Page 55 of The Scent of Intuition
“The wedding is in two days, and Pippa wanted her orchids to bloom. We’re trying to warm the space so the buds will bloom.”
Alfie followed her through the path between the raised beds and around the end of one to the mossy bed with tree bark that housed an array of white-laced orchids with delicate stems and little buds in the shapes of lanterns hanging from thin stems.
“Pippa and Nick will be very happy together. I hope they get their orchids for the decorations,” Alfie said in a low voice.
“Why does that make you sad?” Bea asked, instantly chastising herself for sounding like a ninny.
Alfie shook his head. “It doesn’t. Not at all. I couldn’t be happier for Nick. He’s always been there for me, and if I had a brother, I would have wished it were him.” Yet Alfie avoided her gaze and looked over his shoulder at the plants. “Do you know when Pippa is coming back?”
Bea shook her head, shy to admit it but reveling in being alone with Alfie.
“I hoped she’d allow me to pick a few leaves from the myrtle,” Alfie continued. Then he looked up at the tall potted trees near the furnace. Its stems, woody yet slender, converged into asingular trunk, and the canopy, loftier than a man at full height, sprawled outward in a lush display of greenery, casting a cool, dappled shade beneath it.
“I’ve always wanted to see how tall these could grow naturally in the Mediterranean region—Sardinia, Corsica, and the Aegean Sea islands have myrtles, but this one is from Morocco,” Bea said, trailing her hand along the jagged bark of the myrtle. “What will you do with it?”
“Well, if Pippa lets me take a few leaves, I’ll steam distill the essential oil and use it,” Alfie said, tilting his head backward to look at the canopy of the myrtle just over his head. So that’s what the expression meant: a man standing tall as a tree. Bea could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and the muscles of his neck, which probably led to an even more muscular chest, and… was the furnace working? She’d started to feel overheated.
Wait,shewas hot, not the space around her. The coals were still cold; she didn’t know how to light a fire in a furnace.
“I’ll let you take as many leaves as you need,” Bea said, eyeing the metal cylinder with holes and the tray of coals. “I’ll be here anyhow, trying to light the furnace.”
“I can do that for you,” Alfie smiled at her for a fleeting moment, but quickly looked away as if his eyes were not allowed to linger on her anymore.
“I would like that very much.” Stupid ninny, what’s there to like? Glowing coals? “I mean, I’d be most obliged for your help.” Bea curtsied politely to express her gratitude, but Alfie caught her elbow and gently pushed her up.
“Don’t do that with me,” he shook his head and furrowed his brows.
Taken aback momentarily, Bea looked at his hand on her arm. She liked his touch, but why wouldn’t he accept her gratitude? It would have been rude if his gaze weren’t so sincere.
“You never need to thank me. Especially not for something simple like lighting a fire.”
“Oh!” That wasn’t rude, it was direct, and kind, so she gladly accepted this help. On second thought, nobody had ever done anything for Bea without expecting her to pay them or thank them profusely. Alfie was refreshingly unaristocratic. Yet, he wasn’t like the servants either. He was educated and had an air of certainty about his profession that Bea hadn’t quite experienced before.
Most men of the Ton relied on their social standing and connections to get their way, or on bribes, threats, and perhaps even worse. Not Alfie. He only needed to rely on himself, his knowledge, and his mind.
“Thank you.” She shook her head. “I mean, not thank you… ahem… just—”
“It’s my pleasure,” Alfie said as he set aside a glass bottle he’d been holding and unbuttoned his brown coat. He shrugged out of it and then untied the white strings of his simple white shirt sleeves. He rolled up his cuffs.
Bea licked her lips.
His wrist bones were visible, and a vein formed a long line over his shapely arms, giving Bea a trail to follow with her eyes until the shirt blocked its destination—but she knew it led to his heart, to the strong chest, and, most likely, to the athletic body underneath.
All she’d ever seen were the marble statues at the British Museum.
But now her curiosity was peaked to explore such artistry in flesh and blood.
His flesh, to be precise, brought her blood to boil so much that her vision blurred.
Alfie bent down and stacked the coals within the belly of the small metal furnace. Bea retrieved a candle from a box underone of the raised beds and handed it to him. After lighting the candle with flint and steel, he carefully held its flame to the coals within the furnace until they caught fire.
“This is the best method, actually. Gradually lighting the coals makes for a controlled and steady flame,” he said, igniting the small black shapes one by one.
Bea felt like one of them, feeling the heat rise in her chest as if she were sitting on a furnace, imagining it was Alfie—for he lit her senses on fire.
*
The coals heatedquickly, emanating a wave of warmth that Alfie hoped was not due to his hard cock, but the furnace.
