Page 53 of All is Fair in Love
Francis backed away from the door. He shouldn’t linger. None of this was any of his business. Unfortunately, his movement had both Poppy and Jonathan turning in his direction.
“What the fuck are you staring at, pretty boy?” spat Jonathan.
Poppy didn’t flinch at the foul language. Francis wasn’t surprised. He expected she had heard much worse over the years.
“I am not staring at anything. I was leaving my warehouse to go home. It’s your fault if you are the one causing a scene in public. Any louder and you will surely wake the dead,” replied Francis, coolly.
His gaze went from Jonathan to Poppy. She looked downcast, defeated. How many times had the two of them had this conversation? From the expression on her face, Francis guessed that Poppy had long stopped counting.
I hate the way he makes her look small.
It wasn’t just a physical thing. Francis worried that Jonathan was the kind of man who stole the light from a woman’s soul. That in her efforts to placate him, she would be reduced to an insignificant version of herself.
“I am sorry, Francis. We shall take our personal business inside,” replied Poppy.
She headed for the door of number fourteen. Jonathan lingered out in the roadway for a few moments after Poppy had gone inside. Francis clenched his fists, ready to do battle with the man he had decided was his sworn enemy.
Jonathan didn’t move from his spot. He pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and wiped it over his face. Francis dreaded to think what was on that square of fabric. Poppy’s intended was still dressed in the same clothes Francis had spied wearing him on the first day he’d arrived in port.
I’d hate to see the color of the bathwater if he climbed in.
The mere thought of Jonathan being naked around Poppy had Francis clutching his fist so tight that his knuckles cracked. He really didn’t like this man. And if the way Jonathan spoke to him was any indication, Francis was certain the feeling was mutual.
Jonathan took a step toward him, and Francis readied himself for a physical altercation. The sailor might well be a strongly built man, but Francis was tall and could move fast. He also had the advantage of being stone-cold sober.
“I’m not going to fight you,” huffed Jonathan. “You are not worth my time.”
He spun inelegantly on his heel and headed in the direction of the Empress Catherine.
Francis breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t particularly fond of bare-knuckled boxing. His cousins Alex and David Radley had a penchant for it, but he had always found it too savage. His choice of battlefields were the floors of the shipping offices and the London Stock Exchange. To his way of thinking, money spoke louder than fists.
Something had to be done about Jonathan. He and Poppy were a disaster in the making. The drunken, lazy seaman would ruin her life. Francis feared for Poppy’s safety.
But what could he do? He and Poppy had come to a détente of hostilities, but they were barely friends. He couldn’t simply go telling her how to run her life.
But someone needs to protect her.
His thoughts drifted back to the wagon driver he had assisted. The poor man and his distressed horses had been abandoned, left to their fate in the middle of the road. If Francis hadn’t stepped in, more than likely the horses would have been badly injured, and then been put down.
Poppy was all alone in London. And while she was a strong sea captain and more than capable of handling a pistol, she was still vulnerable. She didn’t need him quietly ogling her or indulging in wicked thoughts of the two of them together. She needed a friend. A protector.
Francis Saunders, it is time to stop watching the drama unfold. You need to help Poppy change her fate.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The tradition of getting up early to watch the sunrise was one Poppy had established as a child. During the long absences of her father, she would look up at the pale morning light, knowing that he was one day closer to returning.
And while it had been many years since she had given up on racing down to the dockside of whichever port George had left her in just to see if his ship had dropped anchor, Poppy still rose early to greet the dawn.
Mug of coffee in hand, she was seated, legs dangling over the side of the wharf when Jonathan made his appearance. She glanced up at him as he dropped beside her. The stench of rum and lord knew what else hung around him like a foul miasma.
Don’t ask him where he has been—you don’t want to know. And truth be told, you don’t care. You just want him gone.
She had no idea where he had ended up. Or with who. But their relationship was surely headed for dangerous reefs. Whatever their agreement had been before they left Ceylon, It was time to make a change.
Jonathan nodded at her coffee cup, and she handed it to him. He noisily slurped down the rest of its contents before handing it back. “Thank you. My head and queasy stomach appreciate it. I should have stuck to ale, not rum.”
“There are the remains of a piece of pickled pork inside if you are looking for food. I do ask that you leave me the small loaf of bread. I am not in the mood to go shopping for more ingredients at this hour,” she replied.
