When Sparks Fly (7 page)

“No,” he agreed, but instead of releasing her, he drew open her cloak to stare at her. “But I want to touch you, just a little. Will you let me?”

“Someone might see,” she protested weakly, glancing toward the open door.

“Not without coming inside. The boys won't, your aunt can't, and the servants know better than to go anywhere near this barn, much less enter it.”

“Even Mr. Huggett?” she asked.

His feverish gaze burned into her, making her blood run hot. “Even Huggett,” he rasped. Taking her by surprise, he lifted her onto the worktable, then reached inside her cloak to cup one breast.

It felt
soooo
good, nothing like she would have expected. He fondled her breast shamelessly, and when she arched just as shamelessly into his hand, he pressed forward between her legs and began spreading ravenous kisses along her neck.

She grabbed at his shoulders, and her cloak fell off. He took that as leave to unbutton her night rail so he could unveil one breast and seize it in his mouth.

Lord in heaven . . . that was amazing. He sucked and teased, his tongue playing over her nipple, driving her insane with the pleasure of it. She ought to stop him before she was doomed forever, but instead she clasped his head in both hands, urging him to suck the other breast, too. Emitting a low growl from deep in his throat, he obliged her eagerly.

This was madness. Anyone might find them.

Would that be so bad? Then he'd
have
to marry her.

No, she didn't want that, either. But neither did she want to miss her chance to have a man touch her like this of his own free will without a care for her fortune. And not just any man, but Martin, who not only made her body sing, but treated her like a real person. He might not want her as his wife, but he did desire her as a woman, and that was more than she'd ever hoped for.

Then his hand started moving up her thighs, as if lighting a trail of black powder that headed ever closer to the place that awaited the spark, that threatened to erupt any moment in the depths of her belly.

“I should stop this,” he rasped against her ear. “Make me stop, love.”

She heard him dimly through the haze of pleasure swirling about her. “Why?”

A groan escaped him before he lifted his head to take her mouth again. While his free hand took over caressing her breast, his other hand swept higher between her legs until he was cupping her in her special place, the one she never touched except when washing.

Goodness. Gracious. He was fondling her down
there
! Worse yet, she was letting him. What a wicked creature she was!

But his passion consumed her. She never dreamed men could convey such passion, like a poem full of words so strong and rich she could scarcely keep from bursting into song. He rubbed her as a servant rubs kindling to start a fire, and heat engulfed her, flaming, flaring up, making her ache and quiver and squirm beneath his hand.

“That's it,” he murmured, his mouth dropping to take more wild liberties with her breast. “Let me show you. . . . You're so . . . incredibly sweet. . . . I want to . . . God help me. . . .”

His finger delved inside her, and she nearly leaped off the table. “Martin!”

“Shh, shh,” he gentled her, nuzzling her breast and her neck, breathing soothing sounds in her ear. “I want to make amends for hurting your feelings.”

“You'll ruin me,” she whispered, half hoping that he would.

“No, I swear. I'll give you only a taste. But I have to touch you or go mad.”

And all the while, his fingers were working her, tormenting her with the promise of a conflagration she'd never known. “Martin . . . you . . . oh, heavens . . .”

“You're so wet, love, like ripe fruit. . . . I want to pluck you and devour you. . . .” Each word came more dimly to her ears, for she was nearly to the point of exploding, the heat so fiery that she could only moan and thrash beneath his hand.

Suddenly an eruption hit her with the fierceness of wildfire, tearing a cry from her throat that he silenced with his mouth.

As her body quaked and trembled, then finally settled back down to earth in his arms, she realized that
this
was what she wanted—this thrilling intimacy with a man who cared for her.

Now if only she could figure out how to keep him. For after tasting passion with Martin, she could never be satisfied with anyone else.

Chapter Seven

Dear Charlotte,

I suppose you think it amusing to taunt me about my arrogance, but you and I are more alike than you admit. You have a tendency to be rather haughty yourself.

Your cousin,

Michael

A
s Martin felt her honeypot convulse about his fingers, he wanted to crow—then weep. He'd never desired a woman so much in his life. And he'd never been less free to indulge that desire to its fullest. Instead he had to stand here aching for her, knowing he would never have the chance to fill her flesh with his and claim her for his own.

He must have made some frustrated sound, for she drew back from him, her face pleasingly flushed, and whispered, “Are you all right?”

Hell and blazes, he doubted he'd ever be all right again. Wiping his fingers on her night rail, he managed a smile. “I should ask
you
that.”

Her hands still clutching his arms, she kissed his chin. “I don't think ‘all right' begins to describe it. I . . . I feel drunk, but my mind is clear.”

A rueful chuckle sounded deep in his throat. “How strange.
My
mind is shattered.” Pulling back from her, he drew down her night rail regretfully. “But I didn't mean to go so far.”

She was staring at him with alarm. “We didn't . . . you didn't . . .”

“No. You're still chaste.”

Laughter bubbled out of her. “Chaste? It felt too good for chastity.”

The sparkle in her eyes made him want to go right back to what they'd been doing. The heavy cock in his trousers intensified the urge.

He fought the impulse, drawing her cloak up over her shoulders. He'd never had such shaky control over his desires, especially with a virgin. Ellie was as dangerous to him as blasting powder.

But she wasn't his for the taking, except in the marriage bed—and that was impossible. “That's precisely why it was wrong of me—”

“Don't say that.” She touched her finger to his lips. “It was wonderful.”

His heart swelled. The adoring look on her face was so sweet that he blurted out without thinking, “Oh, God, how will I ever let you go?”

The minute he spoke the words, he wished them back, because clearly she welcomed them.

Her words confirmed it. “You don't have to let me go,” she said softly.

What fresh torture was this? It had been much easier to resist her before. He'd been sure she would lose interest once she heard how Rupert had died. But with her still wanting him . . .

When he didn't answer right away, she dropped her gaze and added, “Of course, that's assuming you would want to marry me, which clearly you don't.”

As a flush of humiliation spread over her cheeks, she tried to leave the table, but he wouldn't let her. He couldn't bear to have her think him such a cad. “You're the only woman I'd ever consider marrying,” he murmured, bending his forehead to hers. “But I can't.” He couldn't risk having her here. It was too dangerous.

“Why not?” she asked in a small voice.

Isn't it obvious?
he wanted to shout as he pushed away from the table.
Look around you, look at what I spend my time doing!

She wouldn't care. Women always tried to deny the risks. Or worse, eliminate the problem by putting conditions on things. And he refused to end his experiments. He was tired of watching people die or be maimed in the mines.

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 vision 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.