When Sparks Fly Read Free Page B

couldn’t keep bullying her. And pray that Shakespeare was right about there being “no beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.” Because if there was no true gentleman lurking inside that rough exterior, they might be headed for trouble.

Chapter Two
    Dear Cousin,
    I don’t mind being alone. Our caretaker lives in a cottage on the grounds, and my neighbor is nearby. When the girls are away, he calls on me to make sure I am well. So you need not fret for my safety.
    Your friend and relation,
    Charlotte
    M artin Thorncliff grumbled to himself as he hunched his shoulders against the snow. Leaving Bancroft’s coachman to keep up as best as he could, Martin let his horse pick its own way to Thorncliff Hall. He was already having a bad day. The new fuses he’d invented had burned too quickly when he’d tested them at the coal mine. Then, on his way home, the sleet had begun. Now this.
    December was difficult enough for him without intruders fetching up near his land. Rich intruders. With children singing Christmas carols, of all the infernal things.
    What had Joseph Bancroft been thinking, to let his family travel so scantily protected? The man owned Yorkshire Silver, the largest silver mining company in England. He ought to have more sense than to rely on an aging coachman and some useless postboy. If those women and children had belonged to Martin, he would have protected them better.
    A snort escaped him. Right. The way he’d protected Rupert. After what had happened to his older brother, no female with sense would put herself permanently under the protection of the dangerous “Black Baron.”
    The nasty nickname society had for him made him wince. He didn’t need a wife anyway, mucking with his experiments and giving him one more person’s safety to worry about. Though occasionally, he did wish . . .
    Ridiculous. His life was as good as he deserved. It was his brother who’d been the jovial lord of the manor, who’d conversed equally well with tenant and duke, who’d run the estate with efficiency while attracting every pretty girl this side of London.
    Martin could only blow things up.
    And now he had guests, God help him. Thorncliff Hall was no place for a wounded woman and her caroling litter of cubs. Terror seized him at the thought of those boys exploring the old stone barn in back where he did his experiments.
    At least he wouldn’t have to worry about their cousin doing so. It wasn’t the sort of place to entice a fashionably dressed heiress. Everything about her screamed “spoiled rich lass,” from her expensive kid boots and matching gloves to the way she looked right through him. Then there was her impractical gown, though it did display her lush figure better than a wool cloak would have done. Probably why she wore it—young ladies like that craved attention. They were raised to enjoy it from early on.
    Well, she wouldn’t get it from him, no matter how pleasing her curves and sparkling green eyes. He’d met plenty of her sort while Rupert was alive and still forcing him to go into society. He’d even fancied a few. But once Rupert had died and the rumors had begun, they’d turned on him. He didn’t fit their notions of what a gentle­man should be. Miss Bancroft was sure to be the same.
    Worse yet, she lacked sense. Fetch a few items from their trunks indeed. Was the lass daft? Had she no idea how treacherous that ice could be? She was probably worried some miscreant would come along and steal her jewels and furs. As if any would venture out in this weather. He scowled. Her jewels could wait—he still had things to do at the manor before the snow got too thick.
    Once he reached the drive, he was able to ride ahead. His butler, Mr. Huggett, was already spreading gravel on the icy walk that bisected the low stone wall surrounding the manor. Hell and blazes, Martin hadn’t even considered how this