“I accept your terms. Now show us your map.” Johanna looks over at me and nods. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, victorious and conspiratorial. I reach down and start to pull up the hem of my skirt, and all the men in the room make a protestation as one—Monty does an exasperatingly dramatic throwing of his hands over his eyes and exclaims, “Dear God, Felicity Montague, keep your clothes on.” “Like you’ve never seen the outline of the female form before.” I pull up my skirt to my knees, careful to keep myself as covered as possible lest one of these brawny gentlemen need a couch
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