Page 35 of All is Fair in Love
She is not a delivery girl. That was a lie.
Not only did she have some understanding of the law, but she was also not behaving like a mere employee. More like an owner.
Which makes me look nothing more than a foolish shit.
“You are P. Basden? I thought he was a man.”
She leveled him with a look which said that he wasn’t the first to have made that mistake. “Captain Poppy Basden. The ship which is berthed across the way is the Empress Catherine. She is my vessel. This warehouse belongs to my father’s company, as does the shipment of cinnamon which I brought with me from Ceylon. And of course, let us not forget the clear space out the front of this building.”
Francis scrubbed his hand over his face, wishing he was anywhere but there. His grand plans for becoming a well-respected businessman did not include threatening young women in the middle of the night. The fact that the female in question could clearly protect herself didn’t figure into his self-disgust. He was rogue. A brute.
If my parents could see me now, they would disown me.
And he wouldn’t blame them if they did.
All his brandy-fueled intentions of offering harsh words to the owner of warehouse number fourteen fled like a thief in the night. Now, if only he could do the same.
“I don’t know where to begin to make amends for my behavior,” he said.
Captain Basden pointed at the door. “I would suggest that you start with a polite ‘good evening’ and follow it up with a hasty departure.”
She was offering him an easy way out. Surprising. Most other people would have sent for a constable and had Francis arrested. He would have done that if a stranger had appeared at his door in the dead of night and made threats.
He was still considering his good fortune as he took his first step toward the exit. Then he stopped. Her actions didn’t make sense.
“Why are you being so magnanimous toward me? I certainly don’t deserve it,” he said, turning to face her.
Her fingers dropped from the pistol, and her arm hung loosely at her side. “I don’t know. I just hope it won’t be something that I live to regret.”
Francis managed a tentative nod. The notion of battling against a young woman didn’t hold quite the same appeal as taking a man on. He wouldn’t be praised by society, or his family for that matter, for having been the aggressor in this situation.
Rogue. Harasser of women. Bully.
The list of dishonorable names continued to grow as the sharp edge of the brandy began to wear off. Francis’s mind slowly cleared. Shame filled the spaces where rage had once reigned. “I am sorry. I had no right to come to your door,” he said.
Captain Basden met his gaze. Her hazel-colored eyes shone bright. “No, you didn’t. But I suspect that when it comes to someone like you, Mister Saunders, there are many things which you think are yours simply by right of birth and status.”
Under most other circumstances, Francis would have taken her to task for what he considered an unfair critique of his character, but tonight he stood like a little boy and took his punishment. His only response, a chastened, “You don’t know me.”
A flush of heat raced up his neck and settled to burn uncomfortably on his cheeks. Being of such a fair complexion there was no chance of Francis hiding his embarrassment.
An expression of pity appeared on the captain’s face. She sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, why does everything in this city have to be so difficult? And why do you hate me?”
Hate was a strong word. Dislike, disapprove were closer to his emotions—not hate. Captain Basden was a problem he needed to solve—nothing more.
“I don’t hate you. I just . . .”
She stepped closer. He knew that move; it was a challenge. To force him to speak his mind. “Just what?”
“It’s not personal; it’s just business.”
A knowing grin sat on her lips as she slowly shook her head. “Mister Saunders. Tell yourself all the lies you wish, but we both know that business is personal. If it wasn’t, then you wouldn’t have taken up the battle over the barrels, nor tried to intimidate me with that pathetic letter using legal jargon you clearly don’t understand.”
She was mocking him. Showing Francis just who was the more worldly. And it certainly wasn’t him.
“I should leave,” he offered.
It sounded like he was being polite, but in truth he was close to begging. Anything to gather up the crumbs of his pride and flee.
