What if she understands that, too? What if she’s willing to accept what you feel compelled to do?
He snorted. She could never fully understand the dangers. All it would take was her coming into the barn one night to call him to dinner, bearing a candle in her hand . . .
No, he wouldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t risk her.
She would call his fears irrational. And perhaps they were, but that didn’t change the terror that gripped him whenever he pictured her laid out on the ground like Rupert.
Still, he had to tell her something, give her a compelling reason to make her think twice about marrying him. “Your father would never agree to a match between us. I’m sure he’s heard the rumors about me, too.”
A strange unease crossed her face. “Does his approval matter to you?”
“No, but I imagine it matters to you.”
His answer brought a smile to her face. “You have no idea how little it matters. Besides, he’s a reasonable man. When I tell him the truth of what happened, he’ll see that you weren’t at fault.”
He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Not everyone has your forgiving heart, Ellie.”
“Father will listen to me, I swear.” She thrust out her chin as she slid off the table and straightened her night rail. “If I make it clear that I want to marry you, he won’t object. He wants only my happiness, after all.”
She knew so little about men. “I’m sure he does. And he’ll know that marrying me won’t add to it. For one thing, you won’t be accepted in polite society. If you marry me, you’ll be the Black Baron’s wife. Have you considered that? They’ll gossip about you, too—they’ll say I married you for your fortune or some such rot, and they’ll think you a monster for marrying the man whom everyone believes murdered his brother.”
Her eyes flashed sparks. “I don’t care.”
“You will, in time. You don’t know how to handle being cut off from people, being whispered about and avoided—”
“You seem to handle it well enough.”
“That’s because I don’t like people. Except for you.” When she smiled at that, he sharpened his tone. “I don’t care about society but you were bred for it. You’re a society female. I won’t have time for shopping jaunts to London and Sheffield and York, and you won’t want to make them after you see how people react to me there.” That was doing it up a bit brown, but how else was he to nip this attraction before it tempted him beyond his sanity?
She glared at him. “Have you noticed nothing about me in the past few days? As it happens, I’m perfectly comfortable in the country. I like to read and sew and go for long walks. I’m not remotely a ‘society female.’ ”
“Did you or did you not go to an expensive ladies’ school?” he asked.
“Yes, but—”
“And were you presented to the queen? Did you dance at Almack’s? Did all your friends do the same?”
“What has that got to do with anything?” she demanded.
“You said you weren’t a society female. I’m reminding you that you are.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added hastily, “It’s the right kind of life for the daughter of Joseph Bancroft.”
“And what about for the wife of a lord of the realm?” she snapped.
“In society’s eyes, I am only a lord because I killed my brother. The rules for other men of rank don’t apply to me. Trust me, the Black Baron can’t give you the kind of life you deserve.”
“Perhaps I don’t want that kind of life!”
He shook his head. “You don’t know what you want. How can you, after only a few days moldering here at Thorncliff? Give it another week, and you’ll be bored senseless.”
“And you won’t even allow me the chance to find out, will you?” she snapped as she buttoned up her cloak. “You’re throwing me aside out of some dubious attempt to protect me from . . . from nonsense.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you I don’t care about any of that, and if you choose not to believe me—”
“I choose to do what I think is right for you. You deserve better.”
“Absolutely,” she said hotly. “I deserve a man who wants me.”
“I do want you!”
A blush darkened her fine skin. “If you wanted me, you’d find a way to have me instead of making a lot of excuses.”
“They’re not excuses!”
At that moment, they heard noises outside. Hell and blazes, he’d forgotten that he’d asked a groom to saddle his horse half an hour ago. That’s when he’d seen the boys trying to get in.
Huggett’s voice drifted to where they stood. “I couldn’t find him in the house, so he’s got to be out here.”
“P’raps,” the groom said. “It ain’t like him to keep me waiting so long.”
“My lord?” called the butler from a healthy distance, since he knew better than to approach the entrance.
“Blast it all,” Martin hissed under his breath. “I have to go.”
“Well then, go,” she said with a sniff as she turned for the table. She hunted until she found her spectacles, then put them on.
When she made no move toward the door, he growled, “I’m not leaving you in here alone.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Ignoring his proffered arm, she hurried ahead of him, her sweet hips swaying in a motion that made him wish he could take back everything he’d said.
He moved swiftly up beside her, grabbing her arm just in time for them to walk out together. “I’m here, Huggett. I was just showing Miss Bancroft the barn.”
As the two of them emerged into the painfully bright morning sunlight, Huggett and the groom gaped at her. Too late, Martin remembered that her hair was down, though the rest of her looked presentable enough.
“You allowed Miss Bancroft into the barn?” Huggett said meaningfully.
Martin was just about to give his presumptuous butler a piece of his mind when Ellie answered. “Actually I followed him in there, which is why he’s kicking me out.” She shot Martin a cold glance. “Thank you for the tour, my lord.” Breaking free of his grip, she gave him a cool nod, then headed toward the house.
