Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress (14 page)

Raising his hands to cradle her face, he parted reluctantly from their kiss to reassure her, “Whatever has changed your mind, I will do everything in my power to see that you never regret your decision.”

“Not for…” he feathered a kiss on her forehead “…a single…” his lips playfully grazed the tip of her nose “…moment,” he breathed, capturing her lips again with lusty abandon.

Anxious to view his prize, he slid one hand behind her back and deftly unhooked her gown. Then he eased the brief sleeves over her slender shoulders and tugged the bodice down to reveal the fine linen shift beneath. Plucking one end of its drawstring ribbon, he pulled in a slow, fluid motion until it came undone.

A wordless murmur of admiration rose in his throat when he had peeled the shift down, baring her breasts to his appreciative gaze. When he stroked one with the back of his hand, her nipple tightened into a nugget of dark coral, demanding the attention of his lips and tongue. He was delighted to oblige. While he kissed, licked and sucked the tender morsel, he watched Bethan’s face through half-closed eyes, relishing the looks of pleasure and sweet yearning that gripped her features.

Whatever she wanted from this liaison with him, Simon knew it was not the material gifts he might lavish upon her. That precious certainty made him more determined than ever to sweep her from the giddy, breathtaking heights of bliss to the wet, writhing depths of ecstasy.

To that end, he despatched her rumpled gown and her undergarments until he could gaze to his heart’s content upon her naked body in all its rounded, dewy splendour.

“You are a living work of art,” he breathed, anxious to explore every tantalising inch of her. “No painting or sculpture could begin to capture your beauty.”

His blatant admiration made Bethan hide her face against his shoulder. “You’re the only man who’s ever seen me without my clothes on.”

“You may be certain I cherish the privilege.” Simon stroked her rich, lustrous hair and pressed his cheek against the crown of her head. If he had not bedded her himself, he would have thought her perfectly innocent.

He ran his hand down her belly, over the exquisite curve of her hip, veering in to the enticing tangle of downy curls that crowned the cleft where her legs met. Soon arousal overcame her bashfulness and she slipped her hand beneath his shirt to caress the firm flesh of his torso.

“What about
your
clothes?” she asked in an impudent whisper. “What’s sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, don’t you think?”

“Help me finish what you started last night, then.” Simon tugged up his shirt. “Though I fear I am getting the best end of this bargain.”

Hard as he tried to make light of it, he was not altogether comfortable baring his scarred body to the gaze of such a goddess.

“You’re too modest,” Bethan pronounced when she had helped him shed his shirt, breeches and drawers, “as you are about your courage and so many other things. Just looking at you like this makes me feel the way I do when you touch me or kiss me.”

“How is that exactly?” asked Simon, captivated by her artless innocence.

“It’s hard to say, really. I never felt anything like it before I met you.” She touched her breast. “I feel it here and here.” Her hand slid lower. “It’s like an ache that doesn’t hurt but hums under my skin.”

Her words worked a sensual magic, easing Simon’s self-consciousness while stoking his arousal.

“You like that feeling, do you?” He raised himself on one elbow, the better to gaze upon her while running his hand up and down her body as far as he could reach.

She nodded, her misty-green eyes wide with wondrous anticipation, as they had been when he introduced her to the exotic sights and tastes of Singapore. Her lips parted in a wordless plea to be kissed again. Simon could not resist, nor did he want to.

As he plundered the lush depths of her mouth, his fingers ceased their pleasant but aimless roving to concentrate
upon the other lush depths of her passage, priming her to receive him. One dip of his forefinger was all he needed to be certain she was a ready and eager to receive him.

Much as he’d enjoyed making love to her the first time, he wished he had not waited quite so long to bury himself inside her and savour the snug silken grip of her flesh on his. This time, rather than bringing her to release in advance, he wanted to feel her tighten around him as each stroke nudged her closer to the brink of rapture.

Still locked in their kiss, he raised himself and slid over to pin her beneath him. She seemed to sense what he wanted, or perhaps she wanted it just as much. Her thighs parted in an invitation he was impatient to accept. With slow, deliberate pressure, he mounted her, concentrating on the subtle change of sensation he experienced the deeper he pushed. When he had sheathed himself to the hilt, he paused for a moment, holding quite still, to soak in the incomparable harmony of their joining.

“It doesn’t hurt at all this time.” Bethan sounded surprised but delighted by the discovery.

