A series of soft knocks sounded on the window pane next to their heads.
Philippa jumped. “Graham?”
Tommy nodded. “It’s time.”
She held out her elbow for Philippa and they ambled the last three yards to the front door, making the same show of being slow and easily distracted as before.
Tommy placed the basket flush against the door. Under the guise of bending to brush dirt from her shin, she tipped up the lid of the basket. As she stood, Tommy subtly arranged their bodies so that she faced Philippa, and Philippa’s spine was toward the door.
Philippa’s voluminous skirts hid the basket from any curious eyes across the street. She and Tommy would appear to be an elderly couple embracing in public. Unusual enough that if anyone glanced this direction, the kiss Tommy was about to take would be all a witness remembered from this moment.
“We’re just pretending,” she murmured as she lowered her mouth to Philippa’s. “You don’t have to kiss me back.”
Philippa twined her arms about Tommy’s neck and kissed her fiercely.
Tommy had to grip the handle of the sword stick to stay upright. This was a taste of what she wanted. She wished she could toss the cane aside and kiss Philippa for the next hour…or perhaps eternity.
She could not cup Philippa’s face because of her carefully applied cosmetics. Nor could she sink her fingers into Philippa’s hair because it hid beneath a bushy gray wig.
All Tommy could do was stand there, dying to touch and feel and caress, only able to show her passion through the insatiable hunger of her kisses.
Vaguely, she heard the door unlocking, and the lock sliding into place after it closed again. Graham had switched the false manuscript for the real one and was now spiriting the replica up to the library before disappearing across the rooftops the way he had come.
Tommy wasn’t going anywhere. For as long as Philippa wished to keep kissing, Tommy was absolutely ready and willing to volunteer every minute of her time.
Her free hand curved against Philippa’s side. There were far too many layers of clothes between Tommy’s palm and Philippa’s flesh, but even this much was heaven. Tommy hadn’t expected to kiss Philippa like this again. The possibility that Philippa had yearned for this just as wantonly fanned the flames of Tommy’s desire even higher.
Philippa might notwantto want Tommy…but shedidwant her.
Tommy would think through her emotions on that later. She was far too busy enjoying the sweetness of Philippa’s mouth to spoil a kiss with something so meddlesome as feelings.
For as long as Philippa’s mouth melded with hers, she would—
The staccato slap of boots against the pavement yanked Tommy out of her haze of desire. She jerked her head toward the receding footsteps in time to see a young lad sprinting off with their basket hooked under his arm.
Shite.That ruffian was stealing whattheyhad stolen!
“Stay here.” Tommy took off at high speed, her supposedly gouty legs and rheumy eyes be damned.
Philippa did notstay there. From the sound of her breath and her boots, she was right behind Tommy.
Tommy didn’t turn around to see. She was gaining on the boy, who was realizing that the ancient gulls from whom he’d just nicked a heavy basket were spryer old birds than anticipated.
He leapt over puddles and skidded through mud and gravel, dodging her outstretched cane.
Tommy swiped the tip of her cane against his arm, leaving a streak of mud but failing to dislodge the basket. She wouldn’t wound a child—her sister Chloe had oncebeenthis child—but that illuminated manuscript would mean little to him and everything to Tommy and Philippa.
He slowed to duck down an alleyway.
“Run past!” came Philippa’s breathless shout from just behind Tommy. “I’ve a plan!”
The boy sent a terrified look over his shoulder, causing him to trip and stumble.
Tommy put on a burst of speed and shot past the boy. She could have tackled him, but she didn’t want to cause him physical harm—and Philippa had a plan. Nonetheless, Tommy unsheathed the blade to signal the boy ought to cooperate. She flung her arms wide, the sharp sword ready in one hand and the long wooden sheath outstretched in the other, blocking his path forward.
The boy clutched the basket to his chest.
“Them’s my fresh apples!” Philippa quavered loudly. “They’re for me. These are for you!”
