Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress (13 page)

“He knew our cook from Macao.” Ah-Ming beckoned her master. “That is why he came here.”

Simon started for the door, then glanced down at his torn breeches. “I’ll be with you in a minute. Have Mahmud saddle my horse, then send him to summon the
sepoys.
”

To Bethan’s surprise the housekeeper did not rush off at once to do Simon’s bidding. “What will you do, master?”

“Go to the priest’s house, of course,” he snapped as he limped past her. “Do what I can to help him.”

Ah-Ming shook her head. “Aiyah! You should wait for the soldiers.”

“There isn’t time,” Simon called back as his footsteps retreated down the hall. “Now go do as I told you.”

Fighting off the twofold shock that froze her in her chair, Bethan lurched to her feet. Ah-Ming’s words stirred disturbing memories of her misadventure in Chinatown,
the day she’d arrived in Singapore. Simon had managed to talk his way out of that tense situation, but those people had been ordinary townsfolk, angered by the ignorance of a foreigner. What if they’d been armed outlaws who meant to do her harm?

“Talk to him,” Ah-Ming pleaded. “He might listen to you.”

Before Bethan could deny it, the housekeeper hurried away.

After what had just passed between them, she was surely the last person Simon might heed. But she had to try.

She’d barely reached the hallway when Simon came toward her, tucking his shirt into a fresh pair of breeches.

Bethan stepped into his path. “Ah-Ming is right. You
should
wait for the soldiers or the police. This kind of thing is their job.”

“And what harm could come to Father Marco in the meantime?” Simon pushed past her to the stairs. “What would have happened to
you
that day if I’d waited for the soldiers?”

“You can’t resist an appeal for help, can you?” she called after him, hoping it might make him stop and think. “Not even after all it has cost you?”

At the foot of the stairs, Simon spun around to glare up at her. “Do you think I’m too feeble to be of any help?”

“No, I just…”

She wanted to explain that she couldn’t bear it if any harm came to him. He’d suffered far more than he deserved already. But the words froze on her tongue. She didn’t have any right to say such things to him.

“What about Rosalia?” Bethan clutched at straws
for anything that might keep him out of harm’s way. “What if the outlaws come here? Shouldn’t you stay to protect
her
?”

“Rosalia is not in any danger, nor are you.” Simon bristled at her suggestion that he might be neglecting their safety. “The outlaws wouldn’t dare venture this far. Besides, the
jagga
man is on duty. I will have Samad and Cook join him if it will make you feel better.”

She had no doubt the big, burly watchman, who haled from northern India, would be more than a match for any number of outlaws. But it was not herself, or even Rosalia, whose safety concerned her just now.

“Please be careful!” she called after Simon as he headed off into the night without even acknowledging her warning.

A wave of guilt and dread broke over Bethan as she watched him go. Clutching the handrail, she sank on to the top step. Had Simon rushed headlong into danger to escape from her and the wrenching memories she’d stirred up? Had her shock at the sight of his injured leg made him feel he needed to prove himself?

For the next hour she sat there waiting and praying for him to return. Time slowed to a crawl, measured by the frantic drumming of her heart and the terrifying scenes running through her mind. Her imagination tormented her with lurid visions of what might be happening to him. She was far more terrified on his behalf than she had ever been for herself or anyone except her beloved brother.

Thinking of Hugh brought back her whole quarrel with Simon about mutineers. Was it some malicious
trick of Fate that her quest to find her brother had led her to a man who would want him hanged? Thank heaven she’d shown a little caution for once and not told Simon all about Hugh. Rather than sympathising with her brother, as she’d hoped, Simon would be the first to betray Hugh to the authorities if she ever managed to find him.

But could she blame Simon after what he’d suffered at the hands of mutineers? She found herself imagining Simon’s mutiny with her brother as one of the murderous crewmen. But that was madness. Hugh would never attack an innocent man and leave him to die. Would he?

Bethan wished she could be certain.

Her bottom was growing numb from sitting on the stairs when at last she heard movement and voices outside. She sprang up and flew down the stairs just as Simon staggered in, his arms around the shoulders of his driver and the gardener. All the tension that had been building inside of her during the past anxious hours shattered at the sight of Simon, injured but alive. It was everything she could do to keep from hurling herself upon him and sobbing out tears of relief.

