“There you are, Miss Josie,” Mrs. Peak said the moment Josie entered the parlor where the Knit for a Knight ladies were packing away their work, “we feared you’d gotten lost in the raid.”

Thoroughly lost, thoroughly kissed. Good grief, did it show? She could still feel the heat of him, the taste of him. Her cheeks were flushed as though she’d run a mile and she wondered if the women suspected that the reason was Gideon.

“I was just seeing to the stragglers, Mrs. Peak.” To hide her blush Josie held out a brown jumper by the shoulders. “It’s beautiful! Who knitted this?”

“I did the arms,” Vera said, “and Myrna did the body.”

“Forty-four jumpers in all,” Mrs. Peak said dropping a pile of folded knitwear into a box, “and six dozen scarves.”

“My dear ladies,” Josie said, looking around at their earnest faces, “I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m so very proud of you and all the work you do for the war effort. Our men in uniform will be so grateful come winter to be wearing one of your lovely creations.” The jumpers were expertly constructed, every knit and purl made with love toward a complete stranger.

“If it weren’t for your gift for talking people out of their donations, Miss Josie,” Vera said, shaking a ball of yarn pulled from the woman’s own reclaimed cardigan, “we’d not have wool enough to make a single knit cap.”

Josie smiled. “Let’s keep collecting yarn and knit goods wherever we can beg them. We’ll meet here again next week, after the Spitfire Fete. Fingers crossed there’s not another air raid!”

It took another hour but Josie finally managed to send the members of the other committees on their way home to the village, and didn’t finish meeting with the Land Girls until nearly midnight.

Francie had hinted at having seen her escaping with Gideon to the wine cellar, but Josie brushed off the comment with a patently ridiculous story about taking inventory and accidentally breaking a bottle, and having to clean up, and—

“Oh, la! I’d let the colonel take my inventory any time.”

Josie hid her blushing guilt by joining in their laughter and a bit of racy girl-talk, until they were all giddy with scrumpy and began dreaming aloud about Errol Flynn and Cary Grant and Clark Gable.

Three romantic stars of the silver screen that couldn’t hold a candle to the man who had just kissed her so deeply. Her brain was still in a tumble over Gideon when she finally dropped into bed, as exhausted by air raids and committee meetings and the endless war work as she was exhilarated by this new peace she had made with him. Still felt his fingers threading through her hair, the warm feel of his mouth on hers.

And then it was morning again. She rose early, bathed quickly, actually primping in front of the mirror before going to breakfast in the dining room, hoping to meet Gideon there, hoping not to meet him. After all, what would they say to each other after a kiss that had been meant to prove to the orb their disinterest in each other when she had felt his unmistakable male hardness against her belly? Had lost herself in his embrace, melted against him when he gathered her into his arms and plundered her mouth, her senses.

What would they speak about when next they saw each other?

Not at lot, as it turned out. There was hardly any time to spare. Their meetings in the library were postponed with cryptic notes from Gideon left on her desk in the afternoon, and always with a promise to meet the following night. But only one of those meetings ever managed to happen.

Not in the library or the wine cellar, but briefly, in the most wildly romantic, impromptu embrace on the backstairs. Gideon catching her up in his arms on his way up, whispering against her ear as he strung his hot kisses along her neck. Releasing her to continue her way down the stairs, only after turning her legs to jelly and leaving her breathless and wanting so much more.

The next few days flew past, with her rushing from one emergency to another, and Gideon as elusive as ever, with deliveries of construction materials arriving nearly every morning and disappearing into the military lorry that afternoon.

The new evacuee children arrived from Bristol, as filthy and disheveled as the first group had been. This time Josie and the household staff made a game out of changing into ‘country clothes’ after a good scrubbing, followed by a hearty meal with the other children, bread with butter and berry jam, then a hike down to the lake with Godby to feed crusts to the mallards. So far, so good.

