Her mother had considered it an infatuation only natural to the little sister of an older brother whose best friend was as handsome as Ralph DuPont, but her mother was wrong as time had proved. Three years older than Victoria, Ralph and Lawrence had grown up inseparable, joined at the hip from kindergarten through prep school, through college as fraternity brothers, and in September 1940 as volunteers to join an American fighter squadron of the Royal Air Force during the Battle of Britain. Both had strong family ties to England. Victoria and Lawrence’s maternal grandparents and Ralph’s divorced mother lived in London. It wasn’t until Victoria was halfway through her studies at William and Mary College that Ralph took her enduring feelings for him seriously, and then it was love at long-last sight.

The darkest hours of her life had occurred the day he told her of his and Lawrence’s plans to go help the RAF protect their homeland. They would be defying strict U.S. neutrality laws that threatened imprisonment and the loss of citizenship, but Ralph had said, “We’ve got to go, Vicky. We’re going to be in it anyway when the United States gets pulled into the war, but it won’t last forever, then I’ll be back for you.”

Then I’ll be back for you. That was the promise she held on to, her first thought upon waking in the morning, her last when falling asleep at night.

“Your mail, Miss Grayson?” G. P. Putnam’s basement clerk hesitated in the doorway before entering to lay a packet of office correspondence and French periodicals on her desk. “There’s something there on top that looks more important than the usual stuff.”

Victoria saw Washington, D.C., in the return address, and a surge of panic made her tear open the envelope. Oh God. Did the enclosed letter have to do with Ralph or Lawrence?

Dear Miss Grayson,

Your knowledge of and fluency in French, along with your fencing prowess, has come to the attention of this office. Would you be interested in discussing how you might put your language and skills to essential and crucial use in defending the United States against its enemies? Regrettably, for the sake of national security, I cannot tell you more about our need for your assistance at this time. If you are amenable to investigating the request of this office further, please call the listed telephone number at any time of the day or night.

Yours expectantly,

Colonel William J. Donovan

Director of the Office of Strategic Services

Victoria released her breath with a twitch of unease. What was she to make of this? The letter looked official enough, and she had certainly heard of Wild Bill Donovan, World War I war hero, but how had his office heard of her? The signatures of Colonel Donovan and his deputy, Alistair Renault, appeared to be authentic, but was this some sort of hoax?