The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2) by CW Browning (read after .txt) 📗

it on a much grander scale than anyone chose to acknowledge. Anyone except those who lived daily under the threat of it. They were well aware of the dangers of ending up in Dachau.

“So much for lightening the mood, eh?” he suddenly asked, looking at her guiltily. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t suppose this is the conversation you want to be having on Christmas night.”

Evelyn summoned a smile and got up to throw her cigarette in the fire.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “Honestly. I told you I’ve always enjoyed world affairs. This is part of our world now. I don’t have to like it, but it doesn’t mean I won’t discuss it.”

Miles tossed his butt into the fire as well and looked down at her, a strange glint in his eyes.

“You really are the most extraordinary girl,” he murmured. “I’m not really sure what to do with you. I don’t know if I should put you in the bluestocking category, or chalk you up as a wealthy eccentric.”

She tossed her head, her eyes twinkling up at him.

“Why don’t you withhold judgment for a bit longer and kiss me instead?”

A laugh leapt into his eyes and he followed her gaze upwards. There, hanging from the ceiling, was a bunch of mistletoe tied with a pretty white ribbon.

“How long has that been there?” he demanded, dropping his eyes back to her face.

“All day,” she said with a laugh. “It’s one of Millie, the housekeeper’s, favorite things to do. Every year she hangs a bunch of them, then moves them throughout the day to catch unsuspecting people like you.”

Miles grinned and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“Then we mustn’t disappoint Millie,” he murmured, lowering his lips to hers.

Evelyn felt a shock go through her as his lips touched hers. His arms were strong and warm around her and she suddenly forgot all about the war and fighter planes and concentration camps. He smelled like musk mixed with brandy and a rush of heat rolled over her that had nothing to do with the fire. She lifted her hands to hold on to his shoulders, clinging to his solid strength as her world slipped sideways. This was what she’d been waiting for. All the stolen kisses in the gardens of Paris, and all the flirtations in the drawing rooms in London had never come close to this feeling of exhilaration.

When Miles lifted his head a few moments later, they stared at each other for a long moment before he exhaled and laughed a little ruefully.

“I’m not quite sure that that’s what dear Millie had in mind when she hung that piece of greenery, but I don’t regret it.”

“Neither do I.”

He was making no move to pull away, so Evelyn took the opportunity to trace the scar at the corner of his eyebrow.

“How did this happen?”

“I was over confident when I was a boy and tried to take a fence that was too high. My horse had more sense than I did and threw me. The fence added its disapproval for good measure.”

Her eyes shifted to his and she smiled slowly, gazing into the sparkling green depths.

“I see the recklessness isn’t new, then,” she said. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

“Would you be sad if I had been?”

“Of course! Then who would be here kissing me under the mistletoe?” she demanded playfully.

The smile that curved his lips was wicked and he dropped his eyes to her lips again.

“Speaking of...” he murmured, lowering his head again.

This time when he lifted his head, they were both breathless and Evelyn took a deep, steadying gulp of air.

“Definitely not what Millie had in mind,” she agreed breathlessly.

“Perhaps not, but I’ve been wanting to do that since the Savoy,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

Evelyn felt her pulse leap again and swallowed before sliding her hands off his shoulders.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” she said, her voice low.

Miles sighed and reluctantly pulled away from her.

“At least you’ll be moving closer to London,” he said, moving back to the desk to pick up his abandoned brandy. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

She nodded and watched as he finished his brandy, one hand tucked carelessly in his pocket. He was the image of idle peerage, but she knew he was anything but idle right now. He was training day and night to defend England from the storm that was coming; a storm that could very well take his life.

A stab of panicked fear shot through her and a lump took over her throat, making her catch her breath. Neither of them knew what was coming, but they knew it wasn’t going to be good for anyone. While he would be defending the skies against the inevitable onslaught from the full might of the Luftwaffe, she would be God knew where trying to gather the information that would give England an edge in this war. Both of them would be fighting for survival, with not much hope of success.

Miles looked over and frowned in concern, setting his empty glass down and crossing to her in two strides.

“What’s wrong?”

Evelyn lifted her face to his and she knew he could see the tears shimmering in her eyes. Any other time, she would be absolutely mortified at the thought of anyone seeing her so vulnerable, but this wasn’t any other time. And she suddenly found that she didn’t care if he saw the tears.

“How do we say goodbye when we don’t even know where we’ll be in a few months?” she whispered around the lump in her throat. “We could be...”

Her throat closed on the words and she couldn’t finish the thought, but it was unnecessary. They both knew what she was trying to say. Miles lifted his hands to cup her face and brushed his lips against hers softly.

“We don’t,” he said. “We don’t say goodbye. There’s nothing that says we have to, after all. Goodbyes are over-rated anyway. They’re so damn final. And there’s nothing final about this. I