He’d offer her a glass. She would…
Drat it all. She would say no. But if she let this happen now—if she let him take her alone into a dark spire—she’d let it happen a second time, and then a third. Maybe the fourth time, she’d say yes to the Madeira. By the fifth time, it would be more. She knew how rakes seduced women, and she knew she was more than halfway there. She’d promised herself that she’d only go this far and no further…and if she didn’t keep that promise now, she might as well give up and give in.
She swallowed hard and looked away. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. But I can’t go alone with you into a deserted turret.”
“Aw, Rose.”
No. He couldn’t plead with her. He’d break her down.
“Not even for the transit of Venus,” she said. Her voice broke.
But when she looked over at him, he wasn’t looking at her beseechingly. He was looking at her with another expression on his face—one she couldn’t understand.
She didn’t want to let herself understand. “I’d better go.” She turned to do just that.
“Wait. Rose.”
Against her own better judgment, she stopped. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew he’d make her laugh, that he’d put her at ease. He scarcely had to convince her at all; she wanted to be convinced so desperately.
He took a step toward her, and then another, standing so close that he might have set his fingers on her chin. She could feel herself opening to him, her eyes shining up at him. He could kiss her right here, in view of the chancel, and she might let him.
But he didn’t. Instead, he pitched his voice low. “Do you think I would do that to you?”
“I don’t think you’d have to try too hard.” Already she was trying to persuade herself without any effort on his part at all. She had only to keep quiet, to keep her distance. She might watch the transit; then she’d go down the stairs, and nobody would ever be the wiser. If she never did it again…
No. That sort of thinking was precisely how girls like her ended up ruined.
His gaze slipped to her lips. “That isn’t what I meant.” He inhaled sharply, and then held out the key ring. “Right, then. The door to the spire is opened by this little key here, the copper one.”
She blinked at him in confusion.
“You’ve got twelve minutes until the transit starts. There’s a great many stairs, but if you hurry, they shouldn’t prove to be much problem. There’s an excellent view of the river once you get to the turret.”
She shook her head. “What are you saying?”
“This is a rare astronomical event,” he told her. “It won’t happen again until the year 2004. Do you really think I would let you miss it? If you can’t go with me, go by yourself.” He leaned against the wall. “I’ll wait here. I need to get the keys back to Father Wineheart when you’re finished.”
“You’re really not going to come?”
“Did I not just say that? Go. Hurry. You don’t want to miss it.”
He gave her a wave of his hands, urging her through the door onto the dark staircase. She started up. The stair was cold and just a little musty, but she couldn’t think of that.
She had come, expecting him to wear down her every defense—and hoping, almost, that he might succeed.
And…he hadn’t even tried. No jokes. He’d taken no little jabs at her when she’d balked. He’d just handed her the keys and told her to go. He hadn’t tried to wheedle or charm her, and if he’d made even the slightest effort, he could have brought her around. She knew it all too well. And Mr. Shaughnessy, Actual Man, expert that he was with the human female, must have known it, too.
It was almost as if he cared what she wanted. She came to the topmost landing on the stair turret. Her calves were already a little warm from the exertion; the air around her had become colder. She could see out the little rectangular window, down onto the river, over to a sun dipping lazily in the sky. Clouds far away over London threatened, but they’d not be here in time to block her view. She took the key ring out, found the copper key, and put it reluctantly in the door that led to the spire.
Eight minutes until the transit started. Eight minutes until she stood, watching it alone, with her heart still back down the stone stairs.
Rose inhaled. And then—stupidly—she started back down the stairs, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until her shoes pattered heavily against the stairs, taking them two and then three at a time. When she reached the final landing, she was going so fast that her feet skittered against the smooth stone. She held up her hands to stop from slamming into a wall, and then she pushed off once again.
She went out the little wooden door. He was sitting on a bench nearby. He had a little book out and he was reading.