Mayhap that was why Philippa was still staring at Tommy’s parted lips. Even though the moment had stretched on far beyond what was acceptable or explainable.

She wanted Tommy to do it again; to touch her hip, to pluck cat hair from her bosom. She wanted to know if this electricity crackling between them was all in Philippa’s head, or if it was as real as a lightning storm, filling the night with white-hot bursts of power and danger.

Tommy’s fingers moved. On the side hidden from Mother’s guests.

The slender hand was coming not toward her bodice, or even her side, but just enough forward for Tommy to brush her fingertips up the back of Philippa’s hand, from her knuckles to her wrist.

She felt the caress all the way to her toes. In places that weren’t even her toes. Every inch of her body seemed alive to the possibility of Tommy’s touch…and her cold dead heart gave its first unmistakable flutter. Several flutters. Possible apoplexy.

“Philippa!” Mother called.

“Coming,” Philippa replied breathlessly.

She did not move. If Tommy had touched her like this last night in the garden, Philippa might have thought she meant to kiss her.

And if that charged moment had felt anything like this one…

Philippa would have wanted it to happen.

18

18

A colorful hot-air balloon lifted a man in a large basket higher into the sky, to the delight of a thousand-person crowd. Despite the rollicking spectacle, Tommy’s attention was on the woman next to her. Philippa always looked stunning, but she was even more beautiful with wonder lighting her eyes.

“Just think how much better this event would have been,” Tommy murmured in Philippa’s ear, “if you would have let me stuff Captain Northrup in there and send him out to sea.”

Philippa elbowed her.

They had not had a moment alone since arriving at Vauxhall Gardens. The York blanket was squeezed between Marjorie and Elizabeth, who were communicating in silent hand gestures, and Chloe and Faircliffe, who were the very picture of romantic contentment. Their gazes were so intent on each other, they barely noticed the colorful flying balloon, much less Tommy choking down Mrs. York’s cucumber sandwiches on the blanket behind them.

Tommy wished she and Philippa could snuggle shoulder-to-shoulder, lying on a blanket amidst a crowd of thousands, but with eyes only for each other.

Stroking Philippa’s hand yesterday had been a calculated risk…though Tommy still wasn’t certain what she had learned. Philippa hadn’t simpered or batted her eyelashes, but nor had she reacted unfavorably.

It gave Tommy a glimmer of hope.