She was at her desk in the farm office on the morning of the Spitfire Fete, dividing change among the various tills when she looked up to find Gideon smiling at her from the doorway. He was dressed as she’d seen him of late, in khaki work trousers, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the muscles of his forearms bronze and flexed and fine.

“There you are, Josie,” he said, entering the office with a smile that melted her knees. “I’ve stopped in a few times, but you’ve been busy the past few days.”

“You’ve been out late, Gideon.”

He smiled, his eyes bluer than she remembered. “Too late for our meetings in the library, much to my regret.”

She would hear him and the other men come up the stairs well after midnight, heard running bathwater, their low conversations and quiet laughter, and then nothing at all until well after she was gone in the morning. “I take it you’re out there constructing your chain of anti-tank islands between here and Taunton.”

“Official secrets,” he said putting his finger to the side of his nose as he sat on the edge of the desk, close enough to touch. “What have you got there?”

“Tills and ticket rolls for the Spitfire Fete. One each for the game and food stalls, and one for the main donation stall. We’re expecting quite a crowd, from all over the county. You’re coming, of course?” She’d been hinting at it for the past week. Had come right out and told him that he should at least put in an appearance for the sake of the Home Guard.

He studied her for a long while. “Can’t ever be sure what the day will bring, can we?”

“The fete has everything, for everyone! A jumble sale, a fortune teller, a helter skelter ride, a Punch and Judy show, a field full of games, free ice-cream coronets for the kids, a dance band for the adults and a Have-a-Go lane, if you’d care to learn to knit or throw a hand-grenade.”

“Turns out, I already know how to do both.” His gaze was honest and true, a sure sign that he wasn’t jesting.

“Then I might tempt you with the coin-drop. It’s a canvas tarp laid on the ground, with the outline of a full-sized Spitfire drawn on it in red.”

“Why is that?”

“So people can fill it with coins. Gives everyone a chance to contribute to the fund, no matter their circumstance. Come see for yourself, if you can get away.”

“I’ll admit to curiosity about how a village as small as Balesborough goes about raising enough money to purchase an entire Spitfire.”

“Penny by penny, Gideon, just like most worthwhile things. One step at a time.” Though patience had never been Josie’s strong suit. “So you must come and see the village in action; you might even be moved to add a penny or two to the outline yourself. Even better, come to the central donation stall and purchase a Spitfire lapel badge from me.”

“A badge?”

“We’ve created a special brass and enamel pin-badge, oval with the figure of a Spitfire in flight across a field of blue. Will you promise to try to attend?”

“I’ll try, Josie.” His eyes never left hers as he lifted her hand—as sad-looking and work-worn as any farmer’s, and brought it to his lips for a kiss that made her heart flail about in her chest, a blush creep up out of her shirt.

She leaned close, then his lips met hers, hungry and heated, his breath brushing her cheek as he kissed the corners of her mouth.

Not the sort of behavior that would convince the orb of their disinterest. He cupped her chin, deepened his kiss. Her pulse rocketed around inside her chest, striking the breath from her.

“I’ve miss you, Josie,” he said against her ear, then mumbled something she didn’t understand, that brought her back to her senses.

“The orb, Gideon, have you seen it?”

He kissed her nose, then shook his head slowly, his eyes locked with hers. “Not seen a glow anywhere.”

“Neither have I.” A good thing, wasn’t it? Exactly what they had both wanted. “Do you suppose it’s finally given up on us?”

He slipped a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers gentle and warm. “Would you like that, Josie?”

“I–well, of course. It’s for the best, isn’t it?” What a silly twit she was becoming! She smiled at him like a fool, found him smiling back and yanked her hand out of his, went back to counting pennies into the three tills, just as a rap sounded at the open office door.

“Busy?”

Her father, wearing a smart British Army dress uniform, from the last war. “Where did you find that? In the Stirling costume shop?” Or had he been digging about in the attics?

“Thought I’d find you here, Josie Bear!” To make a point of some sort, he gave Gideon a capacious wink, then a salute that whiffed of camphor. “Afternoon, Colonel.”

