Before the Dawn

by Candace Camp

  “Why do you want to join us?” A harsh, grating voice came out of the darkness near Alyssa.

  Unicorn explained what had happened to their own group, and another voice sneered, “How do we know you aren’t the ones responsible? They say it was a traitor. How do we know we can trust you?”

  “How do we know we can trust you?” Alyssa retorted. “It may be your game to trap those who wish to fight the Nazis.”

  “Ah, but you are the ones who want to join us, not the other way around. You must prove yourselves to us.”

  “How can we do that?” Alyssa identified Faith’s voice across the pathway from her.

  “This man says one of you is a pianist from England. Is that true?”

  “I am.”

  “When did you come here? Tell us about your training in England.”

  “You must know I can’t give information like that to anyone. But if you like, I can send a message. Will that prove it?”

  “It would prove you’re a telegraphist, but not that you’re from England.”

  “You speak very good French for an Englishwoman.”

  “I have spent some time in France, and I’m good at languages. Anyway, I’m an American.”

  Another man’s voice spoke, “I have spent time in America. I stayed at the Plaza Hotel on Park Avenue.”

  Alyssa smiled. “It’s on Fifth Avenue.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s right. And where is Louisville?”

  “Kentucky.”

  They asked a few more questions of them, then the main speaker told them to remove their blindfolds. Alyssa looked around at their questioners. There were four men of various shapes, sizes, and colorings. The leader, a large, beefy man, stuck out his hand to shake theirs. “My name is Allegro. You are welcome to join us.”

  Chapter 17

  As soon as Jessica stepped inside the door of her house, she heard Ky and Claire laughing upstairs. Ky was home on leave this weekend. Claire’s laughter was a breathless giggle, and his was low and deep, and there was something obviously, intensely sexual about it. A quiver raced through Jessica’s abdomen. It didn’t take much to awaken the barely dormant sexuality in her these days, apparently. It had been two weeks since she had discovered the amazing fact that she was attracted to Stephen—indeed, it seemed like a very weak word to describe the bubbling longings within her—and since then she had done little but think about Stephen and her desire for him.

  Why wasn’t he attracted to her in return, she wondered. As Claire had pointed out, he spent a great deal of time with her. Of course, there was nothing to say that he didn’t spend even more time with other women; after all, she saw him only one day a week usually. But when she was in London, he spent all his free time with her. He liked her, she was positive of that; she would even go so far as to say that he liked her very much. But looking back over the months they had known each other, she couldn’t recall a single touch or kiss or even look of desire for her. Did she simply not appeal to him? Or was his heart given to someone else, perhaps someone back home in Chicago? Either possibility sent a slice of pain through her.

  Tonight, she told herself, she would somehow find out what it was that made Stephen so indifferent to her. Even if she had to ask outright.

  She took the box where she and Claire kept their ration coupons and shuffled through the different colored books—crimson, olive, magenta—for the ones she wanted. She could get a joint of meat, the coffee Stephen and Ky both loved to drink, four ounces of margarine, and even two precious ounces of butter. Adding the potatoes that she had in plenty, she could make a decent meal out of it, especially considering her real prize: two Hershey’s chocolate bars given to her on the train today by an American daylight bomber, who gravely assured her he’d fallen in love with her on sight. Jessica had laughed and tried to give them back. She started to tell him she was married and hold up her wedding ring as her usual defense, but she realized that she had taken it off last week and put it away. So she simply said that she already had a date the evening. The flyer just laughed good-naturedly and insisted she take them anyway.

  Jessica stuck the coupons into her purse and hurried to buy what she needed, then spent most of the rest of the afternoon whipping together a presentable meal. When she was done, she searched the bathroom cabinet and found an aging bottle of bath salts stuck way at the back. She took a long, soaking bath and styled her hair in a fashion she’d never tried before, swept up and pinned, with the top a riot of curls.

