China teacups did not shiver, let alone crack in his hands. Unlike other things, he thought lasciviously, baring his eye-teeth and biting neatly into a cherry scone slathered with cream.
Hesitant glances darted towards him from fluttering, heavily-painted lashes; and the plump, freckled bosoms of long-married ladies heaved upon the thrill of his company.
He smirked suggestively at one, and coyly licked his lips at another, all the while remembering his previous night of what they would all call sinful debauchery – crimson blindfolds and mystery kisses, writhing bodies freshly carved and squealing like stuck pigs; quivering, sated flesh and the final exquisite bliss of the needle.
It was a wonder that he had awakened so easily this morning, and it was a miracle that his favorite suit remained so purely white throughout all the years he had worn it to such grand gatherings – a strange phenomenon for which he was becoming quite legendary.