Tommy tried to remind herself that this wasn’t courting. There would be no kisses. It was just a dance or two, as Philippa had granted countless other men. It was innocent. Mostly.

And because Tommy could not act on her feelings, Philippa need not know that Tommy possessed any.

Such as: Tommy wanted to explore every curve of Philippa’s body with her mouth and her hands to see if she felt and tasted as delicious as she looked. Or: The ease with which they danced together was the tiniest of hints at how well their naked flesh might fit together, too.

A lesser rake might lose his step in the waltz. But Tommy was a competent, confident baron, and her rhythm with Philippa never faltered…as long as she reminded herself that it was just a temporary role like any other.

“You know,” said Philippa, “tomorrow morning, your poor butler will have to add a second salver on the mantel to collect all the cards and invitations. We’ve raised each other’s currency in tandem.”

Unfortunately, no currency in the world could purchase what Tommy wanted most.

She tightened her hold on Philippa’s hand. Tommy wanted Philippa to know the fake flirtation was real. She wanted Philippa to want a true courtship. She wanted to pull Philippa close, to taste her lips, her tongue, her flesh…She wanted everything she could never have.

But she would have to be content with playing a role. Like the theater, this opera would soon end. The only time they would ever have was now.

Tommy waggled her brows. “You’re saying Baron Vanderbean could attract a highborn bride?”

“I am watching mothers formulate plans as we speak.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to dance with all their daughters, so as not to play favorites,” Tommy said airily.

Philippa narrowed her eyes again. “You’re my pretend suitor.”

“And we’ll have used up our two sets before the end of the hour,” Tommy reminded her. “I cannot imagine your mother wishing to return home until the orchestra plays the last note. As a paragon of chivalry, Baron Vanderbean must do his civic duty and—”

“You want to dance with them,” Philippa accused.

“I like to dance,” Tommy agreed. “I’d rather dance with you all night, but it wouldn’t have the effect your mother is hoping for.” She lowered her voice. “People might think there is Something Sordid between us.”

“You make ‘sordid’ sound like ‘wonderful.’”

“It is wonderful, when done with the right person.” Tommy’s voice was husky.

Philippa hesitated. “Are you speaking to me as Tommy or as Baron Vanderbean?”

“For the next few hours, I’m both.”

Philippa seemed to consider that. She wore the blank expression that indicated her mind was busy computing facts. She did not appear nearly as appalled or confused by their banter as Tommy might have predicted.