  She was pleased with the results, so she dressed in a frock she hadn’t worn since before the Germans conquered France, a beautiful black silk Molyneaux. No stockings, of course, for anything but silk would have looked ridiculous, and she hadn’t seen silk stockings in over a year now. But with a bit of powder and lipstick, and the briefest touch of her precious supply of French perfume—now down to the bottom of her last tiny bottle—she decided that she’d do well enough. Perhaps Stephen Marek wouldn’t find it so easy to ignore her tonight.

  In fact, when she answered his knock and Stephen saw her framed in the doorway, her hair a saucy cap of curls that invited his fingers, her lips glistening, the black dress softly outlining her breasts and hips, he almost turned and walked away. He didn’t think he could stand to be around her tonight and not kiss her. But neither could he bear to leave, and it would be too absurd anyway, so he came inside, gritting his teeth and looking absolutely thunderous.

  Jessica stepped back a little before his look. “My goodness, what’s happened?”

  “What? Nothing particularly. Why?”

  “You look so black, as if you’d like to put your hands around someone’s throat.”

  And so he would, though not to choke, but to glide up Jessica’s neck and cup her face, or down her shoulders and arms, feeling the cool smoothness of silk overlying her even softer skin. He cleared his throat. “No. Just tired of being stuck here, I guess, playing diplomat between a bunch of green Americans and another bunch of rigid Englishmen.”

  Her heart clenched in fear. “You’re wanting to get back into action?”

  “Yes. I’ve never liked trying to smooth things over. A loner, that’s me.” He sighed and tried to summon up a smile. “But I don’t think headquarters wants me back in the field, after the way I fouled up the last mission.”

  “Don’t be nonsensical. You didn’t ‘foul’ it up. You and your partner got the man you went for, didn’t you? And both of you managed to return yourselves as well. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

  But we didn’t save your husband. He didn’t say it, but he knew it was in both their minds.

  Jessica frowned. “If there’s a reason they haven’t given you another assignment other than because you needed the rest and are handy as a liaison to the Americans, it’s probably because they believe you’re not in the proper mental condition for it. It’s you who think you failed in your mission, and as long as you believe that, you haven’t the confidence to take on another one. I imagine they know it.”

  Stephen stared at her in some amazement. He’d expected them to send him out again and had been half surprised, half worried that they hadn’t. But he hadn’t realized until this moment that he was dreading the time when they did. Not getting wounded or caught—he’d long ago learned to live with those common fears—he dreaded making another mess of it. How had Jessica known when he hadn’t even known it himself?

  Jessica and Stephen walked down the hall to the kitchen. Once, she thought, she would have reached out and taken his hand to lead him there, but now she was too self-conscious to do that. She wanted too much to feel the touch of his skin.

  “Mmmm.” He sniffed the air appreciatively and sneaked a peek in all the pots. “Mutton?”

  “Yes. Do you like it?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve acquired the taste over the years. Hard for a boy from Chicago. I didn’t know there was any meat besides beef until I was a grown man.”

  She laughed and made
a face at him, as he intended her to, and he thought, as he thought each time he saw her anew, how lovely she was. How infinitely precious. How far away from him.

  “Shall I set the table?” he asked to break the train of his thoughts. “I’m good at it. My older sisters always pushed it off on me.”

  “Already done. You just sit there and relax while I check on the meat.”

  He looked down blankly at the bare oak kitchen table. “You call this table set?”

  Jessica laughed. “We’re not eating in here, silly. Quite fancy tonight—we’re using the formal dining room down the hall.” She nodded in the direction of the dining room, and Stephen stepped down the hall to look at it.

  “I’ve never seen this,” he commented, glancing around the elegant room, softly lit and furnished with heavy pieces that looked centuries old and terribly grand.

  “Mm-hm. I seldom use it nowadays. Seems a waste with just me and Claire. And too much trouble, with no servants to clean it. Besides, you’re always whisking me away to eat out.”

  He glanced at the blue and white Wedgwood dishes and heavy silver utensils arranged on the table. “Four places? Is someone coming?”

