Philippa explained her discovery in as condensed a manner as she could manage. How the letter had been hidden, that it had been written by one of the real artists of the illuminated manuscript, how all the other copies of the manuscript had been bought up.

“I made a copy of the letter.” Philippa turned her back toward the table and pulled the kitten from her chest in order to retrieve a folded square of foolscap.

Tommy’s eyes tracked every movement as Philippa’s fingers slid beneath her bodice.

“I’m not an artist like Marjorie.” Philippa pulled out the copy. “I’m afraid it’s just the text in my ordinary handwriting, with none of the flourishes.”

“It’s perfect.” Tommy reached for the folded square and tucked it inside her coat next to her heart. “Graham shall investigate those names at once. Expect an odious amount of detail in an impressively short period of time.”

“What if there’s no information to find?” Philippa asked. “Whoever they are, Agnes and Katherine need justice, too. Those poor…women…”

Tommy’s hand was rising toward Philippa’s bodice. Slowly. Affording Philippa time to knock her hand aside or back away. Which she was definitely going to do. Any moment now. Probably.

Before Philippa could make her decision, Tommy’s hand passed Philippa’s bosom and stopped at her shoulder, where Tommy lifted an errant kitten hair and tossed it aside.

Of course. Of course it was that.

Why would it be anything else? What was Philippa thinking? Was she not thinking? All she ever did was think. Why did her best skill fail her so utterly whenever it came to Tommy?

And…what was wrong with Philippa’s breathing? Was her bosom heaving? Was this a heaving bosom? Even her heart was behaving erratically. What was happening?

Tommy arched a brow as if she sensed Philippa’s turmoil and found it amusing. The heavy-lidded expression was similar to the night before, but somehow even more rakish. The slight quirk of Tommy’s lips distracted her in a way she had never been distracted before. She should stop staring at Tommy’s mouth at once.

Why couldn’t she stop staring at Tommy’s mouth?

It felt like Tommy was closer than before. Even closer than they had been in the garden, which was ridiculous because she had been touching Philippa in the garden, and here they were standing a foot apart. That was why she’d had all the time in the world to notice Tommy’s hand rising toward her bosom.

Shoulder. Tommy had plucked cat hair from Philippa’s shoulder.

There was nothing less sensual than that.

And yet it had felt as though the light touch were a mere precursor, a hint of something bigger, better. An appetizer before the main course.