Page 49 of All is Fair in Love
“You have discovered the pump beside your warehouse, haven’t you?” asked Francis, taking his growing interest in her welfare to an even higher level.
“Oh yes, I found that on the plans our solicitor provided. Not that I am going to drink any of it, since water from the River Thames is not much better than seawater.”
Francis cleared his throat, eager to share his knowledge. He was excited that he finally knew something which Poppy did not.
“The water from the pumps at the North Quay is fresh water. It doesn’t come from the river. You still have to boil it, but you can drink and bathe in it,” he said.
One of the major advantages of the new London Docks was the supply of fresh water piped in by the Shadwell Waterworks.
“Really? That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I was going to ask about the roof of the warehouse and whether we could collect rainwater. But this is even better. I have a copper tub arriving today. I plan to use it to indulge in many long, hot baths.”
Francis’s head was instantly filled with images of Poppy reclining naked in a copper tub. She was seated before a crackling fire, enjoying its warmth. In her hand was a glass of fine French champagne.
The fire may well have taken the chill from the air, but it didn’t stop her nipples from becoming hardened pebbles. Soapy bubbles hid the rest of her form from his imaginary sight, which only served to heighten his lust.
His imaginary Poppy glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. “Come and join me, Francis. You know you would love to share my bath.”
Don’t think about her like that.
The air in the cramped galley kitchen suddenly became uncomfortably warm. Francis’s cravat grew tight around his neck. He desperately wished he could loosen the knot and take it off.
“I could . . .” He struggled with his breathing. “I could organize for some of my staff to help bring water over to your warehouse. We have several fit, strong lads who could assist. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Her face lit up, and his pounding heart skipped a beat. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Francis.”
She motioned toward the rear of the ship, to a closed door. “Would you like to see the captain’s cabin? It’s not much—just a table and a bed. Though you do get a good view out of the rear portal.”
Francis nodded. He wasn’t all that interested in the view of London Docks. His mind was now concentrated on the prospect of actually seeing Poppy’s bed. It wasn’t just any old bed; it was her bed. The one she had slept in for countless nights. Where she had lain beneath the bedclothes.
Where you probably touched yourself when you were alone at night.
The soft cry of her completion as she reached orgasm echoed in his imagination. What he would give to hear it in reality.
I’m done. If I set foot into her bedroom, it will be the end of me.
It was a step, in self-control that seemed too far. If he didn’t pull back now, heaven knew what aroused state he would be in by the time they left the boat. In the cramped, poorly lit space of the lower deck, he might be able to hide his growing condition, but up on the weather deck . . .
Francis swallowed deeply. It was time to concede defeat. And as much as he disliked the idea, Poppy was engaged to be married. He had no right to be fantasizing about her.
“Actually, I have to get back to the office. I lost a day with the wedding yesterday. And there is a mountain of paperwork I need to get through before the next ship arrives. Let me know when you want the water, Poppy, and I shall arrange it,” he said.
“Of course. I’m sorry. Forgive me, I have already taken up far too much of your time this morning.” The note of disappointment in her voice tugged at his conscience.
He reached out and took the bucket from her hands. “Let me take this. I insist.”
With Francis carrying both the bucket and the baking tray, they climbed back up to the weather deck. Putting his foot on the gangplank, he gave a nod to the Empress Catherine. “She is a fine vessel. I promise to come back soon so that you can finish our tour.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
As soon as they reached the front door of warehouse number fourteen, Francis handed Poppy the pail and baking tray. He had to escape. “I have some tea chests which need urgent attention. I shall bid you a good day, Captain Basden.”
Doing his best to ignore the expression of sadness which sat on Poppy’s face, Francis scurried off toward a pile of crates on the Saunders Shipping side of the nearby wharf pavilion.
The tea chests had been happily sitting there for several months. Until this morning, their fate hadn’t been much of a priority. Now, there wasn’t anything more important in the entire world than making sure they were in the right place.
I am an utter lecherous coward.
When Poppy’s words of farewell carried to him softly on the wind, Francis dared not look back over his shoulder. It was taking a herculean effort to walk away, all the while his heart was demanding that he turn around and go back to have another coffee with her. To stuff himself full of cinnamon toast until he couldn’t breathe.
