"Tsk, tsk." Softly, under breath, and with just a hint of playful malice. "What do we care what the dull masses think?" A raised brow, as point of this, and he had most decidedly noticed her curious glance about the room.
Forward, brazen, yes, but the curl of his finger was under his chin, not much caring if he was rebuffed, and attempting to turn the delicate visage towards him once again. "Let them be. They'll die as simply, and as vapidly as they were born."
His turn to glance about, though this time looking for any exit to the gardens. "Would the lady care to delve into the exotic aroma of India?" And before any miscommunication could be made, he carefully patted the small silk bag nestled in his waist coat pocket, filled with a strange mixture of darjeeling, cloves, and recently-imported American tobacco.