A stab of shame tempered Simon’s pleasure. The last time they’d been together like this, he had hurt her without even knowing it. Afterwards he’d been so consumed with her “deception”, he hadn’t even said he was sorry or stopped to wonder if she was still in pain.

Yet here she was beneath him again, having opened the most private, vulnerable part of herself to receive him, prepared to take the pain with the pleasure.

“It won’t hurt again,” he promised, gazing deep into her eye as he moved his hips in a controlled stroke.

Hot shards of delight ripped through his loins, but he was more concerned with Bethan’s pleasure than his.

She left him in no doubt.

Her eyelids slid half-shut as her tawny brows came together. Her lips parted to release a gush of breath that was part-sigh and part-purr.

On his next thrust, she moved too, in perfect accord that heightened the sensation for both of them.

With each stroke it built and built like a powerful wave on the vast ocean—rolling, curling, foaming as it raced to break upon the shore. That wave drove everything before it—suspicion, bitterness, regrets.

It swept over Bethan first, making her arch towards him while her hips writhed and a wild, keening cry broke from her lips. Her passionate spasms plunged Simon over the edge at last, demolishing the iron self-control that held him together and shattering him into a million pulsing pieces.

Later those broken fragments reformed stronger and better.

T
he rest of that day, whenever Bethan recalled how it had begun, echoes of pleasure rippled through her body, followed swiftly by a tremor of misgiving.

She’d been so certain her decision to become Simon’s mistress was the right one. But as the intense emotions of the previous night wore off, second thoughts began to haunt her. He had swept her up to paradise that morning in his bed. But afterwards he’d dropped her back down to earth when he’d gone to work, warning her to keep Rosalia inside the house until he returned. Was she a fool to hope that he would come to love her in time? Or would he never think of her as anything more than a pleasant diversion from the pressures of his business?

“Can we please go out?” Rosalia reached across the table where they sat playing
Dou Shou Qi
and squeezed her hand. “Just for a little while?”

Though the child’s beseeching gaze was as hard to resist as her father’s, Bethan shook her head. “I’ve told you, we have to stay inside today. Orders from your papa.”

She invoked the possibility of Simon’s displeasure reluctantly. The last thing she wanted to do was make Rosalia fear losing the affection her father had recently begun to show. “When he gets home I will ask him about tomorrow.”

“Ask me what?” Simon appeared in the nursery door, as though summoned by her longing to see him.

“Papa!” Rosalia jumped up and rushed towards him then froze. In a more guarded tone, she added, “You’re home early.”

“So I am.” Simon scooped Rosalia into a hesitant but affectionate embrace. “Which means you can ask me whatever it was you were going to ask me.”

“Go ahead,” Bethan prompted the child. “You’ve pestered
me
about it often enough today.”

“Well,” Rosalia began at last, “we’ve been inside all day and it’s so hot. Can we out go into the garden for a little while?”

“What about down to the beach?” Simon directed his suggestion to Bethan as well as his daughter. “I hear the two of you like to go for walks there.”

Bethan nodded her approval while Rosalia threw her arms around his neck, “Oh, yes, Papa, that would be lovely!”

A short while later, Bethan and Simon strolled barefoot over the sand while Rosalia skipped on ahead searching for pretty shells or interesting bits of driftwood to show them. As the waves caressed the shore, leaving lacy traces of foam in their wake, a cooling breeze blew from the darkening eastern horizon.

Pitching her voice low so as not to alarm the child,
Bethan asked, “Has your head been bothering you today?”

Simon seemed touched by her concern. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been too busy to notice.”

“Did they catch those outlaws?”

He shook his head. “I never expected them to. Those scoundrels melt back into the jungle secure in the knowledge that they can’t be followed by a force large enough to apprehend them.”

“Are we in any danger?” It seemed hard to imagine on this tranquil beach.

“The Resident is convinced the attack on Father Marco was an isolated incident, but I am not so sure. He promised to put more
sepoys
on night patrol, but that is a stopgap at best. What’s needed is a road into the jungle so the soldiers can pursue the outlaws and root them out of their hiding places. We might as well put our convict labour to good use.”

Hoping to lighten his spirits a little, Bethan quipped, “So you want to use one group of outlaws to protect Singapore from another?”

“Quite an irony, isn’t it? Or perhaps natural justice. I don’t much care which as long as there are no more attacks.”

“How long do you think it will be until Rosalia and I can go for outings again?” Though she’d tried not to let the child see, being confined to the house all day had made her feel trapped.

