August 1940
Middle Wallop, England
Scarlett’s heart clenched as she watched Jameson whirl Constance around the small dance floor of the local pub. He took so much care with Constance because he knew how precious she was to Scarlett, which only made her like him more.
Too much, too soon, too fast…it was all of that and then some, but she couldn’t bring herself to slow it down.
“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” one of his American friends— Howard Reed, if she remembered correctly—asked from across their table, his arm wrapped around Christine, another filter officer who bunked in the same hut as Scarlett.
Christine glanced over the top of the newspaper she was reading. The headlines were more than enough to convince Scarlett to look away.
“I…couldn’t say,” Scarlett answered, even as heat bloomed in her cheeks, giving her away. She was with Jameson every free moment they had, and between his flight hours and her schedule, there weren’t a lot of moments to be had between them.
She’d only known him for three weeks, and yet she couldn’t remember what the world had felt like before. There were now two eras in her life— before Jameson, and now.
She filed the after Jameson in the same category as after the war. Both were obscure enough concepts that she refused to waste her time examining either of them, especially now. Since the Battle of Britain, as Churchill had called it, had begun a few weeks ago, and the Germans had begun bombing various airfields around Britain, their time together had taken on the sharp, undeniable taste of desperation—an urgency to grasp on to what they could while they had it.
Work had picked up, too. Their schedule was grueling, and she found herself placing flags for Jameson’s own patrols on the map, marking his current location and holding her breath as the news came in minute by minute from the radio operators. She noticed every time a 609 flag moved, even if it wasn’t on her section of the board.
“Yeah, well, he’s sweet on you, too,” Howard remarked with a grin.
The song came to an end, but there was no band to clap for, just a record to be changed.
Jameson escorted Constance through the sea of uniforms and back to the table.
“Dance with me, Scarlett,” he said, offering his hand and a smile that stripped away her defenses.
“Of course.” She traded places with her sister, then slid into Jameson’s arms as a slower tune started up.
“I’m glad I got to see you tonight,” he said into her hair.
“I hate that it’s only for a few hours.” She rested her cheek on his chest and breathed him in. He always smelled like soap, aftershave lotion, and the tang of metal that seemed to cling to his skin even between patrols.
“I’ll take a few hours with you on a Wednesday night whenever I get the chance,” he promised softly.
His heartbeat was strong and steady as they swayed. Here was the only place she felt safe or certain about anything lately. There was nothing in this world that compared to the feel of his arms around her.
“I wish I could stay here, just like this,” she said softly, her fingers making lazy circles on the shoulder of his uniform.
“We can.” His hand splayed on her lower back without venturing into more southern territory, unlike many of the other soldiers around them with their partners.
Jameson was respectful to the level of complete and utter frustration. He hadn’t so much as kissed her—not really, though he’d often move just close enough to spike her heart rate before pressing his lips to her forehead.
“For another fifteen minutes,” she muttered. “Then you have to leave for
patrol.”
“And you have work, if I’m not mistaken.”
She sighed, then looked away from the couple next to them as dancing became a fully involved kiss.
“Why haven’t you kissed me?” Scarlett asked him softly.
His rhythm broke for a breath of a second, and he took her chin between his thumb and finger, tilting her face gently toward his. “Yet.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Why haven’t I kissed you yet,” he clarified. “Don’t play with words.”
“I’m not.” He caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “I’m just making sure you know it’s a yet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” All around them, the world changed so fast, she barely knew what to expect in the next minute. Bombs fell and planes crashed, yet he acted like they had years—when she wasn’t sure they even had days.
…
He glanced toward the couple at their left. No wonder she was questioning his less than speedy timing. “Because you’re not just another girl in a pub,” he said as they began to sway again, his hand cupping her face gently. “Because we’ve only been alone once, and kissing you for the first time isn’t something I want to happen in front of an audience.” Not if he kissed her like he wanted to.
“Oh.” Her eyebrows shot up.
“Oh.” A slow smile spread across his face. If she knew half the thoughts that went through his head when it came to her, she would have put in for a transfer. “I also know your world has a hell of a lot more rules than mine, so I’m trying my best not to break any of them.”
“Not so many, really.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth, as though she needed to think it over.
“Sweetheart, you’re an actual aristocrat under this uniform.” From what he’d been able to piece together between what little she told him about her family and the details Constance was more than willing to part with, the life Scarlett led as a WAAF officer was so different from her pre-war lifestyle that the two couldn’t be compared.
She blinked. “My parents are.”
He laughed. “And the difference is?”
“Well, I don’t have any brothers, so the title will go into abeyance once my father passes,” she answered with a shrug. “Constance and I are seen as equal under the law, so unless one of us declines the title, neither of us will inherit it. We’ve both decided not to decline, which is rather brilliant when you think about it.” A corner of her mouth lifted in a secretive smile, making him wish they were alone and far from in public.
