Karanteg found great personal pride in being the most infuriating man in the room. Cat was an unfortunate victim of his inability to comport himself like the gentleman he was being forced to pretend to be. And possibly even more so by simple virtue of how often she had to be in close proximity to him. And speaking of virtue, Elgar was the brother with all of them. No one would ever accuse Karanteg of being virtuous, and no one would ever confuse him for Elgar. Karanteg wasn't necessarily sorry about it, though he supposed he could have tried better as a child. In his opinion, he was far too old to change his ways. And far too stubborn to feel bad about any of the things he'd done in the past. That, and he didn't really recognize the small voice in the back of people's heads telling them when they were going too far. If Karanteg had ever had one, it was broken now.
Nodding at her thanks, Karanteg went ahead and took it. Even if what she seemed to have taken it as was not what he'd meant at all. He had intended for the comment to be a sarcastic retort about throwing children out of windows (to be fair, it was quite an impressive threat and he was quite proud of his wife for thinking that one up) but she seemed to have taken it in good stride. And if it meant a moment's peace, he would take it. Of course, she then had to go and ruin the moment by reminding him how much of a pig she thought he was. Not that she was entirely wrong (or at all), but it was still an offense. "It depends on how fine the vintage is, of course," he answered silkily. "And I do not grab at women simply because I am drunk. I grab at women sober as well, my dear. Though I can temporarily set aside such behavior in deference to your delicate sensibilities, if you ask it of me, wife."