“Is he very badly hurt?” She forced the words out past a choking lump in her throat. “What happened to him?”

“I’ll be fine.” As he hobbled past, Simon raised his head to meet her worried gaze. His mouth was set in a grim line and a trail of blood trickled down the side of his face from the hair above his right temple. “The outlaws took to their heels when they heard me coming. I made the mistake of getting in their way. Father Marco was more shaken than hurt, though I fear it would have gone worse for him if help had arrived any later.”

In an effort to curb her turbulent feelings, Bethan sprang into action.

Catching sight of Ah-Ming, she called, “The master has been hurt. Fetch the medicine chest.”

Then she hurried to Simon’s room where the two servants were easing him on to his bed. “Mahmud, please go fetch Dr Moncrieff.”

“Let the poor man sleep,” Simon growled through clenched teeth. “I don’t need a surgeon at this hour of the night. A swig of arrack and some sleep will put me right.”

He spoke a few words to the servants in their own language. They nodded and bowed, then left the room.

“You’ve got a head wound.” Bethan flew to Simon’s side. “That could be serious. What if it needs stitching?”

Simon lay back on the pillows, his eyes closed. “Then I’ll see the doctor in the morning. Don’t fret. I’ve survived a good deal worse than this.”

The thought of what he’d suffered in the past twisted her insides. What could she do for him
now
? “I wish Ah-Ming would hurry with the medicine chest.”

“I doubt she’s dawdling.” Simon did not open his eyes. “Why don’t you go back to bed?”

Bethan didn’t budge. “I wasn’t in bed. Do you think I could sleep while you were out risking your life? I’m not going anywhere until you’ve been tended to.”

Wanting to make him more comfortable, she began to pry off his boots. “Was it those same outlaws you told me about? Why would they attack a priest?”

“The very ones.” He stretched his stocking feet and began to tug at his neck cloth. “They must have been after the silver and gold of his communion plate.”

“Lie still.” Bethan perched on the edge of his bed. “I’ll get that.”

Her fingers brushed his as she untied the lightly starched fillets of linen. She had to concentrate fiercely to keep them at their task. They itched to stray upwards to caress Simon’s cheek.

Fortunately, before she yielded to that temptation, Ah-Ming arrived with the medical supplies. Together the two women stripped Simon of his coat and waistcoat.

“You wash the wound.” The housekeeper thrust a cloth and a basin of water into Bethan’s hands. “I will go brew herb tea.”

Before Bethan could protest, she was gone.

Simon made a sound like a soft moan crossed with a wry chuckle. “I’ve gained a healthy respect for Chinese medicine over the years. But the brew I need at the moment is good old Batavia arrack. It does an excellent job of relaxing muscles and relieving pain. You’ll find a flask in the pocket of my coat.”

As Bethan set down the basin and fetched the flask, he added. “It calms the nerves too. You should take a drop after I’m done.”

She shook her head as she raised the flask to his lips. “You need it more than I do.”

After Simon had taken several long sips, she gave him the flask to hold. Then she wet the cloth Ah-Ming had given her and began to bathe his head. “There’s quite a bump but it’s not bleeding much any more.”

With a gentle, caressing touch, she washed away the trail of dried blood down the side of his face. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt any worse. I was beside myself with worry.”

“No need.” Simon raised the flash for another sip. “I told you, I’m a survivor.”

From what she’d learned of his past, Bethan suspected he wasn’t used to being worried about and fussed over. “You’ve been through a great deal over the years.”

The blood was all washed off his face. But still she could not stop grazing the soft, moist cloth over his cheek. “I’m sorry I reminded you about that awful mutiny. If I’d known—”

“I should beg
your
pardon.” He raised his hand to cover hers, pressing it against his cheek. “I had no call to rage at you like that. You couldn’t have known what I refused to tell you.”

Hovering over him, Bethan gazed into his eyes. The unyielding blue ice seemed to have melted from them, revealing crystal-clear pools of intriguing depth. She leaned closer, yearning to explore.

“Here is your tea, master.” The housekeeper’s sudden entrance made Bethan spring back with a guilty start.

“I washed the cut on his head.” She dropped the bloodstained cloth into the basin and edged away from Simon’s bed. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked at first.”

