Philippa smiled at her. “What do you say?”
Tommy’s heart gave a painful pang. The real question was whether she could bear to walk away. This was the woman she longed to be with. If Philippa needed her help, then of course Tommy would give it.
When Philippa inevitably married, at leastsheought to be happy. Tommy might not be Philippa’s fairy-tale hero, but perhaps she could help her find someone who was.
“All right,” Tommy said. “I’ll help you catch the man you want.”
And she would keep her attraction—and her heart—under lock and key for the duration.
“Shall I help you find the woman of your dreams?” Philippa asked.
“No,” Tommy said softly. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, of course not.” Philippa chuckled. “What was I thinking? You’re notactuallyBaron Vanderbean. One cannot marry using a lord’s identity. Good heavens, the courts would make an example out of you for that. Does the baron know you’ve been impersonating him?”
“I keep no secrets from Baron Vanderbean,” Tommy replied. “I can promise he has no objection to the deception.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Philippa. “I would hate to discover someone I trusted was keeping awkward secrets from me.”
“Er.” Tommy fixed her gaze on the carriage ahead of theirs and gripped the reins tight.
Shouldshe tell Philippa? Tommy was running out of excuses to keep her in the dark. Philippa had proven herself capable of keeping a secret and was clearly game to be a co-conspirator. If it didn’t matter whether “Baron Vanderbean” was a Wynchester or a chimneysweep, why would it matter ifhewas ashe?
Tommy’s heart thudded so loudly, it drowned out the hooves and wheels of the surrounding horses and carriages.
Why was it so simple to be someone else, and so difficult to be herself?
Philippa frowned. “What is it?”
“It’s me,” Tommy blurted out. “‘Tommy’ is a nickname.”
“I presumed so,” said Philippa. “Thomas, I imagine?”
“Thomasina,” Tommy whispered, then stiffened her spine and said it louder. “Thomasina Wynchester, at your service.”
12
Thomasina?” Philippa repeated, not quite certain she’d understood.
The gentleman sitting next to her nodded, his expression wary.
Philippa leaned back and carefully considered his attire, his short hair, and the hint of a beard shadowing his jaw.
“‘Thomasina’ as in, you were christened Thomas, but feel as though you are a woman?”
“No,” he said. “Thomasina as in, I was born Thomasina. Sometimes I’m more like a man, and sometimes I’m more like a woman, but mostly I feel like…both. And neither. What you’re seeing are cosmetics.” He gave a crooked smile. “I couldn’t grow a beard if my life depended upon it. I’ve always been more comfortable in men’s attire, but beneath these pantaloons, I’ve the same parts you do.”
“Thomasina,” Philippa said again in wonder, believing it this time.
A woman.Who felt a little like a man. Did that mean Thomasina was lesbian? No, she hadn’t said that. She said she wore disguises. And really, was a costume such a surprise? The Wynchesters were constantly on missions to save this person or right that wrong. Philippa supposed assuming temporary identities should be very much a part of the job. She just hadn’t expected the baron to be a woman.
Thomasina gave her a rakish look. “Have you never dreamed of swaggering into a room with a cigar hanging out of your mouth and a glass of port dangling from your hand?”
“N-no…” Philippa answered faintly. “I fear I have not.” She could not repress a smile. “I find I am even more pleased to meet you, Miss Thomasina.”
“Oh, I’m not Miss Thomasina. Friends and family call me Tommy.” She slanted Philippa a sideways look. “You still can, if you like.”
“I think Iwouldlike.” Philippa felt a strange little laugh burbling inside of her. “I rather adore that beneath his clothes, ‘Baron Vanderbean’ is a woman just like me.”
