Page 29 of The Dare Before Christmas

“Yes, certainly he is,” Emmeline answered at once and then bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t spoken with such alacrity, but it was rather an empirical fact, and not one worth disputing.

“Ah, you certainly think so,” he said, his voice darkly amused. His head dipped, and he turned his hat between his hands. “I was considered so, once. But I expect that is hard to believe. It was a long time ago now.”

He smiled, but the expression was bitter and mocking, more of a sneer, and Emmeline could not bear to see it.

“I promise you, nothing has changed, my lord,” she said, before she could think better of it.

He stilled, his attention riveted upon her, as though he could hear her thoughts.

“You think me as handsome as the beautiful comte?” he pressed, but that was too far, and Emmeline knew better than to answer.

“I think you a conceited coxcomb fishing for compliments,” she said tartly, though she rather wished she hadn’t sounded quite so flustered.

He grinned, the devil, looking very pleased with himself.

“Miss Milly?”

“It’s Miss Knight,” she corrected him, striving to sound cross and not utterly charmed by the wicked man.

“Is there anyone around, watching us?” he asked.

Emmeline looked about them, peering around the corner of the inn. “No, I don’t think—”

Before she could finish the sentence, his hand moved to her face. She started in shock; he had removed his glove and his fingers were icy as he traced the curve of her cheek, then touched an errant curl of hair that had escaped the pins, and followed the path of her jaw.

“So soft, pet, like satin.”

Emmeline could not move, her nerves jittering wildly beneath the touch of his cold hand. He held her in place and ducked his head, pressing his mouth softly to her cheek, so close to the corner of her mouth she was sorely tempted to turn her head towards him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Emmeline snapped out of her stupor, taking a step back and shaking herself back to reality.

“Yes, well… I… I think we had best get you inside,” she said, sounding dazed.

Somehow, though she was shocked and utterly befuddled, she guided him around to the front door, sought out the landlord, who took him to a private parlour, and then ran away like a terrified little girl with barely another word. Emmeline found sense enough in her scattered brain to arrange a carriage to fetch him, and then gave herself a very stern talking to about spending time alone with wicked men, before she found her way back to her sister.

Barnaby and Victoria had searched every inch of the walls, floor, and ceiling, to no avail. There was no secret entrance.

“Do you think we could dig our way out?” Victoria asked, staring anxiously at the mountain of earth and rubble blocking the doorway.

“Yes, possibly. If all that’s fallen is what is blocking the door, but I’m worried what might happen if we do,” he said.

“You think the rest of the tunnel might collapse,” she said with a sigh.

He shrugged. “If it hasn’t already. We don’t know how far that pile goes. It might be more extensive than we realise. Besides which, we’re not done here yet,” he added.

“What do you mean? We’ve looked everywhere.”

Barnaby shook his head. “We’ve looked everywhere we can see.”

“But you looked under the bed,” she protested.

“Yes, but not behind the shelving.”

Victoria frowned. The shelves were a simple affair, just sturdy wooden planks on a frame, the wall clearly visible behind them. She didn’t see how they were hiding anything, but set to helping Barnaby, who was moving all the jars of ancient preserves out of the way. Curious, she rubbed at a dusty label.

“Quince gelee,” she read, before looking at another. “Oh, this is cherry gelee. Must be jam, I suppose.”