Page 23 of The Dare Before Christmas

His expression told her in no uncertain terms that he thought this was the height of stupidity, but he held his tongue and they walked on. They had been walking for almost five more minutes, easing past tree roots and brushing aside cobwebs, when Barnaby stopped again.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “We have no idea where we are going, no one knows we are here, if the tunnel gives way, if one of us has an accident—”

“Oh, but Barnaby,” Victoria said, excitement bursting in her chest.

“No, Victoria, I must put my foot down. This is far enough—”

“Yes, it is,” she said, almost laughing at the consternation on his face.

“It is?”

“Yes, look!” Victoria pointed to the edge of the spill of lamplight where she could just make out the end of the tunnel and the shadowy indication of a crude wooden door.

Barnaby followed her gaze, his expression one of astonishment. “Well, bless me.”

“Did you really think it was a tunnel to nowhere?” Victoria asked, shaking her head at him.

“I was beginning to think it was leading us down to Hades. I’m still not convinced it isn’t,” he added darkly.

“Such a worrywart,” Victoria said with a sigh.

“Well, one of us must try to use some sense when the other is a blessed hoyden.”

Victoria stared at him in shock. “Am I?”

“Well, you needn’t look so dashed pleased about it,” he replied with a huff.

But Victoria was delighted with this news, viewing herself suddenly in a new light. Though she had always been fascinated by ghosts and Gothic novels, the idea of adventure and lost treasure and derring-do, she had never believed herself to be especially courageous. Not like her older sisters had been when pursuing their own happy-ever-afters, but if Barnaby thought her a hoyden… well, anything was possible. Filled with a sudden burst of confidence, she could not wait another moment for the next part of this adventure.

“Come along,” she said, pushing past him in the narrow confines of the tunnel and heading directly for the door.

“Victoria, I told you to stay behind… oh, what’s the use.” Barnaby hurried after her, watching as she reached for the door handle and turned it.

There was a rusty sound, metallic creaking and protesting, but it turned, and Victoria pushed but the door only budged an inch and then stuck.

“Oh, bother,” she said in frustration. “It’s jammed.”

“Here, let me try. Hold this.”

Victoria watched in fascination as Barnaby set down the lantern and stripped off his coat, handing it to her. She did not know what he saw in her face as she took it from him, but he did not read her correctly, as usual.

“I’m not the Comte de Villen,” he said, sounding irked. “I can’t afford to mess up a good coat because I have a three dozen more to choose from.”

“I… I wasn’t….” Victoria said helplessly, and then held her tongue, unable to tell him she had been gazing at him with admiration, for she had never seen him in shirtsleeves before.

She had never seen him anything but immaculately turned out. Now, after their time in the tunnel, he had dirt on his cheek and his hair was dishevelled, and watching him standing there rolling up his sleeves to expose strong forearms… it was a rougher, rumpled version of Barnaby that was intriguing and rather wonderful.

Barnaby turned back to the door and gave it an experimental push. Victoria held his coat against her as she watched. She could still feel the heat of his body in the material and, though she knew it was silly, she could not resist the temptation to lift the coat to her nose and inhale. Something warm and spicy, like ginger and clove, teased her senses, and a woodsy, mossy note of cedar. It made her imagine cosy nights in front of a fire, wrapped up in that scent, with Barnaby’s arms around her. Victoria closed her eyes and sighed blissfully, and then gasped as she heard a thud, her eyes flying open to see Barnaby shoving at the door. It groaned but did not budge. Dust fell from the ceiling and Victoria coughed, rubbing it off her face as Barnaby stared suspiciously at the ceiling.

“This might not be safe,” he said, concern in his voice. “Perhaps—”

“Oh, no. Please, Barnaby, we’ve come this far.”

He looked back at her and sighed before returning his attention to the door. Victoria held her breath as she admired the breadth of his shoulders, wondering anew at how much strength the fine tailoring of his coat had hidden. Muttering under his breath, Barnaby stepped back and then threw his weight at the door again, hitting it hard with his shoulder. It gave, opening a bit more with a screech of protest, the ancient wood scraping painfully over the stone floor beneath it.

“I think the lintel has dropped, that’s why it’s so tight,” he said, sounding a little breathless. “One more push should do it, though, I think.”

Victoria watched in awe as he put his shoulder to the door again and pushed hard. Suddenly, the door gave way and Barnaby righted himself at the last moment before he fell headfirst into the darkness beyond. More dust fell, and he choked, moving out of the way and running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it had been. He was sweating a little from his efforts, and breathing hard. Victoria clutched his coat tighter. The desire to press herself against him, to revel in all that masculine heat and strength, was tantalising.