Tommy’s heart thudded so loudly, it drowned out the hooves and wheels of the surrounding horses and carriages.

Why was it so simple to be someone else, and so difficult to be herself?

Philippa frowned. “What is it?”

“It’s me,” Tommy blurted out. “‘Tommy’ is a nickname.”

“I presumed so,” said Philippa. “Thomas, I imagine?”

“Thomasina,” Tommy whispered, then stiffened her spine and said it louder. “Thomasina Wynchester, at your service.”

12

12

Thomasina?” Philippa repeated, not quite certain she’d understood.

The gentleman sitting next to her nodded, his expression wary.

Philippa leaned back and carefully considered his attire, his short hair, and the hint of a beard shadowing his jaw.

“‘Thomasina’ as in, you were christened Thomas, but feel as though you are a woman?”

“No,” he said. “Thomasina as in, I was born Thomasina. Sometimes I’m more like a man, and sometimes I’m more like a woman, but mostly I feel like…both. And neither. What you’re seeing are cosmetics.” He gave a crooked smile. “I couldn’t grow a beard if my life depended upon it. I’ve always been more comfortable in men’s attire, but beneath these pantaloons, I’ve the same parts you do.”

“Thomasina,” Philippa said again in wonder, believing it this time.

A woman. Who felt a little like a man. Did that mean Thomasina was lesbian? No, she hadn’t said that. She said she wore disguises. And really, was a costume such a surprise? The Wynchesters were constantly on missions to save this person or right that wrong. Philippa supposed assuming temporary identities should be very much a part of the job. She just hadn’t expected the baron to be a woman.

Thomasina gave her a rakish look. “Have you never dreamed of swaggering into a room with a cigar hanging out of your mouth and a glass of port dangling from your hand?”

“N-no…” Philippa answered faintly. “I fear I have not.” She could not repress a smile. “I find I am even more pleased to meet you, Miss Thomasina.”

“Oh, I’m not Miss Thomasina. Friends and family call me Tommy.” She slanted Philippa a sideways look. “You still can, if you like.”

“I think I would like.” Philippa felt a strange little laugh burbling inside of her. “I rather adore that beneath his clothes, ‘Baron Vanderbean’ is a woman just like me.”

“Perhaps not just like you,” Tommy said.

“Well, you’re more daring, that’s obvious. I’m glad to have got to know the real you. Knowing you’re not a man makes the situation all the more fun.”

Tommy’s warm brown eyes met hers. “Does it?”

“Of course,” Philippa said. “If you had been a Thomas, part of me would have always wondered if you really had given up hope of a courtship, or if you were actually biding your time in the hopes of seducing me.”