He doesn't know much more from Burbridge, but rather than admit that straightaway, he eases to help her with the zipper, sliding it down with gentle fingers. "I've some poetry far more appropriate," he promises, nuzzling against her neck and pressing slow kisses there. "And on that cheek and o'er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent."

He grins. "Lord Byron. She Walks In Beauty. I think it fits you," he says, sliding the fabric of her dress down to her hips.