the crowd, searching, searching, until finally his gaze landed on her. She smiled with relief, but he didn’t smile back.
As the musicians eased into a slower tune, the girls launched themselves at Barrett. The town’s baker, cobbler, and farmhand were left grumbling in the middle of the floor as their painted partners vied for the attention of the fresh bait. Brightly dyed feathers bobbed in their curled hair as they clucked around him, but Barrett merely flashed them a melting smile and shook his head.
A squatty girl with a yellow feather, henna-red hair, and a purple dress shoved through the throng, grabbed Barrett’s hands, and hauled him to the center of the dance floor. Her flabby arm curled possessively around his waist, as she was too short to reach his shoulders, and she stepped off in time to the music, leaving Barrett no choice but to follow.
Their prize partner taken, the other girls grabbed one another and fell back to dancing. None had obvious training, but they were happy enough to celebrate for one evening without having to spend it on their backs.
The baker—a tall, skinny man for such an occupation—shifted through the crowd and stooped in front of Kat. “Puis-je avoir cette danse, mademoiselle?”
Rice powder stained his trouser cuffs and a spot behind his ear, but Kat inclined her head and took his hand as if he were a nobleman of the highest rank. Certainly the men back home, with all their glittering finery and noses stuck too far up in the air, never looked at her with such reverenced awe. “Mon plaisir.”
He had two left feet, but he kept up a lively conversation of rations, baking without flour, and the flowers he hoped to plant once the Nazis were gone.
Barrett whirled by, spitting at the hideous yellow feather fluttering against his mouth. “Having fun?”
He was close enough to touch, but years of dance lessons kept her hand resting on her own partner’s bony shoulder. “Of course.”
“You’re mine next.”
“Who else’s would I be?”
His flabby partner spun him around before Kat had time to read the churning current in his eyes. Not soon enough, the violin lurched into a lively country dance.
Barrett barreled through the throng of grabbing hands and swept her into his arms and around the floor before she had a chance to catch her breath. “Got you.”
“You didn’t give me time to put a feather in my hair.”
“No feather, please. I’ll be spitting out pieces for days.” His eyes traveled up to her hair, which she’d left loose with a slight curl at the bottom. “Besides, I like your hair like this. Not bound up like an English socialite.”
“But I am an English socialite.”
“Not like any I’ve seen.” His arm tightened, pulling her closer. “You’re not like any woman I know.”
Desire flashed in the deep blue of his eyes as his heart pounded against her chest. Steady and strong, it whirled her pulse to drown out everything around them. Her fingers traced up his neck to brush the stubble covering his jaw. Ever so gently, she cupped his cheek and raised her lips in invitation. The desire surged in his eyes as he leaned down . . . and stopped. Blinking, he visibly reined himself in and drew back enough to put a space between their bodies.
“Where did you learn the Scottish dance?”
Stunned by the subtle rejection, Kat shook her head and tried to focus on his words. “I . . . that is, we had to learn all of the dances for our coming-out ball and presentation at court. Many of them are antiquated beyond words, but the reigning powers that be feel the tradition is best kept alive.” With all eyes skittering to them, envious toward Kat and longing toward Barrett, she had to concede this might not be the best place to kiss. “I love the country dances best of all, but your footwork is a little off from what I learned.”
“That’s because you had English teachers, and I had the true Scottish lessons passed down for generations to guide me.”
“You told me you couldn’t dance. It’s why we practiced so much before the movie premiere.”
“Fancy ballroom nonsense. A Scottish reel is another thing altogether.”
Did he realize how pronounced his brogue became when he spoke of his home? Or how his hair gleamed like polished mahogany in the lantern light? How secure she felt in his strong embrace with his scent of clean cotton and outdoor breeze tantalizing her senses? How she could think