This is from Stephanie Laurens' Captain Jack's Woman. Laurens writes
terrible fatally addictive (to me) Regency romances. I don't know how much research she does - therefore I don't know to what degree her statement of the problem below is accurate. But clearly she has also given thought to the issue.
He supposed he should give her some brandy, but he didn't really want to get closer. The table was a protective barricade and he was loath to leave its shelter. At least he was wearing his "poor country squire" togs; the loosely fitting breeches gave him some protection. In his military togs, or, heaven forbid, his town rig, she'd know immediately just how much she was affecting him. It was bad enough that he knew. (pg 72)