Free Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz Page B

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