Page 32 of The Dare Before Christmas

Inheriting Aunt Marguerite’s property was a poisoned chalice, though, of that I’ve no doubt. The place is a beautiful wreck, falling down around my ears, and yet I am determined to put it to rights, to make a home here, for me, for Tilly.

I know this little idyll cannot last. Father will discover my secret. We both know he is giving me this time. He knows I’ve got myself in a mess and he’s just waiting until I have courage enough to face him. How hurt Mama will be too. Christ, could I hate myself anymore? But I shall rebuild this blasted house if I must do it with my bare hands, I will be everything my daughter needs, and I will prove to our parents I can be a good father, a responsible human being and perhaps then their disappointment might be bearable.

I beg your forgiveness for the hundredth time, Thorn, for making you keep this secret for me.

I shall see you soon, brother.

Pip x

―Excerpt of a letter to The Right Hon’ble Mr Thomas Barrington, (younger son of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Marquess, and Marchioness of Montagu) from his older brother, The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton.

18th December 1844, Heart’s Folly, East Sussex.

Barnaby stared down at the bundle of clothes Victoria had just shoved through the gap. Dimly, he registered the colour of the walking dress she’d been wearing, but his brain did not seem to comprehend what that meant, and then he saw Victoria’s head emerge from the hole.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching for her as she crawled free.

Barnaby lifted her to her feet, his hands at her waist to steady her and then… and then his brain melted.

He stared, and stared, and then… he stared a bit more because, well, frankly, what else was a fellow supposed to do?

“Victoria,” he said, or at least he thought he said it.

There was every chance he only thought it and he’d been entirely struck dumb. But he was electrified, vibrating with a pulsing energy that seemed to begin at the place where his hands rested on her waist and thrummed into him, a slow simmering sensation beneath his skin that grew hotter and hotter. His breath caught as he registered the softness of the body beneath the thin cotton of her shift, saw the swell of her breasts above the low neckline, the dark outline of her nipples in the glow of the lamplight and the hard tips that pushed against the soft fabric. She’s cold, said an urgent voice in his head. You ought to warm her up.

Barnaby swallowed, a faint voice in his head was pleading for sanity, but he could not quite make out the words. He was caught in a dream, watching as if from afar as his hand slid up from her waist and cupped her breast. His breath hitched at the same moment Victoria gasped in shock.

He looked up then, expecting a slap, or at least angry words… hardly surprising, he was acting like a complete cad. Honestly, he hoped she did slap him, because he was very afraid of what he might do next if she didn’t.

But Victoria was staring at him, eyes wide and dark. Her lips parted and her tongue swept out, pink and wet, leaving her mouth the same way.

Step away, he told himself.

Step away now.

Barnaby, move, for the love of God.

And then she arched into his touch, a soft sound leaving her as her hard little nipple pressed into his palm.

“Bad idea,” he managed, his voice strangely hoarse.

“Sorry,” she replied, but didn’t move.

So they just stood there, staring at each other, his hand cupping her breast, his brain running frantically between, kiss her, move away, kiss her, move away, over and over again until he thought he’d run mad.

“Barnaby!” Victoria cried in frustration and pressed her mouth to his.

Heat, desire, and the kind of insanity inducing need he had only ever read about in poems surged through him and he hauled her against him, kissing her hard, almost savagely, until she gave a little squeak of alarm and pushed him away.

Barnaby let her go at once, stumbling back, his brain clearing now he no longer had his hands on her.

“Christ!” he said, breathing hard. “Bloody hell. I mean… Victoria, I’m… I’m so sorry, I….”

Victoria clapped a hand to her mouth to smother a slightly hysterical laugh.

Barnaby blinked. She was laughing?

“It’s not funny!” he exclaimed crossly.