“Come.” He couldn’t bear hearing his name on her rich voice. “Quickly.” He forced himself away from her, praying she’d follow. He felt his way along the dark tunnel, up the stairs to the clock tower where time thudded through his whole body, beat by beat. She rushed in behind him, stumbling into his back. He turned and caught her, panicked, and he momentarily forgot the reasons for what he was doing. Dahlia was gone forever, but he still had Vivienne, warm and alive, in his arms. Within reach.

Then the mechanism behind them clicked, and the clock began to bong, just as it had the first night they’d been up there. The night his eyes had been opened and she had danced to the beat of music no one else heard.

It was midnight. There wasn’t much time.

Bonggggg. Bongggg.

With a faint smile, he swept out his hand and offered it to her. “May I?”

“Without music?”

He merely smiled and opened one palm. He heard the music now too. Or perhaps he’d merely stopped shutting it out. “Well?”

She stepped into the frame of his arms. With the clock bongs setting a three-quarter waltz tempo, they moved to the symphony of night noises—crickets, water pipes, and the sighs and groans of an old house. He kept his focus on her face, so white in the moonglow. It wasn’t staring as much as it was her eyes not giving his leave to look away.

All at once she tensed in his arms, spinning to look up at the clockface. “The rounds. Twelve, three, and six. Who’s on—”

He squeezed her shoulder, urging her gently back to the waltz as the final bongs died away, vibrating the air. “Trust me. Just trust me.”

She met his gaze and they were once again swept up in the rhythm weaving between them. As his thoughts spun, heart pounding, they slowed to a swaying motion, her skirt like a clock pendulum once again as their song died away. He touched her cheek—he couldn’t help himself. “God’s plan for your life is bigger than this place. Make the most of it, Vivienne Mourdant. Fill the world with music. Light it up.”

Her eyes were glistening, and he couldn’t keep himself from glancing at her lips. How desperately he wished for one last taste.