Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress

by Deborah Hale

  But before she could, rough hands seized her and pulled her behind the bush, out of sight of the house.

  One strong, calloused hand clamped tightly over her mouth while her captor ordered in a harsh whisper, “Not a peep or you’ll regret it!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It hadn’t been easy at first, talking to Rosalia about her mother, dredging up so many painful memories. But once he’d begun, Simon did not regret it.

  The rapt expression on his daughter’s small face was well worth the effort. Recalling how much he’d missed and mourned his mother at that age, he wished he had not kept Rosalia in the dark about hers for so long. He’d tried to justify his actions by pretending he was protecting her from the sordid truth about Carlotta. Bethan had made him see he’d been trying to spare his own feelings more than the child’s.

  He had so much to make up to Rosalia and he would do it, no matter what it cost him. He was making a start tonight. Though the exquisitely carved ivory fan was a priceless heirloom, Simon sensed that the story about her mother was far more precious to Rosalia. For that reason, he forced himself to step back from his bitter feelings about his late wife and relate the account of their meeting and marriage as though he’d been a disinterested observer.

  To his surprise, the effort rewarded him with some unexpected insights. For one thing, he recalled how young Carlotta had been when they first met. Afflicted with the wilful selfishness of youth, she’d also fallen victim to the destructive indulgence often accorded beauty. She had made mistakes. But then again, so had he.

  The worst of those was that he’d never truly loved her. He’d been captivated by her fiery beauty and compelled to rescue her. Perhaps it had eased his lingering guilt over the Sabine mutiny. Or perhaps he’d needed to see himself through her eyes as the heroic knight, so he could feel worthy of a woman’s love.

  Reluctant to tarnish that shiny mantle, he’d never confided in her the hurts and regrets that made him only human. Without trust and honesty, the desire and protectiveness he felt for her had never ripened into anything deeper. When she’d betrayed him, it was his pride that had suffered, not his heart.

  Could he blame Carlotta for turning to another man when she lacked a true connection with her husband? The perfect hero might make a fine subject for romantic fancies, but such a man could not be easy to live with day in and day out. When she’d repented her mistake and tried to correct it by coming to Singapore with his child, begging another chance, he’d done the honourable thing without an ounce of true forgiveness in his heart. How long had he expected her to stay when it was clear he despised her and would never relent?

  “Tell me what she looked like, Papa?” Rosalia clutched the fan in one hand and Simon’s fingers in the other—two precious links to the mother she’d never known.

  “Like you, querido.” For the first time ever, Simon used the Portuguese endearment with his daughter. “Beautiful as a midnight garden full of red roses. She had wide brown eyes and long lashes. One look from them made men want to scale mountains and swim oceans for the favour of her smile.”

  He wasn’t certain he could praise Carlotta’s character so lavishly. But if their daughter asked, he would try to recall every single good thing he could about his late wife. He braced himself for more questions, but none came. When he glanced down at the child, her wide brown eyes were closed.

  Simon sat for a while, stroking her hair, while the love he’d denied them both for too long washed over him. When he was certain she would not wake, he slipped his fingers from her slack grip and grazed her forehead with a kiss. Then he extinguished the lamp and backed out of the nursery with soft steps.

  Eager to talk to Bethan, he looked for her in the sitting room, then the dining room. He wanted to tell her how much more clearly he saw his past, thanks to her. He wanted to make certain she knew how much he loved and needed her. Perhaps if he admitted all the mistakes he’d made with Carlotta, it would help her overcome the foolish notion that she was somehow less than worthy of him.

  Next he checked the veranda, but she was not there either. Could she be waiting in his bed, perhaps? The possibility brought a smile to Simon’s face as a briny breeze wafted from the sea to caress his cheek.

  Then something else rose from the garden below that made his body tense—the sound of furtive whispers. Could a party of outlaws be hiding among the bushes, their faces blackened with soot, waiting for his household to retire for the night so they could launch an attack?

