Wanted: One Scoundrel (6 page)

Esme touched the discreet ruby pin she’d attached to her collar. It was the one spot of color in her grey, tailored walking suit. Even her hat was the soft grey of fluffy emu chicks. Unlike some young ladies she could mention, she had dressed appropriately for the annual midwinter inventors’ fair.

Two booths away Miss Nellie Bowles tilted her head in what she no doubt considered a coquettish angle and let loose a trill of laughter.

Esme was amused to see Jed flinch and step back from the feminine onslaught.

He swung around hastily and apologized to Miss Hannah Peyton, whose toe he’d trodden on.

“Oh, Mr. Reeve.” Hannah collapsed gracefully against him and he had, perforce, to escort her to a bentwood chair by the wall.

Nellie looked daggers before sniffing and stalking away in search of new prey. The wide, violet ruffles of her tea gown rustled loudly.

Esme smirked at Jed’s beleaguered air. Somewhat to her surprise, he appeared keenly interested in the business of the day: the exhibition, analysis and improvement of various gadgets devised by the colony’s inventors.

Her father had often attended the event in the past, generally as an exhibitor. She smiled at the memory of his patented potato peeler. The potato was fixed to a spike which spun it round while a blade moved slowly down, scraping away the skin. Except, when the peeler was cranked too violently, the blade spun with such force that chunks of potato splattered everywhere. She remembered how her mother had shrugged philosophically and made mashed potatoes.

“Good afternoon, Miss Smith.” A loud, arrogant voice intruded on her memories.

She checked a discourteous sigh. She might detest Nicholas Bambury and his politics, but he held a degree of influence over the men in Swan River that she couldn’t afford to overlook—not if she wanted to achieve her goal of universal suffrage. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“May I say how delightful you look? Your fair beauty brightens this dull event.” He glanced disparagingly around the crowded hall of the Mechanics Institute where the double doors were flung wide to allow more exhibitions space outside.

“I find the inventors’ fair fascinating.” She wished his evident boredom meant a swift departure—better yet, that he hadn’t turned up at all. Some people might find his blond good looks appealing. For herself, she’d discovered a weakness for dark-haired, dark-eyed rascals. Speaking of which, Jed had disengaged himself from Hannah and was striding over.

“Afternoon, Bambury.”

The man exchanged curt nods and greetings that sounded more like challenges.

Hannah and Nellie crowded in.

“I see you still have your shadow, Reeve.” Bambury’s sneer was for Reeve and the young man hovering a few paces behind.

The two sycophantic women tittered.

Gupta Singh’s youthfully plump face reddened and he ducked sideways, pretending sudden fascination with a ribbon-tyer at the next stall.

Esme’s hand tightened on her umbrella at the unnecessary cruelty. Gupta Singh was simply indulging in a little natural hero worship for the man who’d saved him from drowning. “Any number of young men would do well to imitate Mr. Reeve’s style. After all, he is recently arrived from Europe, where they set the fashion rather than merely follow it.”

“You and Singh both flatter me, Miss Esme. I’m no fashion-plate.”

“But you have such heavenly broad shoulders,” Nellie cooed.

The stern line of Jed’s mouth relaxed in amusement. “Now I am truly put to the blush.”

“I believe I see my friend Gordon. If you’ll excuse me.” Bambury’s haughty tone showed the offense he’d taken over Esme’s reprimand. Nonetheless, he bowed over her hand. If anything he retained it too long. Certainly, Jed’s eyes narrowed. “Until later, Miss Smith. Ladies.”

Hannah and Nellie hesitated, eyed Jed’s focus on Esme, and hurried after Bambury. His friend Gordon might be middle-aged, but he was also a well-to-do widower. Fresh blood, so to speak.

“Mr. Singh,” Esme addressed the embarrassed young man. “Have you seen Mrs. Dam’s incense burner?”

Gupta tugged at the cuffs of his navy wool coat, cut in colonial imitation of Jed’s French tailoring. “N-n-no, Miss Smith. Is it interesting?”

