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Summary
Through the crowd of swirling fabric, Stede spots what could very well be the most handsome man he's ever seen in his life. He's statuesque against the grand backdrop of the wall, tall and tanned skin, with a cropped beard and the gentle curvature of muscle prominent under the strong lines of his coat. His mask of choice is difficult to make out from this distance, but it's something close to canine, with thin, sharp slits for eyes, and then there's the matter of his hair—all curly and dark, with delicate, premature silver whispering at the temples, and much longer than anything Stede's accustomed to seeing amongst the upper crust. He has the sudden urge to pluck the ribbon holding the man's hair in a delicate ponytail free and run his hands through the ensuing waterfall.
Stede's cheeks go hot at the thought, and the effect is dizzying. He pulls at the cravat around his neck to loosen it, hoping for a miracle of breeze to cool him, and as he does—
The man looks back at him, and he's caught.