Page 92 of The Perks of Loving a Wallflower

Graham’s hand poked up from atop his broadsheet and pointed toward the bookshelf again.

“I’ll show you.” Tommy retrieved her messy pile of pencils and foolscap from the shelf and brought it to a writing desk near the windows. Her blood seemed to rush beneath her skin, like racing a horse bareback on a bright spring day.

Dancing with Philippa was magical, kissing her, holding her, but so were moments like these. Quiet togetherness with the family. Philippa taking part in Tommy’s world, instead of Tommy putting on a costume to be part of Philippa’s.

Philippa peered at the stack of papers on the desk. “What is it?”

“Nude drawings I made of you,” Tommy whispered back.

“What?” Philippa squeaked.

“Maps,” Elizabeth called out. “Tommy is a cartographer.”

Philippa stared at her. “Youare?”

“I don’t often sail to distant shores,” Tommy admitted. “My specialty is more mundane.”

“She can tell you the height and width of every door and window in Carlton House,” said Graham. “How many paces from one room to the other, which hinges are rusted, which floorboards squeak…”

“Mundane,” Philippa repeated. “I see.”

“Carlton House is a silly example,” Tommy said. “Those maps are only partially complete.” She flipped through the loose pages until she found a sequence of eight drawings and handed them to Philippa.

Philippa paged through them in wonder. “This is my parents’ town house. The ground floor in every detail. You know it better than I do. Were you going to break in and steal something else?”

“You, if necessary.” Tommy shrugged. “Your parents are always locking you in your room for some imagined slight. If you need to be rescued, I want to be prepared.”

“They don’tlockme in my room,” Philippa said. “They send me there when I disappoint them, but usually I keep myself shuttered up on my own. It’s easier for everyone.”

“Do you want me to sneak in and kidnap your parents?”

“No,” Philippa said with a laugh. “They’re not perfect, but they’re the only ones I have and I’d like to keep them. Maybe the key is compromise. Behaveverybadly, but without anyone noticing.”

Tommy gave Philippa her most disreputable leer. “Tell me more about how badly you’d like to behave.”

“Baron Vanderbean, for example,” Philippa said casually. “His title makes him marginally acceptable, which pleases my parents. And he’s actuallyyou, which pleasesme.”

“He’s not me. If the aim is more time together, a better costume would be Great-Aunt Wynchester or even Baron Vanderbean’s sister, Miss Honoria Wynchester. Then we wouldn’t even need a chaperone. I could pose as Miss Thomasina, the One Reputable Wynchester. That name has never been mentioned in a scandal column.”

Philippa wrinkled her nose. “None of those would be good enough for my family, scandal columns or no. ‘Baron Vanderbean’ is a societally acceptable suitor whom I enjoy spending time with. If my parents agreed to a courtship, that is a middle ground I could live with.”

Tommy could not.

She tried not to be disappointed at Philippa’s quick dismissal of the idea. Tommy had gained her interest by pretending to be Horace Wynchester, and mayhap could only keep it by continuing the charade.

It was her own fault, she supposed. She’d begun as Baron Vanderbean and proven it could work, so of course Philippa would wish to continue on. If only Tommy had taken her family’s advice and introduced herselfasherself to begin with…

Philippa gave a little smile. “You said that he was the most comfortable disguise.”

Yes. “Horace” was an easy costume.

But Tommy wanted to live and love without a disguise.

“I haven’t forgotten our agreement,” she heard herself say. “Publicly, Baron Vanderbean shall be at your disposal through the grand celebration in January.”

Philippa dropped her voice. “Privately, all I need is Tommy Wynchester and her torrid kisses. Now. Tonight.”

“Torrid, are they?” Tommy gave an extra swagger. “You haven’t seen torrid yet.”