He has a far easier time of it, palm smoothing up her chest once it's clear that the tie at the base of her throat is his only impediment. A pull, and that's dealt with, and he need waste no effort as his hand moves down again to the warm flesh of her breasts.

(His own clothing still smacks of a desire to maintain his usual standards. The cuts, colors, and fabrics involved are all a bit different, but he's managed to rustle up shirtsleeves, a frock coat, and breeches. A few pearly buttons skitter across the floor as Vex pulls, and for the first time since his arrival, he does have to consider whether he might want to adjust course towards something more like the local fashion. He's not looking forward to finding and reaffixing his lost buttons.)

Every kiss, he chases with another: her lips, her jaw, a demanding nibble at her pulse. His free hand clenches in her skirt, starting to hike the fabric up her legs.