"Of course, milady. Whatever you need."
Lady Catherine gestured toward the back of the room where another door stood partially open. Through it, Corin could see what looked like a dressing area with a large mirror.
"I have a social engagement tomorrow," she explained, moving toward the door. "A gathering of noblewomen at Duchess Veridian's estate. These events are... competitive, to put it mildly. The women judge each other mercilessly on appearance, gossip, and social standing."
She paused at the doorway, glancing back at him. "I need help selecting the right attire. My usual attendants are competent, but they tell me what they think I want to hear. You, however..." A small smile played at her lips. "You seem refreshingly honest. I doubt you'd bother lying about something as trivial as fashion."
"I'm not sure I'd be much help, milady. I'm hardly an expert on noble fashion."
"Precisely why I want your opinion." She disappeared into the dressing room. "Wait there. And help me with this zipper first."
Corin stepped closer. Lady Catherine had turned her back to him, sweeping her hair over one shoulder to expose the line of small clasps running down her spine. The emerald dress hugged every curve of her body like it had been painted on, the fabric pulled taut across her back.
'Holy shit.'
His fingers found the top clasp. It was small, delicate, requiring actual concentration to work loose. As it came undone, the fabric separated slightly, revealing a thin strip of pale skin beneath.
Next clasp. Then the next. Each one revealed more. The elegant line of her shoulder blades. The subtle dip of her spine. The way her back curved inward at her waist before flaring out to hips that the dress had been desperately trying to contain.
She wore something thin underneath, some kind of white undergarment, but it was practically transparent in the afternoon light. Corin could see the outline of everything, the smooth expanse of her back, the way her skin looked soft and untouched.
'This is torture,' he thought, his fingers working mechanically while his brain short-circuited. 'Actual torture. She has no idea what she's doing to me right now.'
[Oh, she knows exactly what she's doing]
The clasps continued downward. Past her ribs. Down to the small of her back where the dress cinched tight before flowing into skirts. His knuckles brushed against her skin once, twice, the contact sending electricity up his arm.
The soft swells of her breasts visible through the thin fabric. The way the material draped over her hips, emphasizing their width. The long, lean lines of her legs.
'I'm going to combust,' he thought, imagining running his hands over all that exposed skin. 'Or do something very stupid.
'I could just... no. No. Bad idea. Terrible idea.'
[Your hands are shaking. Pathetic]
They were. Just slightly, but enough that the next clasp took three tries to unfasten.
Lady Catherine glanced back over her shoulder, and Corin caught a hint of amusement in her eyes. Like she knew exactly what kind of torture she was putting him through and found it entertaining.
He reached the final clasp, right at the base of her spine. The dress fell open, held up only by her hands pressed to her chest. The view of her back was complete now, all that pale skin on display, the curve of her waist so pronounced it made his mouth water.
'Professional my ass,' he thought viciously. 'There's nothing professional about wanting to run my hands down that spine and see what sounds she'd make.'
[There's the real you. Took long enough]
"Thank you," Lady Catherine said, her voice carrying that same hint of amusement. She stepped into the dressing room without looking back, but Corin caught the smallest smile on her lips before the door closed.
He stood there for a moment, trying to get his breathing under control, before settling into the chair.
'Get it together. You're supposed to be impressing her, not acting like a teenager who just saw his first pair of tits.'
[You literally died while jerking off. Let's not pretend you're anything other than what you are]
'A man with taste?'
[A desperate virgin with zero self-control]
'Fuck you.'
[You wish. Now pay attention, she's coming out]
Five minutes passed. Then the door opened.
Lady Catherine stepped out wearing a gown of deep sapphire blue, almost black in the dim light. The neckline was modest but the fit was impeccable, emphasizing her narrow waist and the curve of her hips. Silver embroidery traced patterns along the bodice and sleeves.
"Well?" She turned slowly, letting the skirts swirl around her legs. "What do you think?"
'Think? I can barely breathe.'
[Look at you, sweating like a virgin at a brothel. Oh wait—]
Corin forced his brain to work. "It's... striking. The color suits you. Makes your eyes stand out."
"But?" She tilted her head, reading something in his expression.
"But it might be too severe? For a daytime gathering, I mean. It feels like something you'd wear to intimidate someone at a formal dinner."
Lady Catherine considered this, studying herself in the mirror. "Hmm. You might be right. Hold on."
She vanished back into the dressing room.
The next gown was cream-colored with gold accents, lighter and more cheerful. It made her look younger, softer, less like a calculating noblewoman and more like someone approachable.
"Better," Corin said. "Though maybe too informal? You said these women are competitive. This feels like you're not taking them seriously."
"Interesting point." She disappeared again.
The third dress was burgundy, similar to what she'd worn earlier but with a different cut. Lower neckline, tighter bodice, the kind of thing designed to draw eyes and hold attention.
'Jesus Christ,' Corin thought, trying very hard to keep his gaze on her face.
[You're staring at her chest. She definitely noticed. You're about as subtle as a hammer]
"This one?" Lady Catherine asked, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
Corin cleared his throat. "It's... effective. Very effective. But might be too obvious? Like you're trying too hard to compete."