  “Claire and Ky Dubrowski, her husband. He’s home on leave for a few days.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Upstairs, where else?” Jessica rolled her eyes. “When Ky is home, they hardly come up for air.”

  For a moment everything seemed to stop—the clock, their breathing, the very world itself—and the air was alive with sexual tension. Jessica blushed, appalled at her bluntness. She’d only meant to be light and amusing, but somehow she had brought the heavy scent of sensuality right into the room with them. She could think of nothing now but naked bodies and clinging skin, harsh, panting breaths, eager mouths. And she knew that the knowledge was in Stephen’s mind, too. She could see it in the sudden tautness around his mouth, the flare in his dark eyes.

  “I—I’m sorry. You must think I’m terrible, not a proper British lady at all.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Stephen gripped the back of a chair, trying to collect his thoughts. He noticed that there was the faintest tremor in his hands. Lord, but what she said rocked him, driving everything from his mind except the vision of torrid lovemaking. He was intensely aware of Jessica—the sheen of her hair, the seductive scent clinging to her, the whiteness of her skin, her long, narrow hands. He wanted her so much he could hardly think.

  After that, neither of them was able to shake the overwhelming atmosphere of desire. No matter what was said, no matter what they did, they could think of nothing else. Jessica dished up the meat and potatoes, and Stephen watched her, his eyes following her capable hands and imagining them on his skin. She tore off a bit of meat and tasted it, and he wanted to feel her mouth, her elegant little white teeth. She moved from the kitchen to the dining room, setting out the food, and he saw nothing but her body moving beneath the slick dress. He wondered what she wore underneath the slinky black gown, and how long it would take to strip it all off.

  He hoped that when the other couple joined them, it would lighten the situation, but instead it grew even worse. Claire and Ky came down, flushed and damp from bathing, exuding a satisfied sexuality. They were dressed casually, Claire in a simple housedress and Ky in his shirtsleeves, collar unbuttoned. They looked drained, weary, and utterly happy. Eyes shining, a soft curve to their lips, the sharp edges of strain missing from their faces. The couple chatted with Stephen and Jessica, but their eyes continually strayed back to each other. They were never far apart, hands reaching out to touch or to smooth back a stray piece of hair or to adjust an imaginary misalignment of a sleeve or collar. After dinner, as the foursome talked over coffee and the bits of luxurious chocolate, they scooted back their chairs from the table, and Ky hooked his arm proprietarily over Claire’s shoulders. There was something stirringly elemental about their pose; Ky might as well have said: “This is my woman and she pleases me.”

  Stephen felt envious and hungry. He glanced at Jessica. Her eyes were dark, the pupils large and black. He wondered what she was thinking, if she, too, felt the sizzle of excitement that lay in the room. He wondered what she would do if he kissed her. He wondered if she had ever thought of his touching her.

  Claire helped Jessica clean the dishes while Stephen and Ky conversed. Then the married couple smilingly climbed the stairs to Claire’s room. There were only the cups and saucers left on the table, and Stephen helped Jessica carry them back to the sink. As Jessica began to wash the dishes, he set the last of the cups into the sink. He looked down at her, unable to make himself move back and pick up a towel. Jessica’s skin was rosy and inviting; he could see the tops of her breasts in the V of the dress, jiggling a little as she moved the cloth over the cup.

  Stephen hesitated for a moment, his mind thick and slow with passion. He leaned closer, breathing in the subtle fragrance of her perfume. He knew he shouldn’t. He was afraid she would hate him. But he couldn’t stop. He bent and touched his lips to the soft white skin where her neck joined her shoulders. His mouth was as light as a butterfly’s wings.

  Jessica let out a breathy little sigh, and her eyes fluttered closed. His mouth pressed deeper, sinking into her softness. His lips slid upward, tasting the faint bitterness of her perfume, the sweetness of her skin, until he came to her ear. He nuzzled it, and his tongue came out to trace the rigid whorls. His teeth closed over the sensitive, plump lobe, worrying it gently.

