For a moment — nothing more, mind, because while she may need to pay for what she's done, serve as her own cautionary tale, she never has been overly masochistic — Jenny looks at his hand, already reaching to place her own in it, and thinks of David, the shows of propriety, how he'd seemed so wonderfully cultured and polite, not at all like the Twickenham boys who couldn't even string together three words of French in the correct order. It is, after all, the sort of thing he would have done, the sort of thing he did do. The moment passes, though, and she's glad for it. Cameron, from what she can tell, isn't anything like that. Besides, if she's going to help him stay distracted, then he might as well do the same for her, even if it's unknowingly. David may be the beginning and end of her real experience with men, but she'll go mad too quickly if everything keeps coming back to him. It isn't like this is the same, anyway. They're acquaintances, new friends at best, and she wouldn't be letting herself do anything if it seemed to be remotely like before. (But then, she can't really know, can she?)

"We shall," she says, chin tilted up towards him and smile sunny as she pulls herself to her feet. All thoughts of past incidences aside, it really is charming, the sort of thing she's never really been able to resist. "Do you have anyplace in mind, or are we figuring it out as we go?"