Instead, Tommy sauntered as though she owned this ball. What did she care about the opinions of stuffy, spoiled gentlemen and lordlings? She wasn’t even Baron Vanderbean! She was Tommy Wynchester, and she had already accomplished more than these useless nobs’ wildest imaginings.

She pretended not to watch Philippa. Instead, Tommy observed the company she was in, and reveled at being a lowborn orphan in the middle of a high-class ball. Tommy loved parties. She knew how to make the most of them. This one was full of potential.

Challenge accepted.

This was the Tommy that she was in those late-night Sapphic gatherings with the coy little descriptions so as not to attract the wrong attention. Except here, now, Tommy was free to attract all the attention she could command.

Her pace was slow, deliberate, showy—giving her plenty of time to incline her head at each lady she passed, regardless of age or status. She made certain to return every single gaze with obvious appreciation and reserved her smiles for those who least expected them. Startled whispers and more than a few giggles bubbled coquettishly as she passed.

Baron Vanderbean was no bumbling weakling, afraid to remove his father’s pets from his home. Baron Vanderbean was a lucky, rakish, confident gentleman who lived and danced with whomever he damn well pleased. He was proud of his family. There was nothing better than being a Wynchester!

Tommy reached Mrs. York at the same moment Lord Charsdale was returning Philippa to her mother.

“Thank you, my lord,” gushed Mrs. York. “And now we—Baron, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come for my dance, madam,” Tommy answered easily, as though it were a foregone conclusion.

“Oh, I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Philippa has had so many inquiries in her absence. First, we have Lord—”

“I accept.” Philippa curved her arm through Tommy’s.

“What? Darling, no! There are only fifteen sets, and we’ve already got six names—”

“Ah,” said Philippa. “In that case, I have plenty of sets left.”

That’s right. Tommy grinned at her. One shouldn’t waste one’s chance.

“But it’s a waltz,” Mrs. York sputtered. “You should save it for the right man.”

“I did,” said Philippa. Her eyes met Tommy’s.

Her throat went dry. Tommy Wynchester was no “undesirable element.” Miss Philippa York was looking at her as though truly seeing her for the first time.

Tommy led her to the dance floor, feeling powerful and invincible. This was the pounding heart of breaching the walls of a castle, of sneaking past armed guards, of breaking into a strongbox full of someone else’s secrets.

This was the pounding heart Tommy lived for. The drumbeat of adventure.

This time with Philippa.

“Baron Vanderbean would have caught on to your mother by now.”

Philippa winced. “She’s marginally more circumspect about every topic except courtship. I hope Baron Vanderbean is not offended.”