Page 19 of The Dare Before Christmas

She looked as if she wanted to throttle him, not that he could blame her after a kiss like that. Barnaby was still reeling himself, his blood surging through his veins, his nerves skittering about beneath his skin like demented ants. He felt giddy and disorientated and… and good Lord! Was there opium in her lip balm? It seemed the only reasonable explanation for the way desire thrummed through him, the sense of instant addiction to the taste of her leaving him taut as a bowstring.

“I see,” she said, putting up her chin, and though her eyes glittered rather too brightly, generations of breeding confronted Barnaby in her cool green stare, reminding him of the futility of letting this go any further.

“I’m glad you do,” he said, suddenly weary and sick at heart.

This was why they must stay away from one another. He’d never been so overwhelmed by temptation before. Even now, knowing it was the road to disaster, he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into his arms, but he had already hurt her feelings and, if he allowed this madness to continue, things could be a great deal worse.

“It’s for the best, Victoria, you know it is.”

“Do I indeed? How very wise of you to know what I am thinking.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, fighting to remain calm.

“Oh, so now this ability to read minds is mutual. How fascinating.”

Barnaby snapped his mouth shut, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he fought not to reply and make the situation worse. Instead, he took a deep breath and gathered the shreds of his composure. “I apologise, my lady. The truth is, kissing you was the greatest honour of my life, but I shall not let temptation lead us both to ruin. One of us must keep our heads, and since you show no inclination for the task, I must try for both our sakes to—”

“Oh, go boil your head, Barnaby!”

Barnaby jolted in shock at the angry and none too polite words, watching as the lady turned on her heel and stalked away, heading farther into… into… what was this place, anyway? A church, he realised, staring about himself and then looking up as he saw daylight coming from the far end of the building. A small tree had grown through the floor, the flagstones uneven where the roots had levered them up. The trunk poked out through an opening in the roof. It looked as if the timbers had rotten, and the roof had collapsed in on itself.

“Victoria, don’t go down there, it might not be safe,” he called, hurrying after and realising before he’d finished speaking it had been the wrong thing to say. In the mood she was in, the chances of her doing anything he suggested were slim to none.

“Oh, just go back to the house and leave me be. I promise, I shall not throw myself at you again.”

“Victoria,” he said with a sigh. “Be reasonable.”

“Why? To make your life easier? No, I don’t think I shall be reasonable. I am heartily sick of being reasonable, well-behaved, biddable, and polite. I think, just for this morning, I shall be unreasonable, unmanageable, and downright bloody-minded. So there.”

At least she had restrained herself from sticking her tongue out at him, Barnaby thought ruefully.

“Fair enough,” he said, for he supposed it was.

He had often thought strong-willed, capable women like Victoria and Evie must be constantly biting their tongues or simmering with frustration when men talked to them as if they were simpletons, or gave them advice they had neither solicited nor required. He had seen it happen repeatedly, and seen the way their eyes glazed over, the frozen, polite masks sitting on their faces as they no doubt ground their teeth to dust. So, if Victoria wished to take her bad mood out upon him, he supposed it was the least he could do to endure it.

“It is rather charming, in an abandoned, rat-infested way,” he offered, trying to smooth down a few of her ruffled feathers. “You did well to find it.”

She shot him a sceptical glance. “Don’t mention rats,” she muttered. “I was trying to convince myself it had been a mouse.”

“Oh, yes, probably,” he agreed at once.

“I think it must be of an age with the house. It’s built from the same materials.”

Barnaby nodded. “A private chapel, I suppose. It’s rather sweet, isn’t it?”

Victoria nodded. “It’s lovely. Such a shame it’s been abandoned, but perhaps Evie and Louis will restore it, now I’ve found it.”

“Yes, it’s a shame to let it fall further into ruin, but there’s a lot of work here to put it right. Victoria, I wish you would come away from that end of the building. It’s clearly not safe.”

The lady rolled her eyes at him. “It’s obviously been this way for years. I don’t see why it should fall down now. Besides, I want to see the altar. It’s at a funny angle.”

Barnaby sighed and went after her, stepping over thick ropes of ivy that crisscrossed the floor and wound over the abandoned pews. She was right, the altar looked to have been pushed to an odd angle.

“Oh, there’s an opening, and stairs going down!” Victoria exclaimed, staring down at the floor, the excitement in her voice audible. “Look, the tree roots have pushed through and shifted the altar. Do you think it’s a crypt?”

Barnaby shuddered at the idea but said nothing, not wanting for her to think him fainthearted. “I don’t know, but I do know you’re not going down there.”

“Oh, Barnaby!” she said in frustration.