Damon had a keen sense of smell.
He could remember the scent of every person, and identifying them by their scent was not difficult. For instance, Douglas always smelled of pine, while Mrs. White perpetually emitted the odor of decaying soil. The Duke of Russell was foul-smelling, a mixture of tobacco, alcohol, and heather.
Miss Margaret, on the other hand, had a faint, slightly sweet scent, like frost.
But now she was carrying many scents. This was normal, of course; coming back from a lively ball, one couldn't expect to smell as fresh as if they'd just bathed. But...
There was a profoundly unfamiliar warmth, thickly enveloping her body.
Damon sniffed carefully, from Margaret's ear to her collarbone, then downward, reaching the slightly protruding breasts. The scent of a human male became stronger, glaringly indicating a certain fact.
Someone had touched her here. Pinched, fondled, perhaps even licked?