“Edward,” Gideon said, standing and returning the salute as her father remained at attention. “Quite impressive, sir.”

“Brought it with me from Stirling House, though I don’t know why. Thought I’d wear it to the fete since I haven’t a proper Home Guard uniform.” He removed his cap and tucked it under his arm. “Fits me damn well after twenty-odd years in mothballs. But egad, Daughter, surely you’re not wearing those dungarees to the fete.”

“Some of us are still working, Father.” Blushing to her toes as both men appraised the rusticated state of her clothes. She spared a glance at the long case clock in the corner. “It’s eleven. I’ve two hours to finish, dress and be ready to open the fete.”

“I’ll let you go then, Josie,” Gideon said, offering only a nod. “Enjoy the fete, Edward.” Her heart sank as he shook hands with her father and left her with only the most enigmatic smile.

“Father, do you remember Aunt Freddy’s Orb of True Love?”

“How can I forget? Damn thing nearly drove your Uncle Anthony crazy before he landed the love of his life.” He canted his head, like Winnie on the scent. “Why? Has it returned? Have you seen it? Has it fixed its cupid’s glow on you and Gideon?”

The man was too sharp by half. “Never mind, Father. Forget I asked.”

“Not likely. I quite like that young man. And you do, too.”

“Father!”

“No time for a heart-to-heart, my dear. I’m off to meet my comrades in arms before the fete. As you very well know, the Home Guard is manning the Have-a-Go at Throwing a Mills Bomb stall. A brilliant idea of yours to use conkers still in their burr jackets instead of live grenades.” He stepped behind her desk and kissed her on the cheek. “See you there, girl. And, pray God, not in those dungarees.”

Grateful to be alone once more, Josie finished the bookwork for the tills, loaded them into the back of Bess and secured them among boxes bristling with Union Jacks on sticks, banners and strings of pennants, along with the estate’s donation of six crates of Nimway Scrumpy and four of Nimway’s Top-Drawer Honey to add to the WI stall.

An hour later, she had managed to bathe, lingering in the bathroom long enough to wash her hair, smooth over her freckles with a bit of foundation powder and soft pink rouge, brighten her lips with a subtly deep red and, for the first time since the war began, brush her lashes with a dash of mascara.

Last evening’s rain shower had threatened to dampen attendance at the fete, but the morning had dawned bright and cloudless, improving by the hour until the early afternoon sun became unseasonably warm enough for Josie to wear one of the dresses Aunt Freddy had brought her from Paris the year before the war.

Cap-sleeved and floral with a sweetheart neckline and matching belt, its skirt draped in swinging gabardine; Josie felt grand and feminine and powerful. She would wear the dress in solidarity with the women of Paris, who were surely suffering untold indignities now that the German forces occupied all of France.

She’d also wear the dress for the two men in her life who had just censured her everyday dungarees, as though she had forgotten how to dress like a lady.

Wear it especially for Gideon, in case he decided to attend the fete. He was a delight to be with and his kiss had sent her to the moon. A journey she longed to take with him again. The orb be damned.

But her mind needed to be occupied elsewhere than Gideon this evening if she was to pull off the fete, as well as her more pressing obligations.

* * *

It was nearly one o’clock by the time Josie pulled Bess up to the back of the WI stall in the field behind Balesborough’s village hall. She unloaded Nimway’s honey and cider donations, delivered the flags and banners to the decorations committee and soon the grounds began to flutter with color and excitement. She dropped off the tills to the volunteers covering the three ticket stalls then walked the lanes of food and market vendors, toured the games, watched a test ride on the helter skelter, and double-checked the bandstand schedule.

The fete was spread out across the unused cricket pitch; come February the pitch and the fields around it would be plowed under and planted in sugar beets. But for now the canvas marquees and brightly colored stalls lent a feeling of victory and hope for the war effort.

