Page 88 of All is Fair in Love
He had been all for summoning a physician, finally relenting when she threatened to throw him out of her warehouse.
But I am not in my warehouse.
“How did we end up here?” she asked.
“My place had the fire going, and you didn’t have any food. I thought you promised to give up complaining about me bringing you here.” Francis shifted in the bed and released Poppy from his limb prison. She rolled over to face him.
Her snow-haired nurse was dressed in a white linen shirt, no cravat. He sported loose trousers, and no shoes or socks.
Fully dressed, he was a devilishly handsome man, but in this state of partial undress, Francis was breathtaking. Her fingers itched to touch his ruffled, sleep-mussed hair.
“What time is it?” she asked.
He nodded toward the clock on the wall. “A little after three in the morning. Merry Christmas, Poppy.”
Christmas Day. When had that suddenly rushed up? The last day she could recall with any clear certainty was the twenty-second, the evening they had gone to supper with Hattie and Will.
Poppy flopped onto her back. She had made such a mess of things that night. And then she’d had the argument with Francis, when she had told him that they were not friends and that she hadn’t ever wanted to see him again.
“Merry Christmas, Francis.” She sucked in a deep breath. “And I am sorry.”
Francis closed his eyes for a brief moment. “So am I.”
Neither spoke again for a time. She was grateful that he didn’t feel the need for them to rehash it all. They were both sorry for everything. And that was enough.
And her face still ached.
She reached across the bed, and finding his hand, threaded her fingers with his. Francis gave a gentle reassuring squeeze.
“What do you do for Christmas? I mean, here in London. I know you normally go to Scotland, but what will you do this year?” she asked.
“I would take you to a service at St Paul’s cathedral later this morning, but I don’t think you should be out in public. You need to rest and recuperate. Your bruises are only going to get worse as the swelling goes down.”
“You are right, though it is a pity. I haven’t ever been to a Christmas Day church service. Maybe next year.” Having lived much of her life in countries where Christianity was not practiced and also sailing on the high seas, the opportunity had simply never presented itself until now.
“Let’s see how you are healed in a few days. I can always take you to a service on New Year’s Eve. Will and Hattie will be going for sure.”
Poppy let go of Francis’s hand and rose to sit up in the bed. They had apologized to one another, and that was a good start. The kiss had been a tender act of atonement. But there were things which still remained broken between them. The issue of the spice contract was one. The other, his family.
She wasn’t sure where to begin or even how to try to mend things.
“I didn’t mean to lie to you about the tender. Or rather, I regret choosing not to tell you,” she began.
The bed shifted on its frame as the hulk that was Francis moved and sat upright. “You had your reasons. And considering how I reacted when I found out, I would say that your concerns were well founded.”
She lifted her head, and their gazes met. Poppy closed her good eye as Francis brushed his fingertips gently, almost reverently, over her bruised cheek.
“I thought the spice contract was the be all and end all of everything. The past few days have pulled my ill-conceived priorities into sharp relief. And I am willing to admit that I was single-minded in my desperate pursuit of beating everyone else. Of winning,” said Francis.
His honesty humbled her. Poppy swallowed back the tears which threatened. She didn’t want to cry; she wanted to talk. To clear the air between them. “I didn’t trust you. I let my initial impression of who you were, continue to guide me. Even after we became friends, I kept my distance.”
“Are we friends? It was hard to hear you say that we weren’t,” he replied. The tremble in his voice tore at her soul.
“Yes, of course we are friends. I was angry with you that night. And I was embarrassed. Humiliated. I hurt Hattie, and then I overheard you and Will talking about things. How you thought that the secret bidder lacked honor.”
She wiped at her tears, unable to hold them back as the emotion of that night came flooding back in. “And then you told him you didn’t know what sort of future we might have. As soon as I heard that, I had to leave.”
“I’m sorry you did. Because if you had stayed, you would have heard the rest.”