As he watched her flounce off wearing the cloak that barely shielded her charms, something twisted inside him. Perhaps he was only making excuses. Perhaps a marriage was possible. He could still run after her and beg her to forgive him, to stay with him and share his life. . . .
His dangerous, solitary life.
He shook off the impulse. “Huggett, I told the boys they have to scrub pots for Cook as punishment for trying to enter the barn. See that they do it, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” he said. As the groom hurried off to where the horse waited in front, Huggett fell into step beside Martin. “Miss Bancroft has lovely hair, does she not? It compensates for her rather plain appearance.”
“Plain appearance!” he snapped. “Are you mad?” When Huggett arched one eyebrow, he groaned. “Give it up, man. I’ve told you I can’t have a woman about the place.”
“Why? Because she might make it warm and cozy? Enliven your days?” Huggett’s voice grew pitying. “Free you from your blind obsession?”
Anger swelled in him. “Watch it, Huggett!”
“Forgive me, sir,” the butler murmured. “I didn’t mean to presume.”
Martin increased his pace. Of course the blasted man had meant to presume. He always presumed.
But that didn’t mean he was wrong.
As Martin mounted his horse, he tried to ignore Huggett’s apt description of his life. His “blind obsession” had a worthy purpose. If his experiments were successful, he might save hundreds of lives.
While destroying your own.
He snorted as he rode toward town. He’d been fine before the Metcalfs had come to shatter his peace. Before Ellie . . .
A visio
n of her face rapt with pleasure swam before him. God help him, he wished he’d never seen them on that road. Until then, he’d existed in a blessed numbness that enabled him to do nothing but work.
After knowing her, would he ever be able to do that again?
* * *
Ellie spent her morning in a state of fury. Martin and his assumptions! Society female, indeed. He didn’t know her at all!
But as the day wore into afternoon, even the task of finding a Yule log with the boys couldn’t stop certain thoughts from invading her mind.
Be honest, Ellie. You would miss dancing at balls, and you would want to do some shopping. And what about visiting the school in London or going to see Lucy? Could you really give that up?
She wouldn’t have to if he would just tell people what had happened with his brother. He was merely being stubborn. And proud.
And realistic. Rumors tended to take on a life of their own. Perhaps the nastiness would fade once he married, but it could also increase. The gossips might simply work her into the tale, as he’d said.
She didn’t care! As long as she and Martin were together, it didn’t matter. With a scowl, she tromped over a rotting stump. It wasn’t right. He was a good man. He deserved to have friends around him, and good society, and a wife who loved him.
Loved him?
As the truth hit her like a branch falling from the sky, tears sprang to her eyes, making it hard for her to see where she was going. Look what he’d gone and done—the fellow had made her fall in love with him! It was so unfair.
Still, she couldn’t help it. Who could not love a man who spent his waking hours trying to better conditions in his mine? A man who didn’t care what people thought of him, as long as he could do his experiments? A man who went to any lengths to keep those around him safe. He’d even made her leave the barn at the end, because he thought it was too dangerous. . . .
Ohhhh. Could that be the real reason behind his refusal to marry her? Out of fear? Or worry that what happened to his brother might happen to her?
She clung to that possibility for one heady moment, since it soothed her aching heart. But much as she wanted to believe it, it made no sense. Why should he worry about her safety? It wasn’t as if she’d be going near the mine. And she was perfectly capable of staying out of his way if asked. It was ludicrous to think he might forego happiness for that.
What made more sense was that he just didn’t want her badly enough to make the necessary adjustments in his life.
She swallowed hard. Because she was plain. He might say he desired her, but plenty of men desired women without wanting them as wives. There’d been no females here in a long time, so Martin might just be randy. That didn’t mean he wanted to spend his life with her.
Dashing away angry tears, she hurried after the boys and the footmen as they headed down another path through the woods. They’d been in search of the perfect Yule log for two hours now, discarding every stupid piece of wood she suggested. Why was the male sex always so fractious and determined to make a woman’s life miserable?
Well, she’d had enough of them all. She wasn’t good enough for his lordship? Fine. She would be cordial and aloof with him from now on.
But that night, as they finished dinner, she wasn’t so sure she could. Martin kept looking at her with an odd yearning that confused her even further. Did he want her or not? What other secrets lay behind that strange and enigmatic gaze to explain the real reason for his not wanting to marry?
Was she just being fanciful? Or was he simply not interested in her because she wasn’t pretty enough to keep his interest?
“So when do we play snapdragon?” Percy asked once dessert was served.
Martin muttered an oath. “I was hoping it had slipped your mind.”
“No chance of that,” she said dryly. Her cousins never forgot a promise, even one made under duress.
“Very well,” Martin said. “I’ll go see to the arrangements.”
“And I’ll take Meg up to bed. She’s too young for this.” She glanced over to where the girl was nodding off. “Besides, it’s late.”
Picking her darling cousin up, she headed for the stairs.
“You’ll come back, though, won’t you, Ellie?” Tim asked.