To guard against becoming a target for bombers, come nightfall, the fete would move into the village hall, where the music would continue and the dancing would begin.

By two o’clock a crowd of nearly a thousand had gathered around the outdoor stage to hear Mayor Wharmsley’s opening speech.

“Our own Balesborough Parish Spitfire already has a propeller and a tail! Now let’s us dig deep into our pockets tonight and buy our lady a proper body to go with them. To that honorable end, I hereby open this Fete to one and all! Victory!”

Josie took her place alongside Mrs. Peak and her teenage daughter at the main information and donations stall, greeting people as they streamed by, flogging the lovely Spitfire badges and rattling the tin donations box, unable to resist watching all the while for Gideon.

The badges were an easy sell, and she had just returned to the front of the stall to pick up a few more when Mrs. Peak patted her hand and nodded behind Josie.

“Look, Miss Josie, there’s the colonel. Isn’t he handsome in his dress uniform?” Mrs. Peak was so very wrong; Gideon Fletcher wasn’t handsome, he was breathtaking.

And he came! Was walking toward Josie through the shifting crowd, the picture of command, his stride measured and heading straight for her.

Looking at her with unmistakably hungry eyes that made her heart leap and her pulse race even before he took her hand. “Good evening, Josie,” he said, just between them. “You look quite beautiful.”

“Out of my dungarees, you mean?” Oh, damn, she didn’t say that aloud did she?

“In your dungarees or out of them, Josie, you take my breath away.” His eyes sparkled blue, his gaze drift downward to the risqué neckline of the dress she’d worn just to entice him.

How the man could continually make her stammer and blush like a faint-hearted schoolgirl was beyond her understanding. Made her wonder if the orb had begun to stalk them again, though they were well away from the grounds of Nimway Hall.

“Yes, well,” she finally managed, thoroughly flummoxed, holding tightly to his arm as she led him through the streaming crowd to the counter of the donations stall, recovering enough to say, “We’re delighted you decided to attend, Colonel. You’ll be an inspiration to the Home Guard when they see you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, “but I could hardly pass up your invitation. And my staff and the sappers were quite eager. We walked here from the Hall and the lot headed straight for the carnival games with fists full of tickets.”

Mrs. Peak clapped her hands. “Balesborough will be so pleased to see them join in the fun. Your men have been ever so gentlemanly to the village.”

“I’m gratified to hear that, Mrs. Peak, I’ll note it in my daily report.”

Josie gave Gideon’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Colonel Fletcher tells me that he would be delighted to purchase a Spitfire badge. Would you please do the honors?”

“I’d be glad to.” Mrs. Peak peered over the counter. “How many, Colonel?”

“Just one will do, thank you.” He dropped two pound coins into Mrs. Peak’s hand and received the badge from her moon-eyed daughter. “I’ve instructed my officers not to return home tonight without each sporting a badge of their own.”

He turned the badge over, examined the pin, then handed it to Josie. “Will you help me? I’m quite bad at this sort of thing.”

“My pleasure.” Josie managed to keep her fingers from shaking while she pinned the badge to the flap of his left breast pocket, gave it a pat. “There, Colonel, in the traditional place of honor.”

Before she could move her hand, he covered it with his own, gazed down at her. “Can you get away for a stroll sometime later?”

“I’d love to, Gideon, but I can’t for a while yet.” Too much on her plate, too many obligations. “I’m to manage another stall in a few minutes, and another after that—won’t be free until after seven when the fete moves indoors. Can you stay until then?”

“I’ll do my best, Josie. But if not here at the fete, let’s meet tonight in the library.”

She knew she was grinning madly. “I can’t wait. Oh, and, Gideon, do be sure to walk past the outline of the Spitfire. I expect you’ll be amazed!”

“I’ll do that. Ladies.” He touched his hand over to the brim of his cap, nodded, then strolled off into the crowd, leaving Josie feeling bereft.

“Don’t get much more handsome than that man, Miss Josie.”

