Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress (4 page)

“Don’t stop on my account. I want to learn all I can about Singapore.” Bethan’s rapt expression assured him her interest was genuine. “It sounds like such an exciting place with so much going on. How many ships stop here in the course of a year?”

Before he could answer, Ah-Ming padded in and set shallow bowls of steaming soup before them.

Bethan seemed to forget her question as she inhaled deeply. “This smells very good. What kind is it?”

“My favourite—turtle.” Simon sipped a spoonful of the broth, relishing its hearty flavour.

“I’ve never had that before.” Bethan seized her spoon and began to consume the soup with the sort of gusto some English ladies might have considered unmannerly.

But Ah-Ming beamed with approval.

“Mmm.” Bethan set down her spoon at last with a sigh of satisfaction. “That tasted even better than it smelled. I feel sorry for people who don’t like to try new things. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“You should have been here a few months ago,” said Simon. “One of the Chinese merchants hosted a banquet of all their rarest delicacies. Shark fin and bird’s nest soups. Rashers of elephant tail in a sauce of lizard eggs. Stewed porcupine in green turtle fat.”

Bethan’s eyes grew wider with every dish he mentioned. He kept expecting her make a sour face at the thought of eating such outlandish foods. But her expression conveyed fascination rather than distaste.

“The highlight of the banquet,” he concluded, “was a dish of snipes’ eyes, garnished with a border of peacocks’ combs. I was told it cost two hundred Spanish dollars. That’s almost fifty pounds.”

“I could feed myself for years on fifty pounds!” cried Bethan. “Here now, you aren’t hoaxing me to see if I’m daft enough to believe you? When I first got to Newcastle from Wales, the other servants used to have great fun doing that.”

The miserable rascals, having a jest at the expense of an inexperienced girl! The rush of indignation he felt on her behalf surprised Simon.

“You should take some unlikely stories with a grain of salt,” he advised her as Ah-Ming removed their bowls and served a dish of Bengal mutton. “But I wouldn’t hoax you, I promise. You can ask anyone who attended the banquet. There was even a report of it in the newspaper. The snipes’ eyes weren’t bad, as a matter of fact. A bit like caviar without the fishy taste.”

Bethan cast him a puzzled look and it occurred to Simon that she’d probably never tasted caviar…perhaps never even heard of it.

“Mutton should be familiar to you if you lived in Wales.” He steered the conversation back to her again. “What part of the country do you hale from?”

Bethan took a bite of meat, rolling her eyes appreciatively. “I’ve eaten plenty of mutton in my life, but none as tender as this. I come from a little village up north on the River Aled. It’s as different from Singapore as can be—nothing but hills and sheep and lots of snow in the winter. What about you? Have you always lived in the Indies or did you come here from England?”

The silvery sparkle of interest in her eyes made Simon answer, in spite of his resolve to guard his privacy. “I grew up north of Manchester, in the Ribble Valley.”

It was a harmless enough scrap of information, yet it stirred up more memories that he preferred to forget. Bethan Conway had an unfortunate knack for doing that.

“Your village does sound very different from Singapore,” he continued before she could ask him another question. “What made you leave it to come halfway around the world?”

Bethan almost choked on the bit of meat she was trying to swallow. But a cough and a sip of ale got it down.

When she was able to speak again, she replied, “I was looking for a change, I suppose. Some place new and exciting, in the middle of things.”

Ah-Ming set another dish before them.

“This isn’t like anything I’ve seen before.” Bethan inhaled the mouth-watering aroma rising from the savoury jumble of food.

“Something else new that I think you’ll enjoy,” said Simon. The prospect of introducing her to all the novelties of Singapore appealed to him. “It’s one of Cook’s specialties—rice with duck, yams and shrimp.”

“Oh, my,” breathed Bethan after she’d savoured her first mouthful of the spicy-sweet-salty dish. “This must be what they eat in heaven!”

Simon nodded. Had Cook added some new, secret ingredient to his duck rice tonight? It tasted even better than usual. Or was it Bethan’s contagious enjoyment that made him feel as if he, too, were tasting it for the first time?

“When my mother died,” she continued between bites. “I had my own way to make and there was nothing more to keep me in Llanaled. I decided it was time to see the world and really
live
my life rather than letting it pass me by.”

Surely she didn’t expect him to believe she’d made such a long, perilous journey and sacrificed any hope of a respectable future in a naïve quest for adventure? Simon sensed Bethan was concealing something from him. The way she avoided his gaze and the note of false brightness in her voice gave her away.

The truth was not difficult to guess. Some man in Newcastle must have taken advantage of the green country lass eager to experience new things. Things like love, perhaps? Once her reputation was compromised, she must have decided she had nothing to lose by sailing to the Indies to become the mistress of a rich merchant.