“He is lucky not to be hurt worse.” Ah-Ming gave no sign of having noticed anything untoward between them. “Those outlaws stop at nothing. They take only men whose parents are dead, so they will not fear disgracing their families with their crimes.”

She held out a tea bowl to Simon. Wisps of steam rose from the surface, releasing a pungent aroma. “Sit up and drink this. It will do you more good than arrack.”

Simon grumbled a little, but did as he was told.

“Sleep now,” Ah-Ming decreed after he had swallowed
the last sip. She pulled the netting over Simon’s bed and beckoned Bethan out of the room. “Aiyah! Such a night.”

As Bethan headed towards the nursery, her feet felt heavier with each step. What if Simon needed something before morning? What if he took a turn for the worse? She still could not shake the feeling that she was to blame for his injuries.

She wasn’t certain what made her turn and creep back to his bedchamber. Was it that sense of guilt or the growing feelings for him that she’d been trying to suppress?

Perhaps the time had come to stop fighting those feelings and tackle her fears, instead.

H
is wounds throbbed—his face, his ribs and especially his leg. But none of them pained more than his conscience.

Simon tried to pry open his swollen eyelids, but the lashes were gummed together with dried blood. What little he could make out, as the
Sabine
sailed away, was awash in a sea of lurid red. His ears were filled with the thunder of waves pummelling the sand. But even that could not drown out the piercing shrieks. Was it only the gulls or the anguished cries of women beyond rescue?

An answering cry swelled up from deep inside, begging for release. But his jaws were clenched tight and his lips locked. With no outlet, the pressure in his chest threatened to crush his heart.

“Simon?” The sound of his name, spoken in that charming lilt, loosened whatever was gagging him.

A cry broke from his throat—a shriek of torment mingled with a bellow of helpless rage and a wail of bottomless guilt.

“Wake up, Simon!” the same voice summoned him back from that lost, hopeless place. “You’re safe now. It was only a bad dream.”

He struggled to sit up, breathing in ragged gasps. His heart hammered so frantically against his ribs, he feared they might crack. The only thing that sustained him was a woman’s arm, draped around his shoulders. It felt as soft and warm as a familiar blanket on a cold night, yet strong and steadfast as an anchor in rough seas. The fingers of her other hand swept over his hair in a steady, soothing rhythm.

“Your nightmare must have been a dreadful one. But it’s over now and none of it was real.” She comforted him as if he were a frightened child.

Part of him resented that, but he could not bring himself to pull away. For years he’d resisted the urge to confide in anyone or seek consolation. Now, as he surrendered to the tender sympathy Bethan offered, he began to see what a foolish error that had been.

“I know it was a nightmare.” He canted his head to rest against hers. “It is over, for now, but it
was
real.”

Even though he was now clearly awake, Bethan did not let go of him. “Were you dreaming about what happened tonight?”

Simon shook his head. “Ten years ago, aboard the
Sabine.
”

“Do you often have nightmares about it?”

“I used to, but not so much lately. When I kept myself occupied with business and refused to dwell on the past, they didn’t trouble me as much. But lately…”

Bethan sighed. “Lately I’ve been pestering you with questions, stirring up memories you wanted to let sleep.”

“You aren’t to blame.” His arm encircled her waist. “Any more than Rosalia was when she asked to go for a boat ride.”

“Now that I know, I won’t bring it up again,” she promised.

For some reason her promise troubled Simon. “What will you do? Tiptoe around watching every word so that you don’t remind me of something I’d rather forget?”

He didn’t want that. He preferred her the way she was—spontaneous, curious and forthright.

“I could try.” It was clear she realised the task would not be an easy one. “At least I could bear your feelings in mind a bit more—not blunder along saying whatever comes into my head.”

“But those things are often interesting or amusing. I’d hate to lose them all because you were trying to avoid anything on my lengthy list of forbidden subjects.”

She had no ready quip to answer that.

The compulsion to confide in her battled against Simon’s deep-seated reluctance. Being reminded of all his mistakes and failures would make him feel even less worthy of whatever misplaced admiration she might feel for him. Knowing them would give her a potent weapon against him, if she ever chose to use it.

Bethan would never do that, his fragile but stubborn faith in her insisted. After all, she could have exploited his sense of honour and feelings of guilt to make an advantageous marriage, but she had not. She had only ever used her knowledge of his secrets to loosen their power over him and leech away some of their bitterness.