  Keeping a tight rein on his mounting alarm, Simon retreated into the house. He rushed to his dressing room and loaded a pistol with swift, practised movements.

  Heading down the stairs a few moments later, he met Ah-Ming. Her eyes widened when she spotted the weapon in his hand.

  “It’s only a precaution,” he assured her. “Please go sit with Rosalia until I get back. Have you seen Bethan?”

  The housekeeper replied with a tight little nod. “Just before dark, she went out to the garden.”

  Perhaps the voice he’d heard was only Bethan talking to herself. Simon tried to calm his fears with that thought, but it did not work. Without another word, he stole out the front entrance. When Jodh started to speak, Simon pressed a finger to his lips.

  “I thought I heard someone in the garden,” he whispered. “But it may only be Miss Conway. If I need your help, I’ll call.”

  Continuing on his way, he circled the stables and slipped into the back garden. He could hear the voices more clearly now. One belonged to Bethan.

  The other was a man’s.

  Had the outlaws captured her? Simon’s blood boiled with the desperate urge to rush to her rescue, pistol blazing. But he could not risk her safety.

  Instead, scarcely daring to breath, he edged toward the voices, alert for every whispered word. Bethan didn’t sound frightened, but then again she always underestimated risks. Perhaps she hoped to charm her way out of trouble again.

  “Can you…hands…some money?” the masculine voice demanded. It didn’t sound like a native English speaker, but not Chinese, Malay or Indian either.

  “Isn’t there some other way?” asked Bethan.

  “We won’t get far without money, cariad,” replied the man. “This gentleman can spare it by the look of his fine house.”

  “He can, but I hate to—”

  “You want to get away, don’t you and start a new life? That’s why you came out here, wasn’t it, so we could do that? There’s an American ship at anchor out in the roads and there’s no love lost between them and the English. If we can reach that ship with passage money, they’re bound to take us. Then we can make a fresh start in America—I hear it’s a grand place.”

  Simon clenched his lips together to keep a groan from escaping. He felt as if he’d stumbled into the middle of a nightmare, reliving the wretched events of four years ago. Though he hadn’t actually heard Carlotta plotting to run away with her lover, he knew it must have sounded just like this.

  “It’s too dangerous for you here.” Bethan’s voice fairly ached with loving concern, which made Simon writhe because it was for another man. “You must go now! Head down to the beach and wait for me there. Once everyone’s asleep, I’ll come find you and we can decide what to do.”

  Every word out of her mouth struck Simon a vicious blow. For, unlike his late wife who had only trampled his pride, Bethan Conway had the power to tear his heart to pieces and leave it bleeding in the sand. Like a fool, he had given her that power.

  Even now she had such a hold on him that he wanted to deny what he was hearing, find some innocent explanation for it, no matter how far fetched. The sense of caution he had muzzled for far too long finally threw off its gag. It reminded him in the harshest possible terms of all the warning signs he’d refused to heed, all the petty suspicions that taken together would have pointed to something like this.

  How Bethan must have laughed at him behind his back for all the secrets he’d confided in her, the trust he’
d placed in her and his daft belief that she was honest and true. Still Simon taxed his imagination to make excuses for her.

  “All right, then,” whispered the man Simon longed to throttle with his bare hands—if only he wasn’t afraid to make an even bigger fool of himself by breaking down and begging Bethan to stay. “But think about what I said, will you? If you can lay hands on enough money, we can be off this very night. The longer we wait, the greater chance there is that something will go wrong.”

  Footsteps moved towards the garden gate and the sound of their voices faded until Simon could not make out a word of their parting. Peering out from behind the hibiscus bush, he spied their shadows locked in a tender embrace. He could not ignore the evidence of both his eyes and ears, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Bethan was just like all the others. Worse, in fact, for she had pried into his secret weaknesses and preyed upon them. And she had made him a willing accomplice in his own deception.