A rush of hot anger swept through Simon at the thought of her innocence exploited.

In response to his outraged silence, she added, “That all sounds like a daft dream to you, I suppose.”

Simon marshalled his composure before replying with more gentleness than he’d thought himself capable, “Not daft. A
big
dream, I would say, carrying greater risks than you might have realised. Your little Welsh village may not have been the most exciting place, but at least you were safe there.”

Now that she had come to distant, dangerous Singapore, he felt an obligation to be her protector in every sense of the word. He suspected her greatest peril lay in her own impetuous, trusting nature.

Despite whatever trouble had befallen her in Newcastle, Bethan did not seem convinced that she’d have been better off staying in rural Wales. “No harm has come to me yet. And even if you were to send me home tomorrow, I’d still have seen and done more than my mother did in her whole life.”

Was she ashamed to admit what he knew must have happened to her? Simon wondered. Or did she truly not consider the betrayal of her trust and the loss of her virtue as harmful? He wanted to ask her, but he was enjoying this pleasant meal with her too much to risk spoiling it with such probing, judgemental questions.

“Let us have no more talk of sending you home,” he insisted. Though he still had doubts about Bethan Conway, the prospect of giving her up no longer appealed to him. “Besides, I couldn’t do it tomorrow, even if I wanted to.”

He explained about the fluctuating monsoons and how they prevented ships sailing westwards for part of the year.

“Fancy that!” Bethan appeared as delighted with this scrap of information as she’d been with the toothsome new foods he’d offered her. “So I shall
have
to stay in Singapore until November at least?”

He directed a warm gaze across the table at her. “I hope I can persuade you to remain here longer than that.”

She did not avoid his gaze this time, but met it squarely. Simon caught a glimmer of uncertainty in her changeable eyes, as well as a glow of wondrous possibility. A deep hum of awareness vibrated between them.

“Perhaps you can.” Her lilting murmur fell on Simon’s ears like a favourite melody.

It took only those words and that gaze to stir up the ashes of his long-suppressed desire and make the embers smoulder once again. Simon tried to blame it on the turtle soup, which the local folk credited as an aphrodisiac. But he knew better.

S
he had five whole months in Singapore to find out what had become of her missing brother. Bethan could have kissed Simon for providing that precious assurance! But would she
wed
him for it? Her feelings on that question were sharply divided.

On one hand, he
had
paid her passage and she’d made an agreement with Mr Northmore on his behalf. If he still wanted to marry her, how could she refuse? But what if she discovered her brother had gone somewhere else? Marriage to Simon would leave her trapped in Singapore, unable to follow Hugh’s trail.

Aside from those practical matters there were other things to consider—such as her intense but confused response to Simon Grimshaw. His nearness, his touch and even his gaze stirred her senses in ways no other man’s ever had. Finally there was his young daughter. The child seemed starved for lively company and the affection of someone other than her father’s servants.

“Your daughter’s a dear wee thing,” said Bethan, as
Ah-Ming brought the pudding. “A bit quiet at first, but I think she enjoyed our romp in the garden.”

“It sounded that way. I can’t recall the last time I heard her laugh like that.” Simon did not seem as pleased as she’d hoped.

For the first time since they’d agreed to begin their acquaintance afresh, Bethan sensed that stern Mr Grimshaw was still lurking beneath Simon’s amiable surface. “I suppose she misses her mother, poor thing. How long is it since your wife died?”

Simon’s fingers clenched tightly around his spoon and he stared down at his pudding as if it might be poisoned. His answer came out stiff and halting. “I’ve been widowed for more than three years. I doubt Rosalia has any recollection of her mother.”

“I’m so sorry for you both.” Bethan longed to reach across the table and give his hand a squeeze. She pitied his young daughter more than ever. “Rosalia must take after her mother, does she? She doesn’t look like you at all.”

Simon raised his eyes to hers and spoke with quiet but ominous insistence. “Rosalia is the very image of her mother. Now, if you please, I would rather talk about something else. As I mentioned earlier, I prefer not to dwell on the past.”

“Of course,” Bethan murmured, though she was fairly bursting with questions about his late wife.

How had she died? Did it have anything to do with how Simon had injured his leg? Perhaps that was why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it earlier.

But there were other things she was curious about that should not stir up any painful memories for him.
“You never did tell me how many ships come to Singapore in a year. I’m sure it must be a great many.”

“It is, indeed, and more come every season.” He sounded grateful for her change of subject. “The Bugis arrive in their
prahus
on the north-west monsoon. They bring spices from the South Seas. Then there’s the junk fleet from China. They bring silks and tea. Ships from India and Europe come on the south-east monsoon, like yours did. They trade cotton, iron, glassware and such for goods from China and the South Seas.”

