Page 47 of All is Fair in Love
Her words stirred him from his lustful thoughts.
What are you doing, ogling the poor girl? She is an intelligent and skilled sailor, and you are back to behaving like a cad.
He was a grown man, yet every time he got close to Poppy, Francis couldn’t seem to stop himself from reverting to a callow youth. Back to a time when his manhood did the majority of his thinking.
As he stepped onto the deck, Poppy turned to face him. His gaze followed the twirl of her skirts. Then it shifted higher, taking in the swell of her generous breasts. It continued on up all the way to her face, where it lingered on the smattering of freckles which kissed the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks.
You really are rather lovely. I can’t believe I was horrid to you.
At that moment, the late morning sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and its light caught Poppy’s hair. Her pale strands magically transformed into spun gold.
Francis halted, enchanted by the sight.
And then she smiled. Her obvious happiness and pride in showing him her ship lit up Poppy’s face.
All those times when he had observed couples in love and mocked them for their open displays of affection came rushing back to haunt him. He had done his best to convince everyone that he viewed love and all its so-called grandeur as being only for fools.
And yet, as he took in the sheer loveliness of Poppy Basden, Francis’s heart gave a little pitter-patter. A dance of joy.
What is happening to me?
“We are all fools in love,” he muttered.
“What did you say?”
Blast.
Here he was, quoting a line from one of Eve’s romance novels, and Poppy had heard him. A sensible man of business shouldn’t even know about such books.
And he most certainly shouldn’t have stolen the odd volume or two and hidden them away in his bedroom. Nor should he have repeatedly read them, cover to cover.
His private hunger should remain just that. His secret.
“I said, only a fool would sleep above,” replied Francis, realizing Poppy was still waiting for some kind of explanation. He hastily pointed toward a nearby pile of blankets. The crew had obviously been sleeping on the deck.
“Oh. For a moment there I thought you were quoting Pride and Prejudice to me,” said Poppy, with a soft chuckle.
Francis stifled a snort and quickly adopted his best business face, the one he used for haggling over contracts. He wasn’t about to confess his dirty little romance novel secret to anyone. Least of all Poppy.
She had more than enough leverage over him as it was.
“Do I look the sort of gentleman who reads soppy love stories? Though, I am led to believe that my sister Eve has read Pride and Prejudice on more than one occasion. She even claims to have met the author.”
Shut up. What are you doing? You are meant to be talking about boats.
Poppy’s eyes grew wide with interest. “Really? Who is it? The cover of the book only says it is by the same author as Sense and Sensibility. I would love to know who wrote such wonderful stories.”
It hadn’t occurred to Francis that Poppy would know of the books. She was a ship’s captain, busy sailing the seas. When had she ever had the opportunity to purchase such novels?
His lips were moving before he could stop himself. “Apparently the author was a Miss Jane Austen. Most people in London society knew of her. Her identity was an open secret, but she didn’t move among the haute ton. Rather, her family was good country folk.”
“The author was Jane Austen? You speak of her as if she has passed away,” replied Poppy.
Francis sighed. “Yes. I’m saddened to inform you, but Miss Austen died earlier this year. But I am of the understanding that some more of her works are going to be published posthumously by her family.”
You can’t help yourself. She shows an interest in something that you love, and you become insufferable.
He dropped his gaze to the deck of the ship, hoping that Poppy wouldn’t ask him the obvious question. Why would a young man, a future leader in commerce, have any reason to follow the work of a recently deceased female author?
