The woman's continued attempts at an offered apology merely see the man wave a hand dismissively once more, assured most of the damage had been done to her as opposed to himself, his grey gaze lingering briefly upon her cut knees. This, he thinks, is decidedly why women were not designed to wear such short clothing. Had she been appropriately attired he would have, in the least, been spared the sight of her bloody and un-lady-like knees. He moves to help her rise all the same, guiding her easily to her feet, holding her a moment longer if only to assure himself she wouldn't merely topple right back down again. For her part, she seemed to recover remarkably well, the girl seeming more concerned with the potential theft of her shoes- Dorian eyeing her a moment at her question.

"If I could ascertain that I would have retrieved my own shoes by now."

That his language is aged, dated, is entirely beyond him, the man having been schooled in the correct annunciation of his words, lessons that he recalled even now, oblivious to the fact the girl seemed to find some sort of curiosity in his well-spoken language. Her request for help is met with an equally honest answer from the Fae King, his knowledge of the city limited to barely a few blocks and even then the notion of street names and directions existed outside his veritable reach at this point. 'Downtown' meant little to him and yet, even despite his own perceived royalty Dorian had forever been...generous, in some sense of the word, the Fae willing to at least attempt to assist the girl all the same. Even if it meant having to ascend several staircases in order to reach Samantha. His roommate, in the least, surely possible of at least affording the peasant girl some knowledge of town that was down...or whatever it was she wanted. Her sudden shout however, readily sees Dorian hesitate once more, the panic upon her features and within her form seeing his own eyes lift ever so slightly in surprise. His lip quirks upward, the grin he affords her almost boyish, lopsided truly as he chuckles softly.

"If they come back then we shall both have to run. I doubt I will be of any use to you. If there is only one or two perhaps..."

He had his sword, he always did, yet how many of them he could fight off with it at once was debatable at best. His authority was not respected here, not as it was in Italy, his status unlikely to stop potential pursuers and as such he doubted his ability to defend the girl was as apt as she seemed to believe it. It is her words however, that so seem to captivate his attention, that delicate lilt to her language pleasing to him as he inquires after it.

"Edward the Fourth was not a disagreeable man, the War of the Roses was perhaps presumptuous on his part but I suppose- I...what?"

His momentary indulgence of the past and his reasons as to why he held some appreciation of the English as a people were halted by the manner in which the girl stepped abruptly closer, Dorian oblivious to the power interwoven within her words, her suggestion seeming to halt him mid-sentence. Had she not only moments ago been concerned for her safety? Were all women this....promiscuous? Was his mere presence upon the street an invitation for intimate affairs? The woman was pleasing to the eye to be sure, in fact, to enjoy any part of her would be sufficiently pleasing and yet the suddenness of her proposal was outside any he had ever received from any woman in all his near six hundred years.

"My dear, we are outdoors."

If she is suggesting what he suspects she is, then he is assured a bed chamber was at least a basic requirement. He himself had once been considered bold in his day, if not scandalous with his own affairs and yet, by modern standards, his on escapades had surely been tame. It is the utter foreignness of the suggestion that perhaps sees her power falter upon him, if only slightly, the effects seeming to take a little longer to weave their way into his thoughts, hesitation still clear upon his youthful features. Somewhere private?

"I might know somewhere."

He frowns slightly, confused perhaps, as to why he is even considering such a suggestion before politely offering his arm to the woman, turning to lead her back down the street. It is hardly a far walk, the man turning suddenly to guide his English companion between two towering apartment buildings, pressing open the wooden gate at the end of the path- stepping into a rather exquisite, private garden, one designed for the residents of the apartments alone and yet one utterly empty at this time of day. He had found it quite by accident, on one of his many walks, the idea that he shouldn't be within it never truly having occurred to him, Dorian turning smoothly to face the woman now. They were still outside, though this was far more private as she had requested.

"Is this sufficient?"