The sound of her name must have caught Rosalia’s attention. Before her father could reply, she called out, “Bethan was going to take me to see Agnes and Alfie tomorrow. Can we still go?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to postpone your visit for a little while.” Simon sounded reluctant to disappoint the child, but Bethan knew he could not bear to risk her safety.

“Perhaps we could invite your friends to visit us?” Bethan suggested when Rosalia’s face fell. “Or…”

“Or what?” Simon sounded a trifle wary of what she might propose.

“I was just thinking if the other women and children have to stay close to home as well, perhaps we could raise everyone’s spirits by inviting them to your house for a little party. Preparing for it would make the time pass more quickly for Rosalia and me.”

“Oh, yes!” cried Rosalia. “Agnes and Alfie could come, and Charlie and Catherine. Can we have a party, please, please, please, Papa?”

“It might provide an excellent diversion for everyone,” Simon replied after a slight hesitation. “May I come too? It sounds a good deal more entertaining than those tiresome balls our Resident hosts.”

“Of course you can come!” Delighted out of her usual reticence, Rosalia charged towards her father and flung her arms around his legs. “Thank you, Papa!”

“You’re welcome.” Stroking her dark hair, Simon seemed pleased by his daughter’s affectionate outburst. “Now we’d better head home before it gets too dark.”

After their romp on the beach, Simon hung about the nursery and helped put Rosalia to bed. He even told his daughter a story about his childhood back in Lancashire. Rosalia seemed amazed to learn her father had once been a small boy. Perhaps from all her laughter
and exertion in the sea air, she drifted off to sleep before he finished.

When Simon stooped to press a kiss upon her forehead, the sight lit a brooding glow deep within Bethan. His obvious love for the child gave her hope for herself. He had been willing to recognise his mistakes and make the difficult effort to change.

He glanced up to catch her smiling down at them. “Rosalia hardly seems the same child she was when you arrived. I was so concerned with her being biddable that I didn’t stop to wonder if she was happy. You’ve done wonders for her.”

The gratitude in his tone warmed her. She must be patient with him and not expect miracles overnight. It had taken many years and many wounds to make him close off his heart. “Done wonders with
you
, you mean. Once I bullied you into paying her more attention to her and not being so stiff and stern around her, she stopped worrying so much about always behaving properly.”

“You have indeed done wonders for me.” Simon rose from his daughter’s bedside and took her in his arms. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I got home. The other merchants were puzzled how I could be in such cheerful spirits after what happened last night.”

He kissed her as if it had been weeks since he’d last bedded her, rather than hours. “Little did they know I was thinking far less about
last
night than looking forward to tonight…with you.”

She had attracted his desire, Bethan reflected as they strolled toward the dining room arm in arm. She had secured his gratitude and perhaps a measure of respect. Was it too much to hope those feelings would one day
ripen into love? Or had she squandered any hope of respectability in a fruitless bid for the one thing Simon could not give her?

“To think Singapore would ever see Senhor Grimshaw host a children’s party.” Carlos Quintéra quipped to the other men who’d accompanied their families.

While Bethan led the youngsters in a series of games in the sitting room, and their mothers sat out on the veranda gossiping over cups of punch, the men had congregated in Simon’s dining room.

“I think it’s a canny plan,” replied Denis Nairn. “This gives us a chance to gather and discuss what to do about these infernal outlaws without our esteemed Resident getting wind of it and imagining we’re plotting his overthrow.”

Simon did not deny the claim, though it wasn’t strictly true. His chief motive for hosting this party had been to please his daughter and Bethan, and to make up for the restrictions he’d placed on them. This opportunity to meet with some of the other merchants and officials was an unexpected windfall.

“Speaking of the outlaws,” said Captain Flynn, “did you hear about last night’s raid on the
dhobi
lines? I heard the commotion from my hill. If any of you had clothes out being laundered, you may never see them again.”

“What was the point of that?” demanded Quintéra over the outraged muttering of the others. “Do these savages mean to parade around the jungle in our shirts and waistcoats?”

Simon wondered how many items of his had been lost. “I think they did it to tweak our noses and show
just how much they can get away with. Perhaps if they stole enough pairs of the Resident’s trousers, he might take the situation more seriously.”

“I agree.” Quintéra nodded. “We need to set those convict crews building a road into the jungle so the outlaws cannot slip away after their impudent attacks.”

“In the meantime,” said Simon, “I suggest we all increase our contributions to the Night Watch Fund and have extra men patrol the European Quarter in addition to the Commercial District.”

