by Deborah Hale
“They wouldn’t!” he insisted in a fierce whisper. “People here view that sort of thing differently than they do back home. Malay and Chinese men take concubines all the time and several of the Europeans have country wives.”
“Country wives?” Bethan sounded doubtful. Perhaps in spite of her reluctance to abandon respectability, she secretly wanted him to persuade her.
“That’s what they call native or mixed-race women who live with European men during their time abroad. Our former Resident had a charming French-Malaccan lady. Everyone in Singapore accepted her and their children as part of the community.”
If he thought his explanation would change her mind, he was mistaken. “What happens to these country wives when the men go back home?”
Her question made Simon squirm, but he tried to put a decent face on the practice. “Most make provision for them by deeding property or leaving money.”
“They abandon them, you mean?” Bethan sprang to her feet.
“It isn’t as bad as you make it sound.” Simon’s leg gave a twinge when he rose from the turf at the base of the nutmeg tree. “Besides, none of that matters to you and me. I have no intention of returning to England.”
“No?” She didn’t sound convinced. “But your partners did. I reckon the Indies is like one great bountiful mistress to some men. They come here and take what they want from her, then go away once they are satisfied. I won’t let that happen to me!”
She was as afraid of being abandoned as he was of being betrayed. Simon longed to take her in his arms and promise her that he would always protect her and provide for her. But what if she asked for more than that—things he could not give?
“Where does that leave us, then, if you won’t let me wed you or keep you?”
“I’ll look after myself, of course, if you’ll be gentleman enough not to boast of your conquest. If you can recommend me to another family who needs a nursemaid, I can earn the money to pay back what you spent on my passage to Singpore.”
Simon’s relief over his near escape from a forced marriage gave way to alarm at the prospect of losing Bethan. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Yes, it will,” she insisted. “I don’t want to be beholden to you. You paid to bring me here to be your mistress. Since I can’t do that, it isn’t fair for you to bear the expense. It may take me a while, but I’ll repay every penny.”
She was the first beautiful woman of his acquaintance who didn’t want anything from him, not even the few guineas it had cost to bring her here. The thought of her leaving his household to strike out on her own troubled Simon deeply. He feared she might attract the admiration of ruthless men who would use whatever means necessary to get what they wanted from her.
“I don’t need your money.” He took a step toward her, but froze when she backed away. “You’ve seen how I live—I’ll never miss it.”
“That’s not the point, Simon. I can’t keep living in your house, on your charity, after what happened between us.”
After what had happened between them, he couldn’t bear to think of her living anywhere else. If ever a woman needed his protection it was Bethan Conway—as much from her own trusting nature and reckless impulses as from others who might exploit them. Unlike those who’d begged his help in the past, she truly deserved it, with her honesty and kindness.
“It wouldn’t be charity. I owe you a debt for what you’ve done for me…and for what I’ve taken from you.”
“You don’t owe me anything!” Bethan insisted with such fierce conviction, she almost persuaded him. “You didn’t force me into your bed. What happened between us last night was my choice. I wanted it as much as you did.”
“Only because you thought we were going to be married.”
Bethan shook her head. “That was my mistake, not yours.”
Her integrity and generosity took his breath away. She could have used his guilt as a bargaining tool to wring tough concessions from him. Instead she’d forfeited that advantage so he could make peace with what he’d done. That made Simon want more than ever to do right by her…if only she would let him.
Perhaps there was a way he could make amends to Bethan, while letting her believe she was repaying whatever obligation she felt towards him. It would test his self-control and perhaps place his heart in jeopardy. But when he weighed those costs against the prospect of letting her go, he could see no other choice.
What had made her insist she would leave Simon’s house and find work elsewhere when she wasn’t certain that was even possible? Bethan asked herself that question as they stood in the warm, spice-scented darkness of the experimental gardens arguing over her future.
Perhaps it was what Simon had told her about his late wife. She could not bear to use him as Carlotta had. Bad enough she was still keeping secrets from him after he’d risked confiding in her.
Or perhaps it was the renewed conviction that she must continue searching for her brother. She had been wrong to think she could forge a new family and forget the old one. Simon didn’t want to create a family with her. He only wanted a willing partner to satisfy his desires, without making any demands upon him. Her brother was her only true hope for restoring the family she craved. If she left Simon’s house, it would be easier to carry on her search without fear of rousing suspicion.
But what had made Simon resist the idea of her leaving? Was it only because he felt guilty for taking her virginity? Did he still have hopes of persuading her to become his mistress? Or could it be that, even after what had happened, he cared more for her than he dared admit?
“With all this talk of who is obligated to whom,” he said “we’re forgetting someone else to whom we both owe a duty.”
“Rosalia?” Of course. She should have known Simon would be willing to abide her continued presence in his home only for the sake of his daughter.
“That’s right. If you leave, who will take care of her until Ah-Sam returns?”
Once again, it occurred to Bethan how much her leaving might upset Rosalia, especially if she went to care for some other children in a house nearby. “I’m afraid if I go, she’ll think it’s because she did something wrong.”