“The worst of the mutiny was not my wounded leg,” he began in a hoarse murmur, “though the scars and the
pain are a constant reminder. Mrs Mordaunt’s betrayal was not the worst either, though I fear it may have left a different kind of scar.”

“Who is Mrs Mordaunt?” asked Bethan in a tone of protective anger. “And what did she do to you?”

“The captain’s young wife aboard the
Sabine.
” It disgusted him to remember. “She sparked the mutiny by carrying on with one of her husband’s officers. I might have prevented it if I’d gone to the captain with my suspicions sooner. But she begged me not to, and I was fool enough to listen.”

Bethan’s head moved in a knowing nod. “Another damsel in distress calling on your protection.”

“The wicked irony is what happened to the other women aboard on account of my misplaced chivalry.” Simon drew several deep breaths, nerving himself to go on. “While the mutineers abandoned all their male victims on the northern coast of Ceylon, they took the women with them to endure a fate that haunts my nightmares to this day.”

Feeling a shudder run through Bethan, he braced himself for her response. Would she condemn him as bitterly as he had often denounced himself?

“That was a terrible thing!” She clasped him tighter. “But you were not to blame. You were unarmed, outnumbered and wounded. You could not have stopped them.”

“I know.” Somehow, hearing that reassurance from her lips made it easier to believe. “The same way I know I can trust you. Reason tells me so, but my conscience and my nightmares tell me something different. And they are harder to ignore.”

“I
do
know,” she whispered and he sensed she was speaking from her own dark place of self-doubt.

There was nothing either of them could say to comfort one another. Words were the language of reason, which needed no persuasion. Instead Bethan tried to soothe him as she might Rosalia, with the tender warmth of her touch.

It did help.

“Stay with me tonight?” He nuzzled her neck with his cheek. “Not in the way you did before. I only want to be near you. You make me forget the troubles of my past. At least you make it hurt less to remember them, which is even better.”

“I wouldn’t leave,” she replied in a fierce whisper, “even if you told me to.”

Easing him back down on to his pillow, she nestled in the circle of his arms. The rest of that night, they held and caressed one another in a chaste, tender way that felt more intimate than their earlier night of passion. It fed a hunger within Simon that went even deeper than his desire.

Bethan woke in the pearly glow of dawn to find herself in Simon’s bed. She did not feel strange or taken by surprise. She knew why she was there and it felt perfectly natural.

She didn’t know what she would say to him when he woke. No doubt it would be more awkward between them when she had to meet his penetrating blue gaze in the unsparing light of day, rather than exchanging whispers and caresses in the darkness. But for now she would savour the chance to watch him at the only time he was completely unguarded.

There was nothing severe or forbidding about his face when he slept. His strong jaw was no longer clenched tightly. Gone was the stern crease between his brows that deepened when he scowled. The resolute line of his lips was relaxed enough that it might easily arch into a smile without danger of breaking.

In his peaceful face, she glimpsed the boy who longed to make his mark in the world and perform a thousand heroic deeds so that someone might love him. How she wished the man he’d become could learn to recognise and accept love when it was offered, rather than settling for a heartless exchange that would only cheat both parties.

She yearned to trace the jutting ridge of his chin with her fingertips and graze her lips over his brow until she washed away all his painful memories. That wish reminded Bethan of something he’d said in the night about her making it hurt less for him to remember. It touched her to think Simon believed she had that power. She recalled the events of last night—Simon’s brush with danger, the deep secrets he’d confided in her and the need for her he’d confessed. Taken together, they made her realise the true nature of the feelings for him that she’d been trying to resist.

She understood now why he’d needed to put up such daunting defences around his heart. But the walls that protected also imprisoned, robbing him of the freedom to trust and love. Though they shielded his wounded heart from further injury, they also kept it locked away from the fresh air and sunlight it needed to heal properly.

If she’d accepted the grudging proposal of marriage
he had made out of guilt, he would always suspect and resent her. He would never permit himself to care for her. Though honour would compel him to remain with her in body, any hope of love would be abandoned. That would be far more painful than if he simply went away, as her father had. She would be constantly tormented by his presence—near enough to touch, but with his heart a thousand miles away.

