Read Online Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress by Deborah Hale - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Deborah Hale
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ships there are at anchor.”
By now they had reached the hilltop. Simon stopped the gharry some distance away from the tall signalflagpole and hurried around to help Bethan out. He did not release her hand when she had alighted, but tucked it into the crook of his elbow and led her towards the best lookout spot. He was gratified when she betrayed no hesitation in taking his arm. He hoped it meant she was growing more comfortable around him and not simply that she was too fascinated by the vast number of ships to notice.
“Do many of the crews come ashore?” she asked.
Simon shook his head. “Only the odd few. There isn’t a great deal for them to do. Very little of our food is grown here, so Singapore is not the best port for provisioning.” He sensed her dissatisfaction with his answer. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” The bright, carefree tone she affected struck a false note. “I’m interested in everything about the place, that’s all. Tell me, what’s that cluster of buildings over there near the shore?”
Simon recognised an evasion when he heard one, though he could not fathom why she felt it necessary. “That’s the Sultan’s istana. A palace of sorts.”
A melodious trill of her laughter made him forget his niggling suspicions. “Living just up the road from a sultan’s palace, am I? What would the folks back in Llanaled make of that, I wonder?”
He turned towards her, gazing down into her eyes. They reminded him of a Lancashire meadow swathed in springtime mist. “If those people have any sense, they’ll say you belong in a palace, showered with the best of everything.”
“If any of them could see your house, they’d think it was a palace.” She lowered her gaze briefly, onlyto look up at him again through the delicate fringe of her eyelashes.
Was that an invitation to kiss her? It made Simon incapable of resisting his inclination. The best he could manage was to proceed slowly so as not to alarm her. That took every scrap of will-power he possessed.
Closer and closer he leaned, watching for any sign of reluctance, which he hoped would not come. Bethan had ample time to evade his kiss or fend him off with some remark about the view. But she did not speak or move, except the slightest quiver of her lips as his whispered over them.
Ever since their first evening together, the memory of her kiss, her scent and the feel of her in his arms had clung to Simon. By day they distracted him from his work and by night they invaded his dreams. Though they made a pleasant change from the nightmares that sometimes plagued him, they were a sweet torment, whetting his hunger for her to an even sharper pitch.
Now the glancing brush against her warm, pliant lips unleashed a tempest of urgent desire within him. Simon clung tight to Bethan’s hands in case the temptation to take further liberties overwhelmed him.
He was fighting so hard to control his hands that he had no will-power to spare for his lips. Bethan’s kiss tasted like sweet cider to a man parched with thirst. How could he imbibe it by slow, cautious sips when he longed to quaff it in great, lusty draughts?
His lips ranged over hers and she responded with natural, innocent desire that only made him want her more. When her lips parted, he slid his tongue between them, immersing himself in the delights of her soft,sweet mouth even as he strove to ignore the hungry ache of arousal they inflamed.
Then suddenly Bethan tensed and jerked away from him.
Silently cursing himself, Simon struggled to regain his composure. He’d intended to maintain tight control of his desires, to tempt Bethan without frightening her. It vexed him to realise how relentlessly she tested his self-restraint. His flash of frustrated anger sought an outlet.
The low murmur of voices jolted Bethan out of the dark, lucious depths of Simon’s kiss.
On their drive up Government Hill, they’d seen no one but a few soldiers off in the distance. As Simon
By now they had reached the hilltop. Simon stopped the gharry some distance away from the tall signalflagpole and hurried around to help Bethan out. He did not release her hand when she had alighted, but tucked it into the crook of his elbow and led her towards the best lookout spot. He was gratified when she betrayed no hesitation in taking his arm. He hoped it meant she was growing more comfortable around him and not simply that she was too fascinated by the vast number of ships to notice.
“Do many of the crews come ashore?” she asked.
Simon shook his head. “Only the odd few. There isn’t a great deal for them to do. Very little of our food is grown here, so Singapore is not the best port for provisioning.” He sensed her dissatisfaction with his answer. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” The bright, carefree tone she affected struck a false note. “I’m interested in everything about the place, that’s all. Tell me, what’s that cluster of buildings over there near the shore?”
Simon recognised an evasion when he heard one, though he could not fathom why she felt it necessary. “That’s the Sultan’s istana. A palace of sorts.”
A melodious trill of her laughter made him forget his niggling suspicions. “Living just up the road from a sultan’s palace, am I? What would the folks back in Llanaled make of that, I wonder?”
He turned towards her, gazing down into her eyes. They reminded him of a Lancashire meadow swathed in springtime mist. “If those people have any sense, they’ll say you belong in a palace, showered with the best of everything.”
“If any of them could see your house, they’d think it was a palace.” She lowered her gaze briefly, onlyto look up at him again through the delicate fringe of her eyelashes.
Was that an invitation to kiss her? It made Simon incapable of resisting his inclination. The best he could manage was to proceed slowly so as not to alarm her. That took every scrap of will-power he possessed.
Closer and closer he leaned, watching for any sign of reluctance, which he hoped would not come. Bethan had ample time to evade his kiss or fend him off with some remark about the view. But she did not speak or move, except the slightest quiver of her lips as his whispered over them.
Ever since their first evening together, the memory of her kiss, her scent and the feel of her in his arms had clung to Simon. By day they distracted him from his work and by night they invaded his dreams. Though they made a pleasant change from the nightmares that sometimes plagued him, they were a sweet torment, whetting his hunger for her to an even sharper pitch.
Now the glancing brush against her warm, pliant lips unleashed a tempest of urgent desire within him. Simon clung tight to Bethan’s hands in case the temptation to take further liberties overwhelmed him.
He was fighting so hard to control his hands that he had no will-power to spare for his lips. Bethan’s kiss tasted like sweet cider to a man parched with thirst. How could he imbibe it by slow, cautious sips when he longed to quaff it in great, lusty draughts?
His lips ranged over hers and she responded with natural, innocent desire that only made him want her more. When her lips parted, he slid his tongue between them, immersing himself in the delights of her soft,sweet mouth even as he strove to ignore the hungry ache of arousal they inflamed.
Then suddenly Bethan tensed and jerked away from him.
Silently cursing himself, Simon struggled to regain his composure. He’d intended to maintain tight control of his desires, to tempt Bethan without frightening her. It vexed him to realise how relentlessly she tested his self-restraint. His flash of frustrated anger sought an outlet.
The low murmur of voices jolted Bethan out of the dark, lucious depths of Simon’s kiss.
On their drive up Government Hill, they’d seen no one but a few soldiers off in the distance. As Simon
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