“You’ve decided to fight for it?” English peerage was so far beyond his area of expertise that he didn’t pretend to understand.
“No.” Her hand slid up his shoulder and over the collar of his uniform until she cupped the back of his neck. He felt her touch in every nerve of his body. “We decided not to fight for it by simply not declining it. Neither of us wants it. Constance is engaged to Edward, who will inherit his own, so our parents are pleased, and I want nothing to do with it.” She shook her head. “We made a vow when we were younger. See?” She lifted her hand, showing a faint line of a scar down her palm. “It was all very dramatic.”
His head tilted slightly as he absorbed her words. “And what do you want, Scarlett?”
The record changed, and the tempo picked up, but they stayed at the same, gentle sway at the edge of the floor, carving out their own little ballad.
“Right now, I want to dance with you,” she answered, stroking her fingers down his neck.
“I can give you that.” Man, it was those eyes that just about knocked him on his ass every time. She could have asked for the moon, and he would have flown his Spitfire into the stratosphere just to get her to look at
him like she was right now.
When that song ended, they reluctantly left the floor, holding hands as they approached the table.
“Seven fifteen,” Constance noted with a small grimace. “It’s about time we get going, isn’t it?” She stood and handed Scarlett her hat.
“It is,” Scarlett agreed. “Especially since we’ll need to drop by the airfield for Jameson and Howard.” She turned to Christine, who was still consumed by the newspaper. “Christine?”
She startled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just reading about the bombing in Sussex.”
Well, that certainly sobered the mood. Jameson’s fingers tightened slightly around Scarlett’s. “Well, I guess I’ll drive and you read,” he offered with a tight smile.
Christine nodded, and they all made their way to the car. Tonight, neither he nor Howard had been able to secure their company’s car, but Scarlett had.
“You don’t mind dropping us by the airfield?” he asked as he held the front passenger door open for her.
“Not at all,” she promised, her hand skimming along his waist as she slid into the seat. “It will give me another ten minutes with you, and who knows when I’ll get that again.”
He nodded, then shut the door once she was in, wishing she’d have preferred Constance, Christine, or even Howard drove instead of him so he could have tucked her in tight against him in the back seat. Instead, he took the wheel and began the drive to the airfield. This was always when the mood shifted between them, when they both mentally prepared for what their nights had in store while they’d be apart.
The sun was starting to set earlier now that they were in the middle of August, but he’d still have a healthy amount of light for takeoff in an hour.
“How about some music?” Constance asked, breaking the silence.
“The radio in this one is broken,” Scarlett said. “Looks like one of us will have to sing.”
Jameson smiled, shaking his head. The girl had a dry sense of humor, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
“Here, I’ll read. May I?” Howard asked, and Jameson heard the paper shifting hands. “I have five dollars that says I can get everyone to sleep before we reach the airfield with this thing.” Howard’s eyebrows shot up in the rearview. “Except you, Stanton. You’d better stay awake.”
“On it,” Jameson responded as they pulled onto the station. Once they were through the gate, he took Scarlett’s hand, shaking his head at the mundane tone Howard used to read an article about supply shortages.
“He really might put me to sleep,” Scarlett whispered. Jameson squeezed her hand.
“Coming to the aid of our troops is none other than the head of Wadsworth Shipping, George Wadsworth—” Howard continued.
Scarlett stiffened at his side.
“—who has more than one merger to celebrate with a confirmed source stating that his oldest son, Henry, is to be engaged to the oldest daughter of Baron and Lady Wright…”
Scarlett gasped, covering her mouth with the hand he wasn’t holding. “Oh God,” Constance muttered.
Jameson felt the earth beneath him shift, and his stomach bottomed out.
It can’t be.
Howard’s solemn gaze met his in the rearview, and he knew it was. “Well, surely there’s more than one Wright in the country,” Christine
muttered, yanking the paper back from Howard. “Henry is to be engaged to the oldest daughter of Baron and Lady Wright, Scarlett…” Christine fell quiet as she glanced toward Scarlett.
“Please, read the rest,” Jameson snapped. What the hell? Had she played him for a fool? Or had he been a fool all along?
“Um…Scarlett,” she continued to read, “who is currently serving in His Majesties’ Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. Both of Wright’s daughters joined the fight last year and were commissioned as officers.” The paper crinkled. “The rest is about the munitions,” she finished softly, just in time for him to
park the car at the edge of the lot that faced the narrow end of all three hangers.
“Looks like you lost that five dollars, Howard, because we’re all wide awake.” Jameson killed the engine and threw open the door. She was already in a relationship and about to be engaged. While he’d been falling in love with her, she’d been using him for what? A little entertainment? He glanced to the runway at his left, ready to launch, to leave the ground behind for a few hours.
