Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress (18 page)

Once Hugh had slipped away, Bethan began to feel as if she could breathe properly again. But her heart laboured under the crushing weight that had settled on it.

She turned her gaze toward Simon’s villa, the golden lamplight spilling out of its large open windows. It was as different as could be from the snug Welsh cottage where she’d grown up. Yet in the past weeks it had become a home to her.

She wondered if Simon had finished telling Rosalia her bedtime story. Was he looking for her now, wondering where she’d gone, worried for her safety? If his house had become a home to her, it was because he and his daughter had become like family. How could she think of abandoning them?

On the other hand, Hugh needed her help and he was the reason she’d come to Singapore. He was her only living blood kin, the last remnant of the broken family she’d spent years longing to mend. Having suffered the grief of believing him dead made her more desperate than ever to secure his safety.

But when she thought of leaving Simon and Rosalia, slipping away in the night like Carlotta had, her heart quailed. Not only for herself, but for them. The child
was bound to feel she’d done something wrong to make Bethan go away. For Simon, this might well be one betrayal too many. She could hardly blame him if he refused to trust any woman ever again.

Was it possible she could test his trust without breaking it? A faint hope tantalised her as she headed back into the house. Perhaps she would ask Simon for a loan and use the money to send her brother to safety. Once Hugh was out of harm’s way, she’d confess the truth and hope for Simon’s forgiveness, though she was far from certain she deserved it.

As she crept back inside, she smelled the mouthwatering aromas of dinner cooking. After a good meal and a glass of wine, Simon might be inclined to hear her out and grant her an enormous favour…on trust.

She checked the dining room where the table was set for their meal, but she saw no sign of Simon. Could he still be with Rosalia, telling the child more stories about her mother?

On her way to the nursery, Bethan glanced into the sitting room and saw Simon in one of the armchairs, holding a half-empty glass.

“There you are!” She tried to sound as if nothing had changed in the past half-hour when, in fact,
everything
had. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for dinner.”

“Come in.” Simon did not shout the words, or snap in a sharp tone. Yet something about them made Bethan quail just the same.

She hoped it was only her guilty conscience imagining trouble.

“Is everything all right?” She forced herself to enter the room.

Simon nodded toward the low table in front of him. A small mound of gold and silver coins lay on top of it.

“That’s all I had in the house.” He bolted the last of whatever was in his glass—arrack, most likely. When he looked up at Bethan, his icy blue gaze pierced her like a freshly whetted blade. “Go ahead, take the money. I thought I would save you the trouble of stealing it.”

T
hough Simon considered his remark quite civilised under the circumstances, it seemed to take the legs out from under Bethan.

She staggered to the nearest chair and sank on to it. “You heard.”

Struggling to maintain control of his raging feelings, he gave a curt nod. “More than I wanted to. But I am curious about one thing. Who is this fine fellow you plan to run off to America with?”

“You don’t know?” The depth of relief in her voice enraged Simon.

Clearly she wanted to protect this blackguard the way he’d once wanted to protect her. It unnerved him to discover that, in spite of everything he’d just seen and heard, part of him still longed to save her from the folly she was about to commit.

Keeping a firm grip on his wits against the tug of such mutinous urges, he feigned indifference with a shrug. “I must have missed something of interest after all. I hope you will indulge my curiosity.”

To his surprise and vexation, Bethan shook her head. “That is the one thing I cannot tell you. I’m sorry, Simon. I know I have no right to expect you to believe me, but I swear that whatever you overheard in the garden does not mean what you think. I was coming to find you, to tell you as much as I could in the hope that you might understand.”

A grunt of bitter laughter burst from his tightly clenched lips. “You expect me to believe that? After weeks of lying and sneaking around behind my back, you were just about to tell me the truth, if only I hadn’t stumbled upon it myself. How very inconvenient! What kind of fool do you take me for?”

He wanted to stride around the room, venting some of the force of his blazing wrath while putting more distance between them. But that would have exposed the weakness of his lame leg and he was already feeling far too vulnerable.

She flinched from his scornful outburst as if it had been a vicious blow. Hard as Simon tried to remain unmoved, a qualm of shame seethed through his belly. He had spent his whole life defending those in distress. It went against his nature to inflict misery, no matter how richly deserved.

Bethan Conway would know that, of course, because she had made it her business to delve into all his deepest secrets. Now she would use that knowledge to manipulate him with her plausible-sounding explanations and her look of injured innocence. If all else failed, she might stage a most affecting show of tears. He had better mend his defences in short order if he hoped to withstand such tactics.

“I don’t think you’re a fool, Simon.” She hunched forwards in her seat, meeting his hard, accusing stare with a helpless gaze that was no doubt calculated to draw him in. “I think you’re a fine man who’s been hurt too many times by the people you’ve tried to help. I can’t blame you for thinking I’m no better than the rest, because I’m not. I didn’t expect you to believe me because I don’t deserve to be believed.”

