At the top of the stairs, she stopped in her tracks.

As the door closed behind him, Stephen looked up at her, his hat in one hand and his coat half-undone. Despite the hat, his mahogany hair was windblown, his clothing was rumpled, and his face was tired and drawn.

Mina couldn’t have imagined a more handsome man.

Thirty

Tired as he was from the trip, and struck as he was by the sight of Mina stopped on the stairs like the model for some painting, Stephen instantly grasped the meaning of her dress and hat. “You’re leaving?” he asked.

“No—I mean, not for good. I wouldn’t. Certainly not dressed like this.” Mina laughed and collected herself. “Your brother got tired of staying in the house.”

“And he wanted company, of course.”

“It didn’t seem like much of a risk,” Mina said, shrugging, “but if you’re worried, I can stay. He’ll find company soon enough.”

She hadn’t sounded wistful. She had, for as long as Stephen had known her, controlled herself very well under most circumstances. The hat she wore shadowed her face, too.

“No, you’re right,” Stephen said. “It’s daylight for several hours yet, and we’ve been out of the house before without anything particularly dire coming of it. And it’d be a shame to keep you inside when you’ve clearly gone to some trouble.”

“Well, it’s not exactly court regalia, is it? Thank you, though.” She came down to the bottom step of the stairs, although no closer, and gave Stephen a closer look. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be well enough. It’s been a long day, that’s all.”

“I’d think so. You weren’t—” Mina glanced around. “Nothing happened to you while you were away, did it? Everything’s been peaceful enough here.”

“No, nothing happened. Not physically, at least—and no, not magically, either,” said Stephen, lowering his voice. Baldwin had gone off to deal with his baggage, and the other servants were clearly about other duties, but caution would always serve him well. “I’ve found at least one of Ward’s likely hiding places, though not where he lives.”

Mina’s eyes went wide. “Really?” Hope shone on her face, making it almost too bright to look at. “Then you’re safe, aren’t you? You can call the Yard and—”

“Best not,” said Stephen. “Not without knowing more. They wouldn’t know how to manage the matter. I’m not entirely sure myself, not when he’s got magic at his command.”

“He’d escape,” Mina said, coming back down to Earth. Clearly she was disappointed, and Stephen didn’t blame her. She’d almost been free of his house, free to pick her old life up again. “Or he’d kill the men who came to get him.”

Stephen nodded. “Probably both. That’s the sort of thing that happens when you bring outsiders into a sorcerous matter. It doesna’ often end well for anyone, particularly them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Mina, her mouth quirking up at the corner. She folded back the end of one glove and laid her fingers against her wrist, pretending to take her pulse. “No untimely end so far, at least.”

“And there won’t be,” said Stephen, his voice echoing in the hall. Mina looked up at him, her lips slightly parted in surprise. “That is, I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

“And I’m one of them? Dutiful of you.”

She didn’t sound particularly happy about it. Stephen cleared his throat. “It seems the least I could do.”

“Ah.” Mina replaced her glove. “Well, what are we going to do?”

“Colin and I will have a look from above once it’s darker,” said Stephen, “but that’s some time yet. It shouldna’ be any trouble with your plans. Where were you headed off to?”

“The British Museum,” said Mina, responding in kind to his attempt to lighten the mood. “Bit of a busman’s holiday for me, I suppose, but they’ve got an exhibition—”

“The Indian artwork?” Stephen lifted his eyebrows. “I’ve heard the collection’s very good, but I’m surprised to hear Colin’s taken an interest.”

“She suggested it,” said Colin, coming through the door from the hallway. Naturally, he was both impeccable and fashionable; Stephen absently tried to smooth the wrinkles out of his sleeve. “Don’t start thinking I’m becoming a scholar. The shock wouldn’t be good for you, not after the day you’ve had.”

“Your concern is truly moving,” said Stephen, “but I think I’ll bear up for a little while yet.”

“Come with us,” said Mina, suddenly. “If you’re not too tired, I mean. It wouldn’t be any more risk than we’d have been taking if you hadn’t come back now.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be—”

“And you’d be along to keep Miss Seymour safe,” said Colin. “You can’t really trust me to do that sort of thing, can you?”

