“Ah,” Tommy said. “Unlike you and me, Graham needn’t limit his travel to streets. He’ll be the one to gain access to the building. You and I shall lie in wait until it is time to plant the replica. Ours may not be the most interesting of roles—”

“It’s terribly exciting.” Philippa’s heart beat far too fast. Her legs were trembling with anticipation. “I’ve never lain in wait before. I feel positively roguish.”

She also felt…honored. Tommy was placing a great deal of trust in her, and the Wynchester siblings were placing a great deal of trust in Tommy. It was breathtaking for someone to assume Philippa was capable and clever and worth the risk, as she learned and improved and became useful.

“We’re here,” Tommy said.

Philippa blinked at a large mahogany door. “We’re where?”

“My boudoir.” With an exaggerated leer, Tommy opened the door and beckoned her in.

24

24

Philippa stepped inside one of the largest dressing rooms she had ever seen. Enormous wardrobes covered every wall. It was like a library, but of clothes. And…wigs?

Tommy gestured at the many shelves in her open wardrobes. “Shoes, wigs, ‘fashionable buck,’ laborer, soldier, lady, country miss, lower class, royalty, livery, cosmetics and prostheses, jewelry and accoutrements.”

“I…see,” Philippa said faintly. Each wardrobe appeared to contain a little of everything.

On one side of the room were three tall looking glasses. Just beyond, half a dozen comfortable-looking chairs surrounded a massive dressing table with an equally massive mirror.

“Sit anywhere you please,” Tommy offered.

Philippa chose the armchair closest to the dressing table. It was indeed as plush and comfortable as it appeared. “Why so many chairs? Were you expecting spectators?”

“My siblings enjoy watching me turn into someone else. They’re making themselves scarce to give us privacy.”

Philippa could not fathom what it must be like to have the Wynchesters in one’s dressing room. The opposite of lonely, she supposed. This house must seem like a home. Tommy and her siblings—

Tommy shrugged off her frock coat and folded it over the back of an armchair. The white linen of her sleeves billowed about her arms.

“What are you doing?” Philippa stammered, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I’ll put my disguise on first.” Tommy loosened her cravat. One knot at a time. Slowly, she unwound the soft white material to reveal a long, graceful neck with a thrumming pulse point at its base. Idly, as though she had not stolen Philippa’s very breath, Tommy dropped the cravat atop her discarded coat.

Was she going to undress? Here? At this moment? In front of Philippa?

Philippa’s lungs struggled for air. Did she want Tommy to stop? Did she want her to keep going?