Her heart was pounding heavily. “Mr. Shaughnessy.”
“I’m a clever fellow,” he went on. “I know I’m not your heart’s desire. I’m too outrageous, too frivolous to be the sort of man you dream about.”
She couldn’t speak. She didn’t dare tell him what she truly longed for. If she did, he’d use it against her.
Mrs. Barnstable, oblivious to this entire exchange, pulled the last page from her machine. “Miss Sweetly, I’m just running these down to Dr. Barnstable, if that’s all right with you.”
No. Rose needed to say no. She couldn’t be alone with Mr. Shaughnessy, not even for so much as a minute. Especially not now.
“Of course, Mrs. Barnstable,” she heard herself say.
“I know I’m not your heart’s desire,” he said again in a low voice as soon as Mrs. Barnstable had quitted the room, “but I can still give you yours.”
She looked up. “What do you know of my heart’s desire?”
Looking into his eyes was a mistake. He gave her a smile—not a low, cunning smile, or a clever smile that hinted at seduction. It was a warm, welcoming smile—the sort that made her think she had come home.
“I know what you want. It shows.”
She wanted him, impossible rake that he was. She wanted him in love with her, faithful to her. Even she knew that was too much to ask.
“It shows?” she asked in a low voice.
“It does.” He gave her a duck of his head. “Miss Sweetly, I beg of you—that you will accept from me this one thing.”
Her heart pounded.
He stood. She looked wildly around the room—but with Mrs. Barnstable gone, there was no one to see. Nobody would see him coming toward her. Nobody would detect the look in his eye, that bright light that froze her in her seat.
He got on one knee before her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t imagine what to say or how to say it. He wouldn’t really ask her to marry him—not now, ever, and even if he did, surely he wouldn’t mean it. Men promised things to women like her all the time, and never meant a word they said.
But the thing he took from his pocket was not a ring. It was a bit of card stock, printed with a decorative border. He handed it to her; she took it. Stamped on the front were the words Admit One. Beneath that, there was only an address.
“What is this?” she asked in confusion.
“That?” He smiled smugly, as if he had just done something very clever. “That is your heart’s desire, Miss Sweetly: a ticket to the best viewing in all of Greenwich of the transit of Venus. Courtesy of… Well, that would be me.”
If anyone had asked Rose about the things she wanted, watching the transit of Venus would assuredly have been on her list. Not the first item there, nor the second…but high on the list nonetheless.
But it wasn’t the thought of astronomy that had her breath catching in her lungs. It was that he’d obtained this as a present. It was the most thoughtful gift she’d ever received. And he’d been the one to think of it.
“It’s a very exclusive viewing,” he said, “from one of the highest points in Greenwich itself. There will be a great many steps up, and there won’t be a fire in the viewing room for warmth, so take that into account when dressing.”
There was one thing wrong with this. “People will talk if I arrive at an event like this with you.”
“Ah.” His eyes glittered. “It’s a very exclusive gathering. I assure you, nobody will speak of you. Nobody at all. As for me? I promise not to importune you.”
Watching the transit of Venus with a handful of people she didn’t know would be interesting. Delightful, even. But her heart’s desire, even if it was only for an afternoon…
…was to have him truly care for her. It might be temporary. It might be foolish. But if he’d gone to this length, she was more than a whim to him.
He’s seducing you, she told herself.
Just this much, she pleaded in return. Just this far, and after that, I’ll venture no further.
“Oh, very well,” she said. But when she looked in his eyes, she couldn’t stop from smiling.
Heavens, she was a fool.
SHE WAS A FOOL, Rose told herself for the twentieth time in as many hours. She’d been arguing with herself ever since Mr. Shaughnessy had issued his invitation.
She’d argued with herself silently as she told her sister she’d be home the next day no later than four-thirty because she was observing an astronomical event. She had argued with herself all through her computations the next morning. She argued with herself now, at half past one, heading to the address on the card he had given her.
She knew what Mr. Shaughnessy was about; she knew better than to accept an invitation to any event with him, no matter how intellectually engaging it was. She really ought to have insisted on bringing a companion—why hadn’t she thought of that earlier?
Oh. Because she was a fool.