Page 32 of The Scent of Intuition
Then she remembered the last thing before she felt her vision going dark. The last thing she’d seen—the last person—had been Alfie.
She licked her lips.
“She’s coming to,” Pippa announced. Then Bea heard the trickling of water and a cold compress on her forehead. A gentle hand came to hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here.”
Her throat felt parched, her voice a mere whisper lost in the expanse of the room. Panic fluttered in her chest like a bird trapped in a cage, seeking an escape that seemed all too elusive.This was no dream. This was reality, and she was caught in its unyielding grasp.
“Please leave us,” Pippa said, and footsteps followed. The floorboards creaked, and a door clicked shut. The compress came off Bea’s forehead. There was more trickling of water, probably in a bowl, and then the compress returned cold and jarringly wet.
Bea reached for her head and frowned. She opened her eyes and saw her cousin’s concerned look.
“You swooned,” Pippa said.
Bea blinked a few times, and her cousin’s concerned frown turned into a scandalized curiosity usually reserved for girl talk or gossip over tea.
“Where am I?”
“The patient room. Alfie carried you here.”
He’d carried her in his arms; all she cared about was that she’d missed relishing the sentiment. Heat rushed to Bea’s face, and she inhaled deeply as she surveyed her surroundings. The window was slightly open, blowing the sheer curtain into the room as if fairies were trying to dance inside.
“So, my dear cousin, what happened?”
“I had a flare-up,” Bea said as she slowly propped herself on her elbows and sat up. “So I came to ask Alfie for powder to cover it up.” She didn’t want to admit to the love potion, for it was too embarrassing for a diamond of the first water to resort to such measures to land a prince.
“Like the maquillage Violet had?”
“Yes. He had similar ones in his apothecary.”
“Hm!” Pippa narrowed her eyes. “Aaand?” She drew the word out and arched a brow. When had she become such a wizard of women’s secrets?
“And he recommended an ointment.”
“Did it help?”
“Yes.”
“So you came back for more?”
“No.”
Pippa pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Why were you in the apothecary with him instead of staying to eat cake with me?”
Bea nodded. “I had placed an order and came to retrieve it.”
“An order for more ointment for your skin?”
“No. It was for a love potion.” Bea always told her cousin the truth, which would be no exception regardless of how painful it was to admit it.
Pippa shut her eyes momentarily and sank onto the edge of the bed. Then she turned to Bea. “Why doyouneed a love potion?”
“Why?” Bea felt heat rising to her face, but it passed the level of a lady-like blush and went straight to red-hot anger. “Why, you ask? Because the coveted ‘belle of the ball’ is apparently all too easy for a prince to resist.”
“Prince Ferdinand of Transylvania?”
“How do you know about Prince Stan?”
“Violet told me. You already have a nickname for him?”