“You have me there, Mrs. Peak.” Which made them both giggle like a pair of schoolgirls.

Half an hour later Josie gathered her satchel from behind the donations stall and headed for her next assignment, the very popular Coconut Shy. The elaborate red-and-white striped marquee, was closed on three sides and open for competitors at the front, where they would stand outside the boxed-in area that was enclosed by a low wall on three sides. Inside the stall, a half-dozen large cups had been attached to the top of three-foot tall posts, which were anchored in the grass. Each cup held a coconut.

The crowd seemed a living thing, a magnet for men and boys and even a few girls. Among them, all eight evacuees from Nimway Hall, each more excited than the next. And thankfully, Mrs. Tramble was riding herd.

Lucas was standing at the children’s throw-line inside the box, grinding the ball into his palm as he drew a bead on the coconut directly in front of him. He reared back, threw the ball and his shot hit dead on, knocking the coconut off the cup before arching to the side and nearly hitting the one next to it.

“That’s three for me!” Lucas shouted. The crowd cheered him and Mr. Tully from Lower Farm presented a ecstatic boy with a six-inch model of a Spitfire. The boy turned and saw Josie, ran to her and showed off his winnings then went “burrrrrrring” off making engine noises, the Spitfire held aloft as he negotiated the crowd and disappeared.

“Thank you for your courage, Mrs. Tramble,” Josie said to the woman as she went smiling off after the children. who were now following the new pilot. The last she saw or heard of them for the rest of the fete was the woman’s cry of “This way to the ice cream, children!”

Josie checked her wrist watch and decided it was time to take her place at the Coconut Shy beside the other volunteers from the Nimway estate. She slipped around the barrier at the side of the gallery and donned the heavy canvas apron Mr. Tully handed to her, filled the large apron pockets with a half-dozen of the heavy balls and was so quickly absorbed in the spirit of the game she hardly ever thought of Gideon.

Certainly not his kiss.

* * *

“Look there, Colonel, isn’t that—”

“Miss Stirling, yes, Crossley.” Slender sinewy legs, trim ankles and a waist he could span with his hands. “I’ll see you gentlemen later.”

He’d left his men and had nearly made a fool of himself when he saw Josie waiting for him in front of the donations stall, eager and flirting.

He smiled at the memory. Made a promise to himself to meet her tonight in the library.

With more than an hour before he needed to be in place for the live drop, Gideon took a moment in the bogs to move the Spitfire badge from his left pocket, where Josie had so charmingly pinned it, to his right, where Arcturus would expect to see it as confirmation that he was Invictus.

Next, to honor his promise to Josie and curious as hell how the outline of the Spitfire was faring, Gideon made his way to the huge canvas outline, its corners anchored to the grass by croquet hoops.

“Remarkable,” he would have said to Josie, had she been standing beside him. Nearly every square inch inside the profile was covered in copper pennies and other coins. A short-legged wooden pier bridged the entire width of the fuselage just aft of the wings, giving access to the center of the airplane, while a volunteer encouraged donors of every age onto the bridge.

“These are for my da, from me, my mum, and my baby brother,” a little girl said as she held onto her mother’s hand and tossed three coins toward the propeller. “He’s a navalgator.”

Clearly, a young family living in hope that their beloved father would make it home from the war, a wife who must know that the chances were heartbreakingly low.

He recognized two men from Balesborough’s Home Guard unit; father and son electricians he planned to draft into the Auxiliary Unit, if their names weren’t already on the list that Arcturus was to hand over to him today. They stood for a moment in silence at the center of the bridge before adding their coins to the rest.

“Colonel Fletcher!” With only Molly’s shout for a warning, Gideon was suddenly surrounded by Nimway’s own evacuees, his loyal cadets and the four new ones he’d not yet had time to muster into their band.

“We’re donating our rosehip money, Colonel,” Molly said, standing at his elbow, proudly rattling a chocolate tin, coins that Josie had paid them for every ounce of wild rosehips they brought to her for the herb cabinet.

