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 not want to want Tommy…but she did want 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 what they had stolen!

“Stay here.” Tommy took off at high speed, her supposedly gouty legs and rheumy eyes be damned.

Philippa did not stay 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 once been this 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!”

She hurled something small and pink over his shoulder.

Rather than catch it, the lad flinched and ducked.

The reticule exploded against the rough brick lining the alley, sending a half-dozen guineas and shillings flying.