Page 87 of All is Fair in Love
Passing the front of warehouse number fourteen, he glanced toward Poppy’s flowers and herbs. He had made sure to check on them each day, even slipping out earlier to water the parsley.
His gaze went from the planter boxes to the light which shone through the ground-floor window. His heart skipped a beat. Someone was inside the warehouse.
He checked back to the water. The berth which the Empress Catherine normally occupied was still empty.
He turned back to the warehouse and checked the lights. Yes, someone was definitely inside.
Doing his best to calm his racing heart, Francis knocked on the door. Poppy might not have been home, but the person within might at least be able to give him an indication as to where she had gone. And, more importantly, when she might return.
The sound of shuffling feet reached his ears followed by the click of the key turning in the lock. As the door slowly opened, Francis had an unsettling thought. What was he going to say?
Good evening. I was wondering if you could tell me when Miss Basden is due back? Who am I? Oh, just the nosey neighbor from next door.
His mind was still scrambling to come up with something plausible to say when the person on the other side of the door stepped forward and into the early evening light.
It was Poppy. A badly injured Poppy.
His gaze took in her half-closed eye. The right side of her face was a sickening patchwork of black and blue bruises. And the huddled way that she held herself was the posture of someone who had just crawled up from the floor after a vicious beating.
A heavy stone settled in the pit of Francis’s stomach. The sight which met his eyes was too unreal to be true. He took a tentative step forward, almost too afraid to speak, and whispered, “Poppy?”
“Hello.”
“Wha . . . what happened to you?”
He stopped on the threshold, suddenly recalling their last encounter. Of her demand that he never darken her doorstep ever again. “Please, Poppy, let me help you. Let me come in.” His voice was a concerned plea.
She beckoned him inside. “If you must, but hurry. I would rather not stand with the door open. The air is a little fresh, and I am embarrassed for people to see me like this.”
Francis closed the door behind him, then reached for Poppy. To his bone-deep relief, she didn’t push him away. He gently wrapped his arms around her, wrapping her up in his comforting embrace.
“What happened? Who is the blackguard that hurt you? I shall bring the authorities and the full force of the law down upon his head. He will rue the day he decided to attack you and take your boat.”
Poppy’s good eye met his, and she gave the barest shake of her head.
“No one took my boat. And as for this mess, it was an accident. You don’t have to be my hero, Francis. I don’t need one.”
He brushed his hand gently over her bruised and battered face. “I would beg to differ.” He offered her a soft smile and she sighed. Her small hands came to his chest, and she leaned into him. The relief that flooded him was overwhelming.
She is back with me. She is home.
Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When Poppy woke later than night, it was with a start. Her immediate attempt to sit upright was foiled by the large arm and leg which pinned her to the bed. The best she could manage was a gushing, “What?”
“It’s alright. I am here,” said a voice.
It was a familiar one. Comforting. Friendly. And thoroughly male.
Francis.
Of course. Now I remember.
Francis Saunders. Or rather, Saint Francis, if the way he had fussed over her was any indication.
Her explanation about the accident on board the Empress Catherine had been met with a good deal of clucking and a great amount of mothering. Heaven help her if she had actually been seriously injured.
