Entertaining thoughts about others in the privacy of one's own mind and actually voicing them are two different things, as far as Martha's concerned. She can't police what someone thinks about her or her physical appearance, and she's received enough once-overs in her life to know that it's something that's bound to happen from time to time.

Hearing it, though, and said so crudely -- that's a different story. Martha slaps her hand over her mouth and stares at Buckingham's mirror in abject horror. There are certain things you're simply not supposed to say.

Her shadow, meanwhile, only laughs at her, tickled by the prudishness.

It's Buckingham's offer from the horse that drags her out of her shock, and Martha turns toward him, taking his hand and then hefting herself up onto the horse behind him. It's an awkward position to be in, the physical closeness more or less the last thing she needs at this point after hearing that, but she doesn't see any better option.

After a brief pause, Martha wraps her arms around Buckingham's waist and then nods. "Yes, let's."

"Don't let him sweep you off your feet too much there, Martha Jones," her shadows warns with a playful smile. "Last time all it took was a kiss, yeah?"