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“But you don’t trust me.”

“You’re running through a haunted house with a mallet.”

A laugh broke free from her chest, and he grinned, like she’d given him the greatest gift he’d ever received.

“You have a point,” she said when she’d caught her breath. “Let’s hope you can catch up.”

She led him, not quite at a run but nearly, through the main hall to the oldest part of the structure, and through a drawing room to the far side. She propped the mallet against a chaise longue and pulled down the tapestry covering the wall.

“Do you see how the stones change in color at the center, and the pattern is different?”

He nodded, traced his fingers over the stone and the decaying mortar between them. “It looks like there was a door, but it must have been closed up ages ago.”

“The original structure had a series of secret tunnels. I found most of them⁠—”

“Secret tunnels,” he interrupted. “Is that how you got into my wall last night? What else are you using them for?”

She hesitated. She couldn’t push him away with a biting remark because she needed his help. But had she just handed him another clue to use against her?

“They’re closed up… I think they’re all closed, at least,” she blurted. “I believe this one led to a path down the cliffs so the occupants could escape during an attack.”

His eyes widened. “You mean for us to climb down the cliffs?”

“We can’t stay in here forever, and I think—” she scratched her nails along the mortar, and it crumbled further at her touch, “—we can knock this down.”

“Hence the mallet.”

“You said you were strong. Care to take a swing at knocking it down?”

“A swing?” He picked up the mallet with two hands and heaved it over his shoulder, his corded forearms flexing with the strain. “Puns are beneath you, Madame Bridgette.”

The levity in her chest soured. She’d almost forgotten the mask she wore, the disguise that was slowly choking the life out of her. This calamitous adventure with Valebrook had forced her to throw her alternate persona aside, and instead of being horrified by what he saw beneath, he seemed to like it. Like her.

She wasn't sure what to do with that.

He reared back and swung, the end of the mallet colliding with the stone with a hideous thunk. He squinted, adjusted his grip, and swung again, this time more forcefully, and the wall shuddered. Lumps of desiccated plaster rained onto the wooden floor, and he gave her a proud grin.

His expression tugged at her insides.

He raised the mallet once more, but paused and lowered it. In a fluid motion, he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, and it fluttered to the floor.

Oh, dear God.

His broad chest matched his shoulders, with whorls of silver hair curling between his pectorals and darkening as they approached his waistband. His midsection was softened, lacking the definition of a younger man, but she wanted to touch him, to scratch her fingers down that expanse of skin to see how he’d react.

Another strike hit the wall, then another, and when the dust cleared, a strip of midnight accompanied a blast of bitter air.

She gasped and stepped in front of him to examine the damage. “You’ve done it! It leads outside!”

“You were right.” He’d dropped the mallet and closed in behind her. His lips were so near her ear when he spoke that the vibration buzzed along her temple, into the lump in her throat, her seizing lungs.

But she couldn’t make sense of her response, no time to tear it apart into its composite pieces, because a rumble started at the newly exposed gap. A crack the width of her thumb burst from the top, streaking up the wall and sprinting across the high ceiling.

“Shit,” Valebrook said.

That was all the warning she had before the crack split open. Slabs of stone and wood tumbled toward them.

Strong arms banded around her and pulled. She swung with the force as he dragged her, threw her to the thick carpet blanketing the floor, and landed atop her.