“I think so. Her stall is just over here.” She led the two men away from the scene of Gupta’s humiliation to a stall near one of the hall’s narrow windows. There was a break between rain showers and sun streamed in, gleaming off highly polished brass objects.

Mrs. Ayesha Dam was talking seriously with Mr. Amberley, a fellow inventor, but she smiled at Esme and nodded to Jed and Gupta.

Esme picked up a small brass elephant and balanced it on the palm of one hand. “See how clever it is? You light the incense in its belly, then when you tug its tail, the trunk raises to puff out the smoke and the ears flap to swirl it around.”

“Wonderful.” Jed laughed and stroked a finger along the elephant’s trunk.

“It is good fortune, too,” Gupta said earnestly. “The elephant is a symbol of Lord Ganesha who all Hindus pray to for blessings.”

“Lord Ganesha is patron of intellect and science, too. But this is mere frivolity.” Ayesha joined the conversation. “A toy to entertain the children. The real invention I brought to the fair is this, the All-Suck Insect Transporter.”

It was an odd, elongated object in brass and leather with a cylindrical body, a nozzle, pump handle and glass chamber.

Jed abandoned the pachyderm incense burner to watch Ayesha demonstrate her invention.

Esme set aside the elephant, giving it a friendly, farewell pat. Its frivolity appealed to her a lot more than the All-Suck Insect Transporter. Since she didn’t believe in reincarnation, she felt no compunction in swatting any creepy-crawlies that invaded her home.

Ayesha launched into her product description. “Many Indians are reluctant to kill even the smallest insect, but Australia has such venomous creatures that we need the ability to remove them safely from our homes. The All-Suck Insect Transporter allows the householder to capture the insect, transport and release it safely. It operates on the vacuum principle.”

She put a thumbnail-sized twist of paper on the table and began pumping the device. The feather on her hat trembled with her exertions. “A brief, preliminary action to generate the vacuum, then whoosh.” She pointed the device at the twist of paper and it was sucked up and into the glass chamber. Ayesha ceased pumping. “The chamber is sealed for transportation, but when I release this lever, the insect is freed.” The paper tumbled back onto the table.

“May I?” Jed took the All-Suck Insect Transporter from her and studied it. “Have you considered a crank system rather than pump mechanism for generating the vacuum? I suspect a crank would allow greater precision in aiming the device at an insect while continuing to power the vacuum.”

He had an air of professional curiosity.

Ayesha responded, one inventor to another. “Hmm.”

Their heads bent over the device.

“If you narrow this pipe…” Jed took a pencil and paper from his pocket and began sketching as he spoke.

Esme blinked, then grinned as she caught Gupta’s similarly baffled gaze. Somehow one didn’t expect a man who dressed as fashionably as Jed to be interested in and informed on the latest advances in scientific principles.

“I believe we’ve been forgotten,” she said to Gupta.

“Not at all,” Jed said unconvincingly, watching Ayesha unscrew the nozzle.

“Uh huh.” Esme’s mockery was affectionate. “Mr. Gupta, would you care to examine the rest of the exhibits with me?”

“D-d-delighted.”

By the door, Bambury looked in their direction and scowled.

Esme smiled. She mightn’t like the man, but with Nellie hanging off one arm and Hannah the other, he was truly punished. From the way they glared at each other, he was shortly to be torn apart in a vicious tug of war. His friend Gordon had taken one look at the man-eaters and vanished. Esme raised a gloved hand in airy farewell. “Toodle-pip.”

Karmic justice was a beautiful thing.

“Miss Smith, your beauty shames the stars in their golden slumbers.”

Esme reminded herself not to grimace at Nicholas Bambury’s overdone and ridiculous flattery. She could have done without his attentions. Everywhere she went these days, she stumbled over him. And every time she stumbled, he was there with another compliment, another smirk, another implication she should be honored by his company.

Odious toad.

She looked around for Jed, before reminding herself that to do so would only feed the gossip.

