Caelia stammered for a full fifteen seconds, then drained his drink.  He took three deep breaths, then whispered something in poorly pronounced russian and scooped Brooke up in his arms.  "Right this way, little one," he grinned, and for a brief moment she could see a confident and beneficent lord blossoming and peeking his way completly through the stammering youth in his smile and warm eyes as he carried her under the african masks, into a back hall, to a room with a big bed, oaken wardrobe, and matching bookshelf.  "Would you prefer to start in here, or in the jacuzi?" he inquired.