As a new bride, Chloe had told Tommy that she’d know when she found the right person because neither of them would rather be with anyone else. It was something Bean had told her, before Chloe found Faircliffe and fell in love. A lovely sentiment that in this instance gave Tommy no hope.

Philippa had an entire peerage of men she’d rather be with.

She was offering Tommy an unprecedented opportunity to stand by her side…as Philippa met someone else, danced with someone else, flirted with someone else, chose someone else, and married someone else.

The thought of witnessing any part of that made Tommy want to crawl out of her skin.

Especially because Philippa did everything in grand style. Bookish? Meet the leader of a cadre of brilliant bluestockings. Feminine? Philippa could not be swathed in more ringlets and lace without wrapping an entire factory about her person. Beautiful? She could be the muse for a thousand artists.

On a mission to catch a lord? Philippa had caught the Duke of Faircliffe and let him go, like a fisherman tossing an unwanted runt back into the river.

If she wanted to marry a man, it was absolutely going to happen.

Did Tommy want a ringside seat?

Philippa smiled at her. “What do you say?”

Tommy’s heart gave a painful pang. The real question was whether she could bear to walk away. This was the woman she longed to be with. If Philippa needed her help, then of course Tommy would give it.

When Philippa inevitably married, at least she ought to be happy. Tommy might not be Philippa’s fairy-tale hero, but perhaps she could help her find someone who was.

“All right,” Tommy said. “I’ll help you catch the man you want.”

And she would keep her attraction—and her heart—under lock and key for the duration.

“Shall I help you find the woman of your dreams?” Philippa asked.

“No,” Tommy said softly. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, of course not.” Philippa chuckled. “What was I thinking? You’re not actually Baron Vanderbean. One cannot marry using a lord’s identity. Good heavens, the courts would make an example out of you for that. Does the baron know you’ve been impersonating him?”

“I keep no secrets from Baron Vanderbean,” Tommy replied. “I can promise he has no objection to the deception.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Philippa. “I would hate to discover someone I trusted was keeping awkward secrets from me.”

“Er.” Tommy fixed her gaze on the carriage ahead of theirs and gripped the reins tight.

Should she tell Philippa? Tommy was running out of excuses to keep her in the dark. Philippa had proven herself capable of keeping a secret and was clearly game to be a co-conspirator. If it didn’t matter whether “Baron Vanderbean” was a Wynchester or a chimneysweep, why would it matter if he was a she?