Page 23 of The Scent of Intuition
No.
Plum. Dark and ripe plums like her cheeks when she was flushed—like now.
He slid a mortar and pestle across the counter to her. “Would it be too much trouble for you to crush some of these vanilla beans for me?” Alfie retrieved a parchment from the drawer under the counter and pulled out two long glass vials filled with the bean paste he’d scraped out of the pods that had come in yesterday’s delivery.
Bea’s face lit up. “I’d love to help.”
Oh, how he’d love to kiss her.
But he knew he mustn’t.
“Pardon me for a moment, please.” Alfie needed to collect his thoughts and calm his body. He groaned when he walked to the kitchen and exhaled in relief, seeing the fruit bowl bearing one little dark purple plum. The cutting board and knife were still there from dinner. He sliced the last plum open and watched the dark juice flowing onto the light wooden board. The red and orange hues of the flesh reminded him of Bea’s hair, and he thought the dark tinge of the plum’s skin represented the mysteries of the night. It was tart, but the aromas from just beneath the skin were precious, so he collected the pieces, left the pit, and brought them to his apothecary, where he began to boil the plum on a low flame in alcohol. While it cooled, he considered the next layer, one that would bring the hydrophilic and lipophilic parts of the mixture so that it wouldn’t take morethan a little shake to create a uniform tincture to rub on her wrists or pat on her collarbone.
Bea had finished with the vanilla. She’d done an impeccable job.
She was perfect.
Alfie sucked his cheeks in. “Thank you.”
Bea set down a vial she’d been testing, wiping a droplet off her nose. “The almond oil smells lovely.”
No, you do.
Alfie tried to concentrate on the potion. He read his notes in the open book on the counter:The middle notes emerge, the heart of the perfume, where the actual character is revealed in rich, lingering melodies. Bea’s deep laugh came to mind, the uncontrolled one she’d kept hidden at the ball but that he’d heard when she was alone with her cousin Pippa. The only trace of it had been the rising and falling of her chest when she eyed him in the hall at the Langleys’ ball, hiding her thoughts in a well-practiced poise.
He started with the musk, its rich, deep aroma filling the air as he opened the vial. The scent was powerful and primal, evoking an instinctual response that was hard to define but impossible to ignore. Alfie knew its value, the way it could serve as the cornerstone of his creation, grounding the other scents with its earthy base. Too much, and the entire mixture would smell like the cheap perfumes one could buy at the fair.
“What’s ambergris?” Bea asked when she read the label on another vial he uncorked.
“A very rare and one of the most precious ingredients,” Alfie began, then thought it might be better to let her smell it. He held the beaker in front of his face and waved from the opening toward her face.
She leaned forward to take a whiff and was so close.
Almost close enough to kiss.
The ambergris was just like the woman whose essence he was painting in scents.
“It’s amazing, is it not? Do you know it makes its journey from the belly of a whale to our fingertips, transformed by time and tide into something magical.” Its scent was complex, a mingling of sea spray and earth that spoke of ancient mysteries and the deep, unfathomable ocean.
“That’s marvelous! You know, I’ve seen whales,” she said, her voice reverent. “I was on a ship for a few months when I was sixteen, and then later, I turned eighteen on a schooner in the middle of the Indian Ocean.”
I know.
But his heart sank. Of course, she didn’t remember him. How could she? He’d always worn the scarf on his head.
“So have I.”
“And did you know blue whales are the biggest animals in the world?” Alfie was impressed at her knowledge and enthusiasm. Just another layer to peel back.
You are the most beautiful—and intelligent—woman in the world, do you know that?
“Yes.” He chastised himself for the brevity of his conversation. Why was he suddenly tongue tied in front of her? “Where did you travel?”
“Oh, here and there.” She waved in the air. “My parents have tried to find a cure for my beast—ahem—tetter.”
I know that, too. I’ve been there.
“Do you know that I had to drink a dreadful tea for almost a year that smelled exactly like the ointment you gave me?”