She sounded so sincere, so sweetly contrite, that part of him longed to surrender to her touching appeal. Simon clung to the memory of the captain’s unfaithful wife begging him not to tell her husband that he’d caught her in the arms of the first officer. And Carlotta, pleading with him to take her back for the sake of their infant daughter. They’d appeared repentant, too, when all the while they were playing him for a fool.

“I wanted to tell you the truth,” Bethan claimed. “You can’t imagine how much. At first I wasn’t certain I could trust you because you seemed so cold and severe. Later, when I found out the kind of man you truly are, I tried to tell you. That’s when I found out…there was too much at stake. The longer I went on lying, the harder it became to admit the truth because I was afraid it would make you hate me. I couldn’t bear the thought of that because I’d come to love you so much.”

His whole wasted heart ached to believe her, but it was a risk he could not afford to take. Not daring to speak in case his lips betrayed him, he struggled to maintain his wintery glare before her imploring gaze.

Bethan must have glimpsed some sign of thawing that encouraged her, for she continued. “That was why I balked at your marriage proposal—because I was terrified
I would do something wrong and lose your love. I told you I didn’t feel good enough for you. That was the truth, I swear. When you praised me for my honesty, all the while I knew it wasn’t true, I never felt so low.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as soft and warm as spring rain. They might have melted Simon’s icy resolve if he had not been so well prepared to withstand them. “This is all very touching, I’m sure. But I insist on knowing the identity of your mystery lover, the man you came all the way to Singapore to find. I think you owe me that much at least. Tell me, have you been trysting with him behind my back the whole time I’ve been fretting about your safety?”

“He’s
not
my lover—you are!” Bethan dashed away her tears with the back of her hand as if angry with herself for that betrayal of weakness. “Tonight is the first time I’ve met with him. I did come to Singapore looking for him, but I didn’t expect to find him here. At best I hoped I’d get word of where he’d gone so I could trace him. Lately, I thought he was dead. I know I owe you more than I can ever repay, but I
cannot
tell you anything more about him.”

Why was he dragging this out? Simon asked himself in disgust. Did he take some twisted pleasure in tormenting himself? Was that why he sought out women he sensed would betray him? Or was he prolonging this painful interview and giving Bethan the opportunity to employ all her wiles on him because he secretly hoped she would succeed? Did he want her to breach his defences so his rebellious heart could overthrow cautious reason? Whatever his motives, they were clearly destructive ones. The time had come to put an end to this.

“You are not in my debt. Anything you received from me has been well earned, I will say that for you.” He pushed the pile of coins across the table toward her—silver Spanish dollars and sikka rupees, gold British guineas. “Now take the money and go to this mystery man of yours. It’s worth every farthing to be rid of you.”

Bethan’s hand trembled. She looked torn between wanting to seize the money and disgust at the prospect of touching it. “No matter what you think, I couldn’t have brought myself to steal from you, Simon. Not even for his sake.”

“Easily said now that there is no need. Go ahead—take it. As your
friend
so rightly pointed out, I’m rich enough not to miss it.”

Was that why she was trying so hard to worm her way back into his good graces—because of his fortune? Had this other man shown up after she’d set her sights on a richer prize, threatening to spoil her plans? Perhaps it was the other fellow she’d intended to betray—sending him off to America while she slipped back to Singapore and the fine marriage that awaited her. Could that be her reason for protecting her paramour’s identity, so Simon would not question him and discover the truth?

That possibility did not redeem her in Simon’s eyes. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Forced by his relentless glare, she reached for the coins gingerly as if she feared the purity of those precious metals might burn her sinful fingers. “What if I told you I don’t want to go with him, that I’d rather stay here as your wife or mistress or however you’ll have me?”

Just as he’d suspected, reason crowed over his
hapless heart. And where Bethan Conway was concerned, he dared not risk ignoring his suspicions.

Still his lips turned stubborn when he ordered them to heap scorn on her offer. Perhaps they recalled the taste of her kisses too well and it made them weak. “I don’t believe that would be a very good idea, do you?”

An unintended note of regret slipped into his voice, which he hoped Bethan would not recognise and exploit.

With a sigh, she continued to pick up the coins. “After all this, I suppose not. I admit I deceived you, Simon, but I didn’t betray you. I had good reasons—at least they seemed good to me at the time. If I could tell you them now, I think you’d agree. Then you might be able to forgive me, the way you’re beginning to forgive your wife.”

Had she overheard him talking about Carlotta? So much had changed since that conversation with Rosalia, it felt like ages ago. What had he been thinking afterwards about mistakes and forgiveness?

Bethan must have sensed his troublesome second thoughts, for she hazarded one final appeal. “If you only trust me for one week, then I can answer all your questions.”

Part of him longed to agree, yearned to believe that the happiness he’d found with her these past weeks was not an illusion. But the nature of his feelings for her made that impossible. He’d never truly loved Carlotta, never let her close enough to discover his secrets, yet she had devastated his life. He’d only survived because that’s what he was—a survivor. If he was foolhardy enough to risk trusting Bethan despite the overwhelming evidence of her betrayal, he would give her the power to destroy him once and for all.