"So I should aim for something between severe and desperate?" She laughed, a genuine sound that filled the room with warmth. "You're more helpful than you realize."
She tried on two more. One was a pale green that washed her out, made her look sickly in the lamplight. Another was lavender with too much lace, making her look like she was trying to appear younger than she was.
"That one makes you look like you're going to a girl's tea party," Corin said bluntly.
Lady Catherine burst out laughing. "Brutal honesty. I love it." She studied him for a moment. "You know, most men would just agree with whatever I chose. Too afraid to give a real opinion."
"You asked for honest. I'm giving you honest."
"And that's why I like you."
She went back in and emerged in a final option. Deep forest green, elegant without being showy, sophisticated without being cold. The neckline was tasteful, the fit perfect, and something about the color made her skin look luminous.
"That's the one," Corin said immediately.
"You're certain?"
"Absolutely. You'll walk into that gathering and every other woman will spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how you look that good without seeming like you're trying."
Lady Catherine studied herself in the mirror, turning left and right. A slow smile spread across her face. "Yes. This is it." She looked at him with genuine appreciation. "Thank you, Corin. Truly. You have a better eye than you give yourself credit for."
She disappeared one final time to change back into her day clothes. When she emerged, it was in a simple house dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. Without the formal attire and elaborate styling, she looked more human, more real.
Corin helped her gather the discarded gowns, folding them carefully and laying them across the bed. The rejected options would be returned to storage, the winner set aside for tomorrow's event.
"Well," Lady Catherine said, smoothing her hands over her skirts. "I should let you—"
"Wait." She caught his arm as he turned toward the door. Her expression shifted, becoming more serious. "There's something I should have asked earlier. Before we finalized our arrangement."
Corin's stomach tightened. "Milady?"
"Are you a virgin?"
The question hung in the air like a sword.
[Oh, this should be good]
'Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.'
Corin's mind raced. Was being a virgin bad? Did noblewomen prefer experienced men? Or did they want someone untouched, someone they could mold? What was the right answer?
He thought about Ethan Parker, twenty-three years old and never once getting past second base. Then he thought about the original Corin, in love with a slave girl he'd never been able to afford, stealing kisses in moonlit forests but never going further.
Virgin. Completely and thoroughly virgin, in both lives.
But could he admit that? Would it disqualify him? End this opportunity before it even began?
He swallowed hard. "Yes, milady. I am."
Lady Catherine stared at him for a long moment. Her blue eyes searched his face, looking for deception, finding only nervous honesty.
Then she burst out laughing.
Not a polite titter or a restrained chuckle, but full, genuine laughter that made her double over slightly, one hand pressed to her stomach. The sound was beautiful, musical, and completely unexpected.
"I'm sorry," she gasped between laughs. "I'm sorry, that was rude. It's just—" More laughter. "I was so certain you weren't. The way you move around the maids, so confident, so comfortable. I was absolutely convinced you'd already bedded at least one of them."
Corin felt his face burning. Did she know about Elara? About what happened in the bathhouse? Could she see through him that easily?
[She knows. She definitely knows. You're not as sneaky as you think]
Lady Catherine finally composed herself, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "But no, you're a virgin. That's actually... surprising. Refreshing, even."
She moved closer, studying him with renewed interest. "Tell me honestly. You've never kissed anyone?"
"I have," Corin said quickly. Too quickly.
"But nothing beyond that?"
He hesitated. "Nothing beyond that."
Lady Catherine's expression shifted from amused to concerned. She pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing small circles there. "That's not good."
"It's not?"
"Corin, the women you'll be servicing are noblewomen. Wealthy, powerful, often frustrated women who've been trapped in loveless marriages for years. They're not gentle. They're not patient. They're hungry." She looked at him seriously. "They'll eat you alive if you don't know what you're doing. Can you survive that?"
[Your stamina stat is currently six. That's about as good as an aging grandmother with joint problems]
'Nobody asked you.'
[Just stating facts, host. You'll probably pass out after five minutes]
Corin straightened his shoulders, forcing confidence he didn't quite feel. "I can handle it. I'll last."
Lady Catherine raised one elegant eyebrow. "You're certain? Because if you collapse from exhaustion or fail to perform, it reflects poorly on me. On this entire operation."
"I'm certain."
She studied him for another long moment, her expression unreadable. Then something shifted in her eyes. A decision made, a challenge accepted.
"Prove it," she said simply.
The words hit Corin like a physical blow. His mouth went dry. His heart hammered against his ribs.
[Oh. OH. This is happening. This is actually happening]
'What do I—'
[Don't panic. Or do. Either way, this is going to be entertaining]
Lady Catherine stood there, perfectly composed, waiting for his response. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting everything in gold. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker.
"Milady?" Corin's voice came out rougher than intended.
She smiled. Not the warm, friendly smile from earlier. This one was different. Calculating. Testing.
"You heard me, Corin. If you're going to do this job, you need to prove you can last. That you won't embarrass me when I send you to service a duchess or countess." She gestured toward the bed. "So prove it."
The challenge hung between them, impossible to ignore, impossible to refuse.
And somewhere in the back of Corin's mind, beneath the panic and excitement and disbelief, a single thought emerged with perfect clarity:
'This is really happening.'