She's carefully plucked up into his arms as though she weighs absolutely nothing at all, the sudden shift in her internal axis prompting a somewhat breathless laugh as he draws her in, and though she knows she isn't required to twine her arms around his neck to hold onto him further she does so anyway, the hem of her dress swaying with the movement to spill back down over her legs in a soft rustling of the fabric.

"Then fortunately for both of us, it is very grand indeed." And certainly wide enough to permit his continued carry of her; the house itself may a bit extravagant for her tastes, certainly suited to Dorian's aesthetic more than hers, but her quarters are thoroughly, unmistakably her own, and once they've ascended up the stairs to the second story she gestures to the correct door with a small wave of her fingers, granting him the unspoken permission to enter the room with its dark, subtly gilded wallpaper and heavy curtains she often pulls to block out the sunlight.

They haven't been drawn yet, and brightness spills in now, casting inviting rays on the made bed before them, which she suspects he'll deposit her on — though she won't be set down without tilting up to catch his mouth again with her own, an invitation to linger nearer to her as she curves her fingers into his shoulders with the attempt to draw his body over hers as she stretches out across the mattress.