As they ate delectable mango pudding and drank rich Java coffee, Bethan plied Simon with many more questions about Singapore and his business, gleaning pieces of information that she hoped might help her track down Hugh. Simon answered readily, impressing her with his masterful grasp of everything that affected his business.

It was clear he enjoyed telling her about it, too. She sensed he was becoming less tense and guarded. The beguiling hint of a smile seemed to hover on his lips, ready to blaze forth in full potency at any second. Bethan drank in the sound of his voice, noting every confident gesture and subtle change in his features.

A faint stab of disappointment struck her when Simon laid down his napkin at last and rose from his chair, for it meant their pleasant evening was coming to an end. “Before we burst at the seams, shall we step out on to the veranda to enjoy the night air?”

“That sounds lovely.”

A few moments later they stood on the deep, roofed veranda that looked out over the garden where she had played with Rosalia. Beyond the garden lay a road and
on the other side of the road stretched the beach. A tangy ocean breeze rustled through the leaves of several tall trees near the house. From the sea came the constant, soothing pulse of the breaking waves.

Bethan inhaled deeply. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?” Simon’s hand covered hers as it rested upon the veranda railing. “I’ve become so used to it all, I don’t notice any more.”

It took a moment to muster her reply. Simon’s touch seemed to reach beyond her fingers, sending an inviting sensation to whisper under her skin. But where was it inviting her? She was too inexperienced to know.

She sniffed again. “It’s very sweet, but I don’t think it’s flowers. Something cooking, maybe?”

While she tried to describe the strange, appetising aroma, she drank in
his
scent too. It had a briny tang with a faintly bitter edge that was strangely appealing—like strong, dark coffee or rich chocolate.

“It might be coconut oil.” Simon edged nearer until his arm rested against hers. “We use it in lanterns to light the streets at night.”

“Singapore is full of nice new things.” Bethan gave a sigh of pleasure, intensely aware of Simon’s nearness. “I can hardly wait to see, hear and smell them all.”

“Don’t forget
touch
,” he reminded her in a deep rustling whisper as he turned towards her and raised his hand to skim her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

It was such a different sensation from the way he’d clutched her arm on the quay. It intrigued her that a man who could command such protective force could also be so gentle.

“You’re not at all what I expected, Bethan.” When
he’d said that during their disastrous first meeting, she’d been certain he was expressing displeasure. Now he seemed to be telling her something quite different. “How on earth did Hadrian ever find you?”

Uncertain of the proper response to Simon’s touch, she made none, though she was powerless to stifle the blush that flared in her cheek beneath his fingers.

“He put a notice in the newspaper,” she replied in a breathless voice, “and I answered it.”

“He did
what
?” Simon drew back abruptly, as if her innocent blush scorched his hand. “What in blazes was he thinking?”

“Does it matter
how
he found me?” Bethan shrank from the harshness of his indignation. Was he worried people would laugh at him for getting a bride out of the newspaper? “I’m here. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

To her relief, Simon’s voice softened. “I suppose so.” He reached for her hand, twining his fingers through hers. “I’m surprised, that’s all, by Hadrian’s unconventional methods. And more surprised that a woman like you would answer that kind of notice in a newspaper. There must have been plenty of men in Newcastle who wanted you.”

Bethan sensed a different question lurking beneath his words, but could not think what it might be. Anyway, she wasn’t comfortable with this whole subject. What if her tongue ran away with her, as it so often did, and she told him her true reason for coming to Singapore? She wanted to be certain she could trust him before she mentioned her brother.

“I didn’t meet many men working in the Bainbridges’ nursery. And I didn’t care much for Newcastle.
So when I heard about Mr Northmore’s notice, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try. I never expected him to pick me, but when he did, I felt as if I’d been offered a lucky chance. I couldn’t refuse it.”

The pale moonlight cast deep shadows over Simon’s features, making it impossible to tell if he believed her. But his thumb rubbed over her palm in a way that roused her whole body and made her breath quicken. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Lifting their entwined hands, he bent forwards and pressed his lips to her wrist…then her forearm, then the inner crook of her elbow. Each kiss brought Bethan a different, delightful sensation, even better than the smell of coconut oil or the taste of mango pudding. They woke a strange slumbering hunger in her—a craving that could not be satisfied with food, no matter how delicious. As Simon kissed his way up her arm, shoulder and neck, her mouth fell open, the better to inhale breath after urgent breath.

Simon must have taken it for an invitation. Leaning towards her, he tilted his head slightly and took possession of her lips with firm, certain purpose—not rough and demanding, but not tentative or awkward either. His tongue slid between her parted lips, exploring and tasting as if she were some new delicacy he was eager to relish.

