Page 58 of The Scent of Intuition
She turned around and Alfie’s face had already lit up with a bright smile. “I combined some of the skills from our western chemistry with ayurvedic herbs. It’s the same combination of herbs, but I made a more concentrated essence and mixed it with soothing oils.”
“It helps,” Bea said.
He beamed. “I’m glad.” He bowed and her breath hitched. She didn’t want that distance her parents had put between them. He wasn’t a servant. Alfie had become so much more for her.
She just couldn’t quite formulate the thought in her mind at the time, yet now she could. She loved him. And she always had because he’d been her only friend, and they’d communicated without speaking and… oh she wanted Alfie and not the prince! But she’d been raised to wait for a man to woo her and didn’t know how to act around him anymore.
Bea led Alfie to the raised beds, her heart thudding in her chest as she revealed the set of wooden crates hidden beneath. She was aware of his gaze washing over her like a summer rain. With a nod, he hefted the largest crate and carried it over to the tree, positioning it carefully before climbing on top. Bea’s breath caught as she watched him, his movements graceful yet strong. The Orangery transformed into an intimate shrine where she found herself in awe of Alfie’s quiet strength and unassuming presence.
His shirt bunched up as he reached to gather the myrtle leaves, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his lean, chiseled abdomen. Bea couldn’t tear her eyes away, mesmerized by how his body moved with such effortless elegance. Each stretch of his arm sent a thrill through her, and she marveled at how this simple task could become a moment of pure reverence. In that secluded, sun-dappled space, Bea’s admiration for himdeepened, her emotions swirling like the fragrant air around them.
But as Alfie descended from the box with a handful of leaves, his eyes met hers, holding her gaze with an intensity that took her breath away. Bea’s pulse quickened, and she felt an urgent pull to act on the longing that had simmered within her for so long. Her courage to touch him was as fragile and potent as myrtle’s scent, leaving her teetering on the edge of indecision.
Thus, she decided.
Her hand shook and grew a little wet, but she reached for his belly where she could see the skin exposed. His muscles twitched and she wanted to withdraw. Perhaps she’d gone too far.
For certain.
But then Alfie bent down slightly, put his hands under her arms and pulled her up onto the crate. Bea forgot to breathe the moment she looked into his eyes. As if he could smile with his gaze alone, Alfie’s bright green eyes were so much lighter than the shades of the leaves overhead. And then everything blurred but his face.
“I’ve been dreaming of the girl under the white veil for so long that I never thought it possible that I’d hold her in my arms.”
Bea nestled against him. She was the beastly girl whose first season had to be postponed, whose parents traveled across the world in search of a cure for her affliction. She’d been locked up and hidden behind veils but somehow Alfie didn’t see any of that. He was the only person in the world who knew everything about her darkest secrets—yet he held her with such reverence that she had trouble believing her good fortune.
“And you say I’m the dream,” Bea whispered as she wrapped both arms around him. “It’s been you all along.”
There, on a wooden crate under a potted tree that should only grow on the Mediterranean coast, the apothecary whocould take a sack of twigs and leaf dust and turn them into a healing tincture had lifted her heart into a realm she didn’t know existed.
And when his lips touched hers, Bea knew that everything would change.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Later that night,no matter how hard Bea tried, she couldn’t banish the image of Alfie’s chiseled abdomen from her mind. She turned restlessly in bed, wishing she had found the courage to kiss him more. The idea to wrap herself around him and hold him close became the central point of her thoughts and the image of Alfie reaching for the myrtle—his arms stretched high, muscles taut under his shirt—made her heart race. She longed to comb her hands through his hair, take his mouth with hers, and feel his body’s strength against her. Again and again.
Bea’s desire for Alfie was an itch she couldn’t scratch, an insistent desire that left her skin tingling. His ointment wasn’t enough to soothe the burn within her—she needed not the apothecary, rather the man behind the counter. She sat up and reached for her journal, scribbling feverishly about how much she wanted to touch him, to kiss him. Each line was more fervent than the last, her private musings pouring onto the pages in a flurry of longing.
My heart trembles with desires too bold to be spoken aloud for I must not ask to satisfy the cravings deep within. Tonight, I find myself overwhelmed by thoughts of Alfie. His mere presence stirs within me a yearning so profound that I scarcely recognize myself for I cannot be whole without his touch. I was too timid to reach for him at the orangery when he left with the myrtle leaves, and now I regret the chance that I let pass.
Would he have allowed me to caress the taut skin on his stomach?
How I long to feel the warmth of his embrace, to trace my fingers along the firm lines of his body, and lose myself in the depths of his eyes. The thought of pressing my lips to his, tasting the sweetness of his breath, sends shivers through my soul. I imagine the strength of his arms around me, holding me close, our bodies entwined in a tender dance of passion and affection.
To run my hands through his dark hair, to feel each silken strand slip through my fingers, and to whisper my love into his ear—these are the dreams that haunt my waking hours. Oh, to lay beside him, the world fading away, leaving only the two of us in a cocoon of shared warmth and whispered promises. The flame of my desire burns bright, and I wonder if I shall ever have the courage to ignite it into a blaze of reality.
How cruel the paradox of my existence as a lady! I know well that I must not ask for what my heart so ardently desires; propriety and decorum demand my restraint. Yet, it is precisely because I am a lady, with all the passions and yearnings that accompany such a station, that I long to follow my heart’s true desire. The societal expectations that bind me feel like chains, forcing me into silence while every fiber of my being cries out for the freedom to love openly and without reservation.
Bea sighed. She was being ridiculous, she could never have that sort of connection. Leaving her journal as usual on her desk, she clambered into bed and tried not to dream of Alfie Collins. She had to think about how best to help Prince Stan with his plan and her role in it. Step one was to attend the card game at Violet’s and Henry’s townhouse the next evening, and impressPrince Stan to… what did she want? Bea’s head was spinning; she needed to impress the prince and work with him, and yet her stomach churned with longing for Alfie. She let out a mournful murmur, resonating from the depths of her being, as if her very soul had decided to speak its truths through the language of breath.
But she had her own plan and knew what step two would be: Marry and move away from the stifling rules of the Ton, the hypocrisy, the ever-looming threat of scandal.
But she couldn’t say goodbye to Alfie and leave after Pippa’s wedding as she’d originally planned. Sometimes in life, plans had to change.
Bea’s eyes grew heavy, and she put her head down on the pillow.
“Alfie,” she sighed and drifted off to sleep.
*