“Yes,” Martin’s low voice joined in. “Do come back.”
A little thrill darted through her at his words.
But when she shot him a surprised glance, he added, “You can’t possibly expect me to handle these lads without help.”
She stiffened, tempted to tell him he was on his own, but the silvery heat in his eyes kept her from saying it. “Give me a few minutes.”
When she returned, everything had already been arranged. The shallow bowl of brandy held pride of place in the center of the dining table, laden with so many raisins that plucking them out wouldn’t prove much of a challenge, fire or no fire.
Nonetheless, Martin was setting down rules as she approached. “No flinging raisins at other people. Huggett will keep count of how many each of you snatches, and you must abide by his count. Take off your coats, and roll up your sleeves. I don’t want anyone catching their cuffs on fire.”
“What about me?” she asked. “My sleeves are too tight to roll up.”
Alarm suffused his face. “You mean to play?”
“Ellie always plays,” Tim said matter-of-factly. “She almost beat everyone last time. It’s because she has little fingers. She can get in and out quicker.”
“God help us.” Martin cast her a resigned glance. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of it.”
“Not on your life,” she said, though his palpable concern softened her.
“Very well.” He gestured to her sleeves. “Slide them up as far as you can.” He turned to the boys. “If you happen to ignite anything, put it out in one of the pails I placed at each corner of the table. But whatever you do, don’t throw water on the brandy. It merely scatters the fire.”
“Listen well to him, boys,” she put in. “His lordship knows everything there is to know about fire.”
“What I know is that it’s dangerous,” Martin growled.
Everyone roundly ignored him.
Charlie peered into the bowl. “Where’s the lucky raisin?”
“What’s that?” Martin asked.
Ellie produced the gold button she’d brought along just for this purpose. “In London, we add what we call the ‘lucky raisin’ to the bowl. Whoever plucks it out is allowed to ask a boon of someone else among the party.” Dropping it into the brandy, she cast Martin a teasing glance. “And whoever is asked must grant the boon or risk a dire fate.”
Martin arched one eyebrow. “A dire fate, eh? Then I’ll have to make sure I am the one to get it.”
The husky timbre of his voice thrummed along her every nerve. If he thought she’d let him win this, he was in for a surprise. The Black Baron had already won more from her than she could afford to lose. It was her turn to win.
Huggett lit the bowl, then extinguished the candles, leaving only the eerie blue flame playing over the surface. At once the boys began to chant:
“Here he comes with flaming bowl,
Don’t he mean to take his toll,
Snip! Snap! Dragon!
Take care you don’t take too much,
Be not greedy in your clutch,
Snip! Snap! Dragon!
With his blue and lapping tongue
Many of you will be stung,
Snip! Snap! Dragon!”
They’d scarcely finished the final verse when Tim plunged his fingers into the luminous glow to snatch the first raisin, and the game was on.
Bracing herself for the quick heat, Ellie darted forward to grab her own prize. She popped it into her mouth, dancing it about on her tongue to extinguish the fire, then chewing up the hot raisin a
s she reached toward the bowl for another.
For a moment, Martin only watched and shook his head as they complained about their sore fingers even while they thrust them right back in. But then he began grabbing raisins himself with a deftness even she couldn’t match.
“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” he muttered as he tossed a blue-tinged raisin into his mouth and winced.
“Because it’s fun!” she cried, laughing at the chagrin on his face.
When Charlie crowed after snatching up two raisins at once, she noticed that Martin’s lips bore a ghost of a smile.
She bent closer, trying to spot the gold button, no small feat with only the blue flame for light. Just as she caught sight of it Percy did, too, and lunged forward. His arm caught the side of her head, snagging her braid loose of its pins to fall right into the brandy. She still managed to seize the lucky raisin, but not before the end of her braid had caught fire.
As the acrid smell of burned hair rose around them, Martin grabbed her braid and tugged her to the nearest pail. “I knew this was insane,” he grumbled as he dunked it repeatedly. “Snapdragon indeed. You people have no sense!”
“Ow!” she cried, torn between pain and laughter. “My head is attached to that, you know. Stop pulling so hard! The fire is out, for goodness’ sake!”
Releasing her braid, he scowled at her, ignoring the boys, who’d returned to the game as soon as they’d seen she was safe. “What in God’s name were you trying to do by leaning so close to the flames?”
“I was trying to get this.” She held up the lucky raisin with a grin. “And I succeeded, didn’t I?”
“You nearly succeeded in igniting your whole head!” he countered, the panic in his voice mirrored by his expression of dark concern.
“I was fine, really.” She swept her braid up to examine the end. “It’s hardly even burned.”
“That’s only because you have it so tightly plaited. That slows down the rate of—” He broke off, his eyes going wide. “That’s it. Oh my God, that’s it!”
“What’s it?” she asked. “The rate of what?”
But his mind seemed to be elsewhere. Swiftly, he relit a couple of candles, then set a plate over the bowl to extinguish the blue flames.
When Sparks Fly Page 8