“I would have no idea, girl,” Roslyn answered as her hands felt the well-shaped prong. She shuddered as if it were the real thing, real flesh and blood, as if it had a power all its own: the power to woo her, the power to make her as bold as a man would be. Her imagination went wild as scenes of debauchery flew before her inner eyes, until, rather than look at her sweet maid with amusement, a molten fire burned within, making the waiting girl tremble.
“Perhaps it’s possible,” she said carefully. “Yes.” She nodded, looking straight into Celia’s eyes. “I will do this once for you, my dear, but that is all. Because I, too, fear that your virtue will soon be ripped asunder. You are a fair flower that many men would seek to pluck.”
Roslyn wondered if it were prudent to confirm the girl’s fear
