His breath was coming out in short, staccato gasps. He was no longer the calm, stately gentleman who paid for wilted rose corsages from the poor girl selling on the street. He was…changed.
No, this had changed him. The feel of smooth flesh under his fingers, the stringy sensation of tousled, wavy locks caught in knots. She was still warm to touch, but he knew that she…no, it was going to cool. And when the coppers found it, he would be far, far away.
He rose from his crouching position and picked up his discarded tweed hat.
“Good night, my lady.”
