Page 3 of The Scent of Intuition
Bea’s cheeks warmed under Violet’s scrutinizing look, the heat akin to the rush she received the moment she saw a certain figure emerge from the ballroom. He was about twenty feet away in the hall, seemingly unaware that she’d seen him.
“And with an oculist, no less. Who would have thought?” Violet chuckled, her gaze following the couple as they twirled. “Only Pippa could turn a mishap into a romance. And to think, it was sealed with the poison you administered from the apothecary’s concoction.” Violet looked over her shoulder and gave a nod.
Bea felt a flutter in her heart at the thought of the apothecary. Alfie Collins—the man who had unwittingly played Cupid to ensure Bea’s cousin’s happiness with Nick.
Violet turned her keen gaze onto Bea. “I will leave you to him.” Her voice was laced with intrigue.
“Perhaps I ought to thank him?” Bea’s question hung between them like a delicate scent, a confession of her fascination with the man that was impossible to ignore.
But after Violet returned to the ballroom, Bea felt the atmosphere changing around her.
She withdrew further into the hall. What else do you do at a ball when your dance card isn’t full?
There was a shadow in the hall. The lively string quartet music seemed to fade into a distant echo as she moved toward the shadow that flickered at the edge of her vision.
Three doors down the hall from the main festivities, the corridor was dim, lit only by the occasional sconce whose flame danced in the draft. Here, the air held a hush, a pause in the breath of the night when Bea saw him—Alfie.
Turn away, don’t be caught in the hall with a man. Particularly not this man.
From behind, he stood like a column of calm amidst the storm of the night’s tumultuous celebrations. His broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, outlined against the sparse light. He was a silhouette of masculinity, strength, and grace. Even his rich velvet evening frock, less ostentatious than the sea of brocades and silks in the ballroom, spoke of a man who valued substance over show. And yet, there was a certain allure in the natural fit of his breeches, hinting at a vitality that spoke of both discipline and a life far removed from the sedentary pursuits of the typical gentleman.
Well, he was an apothecary and not a gentleman at all. For Bea, he was as much out of reach as a royal prince.
As if sensing her nearby, Alfie turned and his face came into view, featuring a strong jaw and muscles that twitched before his full lips curved into a smile. His perfect teeth gleamed just moments before the same sparkle appeared in his eyes. Then, he blinked and nodded his head in greeting to her. A flush of warmth climbed her cheeks, an involuntary response to the sudden intensity of eye contact with this dashing man.
Bea looked over her shoulder, checking that they were indeed alone in the hall. A shiver ran down her back, her neck prickled, and she burst into motion, heading toward him to do as she’d been taught: greet politely, and then pardon herself and leave.
Except she didn’t want to leave.
With each step she took toward him, Bea felt like she was blooming under his intense gaze, as he watched her approach. As if she were stepping out of her skin, leaving behind the young woman who had entered the ball with no greater expectation than to fulfill her social obligations. Instead, she approached Alfie as one might approach a long-anticipated revelation, dutiful yet tinged with an embarrassment, more about the sudden depth of her feelings than any impropriety.
He seemed like one of those dangerous rakes her mother had warned her about, making women like Bea teeter at the edge of ruination—or at least he was handsome enough to fuel rumors if any existed. However, in the short time that Bea had come to know Alfie Collins, he had the admiration of his colleagues, the respect of his customers, and some sort of effect on her that made her breath hitch.
He was fascinating.
“Lady Beatrice.” His voice had a rich timbre that resonated in the air around them. “I did not anticipate the pleasure of your company in such a secluded spot.” He cocked his head as if to confirm that nobody overheard their conversation.
His words were simple yet laden with an unspoken understanding. They wrapped around her like a shawl, offering both comfort and a thrilling sense of being bound to him.
Bea barely found her voice but eventually replied with a grace she scarcely felt, “It seems we are both rather isolated this evening.” The heat in Bea’s cheeks subsided as she remembered the days before. He’d created a mixture from one of Pippa’s plants in the orangery, ipecac, to purge her uncle’s poison so that he’d be sober enough to consent to Nick’s request for Pippa’s hand tonight. It had been a deliciously clandestine affair, and now that it was over, Bea feared it would mean giving up something, or someone… Alfie.
*
Alfie’s demeanor changedimmediately. The music from the ball was in full swing but lightly muted, and Alfie had little interest in dancing in a room full of patients or potential patients. He could keep their secrets but not forget the rashes men hid from their wives nor the tricks the wives used to get their husbands to… well, that was their problem, and he was here now with the most exquisite beauty in an emerald-green silk gown—the kind he wished to trail his fingers over when exploring her delicate curves.
Absolutely not!
Alfie shifted as if he could switch his thoughts to something more chaste.
But Bea was breathtaking, she didn’t need the frills; she had the title, the beauty, and the intelligence to sparkle of her own accord. In the amber light of the hall, Alfie could see her lovely alabaster skin glowing with coveted rosiness. The crystal wall sconces softened the light so that Bea appeared as if she were lit from the inside.
And Alfie was hard with a force that he thought could smash granite.
She was a bit shorter than him, an advantage that allowed him quite the view. He could see the sheer muslin layer sticking out just enough to draw his eyes to the low cut of her bodice. It wasn’t her first season, and Alfie knew she could take certain liberties, such as stronger colors and lower necklines. But he had no explanation for why she would be there alone with him in the hall rather than dancing with the aristocrats in the ballroom.
“You did it,” Alfie said, in awe.
“My cousin is going to be a bride,” Bea sighed, fingering the simple strand of pearls that cast the slightest of shadows on her collarbone.
