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The moment he sees her, it feels like the world stands still for half a breath. Tallish, slim, dressed in the latest, and covered in jewels it'd take him years just to look at in a shop. She's gorgeous. And the small, barely-there smirk tugging at one corner of those pale pink lips makes him wonder what it would take to make it turn into something a little more...visceral. He watches over the rim of his glass as she lets herself be led from conversation to conversation by a pale hand in the small of her back, and thinks to himself that it figures that a bird like that could only be caught (caged) by a Malfoy.
But this is his party tonight. All right, yes, it's a gala celebrating the successful reintroduction of the two most celebrated (and not coincidentally, most endangered) dragon species in Eastern Europe, but his reserve pushed the hardest paperwork, did the dirtiest work, pulled the most strings. So this is his shindig, and he's feeling good, and he intends to have a word (or two, or twelve) with the woman who'd owled him the moment the press release went out. An agreement, perhaps, once the Brașovian Blacktails had a stronger foothold in the wild. Powdered scales from a Blacktail have colossal Healing potential, and if the Romanian reserve manages to keep them from skirting the brink again, there might just be the opportunity for the first time in six centuries to explore that avenue again.
He smirks into his glass, puts it down once he drains it, and licks his bottom lip as he begins to move. She might be married to the Ferret, but that certainly doesn't mean he can't look.