  Streaks of pleasure darted through Jessica, so intense she was scared to move lest it stop. She thought she might melt and flow down into a puddle at his feet. Stephen pressed closer against her, and she felt the hard bone and muscle of his lean chest and legs, the thrusting hardness against her buttocks that told so clearly how much he wanted her. His breath was hot and fierce against her ear; she could hear its ragged cadence.

  He put his hands on her shoulders even though they were still wet and smoothed them slowly down her front to cup her breasts, leaving a damp trail behind. The water glistened on her bare skin and made her dress cling. His thumbs circled her nipples, and they burst to life, suddenly hard and pointing. With the tip of his tongue Stephen licked the dampness from her shoulder. The antique Wedgwood cup Jessica was washing crashed into the sink and broke, unheeded.

  Jessica whirled, her arms going up to encircle his neck, and Stephen wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. At last he kissed her mouth. His lips were hard and demanding, but they asked no more than Jessica wanted to give. She pressed up into him, her mouth moving against his in hungry response. His tongue filled her, ravaged her. She couldn’t get enough of him. She twisted up, feeling the pressure of his manhood through her clothes and wanting to position herself where she ached most to feel it. He knew what she sought, and his hands went to her hips, lifting her up and into him, grinding his hips against her.

  Jessica wanted him with a wildness she had never known. Stephen was driven, aching, primitive, almost mindless with desire. His lips left hers and roamed down her neck, and she whimpered, moving her leg restlessly against his. His mouth reached the top of her breast, and Stephen thrust down her bodice, delving into her slip and freeing her breast. The soft globe nestled in his hand, pure white against his brownness. His eyes darkened, and he bent to take her breast in his mouth, almost shaking in his eagerness, starved for her taste.

  Jessica groaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Stephen’s mouth seemed to pull at a cord that went straight down to her abdomen, and each tug sent the hot moisture of desire flooding between her legs. She almost cried at the pleasure, so intense it tasted of pain. She wanted him inside her, wanted the full measure of his strength and hardness.

  But some small remnant of her mind reminded her that they were in the kitchen and that she didn’t want their love-making to happen in this public, mundane place. “Please,” she murmured. “Not here. Not here.”

  He heard and understood, though he said not
hing. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her up the back servants’ stairs and into the hall above. Jessica motioned to her room and he went inside, nudging the door closed with his shoulder. Slowly Stephen let her slide to the floor, enjoying the sensation of her body against him, thinking of nothing, aware of nothing, but Jessica and his desire for her. She looked up at him. His eyes were wild and black as he glanced around, seeking the bed. Suddenly he stiffened and stared across the room as though struck to stone. Jessica whirled, looking where his eyes did, and she saw the picture of Alan that sat on her dresser.

  Stephen turned to her, his eyes stricken, like an animal in pain. “Oh, God, Jess. Jess. I’m sorry.”

  “No, wait!” she began, but he had already rushed from the room. Jessica darted after him, still overcome by his caresses and dazed. “Stephen!”

  He clattered down the front stairs, and by the time Jessica reached the top of the stairs, he was already opening the front door. “Stephen, wait! What’s the matter? Please.” She hurried down the stairs. “Please, tell me.”

  He shot her a look that was dark with despair and self-hatred. “You’re Alan’s wife, that’s what’s the matter.”

  She gaped as he opened the door and went out into the night. “I’m his widow!” she protested.

  But he was already gone.

  *****

  Allegro’s group did not need a pianist at the moment, but he promised that he would find a group that did. In the meantime Alyssa worked for Allegro as a courier, much as she had done for Jules.

  One afternoon Alyssa left a message at a bookshop, hiding it in a book of short stories by Balzac. She found a scrap of paper already there, waiting for her. She slipped it into her pocket and left, not reading it until she was safe within the walls of her apartment. It said little, only her code name, the time 18:00, and the word “Dome,” which she knew to be a small café in the Montparnasse area. When she showed the message to Unicorn, he frowned and insisted on coming with her to the meeting, concerned that it might be a trap of some kind. Alyssa agreed, for the message made her a little uneasy, too.