9th floor, right at midnight. Prince? Dorian frowned, as that term didn't seem to fit into what he knew of himself. But then again, why couldn't he be a prince? He certainly looked pleasing enough, was charming enough, had money and important blood. By all means, Dorian could be a prince if he so decided. Who would tell him no? Nobody told Dorian Gray no.
"I could surely take you away from this place, my lady." On the polished heels of Edwardian boots, he crept nearer. He sought out her fingers from the draped sleeve of her garment, and brought them to his mouth for a complimentary kiss. While formality allowed an introductory kiss to the back of a lady's hand, Dorian's was almost lascivious. A little wet and lingering, as if he was sampling the taste of her skin.