Page 20 of The Scent of Intuition
“There is treatment.”
“Isn’t that the same?”
“Unfortunately, not. A cure would prevent this from ever happening again. But there are treatments that can speed up the healing process and relieve the discomfort.” He opened one of the small drawers and handed her a small glass jar with a metal lid. This was one of the few remedies he always had handy. “Try this ointment. And keep a journal.”
“For what purpose?”
“With your observations. There must be a trigger for the condition. Perhaps keeping a record will give us the opportunity to see a pattern or find what affects you and causes your hivesto occur. Writing down what you touch or use, what fabrics you wear, and what foods you consume will help us to learn.” He paused. “It’s like making a map, step by step, to bring us to your ‘beast’.”
She seemed to ponder the idea for a moment. Her lovely face was bathed in the soft light of Alfie’s apothecary, as the potent aroma of herbs and tinctures wove around them, and Alfie’s muscles tensed. This was his realm, and he should feel in control, yet it took all of his strength to steady his nerves alone with Bea.
The beauty stood directly across from him, separated by his counter and the cleft of Society; she was virtually untouchable and irresistible at the same time. If she were anyone else but a high-born lady, he’d lay her on the counter and kiss her senseless, pleasure her until she screamed, then carry her into his bed and kiss her until she’d be ready for another round. But he had to suppress any instinct, steady his nerves, and remain calm. She’d come to him as a customer, and he was a professional catering to her needs—whims—argh!He’d give her what she asked for. No matter what the nature of her request.
“I happen to be under time constraints and thought myself defeated because of my beast…ahem… condition. But if you say it can heal in a matter of days, there may be a way for me to meet my deadline.”
“Is this an upcoming ball or something scheduled for a special date?” Alfie asked.
“No,” she snapped as if he’d insulted her intelligence. “My parents are returning from Singapore soon.”
“How lovely. You must be looking forward to the reunion.”
“I dread it more than the plague. Marriage without affection makes me itch even worse.”
Now, she had his attention. “And why is that?”
“They expect me to be wed by the time they return, or else my father will make the match for me. I need to make someone fall in love with me first.”
Alfie bit his cheek to stop himself from growling in frustration. What he wanted even less than to keep his hands off her was to watch another man get his hands on her. And then she continued, “There’s a foreign delegate in London this week. Violet, I mean, the Countess of Langley, introduced us. I need him to fall in love with me and take me to Transylvania.”
Alfie was convinced he hadn’t heard right. Not only was she intent on marrying some delegate but she also expected to leave England? His chest constricted.
“You’d miss Pippa’s wedding?”
Sadness washed over her eyes, and something flickered within her that eclipsed the beautiful exterior, hives or not, with a deep pain that Alfie wished to cure even more than he wanted to soothe her skin.
“I will be there for Pippa. But after the wedding, I might leave,” she said. “There’s no solution for my ailment.”
“I could give you an ointment—”
“Not that ailment, Mr. Collins. I’m trapped. And my key to escape is going to leave this country when the prince’s diplomatic mission is over. If I don’t go with him, my parents will marry me to a man I don’t even like—”
“Do you like the prince?” Alfie couldn’t stop the words even though he heard how pathetic they sounded.
“Well, he’s handsome and healthy.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Alfie couldn’t take his eyes off hers. He was locked in an internal struggle. He wanted her for himself, but couldn’t have her. And now she was proposing to run off with the first suitable man she could find?
She placed both hands on the counter and leaned forward. So close and yet so far, Alfie felt his insides churning. “Mr. Collins,I’m the belle of each ball, believe me or not. When I don’t look like a beast, everyone expects me to make a stellar match, but I’ve been dragging my feet for too long. It’s diminishing my chances. I’m to be a doll, an accessory with as much say as a shiny pocket watch. The irony isn’t lost on me. This golden watch is running out of time.”
Alfie felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach and cut off his breath. She wasn’t a beast, nor was she merely passable. A woman with her spirit didn’t qualify as an accessory but as the main spectacle of a lifetime. But he ought not to tell her how much he’d like to prove her wrong.
Yet, his intellect surfaced long enough to dissect the situation: Bea was lonely, caught between her duty as a lady and daughter versus the fire inside her. Her station prevented her from acting on her impulses.
Alfie bit his cheek and considered the matter. There was something familiar about her, a familiarity he’d recognized the day Pippa first introduced her, but now there was something else, too. His stomach twisted at the thought… it couldn’t beher, could it?
When she was alone with him, she seemed to act more impulsively than at the ball at the Langleys. Even when she’d been at the orangery with him, she seemed freer.
“I’m sorry that nobody sees your true spirit.”
