Page 62 of The Scent of Intuition
Bea’s head was leaning on the rim of the tub, her hair dry except for the temples. She must have brushed her hair out of her face with wet hands. From his angle, he saw her delicate neck and nothing more; only her perfect profile came into view. She hung one elegant leg over the top of the tub, pointed foot twitching.
Her eyes were closed, and she let out another moan.
Then, a little splash.
Had she not heard him calling? Or knocking?
“Bea? Are you alright?” Alfie asked again, taking three steps forward and then swallowing hard.
She lay in the tub, his tub, with her gorgeous legs spread wide. Naked. One hand on her breast, the other immersed under the foamy water. He could imagine what was under the lucky little bubbles and envied them. Soapy balls, just filled with air, and yet so fortunate as to caress the most beautiful female body he’d ever seen.
She moved her hand, but her eyes remained shut.
Alfie cocked his head.
He ought to turn around and give her privacy. But he couldn’t. If she allowed him to be there, he wasn’t going anywhere.
It was only a fleeting moment, yet a million thoughts swished through Alfie’s mind—a sin he’d watched her for a long time, admired her like an oil painting at the museum.
“I can’t figure out how to… ah…” she said, her eyes still pinched closed. A few adorable layers of skin wrinkled just over the bridge of her nose, showing how tense she was and that her face was stretched with the most even gorgeous skin.
Then her hands came to the rim of the tub, and she dropped her leg in the water. She blinked her eyes open, and Alfie reached for the towel hanging on the wall just behind her head. He held it out, and she dried her eyes, but a small bead of the foam remained on her long lashes, making them sparkle like the sun’s rays on a dewy spring morning. Why wasn’t she shocked that he’d entered?
“My apologies, I shall go. I feared that you needed help because you didn’t respond when I—”
“I do need help, if you offer.” She spoke matter-of-factly as if she were seated in full dress on a settee and not lying naked in the bath, covered with only a layer of foam.
“With what?” Alfie asked, scanning the room. A stack of towels was there; her clothes hung on a chair, and the gas light flickered warmly. What could she want?
His mind raced. What did women need in the bath?
A scene came to mind: a servant holding a towel up for a princess so she could step safely out of the tub. His mouth went dry, and he bristled against the idea. He was not her servant and could never be. After all the years of work, Alfie didn’t want to remain shrouded in a head scarf like the apprentice he’d been in India. This time, he wanted to show her exactly how he felt. He certainly could wrap her in a towel, but it would not be merely to ensure that she was dry.
“I need a hand,” she said, raising her head and looking at him straight. “A hand that’s not my own.”
“What for?” Alfie’s right hand twitched, and he put it in his pocket to contain it. As if his hand knew where she wanted it, and he wouldn’t allow it such an escapade, he held back.
“I’m trying to figure out the point of all this. It occurred to me that the scent of seduction is in the air, so how can I know when I succeeded?”
Alfie blinked several times to make sure he was awake, and she hadn’t merely said all this in his imagination or dreams.
“What do you mean?” He knew what she meant. Even his hand knew. But he couldn’t allow it.
“I can’t figure out what the finish is. The great finish that everybody is talking about.”
“Who’s talking about it?”
“Oh, everybody. My cousin Pippa. Violet.”
“Lady Langley?”
“Yes.”
A moment of awkward silence punctured the lovely scent in the room. The air was hot, and the rose hung lower than the nutty walnut. Of course, it would, Alfie thought; it’s a much heavier oil. That’s why the lighter rose wafted out of the bathroom first, sending for him like a calling card.
“Do you remember the pavilion? From the ball at the Langleys?”
Of course, he did! He’d heard what occurred there and he was quite certain it was where he’d seen Nick and Pippa wander off that night at the ball, just before Bea had come to speak with him. He’d imagined the pavilion. He pictured himself with her in said closet uncountable times. This was not something he could easily forget. “Faintly.”
