“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.

“Stephen.” She’d never called him by his Christian name before, and hadn’t intended to do so now. It had simply slipped out.

He looked up. She hadn’t understood herself why she’d come back. Not until she saw his face. He caught sight of her. His eyes widened and he burst into a smile, a lovely, brilliant smile that seemed to cast light throughout the darkening corridor. She felt an answering smile spread shyly across her face.

“Rose,” he said. “What are you still doing here? There’s a transit about to start.”

“I can’t watch it without you,” she said. “I won’t enjoy it.”

He looked at her.

“Come now,” she said. “Hurry. If I miss this because of you…”

He stood. And then, very slowly, with a broadening smile, he came toward her.

Chapter Five

ROSE WAS SWIFT. She had a head start on Stephen, darting up the stairs. By the time he’d entered the stair turret, he saw only a swirl of pink skirts as she turned, already on the landing ahead of him. He followed after, his mind a maelstrom of confusion.

She stopped halfway up the next short flight of stairs and turned to him. Her eyes were shining from the exercise—and then she reached back to him, holding out her hand.

“Well?” she said. “Come along.”

He stopped dead. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what she intended. Slowly, he climbed the steps that separated them until he stood just below her. That brought him on eye-level with her.

He held out his hand, palm up.

She took it, folding it in her own. “Hurry up,” she said.

Then she took off again. He was jogging up the stairs beside her, hand in hand. She had a smile on her face. Her fingers squeezed his, and he squeezed them back.

They came to the top of the turret. She fumbled the keys out, unlocking the final door. There were no easy stairs up the spire. Instead, a wooden ladder sat at the base, climbing to a final platform.

“Climb quickly,” she told him.

He did. He could feel her on the ladder behind him even though he couldn’t see her—feel her in the vibration of the ladder, sense her in his tingling nerves.

He came to the top, pulled himself onto the platform, and crouched down and held out his hand. She took it, and he helped her up.

There were two windows in the spire. One faced northeast; the other—the one he’d spent all morning setting the apparatus up in—faced south and west. She dropped his hand, inhaling, going to that one.