Lunchtime was over. Zivon turned toward the stairwell along with the others, touching a hand to his pocket as he went. Margot De Wilde had given him an invitation to her wedding that morning and mentioned that Lily had agreed to photograph the event for her. Camden had raised those sardonic brows of his and asked him if he intended to ask to escort her officially.

Three hours ago, he hadn’t really had an answer. Much as he liked Lily, courting an English girl seemed no wiser now than it had a month ago. But somehow, realizing her role here . . . well, she wasn’t just an English girl. She was an intelligence worker, as surely as he was. Maybe it shouldn’t, but that fact changed something. Made him realize they had more in common than he’d dared to think.

When next he saw Captain Blackwell, he would indeed ask for permission to escort her to the wedding. And from there . . .

Well, there were still too many variables for him to know for sure what would happen. But it was worth exploring, without doubt.

12

SUNDAY, 19 MAY 1918

The sigh seemed to build in Lily’s very toes before it worked its way up and out of her mouth. She’d snuck away after church and let herself into her workroom at the OB so she could go through another drawer in her filing cabinet. She still hadn’t found any other instances of those two German officers’ faces. But she’d awoken that morning convinced she had seen them before, somewhere.

Or maybe she’d dreamed it up in her desperation to prove to the admiral that Zivon was trustworthy.

She glanced at her watch and winced. She’d promised Ivy she’d be home by three o’clock to start getting ready for the wedding. Already four minutes late, and she hadn’t even left yet. But really, how long could it possibly take to slip into her gown and put up her hair?

Then again, she wanted to look her best. Today would mark the first time any gentleman had taken her to something without a parent or sister tagging along. That surely deserved some extra time spent primping.

Especially given that it wasn’t just any man. It was Zivon. He would notice the extra care, just as he noticed everything else. And maybe . . . maybe he would show her another layer to the matryoshka doll tonight. One in which he’d look at her as something more than just friend.

Well, regardless of his reaction, she needed to be on her way. Since it was likely to be a late night and she couldn’t exactly bow out early if she meant to photograph the entire De Wilde-Elton wedding, she’d already alerted both Ara at Charing Cross and the admiral here that she wouldn’t be in tomorrow.