by Jane Feather
Lord Thorncliff had bathed. The man who turned from the mantel to greet them bore no physical resemblance to the man who’d rescued them.
He wore the same sort of black coat, waistcoat, and cravat as before, except that these looked freshly washed and pressed. And his face…Goodness gracious, the Black Baron might have a beast’s temper, but he had rather striking good looks. Indeed, he had much in common with Byron’s pirate hero from The Corsair, a work that she persisted in enjoying despite its author’s now shameful reputation. Lord Thorncliff was “Robust, but not Herculean” and his “dark eyebrow” did indeed shade “a glance of fire.” And like the corsair, “Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale, The sable curls in wild profusion veil.”
Except that the baron’s hair wasn’t actually black. It was a dark chestnut brown, with a bit of red glinting in the firelight. And now that he wasn’t covered in soot—and she wasn’t distracted by the children—she could see the true color of his eyes, too: a smoky gray, fringed with long dark lashes.
He wasn’t classically handsome—his face was too angular and his chin too prominent for the sort of refined features that passed for handsome in London. But he was arresting enough to make her weak in the knees. It threw her entirely off guard. Attractive men intimidated her, and that was the last thing she needed around his lordship.
His improved appearance, however, had the opposite effect on Meg, for she went running up to examine him with great curiosity. “Who are you?”
“I’m Thorncliff. And who are you, young lady?”
Recognizing his voice from before, Meg shrank back to stuff her thumb into her mouth.
Ellie stepped forward to smooth over the awkwardness. “Forgive me, sir, I forgot that you don’t yet know their names.” She introduced the children, pleased to see that the boys behaved themselves like gentlemen for once.
When the footmen brought platters of food into the dining room to set on the sideboard, though, the boys went running to see what their fare would be.
“Oh, good, there’s beef,” Tim said as he gazed at a plump joint. “I’m famished near to death!”
“Look, Charlie, there’s ham, too!” cried Percy from the other end. “And pudding.”
“Perhaps we should sit,” Lord Thorncliff muttered to her, “before the lads devour our dinner where they stand.”
And so began their first evening in Thorncliff Hall. Hungrier than she’d realized, she was content to let the boys carry the conversation. They asked impertinent questions about the age of the house, if he had any toys, what streams he fished. His lordship fielded them with good grace, if not great enthusiasm.
Even Meg grew comfortable enough to venture a question. “Why were you so dirty today, sir?”
“Meg!” Ellie chided. “It’s impolite to ask a person such a thing.”
“Yes, indeed,” their host said acidly. “You can gawk at people, make assumptions about them, and gossip about them to your friends, but don’t ever ask someone a direct question. Not if you want to maintain the social order.”
Was he chiding her, the surly devil? “You should listen to his lordship,” she put in. “He’s a master at the direct question.” When his gaze shot to her, she added, “No, wait, it’s the direct order that Lord Thorncliff has mastered. That’s an entirely different skill, but apparently a well-developed one.”
Mr. Huggett made a choking sound from where he stood near the sideboard, but Lord Thorncliff actually laughed. “Yes, it has taken me years to perfect it. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to try it out on someone other than the servants and the occasional coal miner.”
“That’s why you were covered in soot!” Percy exclaimed. “You work at a coal mine.”
“I own a coal mine, actually. It belonged to my father, and then to my older brother when Father died. But I took over the ownership after—” Pain flashed over his face. “After Rupert died three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ellie murmured.
He nodded to acknowledge her condolences, then jerked his head toward Percy’s plate and promptly changed the subject. “So, Master Percy, I see you’re enjoying the beef.”
That sent Percy into raptures about his dinner, but it made Ellie eye his lordship in a new light. Poor man, to lose his whole family so early in life. No wonder he was surly.
When silence fell on the table once more, Meg piped up with another question. “Where’s your smelly greens, sir?”
The baron arched one eyebrow. “Smelly greens?”
“She means branches and that, for Christmas,” Percy said. “You know, to hang on the banisters and mantels. Mama uses cedar. Meg doesn’t like the smell.”
“Ah.”
When that was his only answer, Tim asked, “Well? Where are they?”
“Don’t be rude,” Ellie said. “I’m sure his lordship’s servants will put up the greenery when the time is right.” She couldn’t imagine the man doing it himself.
“But Christmas will be here soon!” Tim shot his lordship a pleading glance. “Will you have them do it tomorrow?”
Lord Thorncliff tensed, but said in a perfectly measured voice, “I can’t spare my staff for such things. There’s few enough to do the work as it is.” When a snort sounded, he glared at his butler. “Especially with the house full of guests. Isn’t that right, Mr. Huggett?”