“I’m proud of you all!” He was, that and so much more as he watched them race to the bridge, all the little hands tossing coins and squealing in delight. Children who had fallen lucky into the arms of the lady of Nimway Hall.

With a half-hour until the live drop, Gideon spotted his men in the field, laboring mightily at their end of a tug-of-war rope, pulling against a team of fliers from the air station. After two more wins, they came away filthy with mud and roaring in triumph. Admiring their fighting spirit, Gideon bought a round of beer from the tap stall, then excused himself and made his way toward the live drop.

According to his message from Arcturus, the drop would happen near the Coconut Shy. He was to be in the general area by six, wearing a Spitfire badge on the right side of his jacket. He expected no more information than that. A live-drop was, by necessity, a malleable event; anticipating too many details in advance left no room for an agent to react to amend or even abandon a plan.

He only had to wait, watch, to appear to be a natural part of the goings on. Shouldn’t be any trouble if he needed to have a go with the Shy. He was an ace marksman with a rifle, could land a live grenade inside a tea cup and, by the age of eleven, he’d been banned from every fete in east Kent for the power in his arm and the accuracy of his aim at a coconut.

The Shy seemed quite popular, with spectators two-deep, and every throw drawing groans or cheers. He stood on the perimeter and watched the action, certain that Arcturus was here, wondering how he planned to make the hand-off.

His senses were always heightened surrounding a live drop, sounds more distinct, shadows and sunlight more stark, smells and movement more discernible. Rather like having Josie nearby; made him deeply aware of her scent, her laughter, her kiss.

Another cheer went up and a new contestant stepped to the throwing line. The crowd to shifted in and out of the perimeter, wagers were made and paid, and Gideon adjusted his position for a better view over the heads of the father and two young sons who were standing in front of him, leaving him an unobstructed view of the marquee, the line of mounted coconuts, the new contestant who was warming up his arm in great wide circles, the spectators watching from the sidelines and the four volunteers working the stall.

He recognized one of Josie’s tenant farmers, Tully, the man’s two grown sons and—as though Josie’s Aunt Freddy’s Orb of True Love had followed them to the fete—Josie herself, holding three balls in her hands, and wearing a red-and-white striped apron that reached nearly to her knees.

She saw him at the same time, smiled shyly across the distance and waggled her fingers before dutifully turning her attention to the next contestant.

Three wind-ups and three misses later, Gideon scanned the crowd for anyone who might be his contact, saw no one and left the perimeter to wait for Josie at the edge of the stall.

“Are you stalking me, Gideon,” she asked as she approached him, slipping the balls into the large pockets and wiping her hands on the apron.

“Just idling while you work, Josie.”

She was laughing brightly, freely, her gaze glittering as she looked up at him. “You’ll have-a-go at the coconuts, won’t—” she had been smoothing her warm hand across his chest, stopped suddenly, swallowed hard before she continued, laughing lightly “—won’t you, Gideon? Raising funds for the war effort, you know.”

Pennies to buy a Spitfire; he was ashamed to doubt her. “I’ve a pocket full of tickets. I just may have to.”

“Good.” Her smile had weakened, a line of worry creased her brow, her breathing shallow and quick. “Then...well, I’d best be getting back to the stall before they miss me.”

“Will you be free at seven?”

She exhaled deeply, offered another wan smile. “Yes, Gideon. It turns out that I’ll be free.” She started back into the stall, then turned back, seemed sad all of a sudden, different. “Where will I find you?”

“I’ll find you.”

“I look forward to it,” she said with a shy wink that caught him in the heart as she returned to her place in the stall.

He watched her for a time from an open space where Arcturus surely could see him, could catch his eye or pause beside him long enough to slip a message to him inside a propelling pencil or a cigarette lighter.

“Join us, sir!” Easton said, with a tug at his sleeve. “Let’s all have-a-go at those bloody coconuts!”

