There were a few young ladies that Fitzroy Prewett would not have minded encountering at the theatre, and it was for that reason that he had allowed his mother to bully him into attending. (In truth, Harriet Prewett always got her way, but he put up far less of a fight than he might have otherwise!)

None of those young ladies, however, were currently making their way towards him at his mother's side, a vapid grin on her face whilst Harriet bore one instead of triumph. And Fitz recognized her, and one very dull fact immediately sprang into his mind entirely unbidden: she was a fan of Papillons. Having dodged this particular bullet in the past, Fitz had no desire to be struck by it now and yet it made a steady course towards him from his left.

Desperate to hide in plain sight, the wizard cast his eyes to the right, where he saw his salvation: Miss Camilla Zabini. Would she mind, he wondered, rescuing him from the same grim fate a second time? Judging by her general reaction to his presence in the past, he doubted it very much.

Instead of moving towards his mother, Fitz made a beeline in the other direction, coming up alongside Miss Zabini.

"You must pretend as though I am the most interesting person you have ever encountered, lest I be plucked like a ripe fruit and fed to the wolves," he implored quietly. A beat, and then, with his trademark grin, "though I do not imagine it will require much acting on your part."

"The same as ever," he answered with a dramatic sigh before, with more haste, grabbing her lightly by the wrist and maneuvering her so that she might be more visible to his mother. Surely even Harriet Prewett would interject to introduce him to a deb when he was already quite clearly engaged with one! Besides, Miss Zabini was much more fetching to look at, and had on no occasions mentioned dogs of any breed to him.

"It is ungallant, I know, to use a lady as a human shield, but I know you shall relish the opportunity to play my rescuer, no?"

Satisfied that his mother had reversed course, Fitzroy leaned to whisper in Miss Zabini's ear, "I shall whisk you away to some hidden corner with immediate effect if it would save you from such a fate."

Though her touch was light, it felt heavy with the weight of a promise of her own.

In spite of Art's words of caution, ever since his encounter with Miss Gallivan, Fitz couldn't help but wondering if the well-bred and well-guarded daughters of society were a hitherto untapped wellspring of sensuality that he ought to have been tapping all along. From a logical standpoint, Fitz knew that, when he did remarry, he would not wish for a bride who had given herself to any other man—imagine the knowing looks he might receive at the club! But from an animalistic perspective, the reverse seemed almost irrelevant. So long as he was not actively seducing anyone, he could hardly be in the wrong, right?

(As he had always been a flirt, however, how "actively" he might go about doing anything in this nature was, really, quite subjective.)

"You need but say the word," he returned with a cocky smirk, "and I shall whisk you away to safer harbours."

X marks the spot.

Fitzroy Prewett knew his mother's house very well indeed, could think of myriad places where he could take Miss Zabini where they might find varying degrees of privacy. As much as he might have fantasized about grabbing her by the hand, disapparating to a guest room, and having his way with her, all three were probably not quite in the offing. Instead, he offered the witch his arm, that the pair might disappear in plain sight.

Miss Zabini fit well on his arm, Fitz noted as the pair made their way leisurely across the lobby—not so slow that they might be remarked upon, but not so quickly that anything would look amiss. What Fitz did not do, not until they were safely ensconced in an alcove off the corridor (his favourite sort of place) was speak, allowing the anticipation to build instead in his silence.

"This, I hope," the wizard offered, removing his arm from Miss Zabini's grasp but sliding his hand to lightly grasp her own instead, "is more to your tastes?"

His cocky smile revealed that hers was very much the correct answer to the question.

"I am afraid, though," Fitz said next, "that, having removed you from the festivities, you may find yourself bored. A poor hero I would be if I allowed such a thing to happen!"

As he spoke, he stepped back slowly, pulling her along with him, until he was leaning up against the wall.

He needed no further invitation.

One last tug saw her body pulled up against his own, his mouth hungry on hers, his one hand abandoning hers for the small of her back and his other having found purchase on her bottom.