The carriage door opened and Chloe’s head poked out. “Oh, thank God. I thought Jackson had got lost crossing the square. Climb in!”

“Er,” said Philippa. “Is there no breakfast?”

“There’s breakfast,” said a low, familiar voice that sent pleasurable shivers of anticipation along her skin.

Jackson helped her into the coach. Tommy was inside, dressed as Baron Vanderbean.

Philippa tried to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt, caused by her ill-fated attempt to search under her bed for Tiglet…who was licking his paws on the seat next to Chloe. It would be churlish to move him.

There was nowhere to sit but next to Tommy, who immediately tilted a basket full of small packets in Philippa’s direction. “Care for a meat pie?”

She wasn’t certain what she wanted, other than to be with Tommy. Happiness suffused her as the carriage pulled away.

“Ladies’ breakfast,” Chloe said between bites. “And now we’re off to volunteer for our latest charity, Justice for Damaris. I hope you don’t mind. It was Tommy’s idea.”

“And if you do mind,” Tommy said tentatively, “then it was Tiglet’s idea.”

Philippa stilled. Tommy was saving her yet again, but this time, the rescue was a marvelous surprise. She’d wanted to be saved. Philippa realized this made her both hypocritical and confusing. How was Tommy to know when her Tommy-ness would or would not be welcome? It was Philippa who had not been fair.

She accepted a pie. “Tiglet is a scamp. Thank you for rescuing me from my lonesome tower, fair knight.”

Tommy’s muscles relaxed visibly.

“Splendid,” said Chloe. “For we’re on our way to Islington.”

Philippa’s breath caught and her pulse skipped faster.

Tommy grinned. “I’m taking you home.”

Philippa’s cheeks flushed. She tried not to gaze too adoringly at Tommy. “Are these meat pies like the ones you used to steal?”

“We didn’t steal the pies,” Tommy said. “We stole the penny we paid for them with.”

Chloe looked at Tommy in surprise. “You told her?”

Tommy lifted her brows. “Does Faircliffe know?”

“Touché,” Chloe murmured. “Of course you should share whatever you like.”

Tommy’s gaze cut to Philippa’s. Tommy’s eyes were full of heat, as if what she was thinking of sharing were not meat pies, but scorching kisses.

Philippa tried her best not to notice, but it was impossible. All she could think about was how close they were. She could lay her head on Tommy’s shoulders or tumble right into Tommy’s lap. Their bodies within touching distance, their lips within kissing distance. She could smell the bergamot and clove of the pomade in Tommy’s hair.

“The pies are delicious,” Philippa blurted out. There. That didn’t sound self-conscious at all.