Don Juan glanced in the direction she'd gestured, but he had no intention of crowding into a little changing room and having to hug the wall to avoid crushing her skirts. He took a step towards her. The room wasn't a large one; it wasn't difficult to close the distance between them. He reached for the lace against her shoulder. He had asked himself as he crossed the room what the worst thing that could happen was, the most dire consequences of sleeping with her. He'd been searching for a reason he could use to talk himself out of it... but what he realized was that the answer was exactly the same as the consequences if he didn't. It didn't matter to anyone what they did or didn't do; she'd been ruined for future marriage prospects the moment the door closed on the two of them. It wouldn't save her if he sat on his hands on the edge of the bed until daybreak — it would just make for a long and awkward couple of hours.

"Tonight is not a normal night," he murmured. He'd come to stand behind her and now used his free hand to brush her hair over her right shoulder, exposing her neck and the back of her dress. He was going to sleep with her. He'd sort through the consequences in the morning. He couldn't talk to her now anyway, and it didn't matter one way or another. He still had one hand at her left shoulder and moved his other one to her right hip, stepping in close enough behind her that she would be able to feel him. He wanted to see if he could take her earrings out with only his tongue — but first there was a moment of tension to be built.

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