“Or,” she said when she had once again gathered the mental fortitude to separate her mouth from Philippa’s. “You could sleep with me. If you wished.”

Philippa’s eyes widened and her breath audibly caught.

“It could just be sleep,” Tommy added in a rush. “It wouldn’t have to be anything more.”

Philippa brushed her lips against Tommy’s. “But it could be, if I wanted more?”

“Um…yes.” Tommy’s heart was beating too quickly to allow for rational thought. Philippa had just said—what that meant was—“Yes, ‘more’ is a definite possibility.”

“I choose that,” Philippa said. “I want more. With you.”

“You…do.” Tommy nodded jerkily. “So do I. I choose you. I choose us.”

Philippa squeezed Tommy’s hand, then turned to face the corridor. “Show me the way.”

With their entwined fingers, Tommy pointed out each door as they passed by. “Elizabeth’s rooms. Marjorie’s rooms. Guest rooms which contain your valise and a bed that you are welcome to sleep in though I hope you do not. And my rooms, just on the other side of yours.”

She paused at the threshold to Philippa’s guest chamber.

The four-poster bed was there in the center, perfectly made, fringed silk hangings tied. The windows had been drawn, but a low fire behind the screen cast enough light to see her tall valise beside a large dressing table with plenty of space to work.

“It looks very inviting,” Philippa observed.

Tommy nodded. “I shall compliment the maids on your behalf. They will be pleased to hear it.”

“What will they say when they enter in the morning and everything is just how they left it?”

“They’ll say, ‘My work here is done. What an accommodating houseguest. Tommy should invite that wonderful Miss York more often.’”

“In that case…We should leave it fully untouched.” Philippa moved toward her valise. “I presume Marjorie has already made off with the manuscript.”

“Undoubtedly.” Tommy rushed forward to pick up the valise. “As soon as she scampered upstairs, I knew she had found it.”

“Does your overflowing dressing room have space for my valise?” Philippa teased.

“I will toss all of my wardrobes from the window if necessary,” Tommy promised.

“What will the neighbors say?”

“We’re Wynchesters. A flying wardrobe or two won’t be half as unusual as the acrobatics they’ve glimpsed Graham doing. They might even think it was part of his act.”

Philippa’s brows shot up. “Act?”

“He was a performer in a circus until Bean found him. I mean, Baron Vanderbean. Our Baron Vanderbean.” Tommy opened the door to her bedchamber.

“Is there a Baron Vanderbean?” Philippa followed Tommy inside. “A current one, that is?”

Philippa was asking about one of the family’s most tightly kept secrets. But at this point, she already knew Tommy wasn’t Baron Vanderbean, and had no doubt begun to suspect the truth.