Galina blinked. A vague, whispery sensation floated through her soul, a zephyr of unease that hissed so softly…

The Baronessa shook her head slowly, a gentle light in her eyes as she ducked just a little, her dark gaze looking up into his own as he bowed an apology to her. She smiled up at him tenderly, kindly. “No… No, Mister Takahiro… “

It was Galina though, whose finger gently touched Souma’s chin, lifting his gaze and his face to hers, entirely with only the subtlest pressure. “Never. [i]Never[/i] sorry.”

Her hand dropped back to her side for a mere moment, the instant she turned to lift a champagne flute from a passing servant’s tray, and then one more which she offered to her companion silently, only that sweet, guileless expression on the Baronessa’s face. Galina noted the timing though - first the passing of the servant with the hors d’oeuvres and then, some ten minutes later, a different server with the champagne. The timing - yes, there should be just enough time during this pass.

“Yes, I know,” she said, swiftly nodding back to Shishkin’s painting without missing a beat. “Papa and me. Little girl and… Family. We… We… Ride? Is word? Ride horse.” The Baronessa made a gentle equine nickering, her crystalline laughter bright and lilting. She would not allow her companion this night, to fade into apologies or misunderstandings - most certainly when he did not allow her the same. The Baronessa oh-so-gently charmed her companion the remainder of the gallery, to the end of the mezzanine and the last of the artwork displayed, to an 18th century portrait meticulously completed, of course, in the neoclassical style. She did not recognize the lovely young lady, not much more than a child really - a Winchester ancestor perhaps? Ah, no matter...

Her dark gaze roved over the gallery, artlessly falling toward the stairwell to the third floor. Galina gauged she had, at best, another two minutes before another servant saw fit to walk through. Granted, these were people though, not clockwork - and this comforted her not at all. This only meant she might yet have more - or less - time allotted to her still. 

The lie came easily enough, wrapped in all the melodic glamour of her enchanting voice, no matter the language that flowed like sparkling waters past her lips. “Mister Takahiro… You think… Art? More?” the Baronessa asked him, nodding toward the stairwell upward still. Why, it would only make sense after all, would it not? And everything about the sweet hopefulness of her visage promised him she was in absolutely no hurry at all, to be rid of his company.

That same vague whisper swept through her thoughts, the strangest unease. But no, this was not the warning instincts of the wolf she had become. Of [i]course[/i] there was no danger. Ha! What possible peril could a crippled man possibly pose to [i]her?[/i] No, this was something… Different. Almost melancholy… [i]Wistful?[/i] 

Bah… What in the world was she thinking? She had only taken polite sips of her golden champagne, though Galina wondered if even that had been too much on an empty stomach. Such maudlin thoughts - then again, she [i]was[/i] a true Russian woman…

That thought returned the smile to her lips as she interlaced her arm in Mister Takahiro’s, turning toward the stairwell that beckoned to her like a clarion call. “More art? With me?”