Page 60 of The Scent of Intuition
Alfie nodded and followed her.
This was different from how the day was supposed to go. Alfie had prepared to assist the prince that evening—a mission that could elevate the prince to heroic stature—yet he felt a pang of inner conflict. The prince’s daring actions tonight could change their lives, solidifying his place on a pedestal of royal virtue unattainable for an apothecary. Alfie knew well that he must not compete with the prince, for his role was one of service and loyalty and Bea was destined to make a noble match. However, as he watched her hips swaying gently as she walked upstairs ahead of him, her allure so intoxicatingly close, he couldn’t quell the burgeoning sense of rivalry that stirred within him. He knew she was interested in the Prince, he’d overheard her speak about him.
But Alfie was not going to let her get out without putting up a little fight at least. Although he knew he could never have her, she ought to know what she’d miss. An aromatic herbal bath seemed like the perfect battleground if she allowed it.
Determined to focus on the moment at hand, Alfie turned his attention to preparing the hot bath for Bea. The water steamed invitingly, and the scent of oats mingled with the air, creating a soothing sanctuary. He added a few essential oils to mask the nuttiness of the oat scent.
“What is this for?” she asked, her arms crossed, hugging herself and eyeing the tin tub she’d step into. Naked. Soon. Alfie suppressed a groan.
“This is rose water, it’s a hydrophilic moisturizer and balances irritations of the skin because it mixes with the warm water.” With every word, his head throbbed even more, and he corked the bottle and retrieved a smaller vial with walnut oil. “The walnut oil here is an oil-based moisturizer, so it makes a film on the water’s surface and coats—” he swallowed hard, “your sin… skin… ahem…” He shut his eyes and tried to concentrate but the thought of anything coating her bare skin besides his touch blurred his vision and cut off his breathing. Alfie never thought he’d be jealous of a half cup of walnut oil floating on hot water, but he’d stooped that low in that moment.
“Why do you have these in your bathroom cabinet?” she asked.
“We share this bathing room. Nick, Wendy, and I.” Alfie avoided her gaze. She was a lady and probably had five bath chambers to choose from every day.
And she chose yours today,he told himself as his breeches grew too tight and he tried to turn away from her.
“I should disrobe before the water cools,” she said as she tugged at each finger of her gloves and set them on the stool next to the tub.
Alfie should have nodded and taken his leave politely. He would have if his feet hadn’t been heavy as anvils and his mind throbbing in the same rhythm as his middle.
Bea removed some pins from her hair and put them in her reticule, where Alfie still saw the journal peeking out. His eyes went to the hook on the wall behind her and she followed his gaze, leaving him frozen like a besotted green boy as she hung her reticule on the hook.
His mouth was dry despite the steam in the room, which Alfie hoped came from the tub and not his breeches.
“It’s getting cold,” she said, pulling the string that tied her pelisse open.
He’d seen her décolleté at the Langley’s ball, then why couldn’t he stop watching as she removed her pelisse?
“Here’s a stack of towels,” Alfie croaked as if he were no more than fifteen again and he left the towel cabinet open for her. With all the power in his body, he dragged his heavy feet, and himself, to the door. It was tortuous to leave Bea undressing in his bathroom—as if he’d been climbing a mountain in the Himalayans on a hot summer day.
“If you were not a lady, Bea, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d—” but he knew better than to finish the sentence. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes grew wide. She was a lady, a virgin, and not anyone else.
“Would what?” She whispered, seemingly holding her breath as a pink flush spread on her sweet cheeks.
He couldn’t say.
And he couldn’t stay. Lest he do something irrevocable.
Bea watched him leave with a curiosity that mirrored his own unspoken thoughts, and when he stood in the door, she didn’t protest. Of course not. He was a commoner, and she was a lady—a virgin lady with her cap set on a prince.
Alfie’s heart sank. “Take as much time as you wish.” He tightened his grip on the doorknob. She simply nodded, gratitude and something deeper swimming in her eyes. The intimacy of the act, performed in the quiet solitude of the smallroom, spoke of the unvoiced sentiments that lingered between them.
As Alfie shut the door behind him, leaving Bea alone, a rush of heat surged through him. His heart pounded with an intensity that surprised even him, each beat echoing the forbidden nature of his thoughts. He imagined Bea undressing, the delicate fabric of her gown slipping from her shoulders to reveal the soft curves of her body. The thought of her standing there, vulnerable and trusting, sent a thrill coursing through him that was both exhilarating and disquieting.
His mind raced, torn between his duty to suppress his need and his burgeoning desire for Bea. It was all so private and charged with emotions that it left him feeling both honored and tormented. He knew he should focus on the mission ahead and ready himself to help the prince later that night—his priority should be the practice and saving Felix and his friends. But the image of Bea, bathed in the milky foam of his bath, lingered in his thoughts, a tantalizing distraction that he couldn’t easily dismiss. It was even stronger now than all those years ago in India. He knew how it felt when she kissed and how she felt in his arms. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Was this his chance to show Bea how he felt, or would he abuse her trust beyond repair if he did?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bea stepped intothe hot bath, her sigh echoing softly in the dimly lit room. The warmth of the water spread from her legs up to the rest of her body, relaxing muscles that had been tense for far too long. She held onto the edge of the tub as she pulled her other leg in, then slowly melted into the water. The scent of rose and walnut wafted around her, enveloping her senses. It felt like she was immersed in a decadent dessert, a luxury she rarely allowed herself.
The milky water, infused with oats, soothed her skin, but it did little to ease the throbbing in her middle. Her thoughts wandered back to her last conversation in this very building. Downstairs, when Cousin Pippa had spoken of pleasure in a tone both conspiratorial and enticing. Bea finally understood it, and yearned for it, an ache that pulsed more insistently with each passing moment.
Leaning back in the tub, she let the warm water cascade over her shoulder. She lifted her hair, allowing the heat to penetrate the knots in her neck. A shiver of relief ran through her, momentarily easing the tension that coiled deep inside her. Instinctively, her hand moved to her middle. It wasn’t allowed, but who would know? Who could possibly check? She found power in defying her mother’s rules, the constraints imposed upon her at finishing school—she had enough and yet none of what she wanted—or who she wanted. Alfie.
Bea closed her eyes and spread her fingers and brushed over her skin.
