by Deborah Hale
“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.
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 p
arted 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.
Chapter Fourteen
The 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?