“I’m not answering that question,” Stephen said, “but I will come.”

* * *

Two hours later, he stood in one of the museum’s more spacious halls, eyeing a golden statue of a naga, while from behind him came the sounds of subdued conversation and the quiet click of heels against the polished stone floors. An elderly gentleman to Stephen’s right was telling his grandson a story about Shiva, while somewhere behind him, three young men were earnestly debating the translation of a word that Stephen hadn’t caught.

London did have its attractions. As Stephen walked along the gallery, he could feel some of the day’s strain leaving him. His problems and his tasks still remained, but he could put them aside for a little while.

In the middle of everything to see, his gaze kept going back to Mina. He’d seen her looking around wide-eyed, pointing out a particularly fine landscape, examining a statue’s inscription, all fascinated concentration.

Now, at his side although carefully not too close, she looked from the statue to Stephen. “The nagas turned into people when they wanted, the legends say,” she said quietly. “Or at least according to the plaque.”

He met the silent question in her eyes with a smile. “Aye. And it’s not so far-fetched as all that. Traders along the Silk Road from India or China to Rome. Roman legionnaires crossing the water to Britain, later on. It could be—although the Russians have similar legends. Perhaps there was more than one beginning for my people.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not for certain, any more than I know who my more…regular…ancestors are after half a dozen generations or so. We’re no better at keeping records than you are. Well,” he added, looking at Mina, “most of us are much worse at it than you personally. I took a bit of an interest in the subject when I was younger.”

“Not now? I mean,” Mina added, “when you have time and leisure.”

“I’m interested in the past. I’ve given up trying to trace back so very far, though. My family’s affairs here and now started to be more important in the last few years. Or, rather, I’ve needed to take more of a role in them. They’ve always been important.”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown?” Colin came up to Mina’s side.

“Easy enough, I suspect, compared to some men,” Stephen replied. “And it’s hardly a crown these days,” he added, in case anyone was around to overhear.

“Calm yourself. I don’t think anyone will arrest you for treason here. Looking for a resemblance?” Colin asked Mina, gesturing to the naga.

She laughed. “Speculating, maybe. It’s a lovely piece of work regardless. They all are.”

“Lovelier where they’d originally been, I suspect,” said Colin.

A passage from one of Judith’s letters came to Stephen’s mind. “Still keeping company with Carpenter and his radicals?”

“Not company: they’d have a few questions about my age if I did. But correspondence, as long as such things seem reasonable. They’re congenial sorts,” said Colin. “I don’t think I can quite manage their idealism—that sort of thing is for the young—but someone should, once in a while, and the principles behind it are sound enough for the most part.”

“Says the young aristocrat.”

“I said for the most part. Although we might not be as necessary as we’ve always thought. Or as you’ve always thought.”

“I don’t know about that. Men need a leader. Someone to organize matters and settle disputes. Although at the moment,” Stephen added, “I think I’d rather enjoy being superfluous.”

“No you wouldn’t. Trust me, I’ve done it for decades—it’s much more my kind of life than yours.”

“You’re just worried that I’ll find something for you to do,” Stephen said, smiling, and looked over to Mina. “And what about you, then?”

“What about me?” she asked with a saucy little grin. “I like to think I’m not superfluous.”

“Not at all,” Stephen said. “I meant what do you think—about men and leaders and so forth? Do you want to change the world, or do you like it fine the way it is?”

“I think the world will change with or without me,” said Mina. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it be a little more—” She frowned, searching for a word. “Free? Open? I don’t know. I think, if you want to be a—a doctor or a scholar or a poet, you should be able to, or at least to try, no matter what station you’re born to.”

“Or what sex?” Stephen asked, remembering their conversation over her first letter home.

Mina’s grin widened. “Or that.”

“Do you think it’ll happen?” Colin asked, eyeing Mina with the curiosity that more than a few women had mistaken, to their sorrow, for something else.

“I think it already is.” Mina showed no reaction to Colin’s look, if she noticed it. She held up her hands and then made a face. “But I can’t show you with the gloves on, and I haven’t been typing as much lately at any rate. My fingers used to be a fair point of demonstration—the tips get callused.”