Free When Sparks Fly by Sabrina Jeffries Page B

from her examination. “You shouldn’t be in here. You could get hurt.”
    The gruff concern in his voice touched her. “Unlike my cousins, I have no interest in rummaging about in your explosives.” When he said nothing, she added, “Besides, I wanted to thank you. The boys didn’t deserve your lenience, but I appreciate your giving it anyway, my lord.”
    â€œMartin,” he muttered, pausing in rifling a cabinet drawer.
    She edged closer. “What?”
    â€œMy given name is Martin. You might as well use it.” Withdrawing a penknife, he shoved it in his pocket. “I hate that ‘my lord’ humbuggery. In my mind, Rupert is still Lord Thorncliff. It suited him better than it does me, anyway.”
    Her heart caught in her throat. How could society ever think he would kill his brother for the title? “All right. Then thank you . . . Martin.”
    A shuddering breath escaped him. “I will cane your cousins if they don’t behave, you know,” he said, a bit defensively.
    â€œI know.”
    â€œIf you hadn’t come along, I would have taken them over my knee.”
    â€œI’m sure you would have.”
    â€œBecause they have no business coming in here—”
    Ellie began to laugh.
    He whirled to face her. “What the blazes is so amusing?”
    â€œYou don’t have to keep growling about it now that they’re gone. Unlike the boys, I am fully convinced of your capacity to play the dastardly Black Baron as often and fiercely as you must to protect them.”
    As if noticing for the first time her loose hair and the cloak she’d buttoned over her inappropriate dress, he gave her a long, slow perusal that sent wanton shivers dancing along her spine. “Do you accuse me of pretending, Ellie?”
    His intimate use of her nickname sent a little thrill through her. “I accuse you of acting more bad-­tempered than is your true nature.”
    A sudden veil shadowed his face. “You know nothing of my true nature.”
    â€œActually I do.” It was time he learned that not everyone was against him. “And despite what people say, I don’t believe you killed your brother.”

Chapter Six
    Dear Cousin,
    My, my, you certainly have my interest piqued. Perhaps I should guess at your identity, and you can tell me how far I am off the mark. Might you be a Hessian with a fondness for lemon tarts? An aging spy for the Home Office? A woman, even? No, I know you’re not a woman. A woman couldn’t possibly be as arrogant as you.
    Your “relation,”
    Charlotte
    M artin stared at Ellie. Had she really said what he thought?
    Yes, that’s why she was watching him so closely. She’d heard the rumors, and now she meant to find out if they were true.
    A groan escaped him. He’d spent the last few days in agony, basking in her warmly innocent smiles, entertaining mad ideas of what it might be like to have her as his wife, looking after his children. He’d spent three nights imagining her in his bed, cradling his body between her honeyed thighs, caressing him as only a woman could. He couldn’t stand to see her expression when it dawned on her that he really was responsible for Rupert’s death.
    He headed for the door. “Since you’ve apparently learned the real reason they call me the Black Baron, there’s nothing more to say, is there?”
    She caught his arm as he tried to pass her. “I should like to hear your account, since all I learned from my aunt were rumors.”
    He froze, not looking at her, afraid to see what lay in her eyes. “I’m surprised she didn’t order you to take her away from here. I’m surprised you didn’t demand it yourself.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd. We know better than to heed some silly gossip. As Shakespeare said, ‘Rumor is a pipe/Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.’ ”
    A choked