It was so much more intimate to have a man undo one's buttons than a maid or a friend, Malou was finding. She was very aware of the pressure of his fingers, of the magic that tugged the last buttons, of the haste with which she was finding she too wanted her clothes out of the way. His month recaptured her's as the last buttons came undone, his embrace tight to her (although she wished it were closer as these bloody petticoats were altogether in the way). She ought to be embarassed, her mind suggested as the gown gaped open, but instead she found herself murmuring, "The sleeves." Against his lips, hoping he'd push them down her arms so she wouldn't have to leave his embrace, then it was shimmy the gown over the petticoats..... and then they'd be faced with the corset. But the petticoats, bustle, and shift were all minor after that.