Simon gave a rueful sigh, echoed by a breeze rustling the leaves of the nutmeg tree. “It won’t be easy to persuade her otherwise when she’s was far too young to be told the true reason. That is why I want you to stay and continue caring for her. Once Ah-Sam returns in the autumn, you can decide how to proceed. If you choose to go back to England, I will arrange your passage and do everything I can to assist you.”
“That’s very generous but I don’t want to be in your debt.”
“You won’t. I would consider the exchange a very favourable bargain. Having Rosalia well cared for until Ah-Sam returns will be worth far more than that to me.”
“I don’t want her upset by all this, either, but I don’t see how I can stay under the same roof with you after what happened between us.” When Bethan’s thoughts strayed to that blissful encounter, a tantalising heat crept up her thighs.
“Why not?” Simon’s tone grew frosty. “Surely you don’t believe you have anything to fear from me?”
“Not fear.” At least not of him. “But you must admit it will be awkward. You brought me here to be your mistress and you’ve made no secret of…wanting me.”
“I cannot deny I desire you.” He leaned towards her, then pulled himself back. “But my sense of honour is stronger than that desire. These past weeks, when I thought you’d had a frightening experience with another man, I tried not to rush you into bed. I waited until you were ready. At least, I thought that’s what you were telling me.”
She could not help but be touched by his consideration. But how could she spend the next several months in his employ, trying to forget the taste of his kisses and the thrilling sensations he’d stirred in her body?
“It’s not your honour I doubt, Simon. It’s my virtue.” Though she knew it might be a dangerous thing to admit, she owed
him the truth about this at least. “I feel desire for you as well and after last night…I can’t give in to that desire again. If I stay under your roof, I’m afraid I’ll be tempted to.”
“No, you won’t, because I won’t give you the chance. I’ll keep my distance, I swear. Please don’t make Rosalia pay for my blunder. I cannot deny I want you in my bed. But I need you in her life more.”
How could she refuse such a plea and such a promise? This situation was her fault and she must make it right, whatever that took.
“All right, then. I’ll stay.” She tried to ignore a sly whisper in the back of her mind that accused her of seeking any excuse to remain near Simon. “But I warn you, if it gets too hard for me to resist these feelings, I will have to go.”
“Fair enough,” said Simon. “Now can we go home before the sentries spot us and think we’re outlaws planning to attack the town?”
Bethan nodded. “I can go back now. But you’re only joking about the outlaws, aren’t you?”
“I wish I were.” Simon caught the horse’s reins and climbed into the saddle. “The jungle is full of the scoundrels. I’ve heard they belong to some sort of Chinese secret society. Until now they’ve been content to terrorise their own people, who are too frightened and mistrustful to go to the authorities. I fear it is only a matter of time until they grow bolder.”
So that was why he’d come after her, because he felt compelled to protect her. Bethan stifled a pang of disappointment as she took his outstretched hand and let him hoist her on to the horse’s back. He did not want to bear a greater burden of guilt if she came to harm, like his wayward wife.
On the ride back to the villa she clung to Simon’s waist, greedily inhaling his scent, soaking up the close contact she must soon take care to avoid.
It wasn’t only her physical yearning for Simon she would have to resist. She was afraid that last night she might have lost something to him even more precious than her virginity. It was something she’d never meant to surrender—a fragile piece of her heart that he might crush in his powerful fist or grind beneath his heel. She must guard against giving him any more, and somehow she must find out what had become of her brother.
If Hugh was still alive, she must go to him while she could still bring herself to part from Simon.
He’d assured Bethan his honour was stronger than his desire. But as the days passed, Simon discovered it was a far closer contest than he had reckoned.
His smouldering anticipation from the previous weeks gradually gave way to gnawing frustration. It had been easier to restrain his desires when he’d believed Bethan was fearful of intimate contact with a man. Now, by her own admission, he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her, so much that she could scarcely trust herself under the same roof with him for fear of yielding to temptation. Knowing that made Simon yearn for her more than ever.
And he could no longer stave off that craving by looking forward to the day when she would become his mistress and he could enjoy her favours as often as he wished. The future held only the bleak prospect of Bethan sailing out of his life for ever.
For both their sakes, he resolved to keep his distance from her. But even from a distance, she plagued his thoughts and invaded his dreams. His senses practically quivered with awareness of her presence in his house—the lilt of her voice wafting up from the garden or a tantalising whiff of her scent. He even fancied the aftertaste of her kiss lingering on his tongue. In the sultry darkness he would wake from provocative dreams of her to tantalising memories of the night she’d spent in his bed. It felt so empty without her.
Then he would listen for any sound coming from the next room and wonder if she was tossing and turning as well, thinking of him, longing for his touch. Such thoughts only stoked the heat of his now forbidden desire. They urged him to steal into her room and offer her anything in the world if only she would consent to become his mistress.
He understood her reluctance. No doubt she’d heard her mother vilify such women for years in the most shameful terms. How could he make her see that as long as they were both free and consenting, they were not harming anyone by indulging their desires?
