A/N:
They say that you can smell danger, but as she lay on his bed surrounded by his scent, that tell-tale waft of peril was curiously absent. From the moment of her startling rescue, her nose of pressed into his shoulder as he plucked her from the tree-creeper's path, she had not breathed in doom, but rather something else...
Her eyes closed, her breathing deepening with every rise and fall of her chest, she tried to identify just what it was. Well, to start she knew what it was not. His scent was not delicate like some of the gentlemen of her era and their relish for rose petal baths, his was rougher, the smell of a working man. And just beyond that masculine note, there was an even sharper scent, one that reached her nose and triggered the image of him before any other: worn leather. His jacket, one she had seen removed from his shoulders only occasionally, invaded her senses every time she came the slightest bit near.
But to know further than what she conjured in his immediate presence was a more intimate knowledge than she was commonly privy to concerning most men. Recounting their recent history though, she couldn't help but recognize that she, in some way or other, had become familiar with what she could rarely claim with most people: the scent of his skin. Giving her ingrained sense of propriety some ease, keeping a blush from her cheeks, it was duly noted that this knowledge was the result of purely chivalrous acts. Contact between them was merely that of his aid, she slept in his bed as he insisted she be comfortable...
Armed with this unexpected knowledge, Emily adjusted her head on his pillow, eyes still shut and ever more determined to mark the subtle aspects of his scent. And subtle they were. Meeting her nose was the definite perfume of clean linen, but underneath, there was something earthy that lingered, something of soil, trees, and fresh air- but these notes were light. This smell, soft and barely detectable, was almost...botanical. She paused her rhythmical and breathing and her eyelids fluttered open at the suspicion. Rising up slowly, she glanced about the room. After a few moments though it seemed her keen set of dark eyes did not support her sudden theory: his shelves were empty of mementos, much less plants- it appeared he did not have an affinity for botanics...
Strange, she thought settling back down. Perhaps she was mistaken, her confidence in knowing the scent that shrouded him premature, but as her eyes grew heavy once again, her breathing heady with the smells blended into the fabric of his bedspread, her first surreal thoughts were of a garden.
They say that you can smell danger, but all she could smell were the scents of botany.
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