Page 78 of The Perks of Loving a Wallflower

Yet it felt that way. As though Tommy were learning her contours in a way that wasn’t visual. Philippa’s shoulder blades were hidden beneath muslin, but they felt each brush of Tommy’s knuckles as though the material were nonexistent.

Her back and spine were behind a thick wall of whalebone stays, a shift, and an underdress. She couldn’treallyfeel Tommy’s fingers…could she? It was surely her imagination. There were only eight loops to the ties of her overdress, all right there between her shoulder blades. There was no reason to feel a shiver along her flesh or down her spine.

This act was innocent, Philippa told herself firmly.

Well, notinnocent—their aim was to steal someone else’s property—but certainly nonsexual. It wasn’t as though Tommy would risk marring her carefully applied cosmetics by touching Philippa any more than necessary. This slow, sensual disrobing wasn’t aseduction.

No matter what it felt like.

As soon as the overdress was loose enough, Philippa stepped hastily away from Tommy to remove the garment herself. Her fingers shook.

Tommy’s dark eyes watched her in silence from a face that appeared to be a man old enough to be Philippa’s grandfather. It should feel strange to be in dishabille in such circumstances. But the knowledge that Tommy wasTommyoverrode any disguise. Philippa yearned to be in her arms no matter what costume she wore.

Just because a thing wasn’t a seduction didn’t mean it hadn’t worked.

Philippa tried to pretend she was unaffected. She folded her overdress with trembling hands, and placed it on one of the many empty armchairs before taking her seat at the dressing table.

“What would you like me to become?” she asked nervously.

Tommy’s knuckles brushed gently down the side of Philippa’s cheek. “My wife.”

Philippa swallowed. “You mean…an old lady?”

“If that’s what you want me to mean.” Rather than take the chair in front of her, Tommy stepped out of sight behind Philippa. “I’m afraid I shall have to dismantle your lovely hair arrangement if I’m to fit you with a wig.”

“You can’t,” Philippa said in alarm. “My mother will notice immediately if my hair is no longerà la Grecque.”

Tommy’s voice was wry. “If I can turn you into someone else, I can certainly turn you back into Philippa.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Right. I’m not used to needing a disguise. Being me is usually deflection enough. People see me and assume I cannot possibly be up to anything.”

Tommy eased the pins from her hair. “Then I have excellent news. Your day as a nefarious miscreant has finally come.”

As Tommy combed through her long hair, Philippa tried not to purr like a cat. She loved the sensation of Tommy brushing her hair. It felt…intimate. Tommy’s strokes were confident and sure, but also gentle and reverent. As though she was luxuriating in this moment every bit as much as Philippa.

Carefully, Tommy plaited Philippa’s hair in two segments. She wound each around Philippa’s head and pinned them in place.

“Now cosmetics, before I attach your wig.”

Philippa straightened. “Great-Aunt Wynchester’s wig?”

“You have too much hair. Besides, hers won’t have the right impact. You need a bigger wig.”

“Bigger than Great-Aunt Wynchester’s wig?” Philippa repeated in disbelief. This was going to be hilarious.

“Shh,” Tommy said. “Don’t move while I apply these wrinkles.”

Philippa held as still as possible.

Tommy’s touch with the cosmetics was the same as how she’d brushed Philippa’s hair: confident but gentle. It felt as though she was covering Philippa’s face with a thousand tiny caresses.

Tommy stepped back to admire her handiwork and gave a pleased nod. “That’ll do.”

Philippa jerked her gaze to the looking glass and almost startled herself right out of her chair. Even without the wig, she looked as though she’d aged fifty years. She lifted her fingers to touch one of her sagging new wrinkles, then pulled her hand away before making contact.

“The cosmetics won’t come off without a special oil,” Tommy said. “But all the same, it’s best not to touch them. They may smudge when freshly applied.”

Philippa looked away from the mirror. If she could no longer see her shocking transformation, perhaps she wouldn’t be tempted to touch it.