Small town nosey parkers.
She was out of patience with everyone. How dare they imply Jed was her suitor! She was sure Nellie and Hannah had started the gossip. The rumors undermined all her political efforts. It made her a trophy and Jed a fortune hunter, and it simply wasn’t true.

More’s the pity
.

She stifled that small, honest voice.

“More champagne, Miss Smith?”

“No, thank you.” She preferred a nice hot cup of tea on a cold winter’s evening, or better yet, a cup of chai. Most of all, she wished Bambury would go away. “Intermission will be over shortly.”

“And then we’ll be exposed to more of that interminable scratching and screeching.” Disdain dripped from Bambury’s upper class tones.

Esme’s shoulders stiffened beneath the cashmere shawl she’d wrapped around herself in the cold town hall. She mightn’t appreciate the “music” Mr. Amberley’s automated orchestra created, but she’d be darned if she let this Easterner sneer at her uncle’s friend.

“I think Mr. Amberley is very clever.”

“Of course you do.” Bambury all but patted her on her pretty-little-head.

She turned and made her way back to her seat, a rickety wooden chair. She really couldn’t trust her manners if Bambury continued on this way. Behind her, she heard the creak of his polished boots and the crack of their heels on the scuffed floor as he pursued her.

She sat, presenting him with her averted profile, and found Jed watching the small drama. His mouth was set in an uncharacteristically stern line before he looked away to answer some comment Mrs. Palmer made.

The automated orchestra began their tune-up exercises: two violins and a piano player, not quite in concert.

“If I had ear plugs, Miss Smith, I would lend them to you, and greater love hath no man than that sacrifice,” Bambury murmured insinuatingly.

Esme maintained a frozen expression, but a glimmer of humor enabled her to endure his presence. She’d just remembered what Mr. Amberley planned for the second half of his entertainment—automated dancing girls. Bambury would hate it.

The orchestra started playing a scratchy polka, the curtains parted and three clockwork figurines, dressed in badly stitched red satin dresses, wobbled on. Arms linked, they shuffled in unison. Left, right. Forward, back. And for a grand finale, a high kick that landed all three on their backs in a gigantic clatter of metal and whirring, misfiring mechanisms.

The audience exploded in laughter and snickers. All except Bambury. He sat silent and disapproving, scornful of everyone in the hall.

Esme’s own giggles died.

Why on earth is he wasting his time with me?

For herself, she allowed his escort because of his political importance.

A blinding light burst upon her.
Oh my!
She had to tell Jed. Forget the gossip of a relationship between them. Bambury’s pursuit of her was proof her and Jed’s political activity was working.

Jed disagreed.

“Are you mad?”

Esme sat stiff and annoyed in the library the next day. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Pleased? That Bambury is dancing attendance on you.” He paced as if he couldn’t bear to sit still and his hands flexed and clenched.

“I explained.” She couldn’t understand his obtuseness. “Bambury’s pursuing me because he’s nervous of our political success. We’re making waves, Jed. Women’s suffrage, universal suffrage. Secession. It’s all possible.”

He whirled and leaned down with one hand on either arm of her chair, caging her in. “It’s you who doesn’t understand. Bambury doesn’t give two figs for your political activities. He’s chasing you because you’re an heiress.”

She stared. Jed was so close she could feel his breath on her skin, read the passion in his eyes. “But Bambury’s rich.”

“Some men are never rich enough.”

“True.” Her mouth felt swollen as Jed watched her lips shape the single word.

“Hades flames.” The muscles of his arms bunched, straining the fabric of his jacket.

“Jed?”

An even saltier oath ripped from him as he stalked away across the room. “Bambury doesn’t appreciate you, Esme. But he does want your father’s money.”

And you, Jed? What do you want?

He met her eyes across the room. “When you play up to Bambury for political reasons, he thinks you’re encouraging his suit.”

