the bruises it carried. “Perhaps it’s best to each mind our own business.”
“Up to you.” He shrugged, a lopsided grin tilting his full lips. “As for me, I’m heading inside before all the good drinks are gone and nothing is left except for the swill one of the waiters scrounged up on the black market. Care to join me?”
She clasped her hands together to keep from taking his offered arm and shook her head. She needed a few more minutes to refasten her armor before jumping back into the lion’s den, and preferably without him watching her every move. “I’ll rejoin the gaiety soon.”
Music poured out on a roll of laughter as he opened the door. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Whitford.”
* * *
The woman was out of her league. The Germans would sniff her out in a matter of days, if that, and kill her as a suspected spy. Or worse, put her on one of those trains with the Jews and other undesirables and ship her off. Likely to the camps or factories whose true intent they were so keen on hiding from the public behind false headlines of German victory. Maybe even straight to Berlin. Sir Alfred Whitford’s daughter should fetch a hefty price.
Barrett shifted as the corner wall dug into his back. He’d been a fool to agree to Whitford’s request behind the Secret Intelligence Service’s back. A desperate fool who craved the hefty paycheck that came with accepting the side deal. With that amount of money he could finally start his life over on his own terms.
“Champagne?”
He shook his head at the white-gloved waiter and his tray. If he was going to drink, it was going to be a wee dram of pure scotch at the end of a long and satisfying day. Today had been long, but satisfying it was not. Not with another English debutante throwing herself at the mercy of the Nazis. What was the haughty rich girl thinking coming over by herself? Did she really expect that flippity sister of hers to drop the glittering social circle, that Nazi officer she pined for, and skip back home without a second thought? She was in for a rude awakening if she believed that.
Shifting position to see over the tops of the reveling scum, he watched Kathleen Whitford trying to blend herself into the wall. If she clung any tighter, she’d be a picture. A pretty picture, at least. Softly curled blond hair and smooth skin that had never seen a day of outdoor work. She should’ve kept to her ballrooms and fainting couches if she couldn’t handle a simple party. What was she going to do when it was time to meet that pout-worm Eric and his SS chums? Faint at their feet, most likely.
He rolled his shoulders, stretching the tight jacket across his back. He should be at the pub, training the new recruits, but instead here he was chasing a girl across Paris because Sir Alfred was too much of a coward to come after the runaway himself. What kind of man allowed his daughters to step within a hundred miles of occupied soil and then paid someone else to fetch them back?
Kathleen inched closer to a potted plant. No doubt to hurl it at the next dancer who waltzed over her fancy shoes. But as frightened as she clearly was, she was here. No matter how much he disagreed with it, he had to give her a spot of admiration for crossing the Channel just like those brave lads.
But unlike the boys, she wasn’t trained for combat. That’s where he came in. But not tonight. Tonight he’d let her try her own way of getting Eleanor to listen to reason, and when that didn’t work, he’d step in. Sir Alfred had paid him well.
Chapter 2
“Why is it so bright out here?”
Kat turned the page of her newspaper. “Because it’s midday. One o’clock in the afternoon, to be exact.”
Ellie threw up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and shuffled onto the balcony in her fuzzy pink slippers. She plopped onto the spindle chair across the bistro table and groaned. “I feel like I just went to bed.”
“You did—four hours ago.”
“Then why did Sylvie wake me up?”
“I told her to.” Oh, to be Ellie. Never a care in the world, never the burden of responsibility beyond picking out new shoes to weigh on her young shoulders. What must that sort of freedom taste like?