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Lizzie Beaumont’s stomach was wound tight as a knot as she paced around Jack’s dusty office at the Special Operations Executive on Baker Street.

The heels of her shoes tapped on the hard floor as she crossed to the shabby rug by the Victorian antique desk, its expanse of mahogany wood monopolising the space.

Lizzie’s fate would be sealed that afternoon, and every minute felt like an hour. She skimmed the leather surface of the desk with her fingers, her mind racing as she considered the possibilities of what might happen next.

The clock on the wall strummed loudly, and Lizzie thought she would burst with anticipation if Jack didn’t return soon.

And with that agitated thought, she marched towards the door, determined to find something to occupy her, rather than suffer this torturous waiting for one second longer.

She would go to the cipher room and make herself useful.

Jack would find her when he emerged from the meeting with their superiors.

The door swung open, and Jack—her Jack—his tall frame and broad shoulders dominating the doorway, looked as dashing as ever in his captain’s uniform.

His presence instantly unravelled the knot in her stomach like a magic spell, and a rush of intense emotion permeated her chest. It was almost a year since they fell madly in love after she arrived in London from Jersey, but somehow, she fell more deeply in love with him every day.

In some ways, one year seemed like a lifetime together.

Lizzie couldn’t imagine her life without him, and Jack professed his love for her daily, even though they agreed they must keep their relationship a secret until the war was over.

British Military Intelligence frowned upon romantic relationships between agents, and it was generally accepted that falling in love on the job endangered lives and was a strict no-no.

The prelude to every mission followed the same pattern, which was why Lizzie felt so wretched today.

She was committed to doing all she could in her clandestine missions with the SOE and French Resistance to stop the Nazis and win the war, but the wrench she and Jack faced each time they were forced to part squeezed the breath out of her.

Just the thought of going back undercover in occupied France, unable to see Jack for weeks, perhaps even months, filled her soul with a haunting dread and the exile hadn’t even begun.

Perhaps it would be an operation in London, and she wouldn’t need to go back into France. She’d heard about agents doing espionage work at home. Lord knew there were enough stories about British traitors and Nazi spies in Britain to keep them all busy.

Lizzie sighed. Her gut assured her this was wishful thinking, and she would soon be on a plane headed for France.

Lizzie stopped abruptly and raised her head to meet the dark eyes of the man she adored who was also her commanding officer. ‘Well?’ she said, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably. ‘When do I leave?’

Jack clicked the door shut quietly behind him, moved towards Lizzie and swept her into his arms, dropping soft kisses onto her hair and holding her tightly against his beating heart as though he would never let her go.

Their proximity and his familiar scent imbued her with a deep yearning to stay locked in his arms forever, and she prayed silently they would have some proper time alone together before they must inevitably say goodbye.

She knew she would do what they asked of her, but she needed time to prepare mentally and rally her courage, which had deserted her for the moment.

Lizzie chided herself for behaving like a carefree silly girl hopelessly in love, her emotions all a flutter, when she should be focused on the next deadly mission.

Even as the thoughts whirled through her mind, she relished another guilty moment of intoxicating pleasure in Jack’s arms, sinking into his hard chest and letting him love her.

Events had come to a head that morning when Val warned her to ready herself. Her next mission would be decided that afternoon in a meeting with the powers that be.

Lizzie’s thoughts jerked her back to the present. Jack released his grip on her gently, and she stood in the circle of his arms for a few seconds before they moved apart, and he crossed to his desk and lit a cigarette.

‘God, I need this,’ he said, inhaling deeply and blowing out the smoke in measured puffs. His shiny black hair had flopped onto his forehead, and he looked as striking as a Hollywood movie star.

‘That bad?’ Now Jack had arrived, she was scared to hear the news, so she delayed him by remarking on his smoking technique. ‘How come you look elegant when you smoke, and I resemble an old farm tractor?’

‘Practice, my darling, practice. I much prefer you don’t master the art of smoking, though. They say it’s terrible for you.’

‘So why do you keep doing it, then?’

‘It’s just so damn pleasurable,’ Jack said, pushing his hair out of his eyes with some impatience. ‘Besides, I’ve been smoking so long now, I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands if I stopped.’

‘I could think of something far more pleasurable for you to do with your hands, Captain King,’ Lizzie said, tilting her head to one side, so her lustrous brunette locks coiled over one shoulder.

‘I’m sure. You know I am always eager to pleasure you, Miss Beaumont. There’s nothing that could ever get in the way of that.’ Jack chuckled as he leaned across the desk to stub out his cigarette.

Then his eyes sought Lizzie’s, and his expression turned serious.

‘What are my orders?’ she said. ‘We’d better get this over with.’

Jack reached for Lizzie’s hand and pulled her gently back towards him. ‘It’s not what you think.’

‘Surely that would depend on what I think. How do you know what I think?’

‘It’s one of my gifts.’ Jack laughed heartily.

His words intrigued her. She knew from experience that if she were flying into occupied France in the next few days, Jack would be sombre and preoccupied, not jolly and laughing.

He usually tried to pretend he was focused on the upcoming mission, but she could feel how much the thought of her alone again on enemy soil troubled him.

Predictably, he would make a strong case for going in her place, but young men drew more suspicion than women, so he was just as predictably rebuffed and could only occasionally follow her for backup in an emergency.

Lizzie’s heartbeat quickened at the thought of him going without her.

Was that why he was so light-hearted today?

Suddenly, the proposition of her leaving alone seemed infinitely better.

She’d much rather be the agent in action, than be waiting at Baker Street, pining for Jack and fearing the worst as the hours crawled by.

She’d experienced that scenario before, when he’d stayed undercover in France, and she’d returned to London.

It was awful, and she had no desire to relive it.

‘You are altogether too cheerful,’ she said. ‘What’s the mission, exactly?’

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘You read me like a book.’

‘It must be one of my gifts, too. Come on, what is it? Do they want you this time?’ Lizzie did her best to hide her distress, but she heard her voice crack.

Jack nodded, and Lizzie’s stomach lurched.

It was as she suspected, then, so she steeled herself for what was to come.

‘When do you fly out?’ she asked, her voice low, and her chest tight.

‘When do we fly out?’ Jack replied. ‘That’s the question you need to ask.’

Lizzie sputtered and her green eyes widened. ‘We? Oh, my goodness, I can hardly believe it. Tell me everything.’

Jack pulled out a chair and Lizzie sat down, relief cascading through her.

‘I’ll grab us some coffee and be back in a minute,’ he said.

Lizzie nodded, trying to calm her whirring thoughts. ‘Coffee would be good. Thank you.’

Jack strode across the room. The door closed behind him, and Lizzie was alone again with the ticking of the clock and her frantic thoughts.

Could it be true they were finally undertaking a mission together in occupied France?