Disappointment steadied her heartbeat. “You’re wrong. Bambury is very proud of his family’s name. He regards me as a jumped-up, working class hoyden. He wouldn’t lower himself to…” Her nails dug into the arms of her chair. “He would, wouldn’t he? I’d forgotten. Ironic given the Women’s Advancement League. Husbands control their wives’ bodies and property, their children and behavior. Bambury would be arrogant enough to think he could make me over into whatever he wanted.”

“He could make your life a living hell.”

She stood and walked restlessly, avoiding the French doors where Jed brooded. “I’ll make it clear I reject him utterly.”

“I wish your father was here.”

“Father? Why?”

“I think it’ll take a man to make Bambury accept your rejection. When does your father return from his mining claim?”

“I can manage my own affairs.”

Jed snorted.

“And what does that sound mean?”

“It means that for all your intelligence and courage, you’re an innocent. Bambury isn’t a tame dog. His arrogance is dangerous.”

“That’s just like a man—you insist on a female preserving her innocence and then blame her for it. Well, I might be innocent, but I’m not naive and I’m not easy prey for the likes of Bambury. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Reeve. Good day.”

He glared at her, then muttered something under his breath, slipped the catch on the French doors and strode out.

The wind caught the doors and slammed them shut. The loud bang suited Esme’s mood.

“No good, interfering scoundrel!” She wasn’t sure if she meant Bambury or Jed. She sat down on a footstool, rested her chin on her hand and fumed.
Men!

Women!
Jed headed for a saloon—or as the locals called them, a pub. They had boomed with the goldrush and it seemed he had his choice on nearly every corner of town.

Bossy, stubborn, irrational woman
. He ordered a whiskey.

The gilt on the mirror over the bar was flaking off. He stared at his morose reflection. So much for charm. He’d definitely antagonized Esme and all because the thought of Bambury, of any man, touching her, claiming her, aroused the primitive in him. He’d been a hair’s breadth from stealing a kiss.

To steal a kiss when she trusted him with the freedom of her father’s house would have been the act of a true scoundrel.

Her mouth had been pink and full, hellish temptation for a man who’d been fantasizing about her taste for weeks.

And she’d wanted his kiss. He’d read desire in her blue eyes and quickened breathing. It was the innocence that had stopped him. Her trust.

Damn it all, she was a lady and he had to treat her as such.

He nodded to the barkeeper for a refill.

“Brandy for me.” Nicholas Bambury took the stool beside him.

Jed stared at them in the mirror. Himself, dark and none-too-happy. Bambury, fair and smug. With all the pubs in town, it couldn’t be coincidence that the fellow turned up beside him.

“I’ve never been fond of mysteries, Reeve.” Bambury sipped his brandy. “You arrive here as Captain Fellowes’s friend, vouched for by Dr. Palmer, and that’s good enough for most men to accept you. But none of us know your background, only what you tell us, and that damnable American accent.”

“It’s not assumed,” Jed drawled.

“Who’d bother?” Bambury was casually offensive. Like Jed, he watched them in the mirror. “What I have done is start inquiries. A few letters to friends in Washington and New York, New Orleans, San Francisco.”

“Should I be flattered by your interest?”

“You should be warned.” An ugly look crossed Bambury’s face. “I’ll get answers soon, and then, I’ll expose you as the scoundrel you are.”

Jed sighed. Everyone considered him a scoundrel. It had to be the cut of the clothes he’d bought in Paris. Back home in San Francisco, his reputation was blameless and boring. Life was certainly more exciting in Swan River.

“You have a week, maybe two,” Bambury said. “Then everyone will know what you are. Or you can go now. Cut your losses. I’ll give you a thousand pounds to do just that.”

It took Jed a moment to realize he was being paid off. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

When he straightened, Bambury had gone.

“Seems your friend didn’t appreciate the joke,” the barkeeper said.

“Yeah. But whether the joke is on him or me remains to be seen.” What had become crystal clear was Bambury’s desperation to hook Esme. A thousand pounds was a fortune to a working man.

He pushed away from the bar. Bambury wasn’t the only one who could write letters of inquiry.
I wonder what secrets golden boy is hiding?
Because he sure as hell wasn’t having Esme.