If instead, she freely gave herself to him, without expectation or conditions, it might lull his suspicions and set his heart free to reach out in love.

It was not an easy decision to make. She still had her doubts—fears of rejection and abandonment, conflict between her desire to be honest with him and her desperate need to protect her brother. She knew that sharing his bed, perhaps one day bearing his child out of wedlock, would make her question her worth in his eyes and fear for the future. Yet it was a risk she
must
take if she ever hoped to win his love.

At that moment Simon’s eyes opened.

For an unguarded instant, Bethan glimpsed a promise of what she might gain if she succeeded in what she’d resolved to do. Then, as it dawned on him that she’d been lying there watching for some time, an invisible shield went up between them and his features tensed. Bethan told herself she must not let the sting of his mistrust deter her.

“Good morning.” She tried to reassure him with a smile. “You asked me to stay with you last night. Or was that just the arrack talking?”

“It would take more than a bolt of arrack and a knock on the head to make me forget something like that.”
Before Bethan could ask if his head wound still pained him, he continued. “It was kind of you to stay, but now I think you’d better go.”

“Why?” Had he changed his mind about wanting her? Or could he not bear to face her after she’d seen the scars he tried to hide behind an outward show of severity and success?

“Because…” his hand rose to twine a lock of her hair around it “…a man can only exercise so much restraint when he wakes to find himself in bed with a beautiful woman. And I fear mine is taxed to the limit just now.”

Bethan sensed the gentle touch of her hair was half against his will and that he was using all his self-control to keep from taking any greater liberties.

“What if I don’t want to go?” This was harder than the first time she’d given herself to Simon. Then, she’d believed he was going to marry her. Now she was fully aware that might never happen. “What if I want to stay, at least until I need to go tend to Rosalia? And what if I want to come back again tonight and tomorrow night and all the nights after that?”

She tried to ignore the vicious hiss in the back of her mind, calling her vile, filthy names. As long as she was doing this out of love for Simon, and not for the things he could give her, she could cling to her self-respect, no matter what the rest of the world might think.

A searing haze rose in his eyes, like the kind she’d seen over the coast of Africa on her voyage here. “Please don’t taunt me with such questions unless you are quite certain it
is
what you want.”

“I am,” she whispered. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought and I’ve decided I want to be with you for
as long as you’ll have me. I know I can trust you to do right by me.”

Then, to keep him from looking too deeply into her eyes and perhaps glimpsing the shadows of doubt that lingered there, Bethan leaned towards him and pressed her lips to his. Simon yielded to her kiss with a sigh that seemed to rise from the hidden depths of his heart.

She wished she dared tell him that she loved him and wanted nothing from him except the chance to be loved in return. But she was afraid he might see that as an obligation or a threat and retreat once again behind his defences. She would have to be patient, to wait and watch for the moment when he was ready to hear and believe how much she cared for him.

What had made Bethan change her mind about becoming his mistress? That question flitted through Simon’s thoughts as he sank into the moist, velvet depths of her kiss.

He’d planned for this moment, dreamed of it, despaired of it. Now, suddenly, he was getting what he wanted and so much more than he’d ever dared hope for. His pent-up passion surged towards the promise of release, while a wild rush of triumph sent his spirits soaring. Yet deep beneath all that ran an insidious undercurrent of doubt.

It might have been different if he had won her over by countering her arguments, soothing her apprehension and persuading her this would be best for them both. But he had not been able to do any of those things for fear of driving her away. He could not understand why she had altered her choice so completely without any urging from him. And what Simon did not understand, he could not trust.

But his desire refused to heed any whispers of suspicion that threatened its anticipated pleasure. Just because Fate had dealt him so many hash blows should not make him resist a piece of unexpected good fortune. Bethan must have sound reasons for her decision and he could ask her all about them later. For now, he must concentrate on the softness of her skin beneath his hands, the thrilling flick of her tongue over his, the subtle pressure of her thigh against his loins that made him ache with need.

This delicious morning tryst promised even greater delights than their first night together. There would be no murky shadows of misunderstanding between them followed by the harsh glare of disturbing revelations. Instead, their eyes would be open in the tranquil glow of daybreak. Rather than merely imagining his naked Venus as he admired her beauty with his hands, he could feast his eyes upon her along with his other senses.