The gloves he wore were too soft with age and use to speak when he clenched his hands over and over. It was a small action, but great enough to keep his traitorous hands from reaching for her, which he feared very much that he might do. Magdelene was her own creature, unlike his Christine, whom he had hijacked and taken over to shape into what he wished. No, Magdelene was already fully her own, and he found no flaw within her, no subtle change to make -- only beauty, and too much for his beauty-starved heart not to want to grasp. But he did not know if she wanted that, and even if she did, he doubted she knew just what he was or how unworthy these hands were to touch her.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, nearly choking on the words. He should step back. He should do that now. But instead, his eyes traveled her face again, then slid lower briefly. Her skin seemed, in the darkness, to glow - and that was a greater temptation than he was able to bear. He fixed his eyes instead on something beyond her shoulder. His eyes saw whatever it was, but his mind could not immediately comprehend it.