Well, not innocent—their aim was to steal someone else’s property—but certainly nonsexual. It wasn’t as though Tommy would risk marring her carefully applied cosmetics by touching Philippa any more than necessary. This slow, sensual disrobing wasn’t a seduction.

No matter what it felt like.

As soon as the overdress was loose enough, Philippa stepped hastily away from Tommy to remove the garment herself. Her fingers shook.

Tommy’s dark eyes watched her in silence from a face that appeared to be a man old enough to be Philippa’s grandfather. It should feel strange to be in dishabille in such circumstances. But the knowledge that Tommy was Tommy overrode any disguise. Philippa yearned to be in her arms no matter what costume she wore.

Just because a thing wasn’t a seduction didn’t mean it hadn’t worked.

Philippa tried to pretend she was unaffected. She folded her overdress with trembling hands, and placed it on one of the many empty armchairs before taking her seat at the dressing table.

“What would you like me to become?” she asked nervously.

Tommy’s knuckles brushed gently down the side of Philippa’s cheek. “My wife.”

Philippa swallowed. “You mean…an old lady?”

“If that’s what you want me to mean.” Rather than take the chair in front of her, Tommy stepped out of sight behind Philippa. “I’m afraid I shall have to dismantle your lovely hair arrangement if I’m to fit you with a wig.”

“You can’t,” Philippa said in alarm. “My mother will notice immediately if my hair is no longer à la Grecque.”

Tommy’s voice was wry. “If I can turn you into someone else, I can certainly turn you back into Philippa.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Right. I’m not used to needing a disguise. Being me is usually deflection enough. People see me and assume I cannot possibly be up to anything.”

Tommy eased the pins from her hair. “Then I have excellent news. Your day as a nefarious miscreant has finally come.”

As Tommy combed through her long hair, Philippa tried not to purr like a cat. She loved the sensation of Tommy brushing her hair. It felt…intimate. Tommy’s strokes were confident and sure, but also gentle and reverent. As though she was luxuriating in this moment every bit as much as Philippa.

Carefully, Tommy plaited Philippa’s hair in two segments. She wound each around Philippa’s head and pinned them in place.

“Now cosmetics, before I attach your wig.”

Philippa straightened. “Great-Aunt Wynchester’s wig?”

“You have too much hair. Besides, hers won’t have the right impact. You need a bigger wig.”

“Bigger than Great-Aunt Wynchester’s wig?” Philippa repeated in disbelief. This was going to be hilarious.

“Shh,” Tommy said. “Don’t move while I apply these wrinkles.”

Philippa held as still as possible.