When Sparks Fly Read Online Free PDF

she was much too busy to think about him. Shortly after he left, the doctor arrived, and a long discussion followed his examination of Aunt Alys. Thankfully her aunt’s head injury wasn’t as bad as it looked, but she had indeed broken a leg. The doctor recommended that she not be moved for at least a week.
    That sent the children into hysterics, since it meant they would miss Christmas in Sheffield. Ellie and their mother had to make extravagant assurances of future treats and outings in order to calm them. At least their gifts were in the trunks, which had shown up after the doctor left, just as his lordship had promised.
    Mr. Huggett, a man who proved as delightful as his employer was frightening, made sure that a messenger was sent on horseback to let her father know what had happened to them. But given the state of the roads and his being in Lancashire, there wasn’t much Papa could do.
    Ellie spent the rest of her afternoon settling everyone in, making sure her aunt was comfortable, and consulting with Mr. Huggett about the children’s meals. By the time the butler came to fetch them to dinner, she felt quite comfortable with him.
    That was the only reason she broached her difficult question. “Mr. Huggett,” she said in a low voice so the children wouldn’t hear as they scampered ahead of her. “Why is your master called ‘the Black Baron’?”
    The blend of panic and wariness on his face reminded her of Papa’s whenever she asked an indelicate question. “I-­I . . . well, you see, miss . . .” he began to stammer.
    â€œIt can’t possibly be just because of the soot,” she prompted helpfully.
    â€œThe soot? Ah, yes, the soot.” He frowned as he escorted her downstairs. “Actually it’s . . . er . . . because of his clothes. You may have noticed that he wears naught but black.”
    She had noticed. Still . . . “That’s the only reason they call him that?”
    â€œWhat else would it be?” he said blithely, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “Incidentally the doctor told me that your aunt should take soft foods until we’re certain her head injury isn’t serious, so I took the liberty of having Cook . . .”
    As he blathered on, she realized her question had struck a nerve. But it seemed rude to press him into gossiping about his employer. The man seemed oddly loyal to Lord Thorncliff, evidence that his lordship might not be quite as fearsome as he seemed.
    There were other indications, too—the way the baron had accommodated them all despite his grumbling, the fact that he’d sent for a doctor and their trunks with great speed, his willingness to give up his own bedchamber. And when they entered the dining room, she had the most profound evidence of all.
    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