She was three years older than him. Had captained her own ship and crew. But nothing was going to make Poppy Basden protest his command.
Especially not with the way Francis’s stern words sent heat racing to her core.
“Yes, Mister Saunders,” she replied.
He raised an eyebrow in her direction, but she caught the hint of a grin on his face. The idea of taking a bath suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
Chapter Forty
“There. That should be enough to let you have a bit of a soak,” said Francis, emptying another pot of hot water into the tub.
As soon they had arrived at Poppy’s warehouse, Francis had set to work. While Poppy undressed and slipped into her nightgown, her knight in shining armor made trips back and forth to the water pump in the laneway outside. Every pot and kettle he could muster was pressed into service. The fire was stoked and brought to life.
Within half an hour, the copper tub was half filled with warm water. When Francis gave the word, the fussed-over Poppy was allowed to pour some drops of bath oil in.
“You will need to take that off,” he said, eyeing her nightgown. The hunger in his voice was unmistakable.
Please let it be for me.
She glanced at her attire, unsure of how to proceed. Did he want her to strip off while he retired to the front of the warehouse and allowed her some privacy? Or did he have other plans?
Please don’t be a gentleman. I want you.
Francis came to stand before her, and a now familiar game began.
“Poppy?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.
When he reached for her gown, she placed a hand on his chest. This was something she wanted to do. Had to do for herself.
“Don’t be shocked when you see my scars. I have quite a collection.” Arms crossed, she lifted the nightgown over her head and let it drop to the floor.
Francis took a step back, his gaze roaming over her body. He touched the long, red angry scar which ran from the top of her hip most of the way down her right thigh. “What happened here?”
Trust him to go for the biggest, nastiest mark on her body. “I slipped coming down from the crow’s nest onboard one of our ships. Hit a sharp piece of the rigging as I fell. Fortunately, I managed to grab hold of one of the ropes, so I didn’t smash into the deck. Nasty accident, which resulted in two weeks in bed and forty-six stitches.”
“Oh, Poppy. They must have had to give you a gallon of rum to get those stitches into you.”
She lay her hand over his where it rested on her old wound. “I was still in charge of the ship. I had to stay lucid. That was the neatest stitching I have ever done.”
He let out a gasp. “You sewed your own wound?”
“Yes. Swore like a naval midshipman the whole time, but yes, I did. I wasn’t prepared to trust anyone else to do the job. This was my life. And I was determined not to have the stitches come undone, or worse, become infected,” she replied.
Poppy was proud of her scars. There were other ones and dark marks on her body; in time, she would tell Francis the story of them all. But the water would have long gone cold if she did that now.
He offered her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you into the bath.”
The moment the tips of her toes tapped the warm water, Poppy hummed with happiness. She had dreamed of this moment, relaxing in her own tub, in her own home, in front of a fireplace. The weight of the moment settled around her as the warm water caressed her skin. This was heavenly bliss. She could do this every day.
Hands gripping either side of the tub, she lowered herself in. Her sore and tired muscles protested as she touched the bottom and let go.
Francis knelt beside the bath, washcloth in hand. “Let me be your servant.”
“How does that work? I mean, I have never had a servant. And I didn’t think you employed them to wash you.”
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “How about I show you.”
