . love . . . I want . . . I need . . . God help me . . . I need
you,
” he rasped as he brought her closer and closer to the pleasure he promised with every shattering thrust.

“I need you, too,” she whispered, afraid to tell him that her feelings were far more reckless than mere need. “Take me, Martin.”
Forever.

Then they were climbing higher, farther, faster, until they crested a wave to crash in a glory of wild, impetuous danger.

She cried out. Or perhaps he did. All she knew, as he shook and strained against her, was that she would rather die than leave him after this.

Did he feel the same? The question plagued her even as he slumped upon her, his mouth dragging languid kisses along her cheek and neck and hair. While he slid off to lie beside her, she tried to ignore the pesky question, preferring to savor the simple joy of having him pull her close, nuzzle her ear, and twine his fingers idly in her hair.

But as he settled himself against her with a sigh of pleasure, she knew she had to ask what their lovemaking meant for the future. Perhaps
he
thought it was settled, but he'd said nothing about love
or
marriage amidst all the sweet words he'd murmured. If this was to be only the night of passion she'd asked for, she had to know, so she could begin learning to hide the broken pieces of her heart.

“Martin,” she whispered after a moment.

Silence. She drew back to stare at him. His eyes were closed, and his breathing steady and even. Why, the unfeeling wretch was asleep!