[ WP ] The socialite hostess of an upscale cocktail party enters the room wearing just heels and necklace .

The woman hummed quietly to herself as she allowed her dress to slide to the floor. In the mirror, she watched herself remove the silk slip and cast it aside lightly, as a disinterested child might absent-mindedly toss away a small curiosity picked up on a beach. Shortly thereafter, her other undergarments joined it in a little lace heap on the glittering white tile. 
 
 The woman took a moment to appraise herself in the mirror, appreciating the way her scarlet lipstick and the priceless emerald between her breasts complimented her smooth, pale skin as only a true expert can. In the mirror, her reflection began to smile. She was going to make quite a scene. 
 
 At the palace entrance, the duke grew restless. The engagement party was in full swing, and his betrothed had yet to emerge. He would be concerned for her had he not ordered the guard doubled around her chambers. It would not do for the safety of the future duchess to be jeopardized on such a day as this. Nonetheless, he was powerless to keep his feet from tapping impatiently, the sound masked only by the gossip-fueled chatter of his numerous guests. 
 
 When the woman finally entered, the tapping of feet was masked by the tinnitus brought on by a sudden shift from raucous conversation to resounding silence. The woman's long, black stilettos clicked against the marble of the staircase as she sashayed down into and through the crowd, the lust of men and the jealousy of women billowing behind her like a great cape of green and red. 
 
 As she approached the paralyzed aristocrat by the door, she paused to brush her lips against his cheek, deftly unbuckling his cloak as she did so. 
 
 `` I'm sorry, darling, but it never would have worked between us. Gratitude, however, for the emerald, and the party'', she purred, gracefully wrapping the soft black velvet of the cloak about herself. About her, the previously transfixed socialites began to stir from their trances. Recognizing her spell as broken, the woman stepped out into the cool night and vanished into the breeze. 
 
 From a short distance, a plain, black carriage drawn by plain, black horses waited patiently, its driver keeping a wary eye on the newly-agitated palace guards darting about the palace grounds. He smiled to himself as the familiar, scarcely audible sound of his client sliding into the carriage behind him was punctuated by the *thunk* of the door closing. 
 
 `` Where to, ma'am?'' He asked, already knowing the answer. 
 
 `` London'', the woman replied, her voice bright with the pleasure of excitement and success, `` I have a stone to sell, and an old friend to visit.'' 
 

