Cursing, Richard grabbed the back of his head and rubbed it to relieve some of the pain as he turned to see Christiana crossing the room toward him.

“I just remembered! Your valet is sick. I shall have to help you undress,” she announced sounding very cheerful as she walked unsteadily toward him.

“My valet?” Richard asked with confusion.

“Is sick.” She grinned widely as if the man’s being ill were quite the most wonderful thing.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he murmured as if just recalling it, and realized he had to be much more careful about such things. There would be much that had happened this last year that he knew nothing about. People he should know that he didn’t, conversations he should recall but wouldn’t. He would have to be very careful and—Richard’s thoughts died abruptly as he felt a tugging at the back of his breeches. Christiana had continued forward until she was now behind him and appeared to be trying to pull down his tight knee breeches.

“What are you doing?” he asked with surprise, wheeling around to face her.

“Helping you undress.” She tried to get around behind him again.

Richard turned with her. “There is no need for that. I can manage on my own.”

“Do not be silly, Dicky. You died today. You shouldn’t undress yourself.” She continued to circle him like a bulldog looking for an opportunity to bite, and he just kept turning with her.

Growing dizzy, Richard finally grabbed her arm to stop her, and stated firmly, “Thank you, but I really can manage to—” The words died on an exasperated sigh. The woman wasn’t listening. She had given up trying to get to the back of his pants, however, and was now working to remove his dark, double-breasted blue coat. He had undone the buttons before trying to climb the tree earlier. All she had to do was push it off his shoulders, which she now did from the front, rising up on her tiptoes as she did. She wasn’t very steady on her feet, however, and ended up leaning against him, her lace covered breasts pressing against his chest as she worked the material off his shoulders and down his arms.

“There.” Smiling brightly, she tossed the expensive coat Daniel had bought him only that day to the side. She then set to work on the white, quilted, single-breasted Marseilles waistcoat he’d worn beneath. This time she had to undo the buttons, and Richard tried again to dissuade her from the duty.

“Truly, Christiana. There is no need to assist me. I—” Despite obviously being a little unsteady on her feet due to drink, she was surprisingly quick with the buttons and he paused as she now pushed that off his shoulders as well. This time she did not catch the item of clothing she’d just removed, but let it fall to the floor and simply stood staring wide-eyed. He was now bare from the waist up except for his cravat.