She should have been angry at his overbearing behavior. Love, however, made her think otherwise. It made her feel a touch giddy with happiness. Poppy nodded. “I like being under your protection.”
He bent his head and nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. It sent a shiver of hot need through her body. “You are mine, and I shall always keep you safe.”
Chapter Forty-Three
“Are these figures correct? I mean, I hadn’t really looked at the whole bid this way,” Francis said.
He and Poppy were seated side by side at the table in his warehouse, papers piled up in front of them. They had worked through the numbers several times, and while they seemed to add up, he couldn’t quite make sense of them.
His finger tapped at the top of the page, where the shipping calculations for the boat had been calculated. “Here.”
I think she might have made a mistake.
He had been accused of not being able to work with others, something he knew he would have to remedy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t question when things didn’t seem right. Poppy leaned forward and stared at the number Francis was pointing to, then nodded.
“That’s correct. She’s carried those cargo levels, and a good deal more, before,” she said.
He hadn’t been into the lower parts of the Empress Catherine, but the length of her hull had never impressed on Francis that she was capable of supporting hundreds of bales of spices.
I would like to see for myself before we submit this bid.
“Speaking of ships, when is your boat coming back to the dock?”
Poppy had returned on Christmas Eve, but the Empress Catherine was nowhere to be seen.
She shuffled some papers around, all the while muttering under her breath. Francis caught a few of the words. It seemed like she was counting. He hoped that was what she was doing, not mumbling curses about his mathematical abilities.
“She is berthed further down river. There was no point having her here and incurring dock fees. And especially not until the spice contract is settled. The London Docks charges a pretty penny for tying up here.” Poppy pushed back from the table. “I think that should do for the day. My brain can’t handle anymore, and I am hungry. How about we eat, then you can show me where you keep your ink pot?”
“Is that a euphemism?” I hope it is, because the last thing I want to do is to go through more books of account.
Bookwork hadn’t even made the list of activities Francis planned on doing once he succeeded in getting Poppy over to number twelve. Having her naked and beneath him was at the top of his priorities. Hearing her cries of completion came a close second.
His hopes lifted as she rose from her chair. Poppy bent and placed an inviting kiss on Francis’s lips. “There is a rule of thumb that all good sailors live by. Food, fornicating, and a full night’s sleep. I want to see your ink pot, so I know which is your desk. We need to test if it is sturdy enough for sex.”
If his blood hadn’t already been rushing to his manhood, Francis would have blushed at Poppy’s words. “You are incorrigible. Scandalous. And my family is going to think you fabulous.”
The smile died on Poppy’s lips. “I don’t expect I will be able to use such language in front of your mother. Are you sure she will think me wonderful? I’ve already offended the two members of your family whom I have met. Who is to say I won’t upset the rest?”
As he rose from his chair, Francis bent and placed a kiss on Poppy’s forehead. “Don’t forget you have met my father, and he thinks you are the bee’s knees. If you keep feeding him plenty of freshly made French toast, he will defend you against the entire Radley clan. As will I.”
Poppy didn’t speak the same way as the rest of the women of Francis’s acquaintance, and to him, that was perfect. The fact that she could sail a ship and cost a business proposal far outweighed any shortcomings she might have with social graces.
She was bright and intelligent, and made his heart go pitter-patter. He was hopelessly in love with her.
“And if you are still unsure of yourself in polite society, take heart. My mother will make certain that you shine. She knows all the best people.” He glanced at the tender document. By combining their resources and skills, they had put together a solid proposal. A little more spit and polish in the morning, and it would be ready for submission.
This will hopefully be the first of many successful tender bids that we create.
While Poppy dished up their supper, Francis carefully cleared the papers to the other end of the table, making room for them to eat.
There was an easy, comfortable way between the two of them. Without having to talk, as one worked, the other went about doing what was needed. It was a sweet dance of domesticity. By the time Poppy brought the plates of food over to the table, Francis had laid out the spoons and napkins. Everything was ready.
If I could have this simple perfection every evening, I would happily live out the rest of my days and not yearn to attend another fancy ball or elegant soiree.
But only if that was what made Poppy happy. If she wanted to enter London society and experience the gaiety and light, he would be with her every step of the way.
As her husband.
