Table Of Content‘Save your warnings, Mr Grimshaw.’ She stood toe-to-toe with him and fixed
him with a blistering glare.
Did she not realise the danger in which she’d placed herself? He had only to
raise his arms and bend forward a few perilous inches and she would be captive
in his embrace again, his lips on hers, taking what they wanted.
Or did she know exactly what she was doing? Was she trying to provoke his lust
to test how much power she could exercise over him? Every muscle in Simon’s
body tensed with the effort to keep his hands from her.
‘I am not the kind of woman you think,’ Bethan insisted. ‘I would never have
come to your bed last night if I’d known that was all you wanted from me. I
suppose you reckoned that once you’d ruined me I’d have to take what I could
get from you, but you’re wrong. I may have been a green little fool for trusting
you, but I’ll be no man’s whore!’
Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress
Deborah Hale
www.millsandboon.co.uk
In the process of tracing her Canadian family to their origins in eighteenth-
century Britain, DEBORAH HALE learned a great deal about the period and
uncovered plenty of true-life inspiration for her historical romance novels!
Deborah lives with her very own hero and their four fast-growing children in
Nova Scotia—a province steeped in history and romance!
Deborah invites you to become better acquainted with her by visiting her
personal website www.deborahhale.com, or chatting with her in the
Harlequin/Mills & Boon online communities.
Previous novels by the same author:
A GENTLEMAN OF SUBSTANCE
THE WEDDING WAGER
MY LORD PROTECTOR
CARPETBAGGER’S WIFE
THE ELUSIVE BRIDE
BORDER BRIDE
LADY LYTE’S LITTLE SECRET
THE BRIDE SHIP
A WINTER NIGHT’S TALE
(part of A Regency Christmas) MARRIED: THE VIRGIN WIDOW*
BOUGHT: THE PENNILESS LADY*
*Gentlemen of Fortune
This book is dedicated to my faithful readers, who waited so patiently for the
release of this series, and to editors Suzanne Clarke and Jenny Hutton, who were
committed to making it the best it could be.
Author Note
Welcome to the third book of my series, Gentlemen of Fortune, about the self-
made men of Vindicara Trading Company! While I love reading and writing
about dashing aristocrats, I’ve always had a fascination with the man who makes
his own fortune and charts his own destiny. Such men make great romance
heroes, because they have large, definite objectives and an intense motivation to
succeed. They will fight for what they want and refuse to let anything or anyone
get in the way of achieving their goals—even when it comes to love.
Ford Barrett, Hadrian Northmore and Simon Grimshaw all left Britain for
various reasons, going halfway around the world to make their fortunes. Now,
though they have money, power and success, they discover those things mean
nothing without a special person to share them. As destiny throws three unique
women into their paths, these driven men discover that achieving material
success is easy compared to the challenge of forging a close, passionate
relationship that will last a lifetime.
WANTED: MAIL-ORDER MISTRESS is the story of Simon Grimshaw, the
partner left behind in Singapore to carry on the business after Ford and Hadrian
return to England. Betrayed by every woman he has ever trusted, Simon is
determined never to wed again. When he enlists Hadrian to find him a mistress,
Simon gets far more than he bargained for in Bethan Conway. The spirited
Welsh beauty mistakenly believes Simon wants a bride, while she has her own
secret reason for coming to Singapore—a reason she dares not confide in him!
I hope you will enjoy WANTED: MAIL-ORDER MISTRESS, and the
stories of those other Gentlemen of Fortune!
Chapter One
Singapore—June 1825
S
“ o this is it, then?” Brushing a stray auburn curl out of her eyes, Bethan
Conway leaned forward in the boat that was ferrying her and her travelling
companions into the harbour. “Not a very big town, is it?”
While part of her was thrilled to reach her destination after five months
aboard ship, another part wanted to plead with the man at the tiller to turn the
boat around and head back out to sea!
