Philippa dropped her voice. “Privately, all I need is Tommy Wynchester and her torrid kisses. Now. Tonight.”

“Torrid, are they?” Tommy gave an extra swagger. “You haven’t seen torrid yet.”

She pressed her lips to Philippa’s, coaxing them to part so that Tommy could show her with her tongue just how torrid things could be.

“No seductions in the sitting room,” Elizabeth called out.

Tommy burst out laughing and pulled away.

Philippa didn’t laugh. Her gaze was hot on Tommy’s, and her smile was slow and wicked. “Shall we go upstairs?”

29

29

Philippa didn’t really mean to do the sensual things Tommy yearned to do with her…Did she?

Tommy’s limbs were unsteady as she led the way to the marble stairs. Philippa’s mother didn’t expect her home until the following evening. Night had fallen hours ago.

Her brain was whirring like a malfunctioning clock, a thousand gears spinning at once. It was difficult to reconcile the mundanity of climbing stairs with the reality of having Philippa right next to her as she did so. Philippa was close enough to touch. To kiss.

Tommy brushed her fingers against Philippa’s. They interlocked, caught. Now Philippa’s hand was in hers, their fingers laced together. When they reached the landing, Tommy took Philippa’s other hand and pulled her close. Tommy smiled as she lowered her mouth to Philippa’s. Like Tommy’s siblings, the Wynchesters’ servants were trustworthy and accepting. She and Philippa needn’t hurry, nor hide. They could savor this kiss.

Tonight, the magic could last as long as they wished.

Philippa’s mouth was soft and pliant. Her kisses were familiar now, which made them all the more special. This was Philippa’s welcoming mouth, Philippa’s eager tongue. She felt like home.

Tommy was with the person she dreamed about. Each detail was too precious to forget, so Tommy committed them all to memory. She felt the warmth of Philippa’s skin, smelled the orange blossoms and vanilla in her hair.

Every time they kissed, she refined the map in her mind of Philippa. The precise distance between one corner of her mouth and the other. The round curve of her cheek, the pert angle of her nose, the warm softness of the lobe of her ear and the beckoning flutter of the pulse point just behind it. All the places their lips had tasted, as well as all the places yet to come.

One day. If Tommy was lucky.

She forced herself to lift her lips just enough to break the kiss. “I suppose I should show you to your guest chamber.”

“I suppose that is what we ought to do,” Philippa answered, her face still tilted upward toward Tommy, as if hoping for another kiss.

Tommy gave her one. Two. Ten. It was impossible to pull away.