He couldn’t. Not without running the risk of driving her away. For her sake and for Rosalia’s, he dared not let that happen.
Bethan was doing everything in her power to resist temptation. She no longer dined with him in the evenings; whenever he came to the nursery, she always found some excuse to slip away and leave him alone with Rosalia. By the end of the week, he was so desperate to exchange even a few words with her that he was ready to seize upon any excuse.
One presented itself when he returned home early from work and spied Rosalia heading out to the garden with Ah-Ming. Bethan was nowhere in sight.
Had she fallen ill? That fear sent him charging up the stairs and down the hallway with no thought for his leg. He burst through her bedroom door, which stood open.
His racing pulse slowed as he stared around the tranquil room. Rays of green-gold sunshine filtered through the blinds to fall in slender stripes across the bed. Though a beguiling hint of Bethan’s scent hung in the still, humid air, there was no other sign of her—not even her trunk or clothes.
Could it be that, in spite of his best efforts, she’d found it impossible to remain in his house? Surely she wouldn’t have gone away without telling him?
He was about to go seek out Ah-Ming to demand an explanation when the patter of approaching footsteps heralded Bethan’s sudden appearance.
“Simon!” She shrank back against the wall, her hand pressed to her chest. “You gave me such a turn. What are you doing here?”
Ignoring her question, he countered with one of his own. “Where are your things? I thought you’d gone away. You haven’t, have you?”
She shook her head. “Only as far as the little room off the nursery. That’s where I belong now.”
“Nonsense!” he cried. “You’re not a servant.”
“Yes, I am.” Bethan straightened up and shot him a defiant look. “And proud of it. I’d rather earn my keep with honest work, than be a rich man’s plaything.”
Before he could stop himself, his voice dropped to a caressing, inviting tone. “I thought you enjoyed the way we played together.”
Her face took on a dewy flush, which betrayed the truth even before she spoke. “So I did, but I’ve seen what happens to toys when their owners lose interest in them.”
“I won’t cast you aside. I swear!” That was perilously close to a vow, caution warned him. Hadn’t he wanted a mistress so he could easily free himself if things went bad? He’d never stopped to consider the situation from the woman’s side.
Bethan raised a hand to rub her temples. “I don’t want to argue about this any more. We’ve said all there is to say. Besides, you promised me…”
“I know I did.” How could she trust any future promise he made after he’d broken that one? “I’m sorry. I’ll watch my words more carefully from now on.”
She edged towards the bed, keeping as much distance between them as possible. “I just came looking for a handkerchief of mine that I wanted to show Rosalia. My mother stitched it for me years ago. She was a fine needlewoman. When I couldn’t find it in my trunk, I thought I’d check here.”
Her words emerged in a high-pitched rush that went on and on, as if she were afraid to give him the opportunity to say anything more. But finally her breath failed her.
“What about you?” Simon moved to the opposite side of the room and joined in the search, though his gaze kept darting back to drink in the sight of her. “Do you like to sew?”
It bothered him to realise how little he knew about her, especially compared to the secrets she had coaxed out of him.
“I’d be a menace with a needle.” Bethan gave a winded chuckle that set his blood humming. “I’d prick more holes in my fingers than a pincushion and bleed all over the cloth I was trying to sew.”
“There it is.” With a rush of triumph, Si
mon seized a wad of cloth wedged behind the washstand.
Shaking out the flimsy square of embroidered linen, he offered it to Bethan with a flourish. An image ran through his mind of gallant knights accepting such tokens of favour from their ladies. When Bethan reached for it and her fingertips brushed his hand, he could not bring himself to loosen his grip on the handkerchief at once.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You have good eyes. I’m not certain I’d ever have found it.”
The silver-green shimmer in her eyes gave Simon just enough encouragement to suggest, “As a reward, would you consider dining with me tonight? I’ve missed having someone to talk to.”
She twisted the handkerchief in her restless fingers, clearly torn between inclination and caution. “Couldn’t you just invite one of the other businessmen? Or one of the lads from Durham? I’m sure they’d enjoy Cook’s fine meals.”
“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. I’ve missed having you to talk to.”
“I think it’s better if I take my meals in the nursery with Rosalia.” Swiping the handkerchief over her glowing face, she seized upon an opportunity to change the subject. “Is it going to get much hotter than this over the summer? I feel like a Christmas pudding steaming in the copper!”
She did look good enough to eat and there were parts of her he would love to nibble. It took every ounce of restraint Simon possessed to keep from uttering those errant thoughts.
“Singapore is so near the equator, the temperature never varies much throughout the year.” He’d thought his long sojourn in the East had inured him to the climate, but a trickle of sweat down his back suggested otherwise. “Now that you mention it, though, today does feel hotter than usual.”
They exchanged a furtive glance in which Simon sensed they were thinking the same thing. The tropical climate was not to blame for the feverish heat that tormented them at the moment. Suppressed desire was like a banked blaze. The dancing, licking tongues of flame might be stifled, but the coals continued to glow hotter than ever.