  As her brother slipped off into the night, Bethan bolted the garden gate and slumped against it, gasping for breath as if she’d run a mile. In the past few days, her heart had been pulled so hard in so many different directions she wondered that it had not been torn to pieces.

  First grief and guilt over Hugh’s ‘death’ had blighted her hope for a new life with Simon and his daughter. Then her shame over deceiving Simon and her fear that he might never forgive her had clashed with her conviction that he deserved the truth, even if she did not deserve his trust. Just when she’d begun to see her way clear through that tangle, the events of the past half-hour had made her heart a battleground again.

  Terror had ripped through her when she’d been seized in the darkened garden. But her assailant’s next words, after ordering her to keep quiet, had made her want to shout for joy.

  “It’s me, Bethan—Hughie. What in the name of heaven are you doing in Singapore?”

  For an instant she wondered if her mind had conjured up a vision of her brother because she could not bear to have her long search for him end in failure. Then the hand covering her mouth slipped down to give her chin an affectionate tweak. It was a fond gesture she recalled so well from her childhood.

  “Dearest brother!” she whispered in Welsh, tugging her arms free to throw around him. “Is it really you? After Ma passed on, I came here looking for you, but I was told you were dead.”

  “I came close enough.” He returned her embrace. “And I’d just as soon the rest of the world believes Hugh Conway is gone for good. As far as anybody else in Singapore knows, I’m a convict labourer serving a sentence for thievery.”

  “Convict?” Bethan drew back from him a little.

  “I walked right past you the other day on the street. You’ve grown up so much since I left Llanaled, I might not have recognised you if that man hadn’t called out your name. Once I found out where you were staying, I’ve come here every evening, hoping to catch you alone.”

  “What about the Dauntless?” Bethan wasn’t certain she could bear to hear, but she had to know. “How did you get away? You didn’t harm anyone, did you? I’ve heard terrible stories of what goes on in mutinies.”

  “So have I,” Hugh muttered. “And I didn’t want any part of that, I swear. The mutiny wasn’t planned. It just…happened, like a pot on the hob that boils over. I can’t say I’m sorry about the captain—a proper tyrant he was. But the officers and passengers didn’t deserve to be harmed.”

  A sickening lump in the pit of her stomach eased for the first time since Simon had told her about the Sabine mutiny.

  Simon! She couldn’t let him find her brother here.

  “I tried to give the others a chance,” Hugh went on in a desperate rush, as if he’d been waiting three long years to tell someone the truth of what had happened. “I unlocked the hold where they were being kept, then I slipped overboard. I knew I’d be a dead man no matter which side won, so I took my chances with the sea instead. She almost had her way with me, but not quite. I don’t know how the fire started on the Dauntless, but when I heard about it afterwards, I was afraid it might be my fault. Perhaps if I’d left things alone, or if I’d stayed aboard instead of thinking only of my own skin…”

  “Hugh, please,” Bethan managed to get a word in when his voice trailed off, “I’m glad you saved yourself, but you can tell me the rest later. Right now you need to get away from here before someone sees you.”

  “We both need to get away,” Hugh replied. “Can you get your hands on some money?”

  Perhaps she could, but it would mean stealing from Simon. “Isn’t there some other way?”

  “We won’t get far without money, cariad.” Hugh seemed to sense her misgivings. “This gentleman can spare it by the look of his fine house.”

  “He can, but I hate to—” She’d been deceiving Simon for weeks, her conscience sneered, why did she balk at thievery?

  “You want to get away, don’t you, and start a new life?” her brother pleaded. “That’s why you came out here, wasn’t it, so we could do that? There’s an American ship at anchor out in the roads and there’s no love lost between them and the English. If we can reach that ship with passage money, they’re bound to take us. Then we can make a fresh start in America—I hear it’s a grand place.”