Still he could not keep from offering her one final chance. “Trust is a two-way street, you know. Hard as it has been for me, I’ve trusted you more than any other woman I’ve known. It is you who have not trusted me with the truth. If you will tell it to me now, perhaps we do have a chance for a future together. The choice is yours.”

Bethan had never seen so much money all in one place—not even when Hadrian Northmore had given her gold for her passage to Singapore. But these coins felt like blood money. She’d vowed to find and rescue her brother, no matter what the cost, but she had never dreamed how high a price she might have to pay.

If it had only been her own happiness at stake, she would have paid Fate’s toll willingly. But when the happiness of Simon and Rosalia were added to the scale, it became a much heavier cost—one that threatened to ruin her.

She’d tried every way she could think of to haggle and bargain, to keep from paying the full, crippling price. But when Simon offered her that agonizing choice—her brother’s secret in exchange for a chance to repair what she had damaged between them—she knew it must be all or nothing.

Was it a question of trust, as he claimed? Could she trust him with her brother’s life, knowing the bitter hatred he felt toward mutineers? Would he be willing to believe Hugh’s claims that he hadn’t plotted treachery against his captain, but tried to help the ship’s officers and passengers? After a lifetime of knowing her brother, she did not question the truth of his account. But how could Simon, based on his sorely abused trust in her?

Even if he did, could he risk his hard-won success, perhaps even his liberty, to aid a fugitive? If she acted without his knowledge, it would spare him any consequences if Hugh’s escape went wrong.

“I’m sorry, Simon.” She channelled all her remorse into a heartfelt look, hoping some part of him might believe it, even if he could not trust her words. “When you know what this is all about, I hope you’ll understand why I can’t tell you. It’s not only for
his
sake—but yours and Rosalia’s, as well. You know what it’s like, needing to protect the people you love.”

With the burden of heavy, dirty money in her hands, she rose from her chair.

A flicker of emotion crossed Simon’s face, one she felt sure he had tried to suppress. Was it longing to ignore the hard lessons of his past and take one rash gamble on her? Or was it only the hurt she’d done him that he was too proud to let her see?

“So you admit you love this man?” he demanded, rising from his chair.

There she went again! Bethan wanted to bite her tongue out of frustration. Once more she’d managed to say the worst possible thing. Might Simon have relented at the last moment if she had not mentioned her feelings for Hugh? He could not understand they posed no threat to him, because she’d refused to explain. All he could do was assume the worst, as a lifetime of betrayal had taught him to do.

“I love him very much, but not in any way that takes away from what I feel for you, Simon—even now. Please be extra-kind to Rosalia when I’m gone and make sure she doesn’t think my leaving is her fault.”

“You needn’t worry.” It was impossible to tell whether Simon was being defensive or trying to reassure her. “I will take care of my daughter.”

Bethan turned to go.

She had only taken a few steps when he called after her. The words sounded as if they’d escaped against his will. “The other day when I saw you coming out of Dr Moncrieff’s…you aren’t by any chance…with child?”

So that’s what he’d assumed. That was why he hadn’t questioned her more closely. Could it be the true reason he’d pressed his proposal?

“No.” She didn’t turn around—she could not bear to glimpse either the disappointment or the relief her answer gave him. “I’m quite certain, so don’t fret that I’ll turn up next year with a babe in my arms. I called on the doctor looking for…information.”

She didn’t dare say any more in case Simon puzzled out her secret. She’d probably told him too much already, if he cared to investigate.

“Goodbye and thank you for your kindness. I only wish I’d repaid it better.” Bethan turned down the hallway toward the stairs.

“Wait a minute.” Simon’s uneven footsteps fell behind her. “Aren’t you going to pack?”

She shook her head. “I don’t fancy trying to drag a trunk behind me, and I don’t want to disturb Rosalia. I’ll make do. And some day I’ll find a way to repay you this money, I promise.”

“To hell with the money!” Simon snapped. “I hope you don’t think I plan to let you walk out of here on your own at this hour. I’ll have Mahmud drive you down to the beach…then you can spend the night at my old
house. I’m sure your friends from Durham will make you welcome there. You can catch a boat from the quay at first light. I’d rather you didn’t try to board one in the dark…you understand.”

Fresh tears stung Bethan’s eyes. Even after all she’d done to abuse his trust, Simon still felt compelled to protect her. “That is very kind of you.”

“I don’t want any more accidents on my conscience, that’s all. I’ll have your trunk sent over before morning.”

“Of course.” Bethan’s head bowed under the weight of his final rebuke. How could she have thought his offer meant anything more than that? Whatever Simon once felt for her had been killed by his suspicion and her lies. Both had good reasons for being, but that did not make it any easier to live with the damage they’d done. “I’m grateful just the same.”