“This place would fit into Newcastle’s pocket, right enough.” Bethan’s
young friend Ralph gazed around at the mix of buildings that lined both banks of
the river. Some were made of timber with huge, shaggy thatched roofs while
others had white-plastered walls topped with orderly rows of neat red tiles.
“Hasn’t been around long, though, has it? I heard Mr Northmore say there was
nowt much here at all when him and his partners landed six year ago.”
“I wouldn’t care if it was nothing but jungle,” croaked Wilson Hall. “As
long as I can get solid dry ground under my feet again, I’ll be happy.”
Poor Wilson! Bethan recalled how seasick he and the other three lads from
Durham had been at the start of their voyage. They’d envied her ability to keep
her food down even in the roughest weather, but they’d been grateful, too. If she
hadn’t tended them so capably when they retched and moaned in their
hammocks, some might not have recovered.
For the past several days they had talked of little else but how happy they’d
be to reach their destination and start work at the Vindicara Trading Company
for Mr Simon Grimshaw. Every time she heard that name, a bilious wave had
roiled through Bethan like a belated attack of seasickness. While the lads had
been hired from the coalmines of northern England to work for Mr Grimshaw,
she’d been recruited to marry him.
If she hadn’t been so desperate to reach these distant shores, she never
would have pledged her life to a stranger. But she’d been anxious to get there
soon, while there was still a faint hope someone might recall what had become
of her brother or his ship. At the time, her marriage had seemed too far in the
future to be quite real. The closer it came, the more it worried her.
As the boat eased up to the jetty, Bethan inhaled a deep draught of warm air
As the boat eased up to the jetty, Bethan inhaled a deep draught of warm air
that mingled the tang of the sea with an exotic whiff of coffee and spices. She
had made her bargain. Now she must honour it by doing her best to be a good
wife to Mr Grimshaw. She only prayed her new husband would not be too old,
ugly or ill tempered.
The mooring lines were barely secured when the Durham lads swarmed
ashore. Only Wilson had the manners to turn and offer Bethan a hand to
disembark, while the others asked anyone within earshot the way to the
Vindicara warehouse.
There was no shortage of people on the quay to question. There were a
great many men with bare chests the colour of mahogany wood, who wore white
turbans and bright-hued skirts wrapped around their legs. Other men, with
lighter skin and slanted eyes, carried sacks slung from poles draped over their
shoulders. They wore baggy trousers and black-sashed tunics. The front parts of
their heads were shaved bald while the jet-black hair further back was braided in
long tight plaits. Tall bearded men, wearing white turbans and long robes,
looked as if they’d just stepped out of a Bible story. The only thing all these
strange people had in common was trouble understanding the broad north-
country English of Bethan’s companions.
After a good deal of shouting, waving and pointing, Ralph turned to her. “I
think they’re trying to tell us Mr Grimshaw’s warehouse is on the other side of
the river.”
“There’s a bridge.” Wilson pointed up the sweeping curve of the quay to a
spot where the river narrowed and a slender wooden span connected the two
sides of the harbour. “We can walk around.”
The rest agreed and they set off at once. Though Bethan forced one foot in
front of the other, her shoes felt strangely heavy. It did not take long for her to
fall behind her companions.
The men working on the quay turned to stare at her as she passed. Could it
be because they noticed her resemblance to a young man they remembered?
Reason told her it wasn’t likely. Their curious interest was probably on account
of her skin colour, or because she was a woman.
But it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? She’d come all this way and bartered
her freedom in hope of finding the last bit of family she had left in the world.
She needed to start somewhere.
“Pardon me.” She turned toward a young man wearing white leggings and a
turban who smiled at her. “I’m looking for news of a crewman from the barque
Dauntless. His ship came to Singapore three years ago. Do you remember it?”
The man’s smile broadened further and he answered in a language she
didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.” Bethan shook her head and
gave an exaggerated shrug. “I didn’t even understand English very well until the
past year. And I don’t suppose you know any Welsh.”
