“I did not say you were a fool, nor do I think that you cannot work with others. I said you were inexperienced. And you are. If you knew how to play the game, you would have got that contract, and they wouldn’t have even opened my bid,” said Poppy.
“And if you had been a man, I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
She met his gaze, her expression one of steely determination. “Exactly.”
He turned to head home, unsure of his next steps. A hand grabbed a hold of his coat sleeve. “Don’t tell me you are giving up, Francis Saunders. What happened to the man who was going to rule all of London?”
“I think he might have just been shown that he is not the heir apparent. And according to the woman he loves, he is nothing more than a schoolboy.”
Pulling firmly on his coat, Poppy towed Francis back toward her front door. Once they were inside, she kicked it closed.
“Now what are you going to do?” he asked.
“Not me—we. Remember, forever together? We are going to submit a joint bid and bloody well win. So, stop with the long face.”
At her words, his mood lifted immediately. Francis wrapped his arm around Poppy, pulling her to him. “I’m sorry. My two-minute sulk is done and dusted; I promise. Thank you for indulging me.”
Her fingers teased at the knot of his hastily tied cravat. “See? You are making progress. No more barrels or ropes being tossed about. And you are becoming aware of when you are pouting. Perhaps you might want to put your lips to better use, Mister Saunders, and kiss me.”
They both might have been thrown by the loss of the tender bid, but as he claimed her mouth with his, Poppy sent a silent thank you to the heavens. Her anger and disappointment went into the kiss, into the fevered meeting of tongues and lips. When Francis grabbed a hold of her ass and drew her hard against him, she didn’t resist.
They could try to take away her hopes of winning the spice contract, but nothing would stand in the way of her stamping her ownership on this man.
The kiss slowed, moving from a frenzy to a gentler embrace. Francis drew back, then proceeded to drop a thousand butterfly kisses over Poppy’s face. Every one of them sent a spark to her heart. This wasn’t a prelude to sex; it was the sweet entrée to love-making.
“Am I really that much of an ogre?” he asked.
Resting her hand over his heart, Poppy smiled up at Francis. “No. Though at times you can be a bit like a hungry Bengal tiger chasing after a herd of spotted deer. You send everyone scattering in all directions.”
He wasn’t an evil man; he just had to learn to curb his temper and try to see things through the eyes of others. She trusted that in time, that growth in his character would come.
Francis sighed and kissed Poppy once more. “I am surprised that you are not fuming over the outrage of having your contract bid rejected. You are possessed with an infinite amount of patience.”
“No, I am not. There have been times when my lack of a penis has caused me to lose out on contracts and even the prime berth at a dock. And I can tell you, I didn’t always swallow down my disappointment. There were times when I made my views loudly heard. Don’t forget, I did fire a pistol at you.”
But if she was honest about it, Poppy did hold her tongue better than Francis did. Her upbringing had meant a life of constantly weighing up the possible outcomes of her words and actions. She had always stood to lose more than anyone.
She had long ago come to terms with only dealing with the things in life she could influence or change.
“We need to get moving on putting the bid together. If you go and get your papers and then bring them back here, we should be able to have most of the work completed today,” said Poppy.
She rolled her eyes at the sight of the scowl which appeared on Francis’s face.
“What’s wrong with my offices?” he replied.
“Nothing. But I have a stew cooking in the Dutch oven. The fire has been lit and this space is warm.” Poppy turned her hands over, flat palms up. Answer presented.
Francis growled. “I have an even better idea.”
He marched over to the fireplace, grabbed hold of two dishcloths, and placing them either side of the Dutch oven, proceeding to lift it out of the embers. “I have a fireplace. And now I have the pot. We will work on the bid in my warehouse. Then we shall eat.”
“But—”
He headed for the door, and Poppy had no choice but to follow. As he stepped back, allowing her to open it, Francis fixed her with his stern gaze. “You made a promise to me, and I intend that you shall keep it.”
“And what is that?”
“Tonight, and every night from now on, you sleep in my bed. I told you that you are under my protection, and I meant it.”