Bethan had been kissed once before by Hugh’s friend Evan. While stealing a hasty, awkward peck in a dark corner, he’d bumped her nose. That kiss had been as different from Simon’s as a bowl of cold tripe from a dish of duck and rice. It had made her feel all sheepish and shameful, anxious not to let it happen again. Simon’s amorous attentions had quite the opposite effect.

It sent ripples of heat pulsing through her body to pool in her breasts and loins. It whetted a ravenous craving that shocked her with its intensity. She could not seem to inhale enough air through her nose to feed the blaze he had kindled.

His breath hastened too, gusting from his nostrils like a hot wind against her cheek. His hands began to rove over her body, spreading a sultry yearning wherever he touched. Overwhelmed by the potent, bewildering sensations that possessed her, Bethan pulled back abruptly from Simon’s embrace.

“Please! We only met…for the first time…this morning. I need a chance…to get to know you…and see more of this place…before I…”
marry you
—that was what she meant to say, but somehow the words stuck in her throat “…take such a big step.”

How would Simon react to her request? Bethan searched his shadowed features. For an instant he looked shocked. Then his mouth tightened into a grim line and his icy blue eyes glittered with outrage.

Jagged shards of frustration slashed through Simon’s body as Bethan jerked away from him.

An instant before, he’d been relishing the flavour of her kiss—a fresh, delicate sweetness that rivalled the prized mangosteen fruit. Together with the soft ripeness of her body beneath his hands, it had whipped up a tempest of long-stifled desires. His flesh throbbed with anticipation of the delights he would find in her arms. Any doubts he’d had about the wisdom of taking a mistress were drowned out by the swift crash of his heart and the wild gust of his breath. He could scarcely wait to whisk her off to his bed.

Then, without warning, she tensed and tore herself away from his embrace. It was as if a plaster had suddenly been ripped from his body, taking a great patch of skin with it. Instinct urged him to retaliate.

But one glimpse of her wide, anxious eyes doused the blaze of his desire with ice-cold shame. She looked far more frightened now than she had that morning, backed against the wall of an opium den by an angry mob.

“I need a chance…to get to know you…and see more of this place…before I
…She’d hesitated as if ashamed to speak aloud the scandalous reason she had come to Singapore “…take such a big step.”

The obvious truth slapped Simon in the face. He’d guessed some man must have taken advantage of her trusting innocence. But Bethan’s terrified reaction to his advances convinced him there’d been more to it. A girl like her would not have willingly surrendered her virginity. It must have been taken from her by force!

The realisation made Simon’s belly seethe with violent outrage, like a volcano preparing to erupt. From tightly locked chambers of his memory, anguished screams escaped to ring in his ears.

He regretted his earlier suspicions about Bethan. No wonder she had tried to evade his questions about why she’d come to Singapore, with flimsy excuses about seeking adventure. What she really must have craved was safety and a complete change of scene to help her forget what had happened to her. The truth of her situation should have been obvious to him of all men. But he had let the urgency of his need blind him to it.

“Of course.” With a supreme effort of will, Simon strove to bring his turbulent emotions back under control.
It had been a long time since anything had come so close to shattering his composure. “Forgive me! I did not mean to alarm you. It is a great while since I have been close to a woman. I fear your beauty overcame my discretion.”

Damn! That was the wrong thing to say. He should never have implied that what happened was in any way her fault—that her attractions somehow justified his loss of control.

Simon burned to know exactly what had been done to her. He wanted to learn the name of the blackguard who’d ruined her, so he could curse it. And if by some unlikely chance they ever met, he would thrash the vile dog within an inch of his life!

But how could he ask Bethan to dredge up such shameful memories when he’d refused to discuss parts of his own past that he longed to forget? He must respect her privacy and her efforts to put those troubles behind her.

To Simon’s surprise, his ill-chosen words seemed to ease her alarm.

“You think I’m beautiful?” she mused as if she found it hard to believe.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, half against his will. “Far more beautiful than I ever expected.”

A shimmer of starlight reflected in her eyes. “Well, I never thought you’d turn out to be so young and handsome.”

Though the bashful sincerity of her admiration made Simon’s chest swell, it also threatened his tenuous self-control. “You really shouldn’t say things like that if you want me to keep my distance.”

He spoke gently, almost jesting, but perhaps she
sensed the dangerous undercurrent of desire lurking beneath his words.

Her lovely features tensed and she caught her lush lower lip between her teeth. “It isn’t that I don’t like you or don’t ever want to…to—”

“I understand!” Simon cried, anxious to spare her from speaking the words that might have unpleasant associations for her. “You need time to become accustomed to…your new situation.”

Time to learn she could trust him to treat her as she deserved. Time to conquer her fears of intimacy with a man. Time to come to terms with giving up any hope of respectability in exchange for his protection.