The Socialite - J'nell Ciesielski Page 0,66

of the freedom her sister lived for without apology. Never at someone else’s beck and call, never failing to reach standards enforced upon her, no more wondering if her true self was enough. But then, she’d never had Ellie’s tenacity to reach out and grasp it.

Like a homing beacon, her eyes tracked back to Barrett. Settled between Hitler, his henchman, and his minion, he looked ready to smack them all in the face with the empty pastry platter. Pushing back his chair, he mumbled something to Eric that went unacknowledged and walked toward her.

“Ladies, you have the right idea.” Leaning over the rail, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as if to horde all the fresh air before the coming rain hit.

Kat smoothed a wrinkle from between his shoulders. Sitting for too long never did well for clothing. “Lose track with the one-way conversation?”

“I believe I was dismissed when it all switched to German.”

“Maybe you bored them.”

He leaned up on one elbow. “Probably. Don’t know what kind of interesting information they hoped to get out of a simple pub owner, though I think they’re quite impressed with you.”

“Find that surprising, do you?”

Reaching out, he took a loose curl slipping over her shoulder and rubbed it between his fingers. “I’m finding that you surprise me around every corner.”

Tingles danced across her scalp as she leaned into his touch. “Good to keep a little mystery in the relationship.”

His lip curled up at the edge, vaulting a hundred different scandalous suggestions into the space between them. Her breath stilled, burning her lungs in anticipation of discovering what they meant.

A clap like thunder erupted behind her. Eric rushed over, rubbing his hands together and grinning like a fool on parade. “We’re invited back tomorrow night for dinner. A few more guests are expected to arrive who will be most keen to hear about forging new connections while in Paris.”

Anxiety danced in Ellie’s eyes. She fumbled for another cigarette, but put it away at Eric’s frown. “I’m afraid our social circle is somewhat small in Paris.”

“Surely there are friends and potential friends of Deutschland in France.” Hitler’s voice carried across the terrace and surely down into the valley below. Rising from the table, he came toward them. “If there is an Anglo-German Fellowship, then why not a French one? I’m eager to hear of anyone you think is welcome to the idea.”

Kat gripped the wall behind her as Hitler’s dark eyes, depthless without blinking, bored into her. Her soul quivered. “I shall make a list tonight and be more than happy to share it with you tomorrow over dinner.”

“I look forward to it.”

Kat nodded and smiled. He could look for it all he wanted, but he’d be waiting for a long time. She was weary of listening to dictates from those with their own agenda. It was high time she made her own judgment about the right course of action. This time tomorrow, she’d have Ellie on a train bound for Switzerland.

Chapter 13

With feet like lead, Barrett trudged up the hotel stairs, a bottle of champagne under one arm and a white envelope tucked inside his inner jacket pocket. With each step it burned his chest like a brand of betrayal. The fourth-floor hallway stretched before him like the dreaded path to the gallows. Only it wasn’t his funeral. It was hers.

Pausing before her door, he took a deep breath to calm his boiling blood. Just give her a chance to explain. He blew out the breath. Then throttle her.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Seconds ticked by.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

More seconds passed with fumbling from inside. The lock turned and the door cracked open. Apprehensive blue eyes peered out. “Barrett. What are you doing here?”

He held up the sweating bottle of champagne. “Came to celebrate.”

“Oh.” The door crack slimmed. “Now isn’t really a good time.”

“No? What a shame because I think it’s the perfect time.” He shoved the door open, bouncing it off the wall. Kat jumped back as he strode past her into the room. “When else will we get an opportunity to toast the success of infiltration?”

It looked like a tornado had spun through her room. Clothes and shoes trailed from the bureau to the bed, where her suitcases lay with their mouths gaping open. Colorful cosmetics and hairpins spilled out of a pink-and-white box atop the sink, and a stack of papers with a map on top littered the desk. A cool breeze ruffled the drapes hanging over the open doors to the balcony

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