  “It’s too dangerous for you here. You must go now!” It wasn’t only fear for her brother’s safety that made her beg. She needed time to think. “Head down to the beach and wait for me there. Once everyone’s asleep, I’ll come find you and we can decide what to do.”

  “All right, then,” whispered Hugh. “But think about what I said, will you? If you can lay hands on enough money, we can be off this very night. The longer we wait, the greater chance there is that something will go wrong.”

  Bethan knew her brother was right about that, yet she couldn’t bring herself to promise what he asked. Instead she tugged him towards the gate, telling him how happy she was to have found him at last. That was partly true.

  “Be careful out there.” She hugged her brother tightly, wishing she did not have to be parted from him again so soon.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” he murmured. “I’m anxious to hear your story about how you got from Llanaled all the way to Singapore.”

  Once Hugh had slipped away, Bethan began to feel as if she could breathe properly again. But her heart laboured under the crushing weight that had settled on it.

  She turned her gaze toward Simon’s villa, the golden lamplight spilling out of its large open windows. It was as different as could be from the snug Welsh cottage where she’d grown up. Yet in the past weeks it had become a home to her.

  She wondered if Simon had finished telling Rosalia her bedtime story. Was he looking for her now, wondering where she’d gone, worried for her safety? If his house had become a home to her, it was because he and his daughter had become like family. How could she think of abandoning them?

  On the other hand, Hugh needed her help and he was the reason she’d come to Singapore. He was her only living blood kin, the last remnant of the broken family she’d spent years longing to mend. Having suffered the grief of believing him dead made her more desperate than ever to secure his safety.

  But when she thought of leaving Simon and Rosalia, slipping away in the night like Carlotta had, her heart quailed. Not only for herself, but for them. The child was bound to feel she’d done something wrong to make Bethan go away. For Simon, this might well be one betrayal too many. She could hardly blame him if he refused to trust any woman ever again.

  Was it possible she could test his trust without breaking it? A faint hope tantalised her as she headed back into the house. Perhaps she would ask Simon for a loan and use the money to send her brother to safety. Once Hugh was out of harm’s way, she’d confess the truth and hope for Simon’s forgiveness, though she was far from certain she deserved it.

  As she crept back inside, she smelled the mouthwatering aromas of dinner cooking. After a good meal and a glass of wine, Simon m
ight be inclined to hear her out and grant her an enormous favour…on trust.

  She checked the dining room where the table was set for their meal, but she saw no sign of Simon. Could he still be with Rosalia, telling the child more stories about her mother?

  On her way to the nursery, Bethan glanced into the sitting room and saw Simon in one of the armchairs, holding a half-empty glass.

  “There you are!” She tried to sound as if nothing had changed in the past half-hour when, in fact, everything had. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for dinner.”

  “Come in.” Simon did not shout the words, or snap in a sharp tone. Yet something about them made Bethan quail just the same.

  She hoped it was only her guilty conscience imagining trouble.

  “Is everything all right?” She forced herself to enter the room.

  Simon nodded toward the low table in front of him. A small mound of gold and silver coins lay on top of it.

  “That’s all I had in the house.” He bolted the last of whatever was in his glass—arrack, most likely. When he looked up at Bethan, his icy blue gaze pierced her like a freshly whetted blade. “Go ahead, take the money. I thought I would save you the trouble of stealing it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Though Simon considered his remark quite civilised under the circumstances, it seemed to take the legs out from under Bethan.

  She staggered to the nearest chair and sank on to it. “You heard.”

  Struggling to maintain control of his raging feelings, he gave a curt nod. “More than I wanted to. But I am curious about one thing. Who is this fine fellow you plan to run off to America with?”

  “You don’t know?” The depth of relief in her voice enraged Simon.

  Clearly she wanted to protect this blackguard the way he’d once wanted to protect her. It unnerved him to discover that, in spite of everything he’d just seen and heard, part of him still longed to save her from the folly she was about to commit.