“Indeed, sir,” Mr. Huggett said in a noncommittal voice.
Now that his lordship mentioned it, he did seem to lack an adequate staff. She’d seen no female servants, and only a few footmen and grooms, a cook, and Mr. Huggett. That might explain the poor condition of the manor.
Or the manor’s sad state might be caused by the same thing that caused the small staff. A lack of money.
That must be it! It explained so much—his snide comments about her fortune, his simple black attire…his intense involvement with the mine he owned. Her father owned a silver mine, but he never came home covered in dirt. Only the men who worked close to the mine did that, and apparently his lordship felt some need to do so. Was his mine failing, perhaps?
And now they were taxing his stores by invading his home. That was surely another cause for his short temper. Like Byron’s corsair, he was “Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,” unwilling to admit his poverty to the world.
She would have to explain that he needn’t go into debt providing for them. They didn’t require roast beef and ham—game hens would do them perfectly well. Or she could find some delicate way of offering payment for their lodgings and food. It wasn’t right to take his hospitality and not do something in exchange.
“Do you have horses, sir?” Percy asked. “You must, for I saw your groom. Could we go riding tomorrow?”
“Not in this weather,” Ellie interjected, not wanting to put his lordship in the awkward position of having to admit he couldn’t afford a stable full of horses. “I doubt your mother will want you riding when there’s ice on the ground.”
His lordship sat back in his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But when the ice has melted, I have no objection to your making use of my stable. I don’t have enough mounts to go around, but you could take turns.”
“What’s in that stone barn Percy and I spotted out the back window—” Tim asked.
“Stay away from that barn!” Lord Thorncliff snapped, his countenance abruptly darkening. When he caught her raising an eyebrow at him, he added, “This is one direct order I expect to be obeyed, Miss Bancroft.”
“As you wish, sir,” she said in a caustic voice, but the boys weren’t so compliant, especially after his unexpected vehemence.
“Why?” Percy asked. “What do you keep in there?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” his lordship growled.
“Is it where you keep your hunting rifles?” Tim said excitedly.
“No, blast it all!” His chair scraped the floor as he rose to his full height. “Don’t go anywhere near it! Because if you do, I swear I’ll take a s
witch to the lot of you! Is that understood?”
No one had ever threatened to lift a hand to her aunt’s coddled boys. They gaped at him, utterly incapable of answering.
“For goodness’ sake, Lord Thorncliff—” she began.
“Is that understood?” he repeated, pounding his fists on the table.
The boys visibly jumped. Then their heads bobbed furiously.
Meg burst into tears.
That seemed to jerk Lord Thorncliff out of his fit of temper. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, an almost comical expression of horror passing over his features. Then he let out a low curse and stormed from the room.
“Ellieee!” Meg cried, holding up her arms.
Ellie immediately went to sweep her up, her heart thundering in her ears after that violent display from the man she’d been feeling sorry for. He’d banished that impulse. How dared he threaten the children?
“I don’t like the mean man!” Meg sobbed. “I-I want to g-go home!”
“We’ll go soon,” Ellie assured her as Mr. Huggett hurried over. “I promise.”
“You must forgive my master, madam,” Mr. Huggett said in a low voice. “I am sure he did not intend to alarm you, but he is very…particular about the barn.”
“Yes, he made that quite clear,” she snapped. “Though I don’t see why he had to be so forceful about it.”
“No, madam, you are right. I shall speak to him.”
The butler then launched into soothing them all, offering the children desserts, accompanying them upstairs to sit with their mother for a while, helping Ellie prepare them for bed even though that wasn’t something butlers generally did.
But although Mr. Huggett offered plenty of suggestions for what the children could do to occupy themselves the next day and answered the boys’ questions about the coal mine, when it came to his employer, he was as mysterious as a sphinx. She’d never seen a servant less inclined to gossip. Any question about the baron or his barn was met with “You must ask his lordship,” and any sharp comment about his lordship’s temper gained the response, “He is under a strain, but I am sure he will be better tomorrow.”
She wasn’t so sure. Nor was she entirely certain that Mr. Huggett would speak to the baron as promised—or that if he did, it would do any good. But after watching Meg cry herself to sleep and the boys lie whispering together in their beds, probably plotting a secret mission to uncover the magical mysteries of the stone barn, she decided she’d better not leave the matter to the butler.
She wasn’t about to let their bullying host take a switch to her cousins. Even if she had to beard the lion in his den.
-o-O-o-
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—”