Nairn and one of the other Scotsmen shook their heads at the suggestion of an additional expense, but Quintéra endorsed it readily. “An excellent idea. The Resident can hardly interfere with a project we are funding ourselves. Perhaps it will embarrass him into agreeing that we need that road.”

As the discussion continued, Simon found his attention distracted by the sound of Bethan’s voice from the sitting room. “Remember, when you spot the thimble, call out
huckle-buckle-beanstalk
but don’t tell the others where you’ve seen it.”

Edging towards the doorway, he glanced in to watch the children at play. Rosalia was holding little Mary Flynn by the hand and beaming with excitement. His daughter’s smile reminded Simon of the way Carlotta had looked once, when he’d bought her a present. He braced himself for the sharp sting that always accompanied memories of his late wife, but he felt only a faint twinge of regret.

Had his desperate efforts to suppress those memories given them more power over him? Now that he’d dared confront them, with Bethan’s help, was it possible his old wounds might finally begin to heal?

As he continued to watch the children scramble around the room searching for the tiny thimble hidden in plain sight, he saw what Bethan meant about Rosalia’s resemblance to him. His daughter was always the first to run and help a younger child who fell down. She encouraged a bashful latecomer to join in the game. When one of the boys teased his clumsy little brother, she had a few choice words for the bully.

Simon’s chest swelled with pride to see how readily his daughter helped those who needed it. His heart warmed with a sense of deep kinship unlike anything he’d felt for her before. Grateful to Bethan for fostering that bond, he sought her out with his gaze. For an instant, their eyes met over Rosalia’s head. From the brooding softness of her smile, he sensed she’d been thinking the same thing about his daughter.

A rush of tenderness toward her welled up in him.

“I congratulate you on a splendid acquisition in Senhorita Conway.” Carlos Quintéra suddenly appeared at Simon’s elbow, interrupting their intimate gaze.

“My daughter thinks the world of her,” he answered stiffly.

He’d never much cared for Quintéra, who used to infuriate him by speaking Portuguese to Carlotta so he could not understand what they were saying.

Now the man appraised Bethan with an exasperating little smirk. “You may have started a new fashion. My wife says we should hire a European
amah
for our boys. She claims they speak Cantonese better than their mother tongue. Don’t be surprised if she or one of the other ladies try to lure Senhorita Conway away from you.”

“If they do, I will find out the highest bid for her
services, so I can top it.” Simon tried to sound jocular, but the words came out in tone of deadly earnest.

Quintéra gave a low, suggestive chuckle. “I suspect another reason you chose to host a
children
’s party.”

“Do you?” Simon forced the words through his clenched teeth.

“But of course. This way, none of Singapore’s bachelors are on hand to gain introductions to the lovely Senhorita Conway. What sort of bids do you suppose they might make for her services?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Simon’s right hand clenched into a fist that he had trouble restraining.

“Come, come, man. Nothing to
fash yourself over
, as your partner Northmore used to say. I am only suggesting it might require a different sort of gold to counter their bids. In the form of a ring, perhaps.”

The veiled suggestion that one of his competitors might make Bethan an offer of marriage stole the breath from Simon’s lungs. A similar thought had troubled him when she’d threatened to leave his house. At that time he’d only been concerned with protecting her. Now his feelings were much more intense and personal.

It suddenly occurred to him that the freedom of their arrangement cut both ways. If Bethan received a better offer from another man, she would not be legally or morally bound to him in any way. Indeed, any respectable clergyman would urge her to abandon a life of sin for the sanctity of wedlock. Simon could not abide the idea of her remaining in Singapore but living in another man’s house, bearing his name and perhaps his children. Not after the intimacy they’d shared. When Carlotta had betrayed him, at least she’d gone away, not
stayed to flaunt her new liaison and mortify him in the eyes of the entire community.

And yet…he felt like the meanest dog in the manger for begrudging Bethan the chance to make a truly respectable life for herself. How dare he resent her accepting from another man the one thing he could not give her?

Simon reminded himself that he had made her an offer of marriage, only to have her refuse in the most insulting terms. Then again, it had been a most insulting offer.

As he watched Bethan gather his daughter into a fond embrace, Simon wondered if perhaps the time had come to reconsider the part he wanted her to play in their lives.

Was this the reason Simon had seemed reluctant to host the party? Bethan wondered as she led the children through their games. Because he knew how awkward her position would be?