“Put this on.” Tommy handed Philippa a shapeless, boring dove-colored gown devoid of gauze and lace.
“It’s too small,” Philippa said without unfolding it.
“It’s not too small,” Tommy said. “It was made for Elizabeth. You just don’t want to wear it.”
Philippa sent a longing look over the dressing table at her abandoned overdress.
“Don’t even think about it.” Tommy shook a finger at her. “Your lace overdresses are the Philippa-est things in London. You’ll look like your own great-grandmother.”
Philippa accepted the dull gray material reluctantly. “Now I’ll look colorless and shapeless.”
“You have the best shape I’ve ever seen. There’s no hiding it. Drab will have to do.”
Philippa flushed and slid on the ugly overdress.
Tommy rummaged through a wardrobe and produced a thick gray wig with light brown undertones. It took a prodigious number of pins, but she managed to affix it securely to Philippa’s head.
“Final step: age spots for both of us.” Tommy placed Philippa’s hands on the center of the dressing table and leaned over it from the other side to apply the cosmetics. “I always thought my temporary disguises were great fun. Turns out, costuming the both of us is even more amusing.”
Her voice was casual, but she didn’t meet Philippa’s eyes.
Philippa bit her lip, then spoke in a rush. “Spending time with you may be the most fun I’ve ever had, too.”
Tommy lifted her gaze from Philippa’s hands.
She wasright there. Almost close enough to kiss. If they both happened to lean over at the same moment…
Graham knocked on the door. “Ready?”
Philippa leapt to her feet. “Ready!”
She was not ready in the least. For anything. But it was time to go.
25
Tommy and Philippa meandered down St. James’s Street at a pace that could barely be detected with the naked eye.
After each halting step, they paused to remark upon this window or that cloud overhead or this section of pavement or that blade of grass. At this rate, it would take an hour to travel one hundred yards.
Which was exactly the plan.
If anyone glimpsed them from a window or a passing carriage, all they would see was an elderly couple doing exactly nothing. She and Philippa were conspicuous enough not to look furtive and ordinary enough to register as little more than part of the scenery.
“Are you certain the basket isn’t too heavy?” Tommy quavered in an irascible-old-man voice. “I can carry it and give you the cane.”
“I’m not your sister,” Philippa replied in a surprisingly convincing old-lady voice. “If trouble comes, I wouldn’t have the least notion what to do with a sword stick. Other than drop it at my feet and run screaming. Besides, this basket weighs little.Youdidn’t spend your youth toting large stacks of books up and down countless stairs.”
Tommy grinned at the idea that beneath Philippa’s soft, voluptuous curves lay a hidden core of muscle. She was like a sword stick. Pretty on the outside and dangerously capable beneath. Tommy yearned to unsheathe the blade and gaze upon its beauty.
“Are you certain your sister won’t miss her cane?” Philippa asked.
Tommy scoffed. “Her dressing room contains an entire armory of sword sticks and who knows what else. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she wears chain mail over her shift.”
“All the more reason for her to care very much,” Philippa said. “I own many books, and each one is precious to me.”
“You wouldn’t loan one to a friend?”
“Only if I could trust her to return it in the same condition.”