…
Jameson slammed the door, and the sound jarred Scarlett from her shock. She flew out of the car, but he was halfway down the pavement to the hangar by the time she caught up with him. “Jameson! Wait!”
How could they do this? How could they inform the Daily that she and Henry were going to be engaged when she’d firmly told her mother she wouldn’t do it? It was them behind this, not just George. This reeked of her parents’ interference, and she’d be damned if it cost her Jameson.
“Wait for what, Scarlett?” he snapped as he strode away, those warm, dark eyes of his going cold and taking her heart with them. “Wait for you to marry some rich society-type? Was that why you wanted to know why I hadn’t kissed you yet? Were you worried about running out of time to pull one over on me?” He never broke stride, those long legs carrying him farther away from her with every step.
“That’s not what’s going on! I’m not engaged!” she argued, racing to get ahead of him. “Listen to me!” She put her hands on his chest and stopped, forcing him to pause or run her over.
He halted, but the look he gave crushed her all the same. “Are you getting engaged?”
“No!” She shook her head emphatically. “My parents want me to marry Henry, but I won’t do it. They’re trying to force my hand.” She would never forgive them for this. Not ever.
“Force your hand?” His jaw ticked, and her mind scrambled for a way to make him understand.
“Yes!” She didn’t bother to check if they were being overheard or where the others from the car were. She didn’t care who heard what she said as long as he did. “It’s not true.”
“It’s in the paper!” He stepped back from her and laced his fingers over his hat.
“Because they think publishing it as fact will force me to agree out of embarrassment or duty!” she fired back.
“Will it?” he challenged.
“No!” Her chest tightened, facing the possibility that he might not believe her.
He looked away, clearly torn, and she couldn’t blame him. Her parents and the Wadsworths had dumped her in a damnable mess.
“Jameson, please. I swear I’m not marrying Henry Wadsworth.” Death was preferable.
“But your parents want you to?” She nodded.
“And this Wadsworth guy wants you to?”
“Henry’s father believes the title—and the seat in the House of Lords— will fall to Henry if we marry, and if not Henry, then our firstborn son, which it won’t because—”
“Your firstborn son?” His eyes narrowed. “Now you’re having future kids with this guy?”
Apparently, that was not the thing to say to get him to understand.
“Of course not! None of it matters, because I’m not going to marry him!” A dull buzzing sounded in her head, as though her own mind were shutting down to spare her what felt like impending heartbreak. “If you believe this stunt, you let them win. I will not.”
“It’s easy to lose a fight you don’t know you’re in.” At least he was looking at her again, but the accusation in his eyes nearly brought tears to hers. He looked as though he’d been betrayed, and in a way, he had.
“I should have told you,” she whispered.
“Yes, you should have,” he agreed. “What kind of parents try to force their daughter into a marriage she doesn’t want?” His hands slid to the back of his neck, as if he needed to keep those hands busy.
“The kind who have sold off nearly all the land and spent themselves into financial ruin.” Her arms fell to her sides as Jameson’s eyes widened. “Titles don’t necessarily mean lavish bank accounts.” The buzzing grew louder.
“Stanton! Reed! We have to go!” someone shouted from behind them. “Financial ruin.” Jameson shook his head. “You mean to tell me that
your parents are what? Selling you off?”
“Trying to, yes.” There was the ugly truth of it, and his face showed it. She bristled. “Don’t look at me like that. You Americans think you’ve escaped the system of inherited wealth, but instead of the king and the peerage, you have the Astors and the Rockefellers.”
“We don’t sell off our daughters.” His eyebrows shot high.
“I could name at least three American heiresses who have married into the peerage in the last decade alone.” Scarlett folded her arms across her chest.
“So now you’re defending this?” Jameson shot back as Howard ran by, turning to jog in reverse.
“Stanton! Now!” Howard shouted, waving his arm.
“No, that’s not what I mean!” Scarlett sputtered. The buzzing noise shifted, the tone deepening. Approaching aircraft. The patrol before Jameson’s was returning, which meant she had precious seconds. “Jameson, I’m not marrying Henry. I swear it.”
“Why not?” he questioned, then snapped his gaze skyward, his eyes narrowing before she could even answer.
“Among other reasons, because I want you, you daft Yank!” God, she’d really lost it, arguing in public like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop, and the man wasn’t even listening anymore.
“Are those ours?” Howard pointed in the same direction Jameson’s
attention was already focused.
The squadron broke through the low-hanging clouds, and her stomach curdled. Those were not Spitfires.
The air-raid sirens wailed out the warning, but it was too late.
The end of the runway blew apart with a deafening blast she felt throughout her body. Smoke and debris filled the air as the next one hit within a heartbeat, louder and closer.
“Get down!” Jameson tugged her into the curve of his body, turning his back on the blasts and pulling her to the ground. Her knees collided with the pavement.
The hanger fifty yards in front of them exploded.