“Miss Stirling’s there at the side of the stall, Colonel!” Durbridge’s grin was wide, the front of his shirt still streaked with mud. Come along, show her what you’ve got!”

Why not? A half-hour had passed without contact. Arcturus could be any man connected to the fete, someone local with the ability to move among a variety of people and not be noticed.

And who better than Mr. Tully, from Lower Farm. Nimway’s orchardist, a veteran of the Great War, a clear-headed member of the Home Guard, and his occupation allowed him access to regular delivery routes throughout the county.

And there was the very man, running the Coconut Shy, scanning the crowd, taking tickets from all comers in exchange for a trio of balls, his hands repeatedly dipping into the huge pockets of his apron. What better cover for a live drop than that?

Gideon watched Crossley and Durbridge wage their own personal tournament, until Tully finally called them off and handed three balls to Gideon along with a wink.

“Best of luck, sir.”

He needn’t have worried that his arm had lost its teenage accuracy. Tried not to think about the woman who was watching from the stall, failed miserably at that, but threw harder and faster and more accurately than he’d ever done as a youth. Actually cracked all three coconuts and sent one arcing into its neighbor for a record-breaking four-count.

While the crowd roared and his officers gave him a thumping good razzing, he realized that in his attempt to impress Josie with his prowess, and to convince himself of the rapid progress of his recovery, he had wrenched the injured muscle of his thigh with enough force to break open the incision at its weakest point.

Not painful enough to worry about now, the familiar dampness at his knee easily ignored until he could tend to it in the privacy of his own quarters.

Just now he was wondering what the devil had happened to the live drop. He’d been so certain he had found Arcturus in Tully’s exuberant handshake and backslapping congratulations, that Gideon had expected to come away from shying coconuts with more than a model Spitfire. Tully could have easily slipped the list of names for the Aux Unit into his hand as he surrendered his game tickets or with the balls. Nothing.

Arcturus was an expert in tradecraft, wise enough to abandon a live drop if he sensed trouble. Always frustrating and concerning. But the safety of both agents was always the top concern. Even above the operation itself. Another day. Another drop.

He took himself away from the Coconut Shy, in case there had been a breach in security and his cover was compromised. The sun would be setting soon and the fete was already being moved indoors by an army of volunteers.

He’d promised to find Josie, but had lost her in the shifting crowd and the fading light and assumed she would be meeting somewhere with the organizing committee.

His knee was beginning to stiffen and swell, the open incision scraping against the wool of his trousers, forcing him to move like an old man toward the village hall, where the music had begun behind to seep from the shuttered doors and windows.

He drew aside the blackout curtain and stepped through the vestibule into the lighted hall. The fete had indeed been brought inside, the flags and banners and bunting, the food and drink stalls, the music and dancing.

And Josie. He’d found her deep in conversation with an older man who was sitting at the cashier table. Pencils and pages flew as they seemed to be tallying columns of figures and entering the totals into an account journal.

Rather than interrupt them, Gideon purchased two pint glasses of Nimway Scrumpy, claimed two places for them at an empty table and was about to go fetch her when he turned to find Josie moving toward him, her hair like spun gold, skirts playing against her shapely legs.

He felt anchored to the ground, beguiled, as she held out her hand and took his when she reached him. “I saw you come in, Gideon. I’m so glad you stayed.”

“I said I’d find you.”

Her eyes were misty and studied him a long time. “Yes, but did you find me, or did I find you?”

“Shall we call it a draw?”

“A draw, then.” She took his other hand. “Colonel Fletcher, I know I’m a woman and it’s not my place to ask of a man, but would you care to dance?”

He felt the music thrumming beneath his shoes, the pulse of his wound throbbing more sharply than it had in months, the pleasure of holding her in his arms too enticing to refuse her anything. “I haven’t in long while. Not since college.”

“Then you’ll have to trust me, sir, to make decisions for the both of us.” She led him out onto the dance floor among the other couples and he lost himself in her enchantment.