Page 95 of The Scent of Intuition
“Yes, she knows the borders of the empires and understands where the foci of friction lie. She’s a most valuable asset…” Stan stopped as if he’d misspoken.
“Asset?” Her father said.
“I’ve helped Stan with a little observation work,” Bea said, returning the tight grip of Alfie’s hand. “And I shall continue to help him.”
He looked at her now, blazing conviction in his eyes. And she nodded at him.
“Thank you for standing by me.”
“I will not give my permission, Beatrice,” her father said.
“I haven’t asked for it,” Bea said quite firmly.
That was it, it all came down to station. There was no reasoning with the Ton. He’d known it all along.
Alfie growled and turned away.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The garden ofBea’s grandfather’s country estate was bathed in the harsh sheen of moonlight, the sharp edges of leaves the only feeling in Alfie’s skin as he passed through the orchard. The air was thick with the scent of blooming roses; the only sound breaking the night’s tranquility was the occasional chirp of a distant cricket. Alfie’s footsteps were heavy, each step pressing into the dewy grass as if the earth itself was pulling him deeper into the enveloping darkness.
“Why are you running away from me, Alfie?” Bea’s voice pierced the night air, trembling with a mix of determination and desperation. She quickened her pace, her silken gown whispering against the grass, the hem collecting droplets of morning dew.
“I’m not running away,” Alfie called back, his voice strained as he pushed through the low-hanging branches of the orchard. The leaves brushed against his face, their cool touch a stark contrast to the rising heat of his turmoil. Each branch seemed to reach out, as if nature itself were trying to hold him back, to force him to face the inevitable.
“Then why am I chasing after you in the dark?” she demanded. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
Alfie stopped abruptly, pivoting to face her. Her exertion was evident in the flushed hue of her cheeks.
His own breath came in ragged bursts, the moonlight catching the beads of sweat on his forehead, illuminating theanguish etched on his features. Bea’s eyes, wide and glistening, reflected the confusion and hurt that mirrored his own.
Bea huffed, closing the distance between them, her hands trembling at her sides. “It’s unseemly for a lady to go after a man like me,” Alfie muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. His gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet her searching eyes.
“Like you? What’s that supposed to mean?” Bea’s voice was sharp, cutting through the night’s stillness. Her eyes, however, beseeched him, desperate for an explanation.
“Bea,” he exhaled, his shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken words. “Don’t pretend like you’re blind to the cleft that divides us. We might as well be different species—didn’t you see how your father looked at me? It’s like I am an ape to him.”
Bea’s expression softened. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his forehead with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. “You’re hot,” she said, a gentle smile attempting to lighten the mood.
“Stop jesting,” Alfie snapped, stepping back. His voice was raw, the edges frayed with the strain of held-back tears. “It’s not funny when my heart is broken because I cannot be enough. I may be just an apothecary to people like you, but I still have worth. And a heart. And it hurts.”
“People like me?” She frowned. “And… a broken heart?” Bea whispered, her voice barely audible, the words trembling in the cool night air.
“Yes, Bea, a broken heart!” Alfie’s voice cracked, the raw pain evident in every syllable. “What did you think? That I can just shrug it off? Fall in love with you with a passion that cuts my breath and go on as if nothing ever happened?”
Bea’s eyes grew wide, shimmering with unshed tears.
Alfie ran both hands through his hair, his frustration palpable in the way his fingers clenched the strands. “I saw itcoming and had no defense. You may have agreed to marry me but without your parents’ permission… if your father won’t…”
“I don’t need their permission. They barely know me anymore, and they don’t see what matters to me—who matters to me.”
“You’d defy the Ton and everything they want for you, if we marry.”
She shrugged and gave a mischievous look over her shoulder. “I’ll be a spy and do as I please. If you still want me—”
In a sudden, impulsive movement, Alfie reached out and scooped Bea into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She gasped but did not protest, her heart pounding in sync with his. He carried her effortlessly through the garden, the soft glow of the moonlight casting ethereal shadows around them. He entered the castle from a side door. Up the grand staircase and into his chamber—a room that now felt like the epicenter of his torment and longing.
He laid her gently on his bed, stepping back as if afraid his presence might shatter the fragile moment. The room was dimly lit by a solitary candle, its flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls. Alfie’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving with the effort to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
