And if he did, what would she think? Her heart and mind were locked in a battle over deciding whether him leaving was a good thing or not. Over what Poppy truly wanted from this man.
“Yes, my family travels to Strathmore Castle every Christmas. My Uncle Ewan is the Duke of Strathmore. I’m not sure if I ever told you that,” he replied.
“Your father mentioned the connection. Do you get snow in Scotland?”
Francis smiled. “Yes, we get a lot of snow. Usually just after New Year’s, or Hogmanay, as it’s called in Scotland. It can lay quite deep in places.”
Poppy hadn’t ever seen real snow. The closest she’d come was the light dusting of flakes which fell in December in Tarragona, Spain. No sooner had it settled than the sea winds blew it away.
A yawn escaped her lips. It had been a long day, and the wine was heavier than the ones she normally drank.
Francis shifted in his seat. “I suppose it is getting late, and I am keeping you from your bed.” He rose to his feet and gathered up the plates and dishes. “I should wash these before I leave.”
“Please, you don’t have to do that. I can do them.”
“I insist.” He was adamant. Polite, but firm. There was no point in her arguing.
I need him to go, but then again, I want him to stay. I am so conflicted.
Why did this all have to be so difficult?
“Alright, but I shall wash, and you can dry. It won’t take us take long, and the Dutch oven can soak overnight,” she said.
Within minutes, the supper dishes were washed, dried, and had been put back into the cupboard next to the table. As she worked, Poppy wrestled with the problem of what she was going to do about Francis—and especially, the demands her heart was making.
She was torn. On the one hand, she ached for them to become more than just friends. On the other, the needs of her family business meant she was compelled to keep things from him. To lie.
I just wish we could be honest with one another. Then I would know the truth and how he really feels about me.
Poppy took the tea towel from Francis and hung it over a rail near the fire to dry. Everything was clean and neat once more.
“Thank you for this evening, Francis; it was lovely to share supper with you. And thank you once again for your wonderful gifts. The Dutch oven and the bath oils. I don’t know what I did to deserve them.”
He turned and before she had time to react, he had taken hold of her hands. The air in the room changed in an instant. It crackled with the electricity of expectation.
Francis took a step forward and closed the gap between them. They were standing in almost the exact same spot where they had been the afternoon when the delivery boy had knocked at the door with the satchel of contracts.
There was no one to disturb them tonight.
Francis leaned over her. Poppy briefly closed her eyes as his fingers brushed her cheek. Her heart was beating hard in her chest. Drumming its demands.
“Poppy?” said Francis. It was the same question and tone he had used during their earlier encounter. She understood its meaning much more clearly now. Francis was asking for her permission. For the right to touch her.
Her eyes opened to take in the two deep pools of blue. They drew her in as Francis gazed down at her. This man had more power over her than any mortal man had the right to wield.
Yes, should be the last word on her mind. Thank you and goodnight were the tried and tested sensible options. They had always kept her safe.
But alone.
She broke eye contact, unsure of herself. Her aching, desperate need for this man was unmistakable. If he asked, she would let him do whatever he wished.
The problem wasn’t with Francis; it lay with her. Poppy was in a constant state of flux as to what to do.
The spice contract still lay unspoken between them. She really ought to pull back. To keep him at arm’s length at least until the outcome of the tender. While she knew that Francis had submitted a bid, she was almost certain he didn’t know she had. That before they became lovers, they were already rivals.
If his hopes for successfully taking over Saunders Shipping rested heavily on him securing that contract, by not revealing her own role, she was being duplicitous, betraying someone who considered her a friend. Someone who was offering her more.
What if I win the contract? What will he say?
