Amiens, 1916

Someone was in the room with me, rustling conscientiously: the repressed stir ofsomeone trying to be quiet. I opened my eyes. "Julian? Captain Ashford?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." He emerged from some corner of the room,looking anxious. "Only adding a bit of coal; it's gone frightfully chilly. How are you feeling?"

I sat up, letting the blanket slide down to my lap. I'd left the lamp on, not wantingto settle too deeply to sleep, and the dim glow made everything old and weary: the lowceiling, nearly grazing Julian's head; the rusty brown water stain in the corner by thewindow, creeping lazily over the aging wallpaper; the small cast-iron fireplace with its tarnished scuttle. A small room; though Julian stood politely by the mantel, as far from the bed as he could manage without catching himself on fire, he was no more than eightintimate feet away. "Much better, thank you. I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"Don't be ridiculous." He paused self-consciously. How handsome and competenthe looked, in his well-work khaki tunic with its large pockets and brass buttons and wideSam Browne belt, the strict knot at his neck splitting his shirt collar exactly in half. Thatboyish replica of the face I adored.

I smiled and drew my knees up. "You're feeling awkward, aren't you? Let me guess what you're thinking." I adjusted my tone, took on his supple clipped accent."Bloody hell, Ashford. How the devil have you gotten yourself into this mess? A strangewoman in your bed at three o'clock in the afternoon! Just how the deuce are youplanning to get her out and on her way, without being rude?"

His smile spread slow and dazzling across his face, just as it always had. "Infact," he said, "you're not remotely close."

"I'm not?"

"For one thing, I'd never use such language in your presence."

My mouth twitched. "Oh. I beg your pardon."

"And for another thing, it's gone nearly five o'clock."

I glanced at the window. "I'm so sorry."

"You must stop all this apologizing immediately."

"I know, it's a bad habit." I laughed shallowly and turned back to him. "But I have put you in a difficult position, haven't I? Did you have time to ask about a room for me? Don't worry if you haven't," I added. "I can find something. I feel much better now, with a little rest."

"The landlady has another room available by this evening," he said. "Some chapgoing back up the line. You can stay here, of course; I'll move my own things upstairs."

"Thanks. Thank you. You probably think the worst of me already, allowing myselfin here without a chaperone."

He laughed. "You don't need a chaperone. You're perfectly capable."

"But the girls you know wouldn't be caught dead here, would they?" I gesturedaround the room, at his pack resting significantly in the corner.

"No, but you're not like the other girls, are you?"

"Obviously not. I probably curse like a fishwife, by comparison." I smiledrepentantly. "Aren't you afraid of my character? Some cheap seductress, maybe?"

He tilted his head, still smiling. "Are you?"

"Of course not. I'm a respectable widow." My voice choked on the word. "But howwould you know that? How could you be sure of me?"

"Kate," he said. "It's written on your face. The way you hold your head, just so."

The air between us seemed to slow and thicken. I watched him helplessly, his sturdy figure planted before the fire, hands behind his back, the lamplight casting suchdeep shadows beneath his cheekbones that he might nearly be thirty, might nearly bridge the gap between himself and the man I knew. "You're so trusting," I whispered.

He shook his head. "Not indiscriminately, in fact."

"Why me, then?"

He seemed to take this seriously. "I suppose," he said, almost to himself,"because if feels almost as though I know you already. That we've met before. I've never...But it's absurd, of course. I beg your pardon."

"It's just because of the way I'm talking to you, probably. I started on in like somekind of brazen idiot, assuming things..."

"Have we met before?"

"Wouldn't you remember? You don't forget faces, and you're never drunk."

His eyes widened. He flung his arms across his ribs and paced the short distanceto the window with that leonine grace of his. "How would you know that?"

"I just know things."

"That second sight of yours?" he asked, not looking at me.

"I thought you said it was a load of rubbish."

"I'd always thought so." His fingers spread out along the windowsill, digging intothe wood.

"Julian, trust me. Don't be afraid of this."

"I'm not afraid." He turned, meeting my gaze with wide curious eyes. The irises were backlit with emotion, with dawning recognition, the way I'd felt around him all those months ago. "And I do trust you," he added.

"Do you really? I mean really trust me? I know that's a stupid question to ask, when you've only just met me, and in the most bizarre circumstances." I set my chin ontop of my knees and studied him. "All I can say, in my defense, it that you can trust me. I'd never hurt you; never, never."

"Who are you?" he breathed.