And just like that, Sybil sat nearly naked in his arms. Gone were corsets, and shifts, and underpinnings - Henri had gathered that much from seeing enough women walking down the street in much less than Sybil ever wore - and all it took to bring them skin to skin was pushing off her dress. He had expected as much, after a fashion, but the experience of it still left him blushing. He swallowed as he gazed at her (and he couldn’t do anything but gaze at her for a moment or two, much to his embarrassment), sensing all at once the speed with which the evening was moving, knocked off-course by the suddenness of it all.

But he took a breath, and ran his fingers over the dip of her collarbone, and smiled at her. “Ma belle,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to the base of her neck where it met her shoulder.