Another voice spoke up, heavily accented but in English. “Say again who
you look for, lady?”
Bethan turned eagerly towards the speaker, a man with dark, almond-
shaped eyes, who wore a large, round straw hat. “I’d be grateful for any help you
could give me. His name is Hugh Conway. He’d be taller than you.” She raised
her hand to indicate her brother’s height, then pulled back her bonnet and
pointed to her head. “His hair is almost the colour of mine.”
She could do better than try to describe him with gestures and words the
man might not understand. Reaching back to her nape, Bethan unfastened the
silver locket that was her most precious possession. Then she opened it to show
the miniature portrait inside. “He looks like this. At least he did the last time I
saw him.”
The tiny painting wasn’t of Hugh himself, but it was the nearest likeness
she had.
A flicker of interest kindled in the man’s eyes as he stared at the locket. Did
he recognise the handsome young face? If Europeans were as scarce in
Singapore as they appeared to be, those few must stand out, easily noticed.
Perhaps easily remembered.
“Have you seen him?” she asked. “Please, I’m very anxious to get word of
him.”
The man nodded slowly. “Maybe I saw this one. Not sure.”
Bethan’s heart leapt. Even in her most hopeful dreams, she’d never
imagined getting a lead on her missing brother so soon. “He was in Singapore
three years ago. I got a letter posted from here. Do you know what happened to
him or his ship?”
The man’s high forehead furrowed as if trying hard to remember where and
when he’d seen that face. “I look closer?”
“Yes, of course.” Bethan pushed the locket into his hands. “I wish I had a
bigger picture to show you.”
A small crowd had gathered around them as they talked. Suddenly someone
tapped Bethan on the shoulder from behind. Did another person recognise Hugh
from a distant glimpse of the miniature? Or did they recall his name?
from a distant glimpse of the miniature? Or did they recall his name?
She spun around only to find a bank of expressionless faces staring back at
her.
“Did one of you have something to tell me?” she asked. “Have you seen
Hugh Conway? Do you remember his ship?”
None of them replied except with sheepish grins.
“Think it’s great fun hoaxing a stranger, do you?” Bethan snapped. “I see
some things are the same wherever you go.”
With an indignant huff, she turned back to her informant. By now he’d had
plenty of time to study the likeness. But when she looked around, all she
glimpsed of the fellow was the back of his faded blue tunic disappearing into the
crowd.
“Come back!” she cried, tearing after him. “Thief! He has my locket.
Someone please stop him!”
But no one on the quay seemed willing to help her. Quite the opposite, in
fact. Men who moved aside to let the thief escape quickly stepped back into
Bethan’s path, hindering her pursuit.
“Wilson! Ralph!” she called, though she knew her travelling companions
must be far out of earshot by now. She didn’t dare stop to look around for them
or she might lose sight of the man who’d stolen her locket.
“Please,” she cried, “you can have the necklace! Just leave me the picture!”
Catching sight of the bridge out of the corner of her eye, she hoped the thief
might run that way and perhaps overtake her friends. Instead he darted down a
crowded street in the other direction with Bethan in breathless pursuit. After five
months aboard ship, she was not used to running, especially in such oppressive
heat. Sheer desperation pushed her forwards.
The thief dodged into a side street. Bethan reached it just in time to glimpse
him entering the mouth of an alley. By the time she staggered to the spot where
she’d seen him disappear, she was gasping for air while a hot flush smarted in
her cheeks. No doubt he would have slipped away, leaving her with no idea
which way he’d gone.
But, no. When she peered into the alley, there he was, strolling towards her
as brazen as could be—the same clothes, dark eyes and shaved head.
Planting herself in front of him, she signalled him to stop. “I want my
picture back. Come now, it can’t be worth anything to you.”
The man scowled at her as if she was the one who’d done him wrong. He
muttered an answer in his language.
“You could speak English well enough a few minutes ago!” cried Bethan.
“Or did you forget it all while you were making away with my property?”
