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.
Chapter Ten
“I don’t believe you,” Esme said starkly.
Nicholas Bambury lounged on a settee in the morning room while she stood. It was a not-so-subtle insult. No gentleman sat while a lady stood.
“I thought a dutiful daughter such as yourself would recognize your father’s watch. They say he’s never without it.”
Her hand tightened around the battered old fob watch. It was her father’s. She knew, if she opened it, there would be a photo of her dead mother. It was the photo that made the watch precious to them both.
“You must have stolen it,” she said. “Or had someone steal it for you. I don’t believe you could have kidnapped Father.”
“Would you prefer I bring you a finger or an ear as proof?” he asked silkily.
“No.” She shuddered violently.
“Then we understand each other. You are not the type of woman I intended to take to wife, but beggars can’t be choosers. When you marry me, I release your father. If you refuse to marry me, I kill him. If you tell anyone of my threat, I kill him. I will be watching. I’ll know if you confide in anyone.”
She tried desperately to think. The kidnapping couldn’t possibly be true. Her father knew how to look after himself. All prospectors had to. It was a lonely game played for high stakes. He had guns, knives and dogs; let alone his own, more idiosyncratic devices of self-defense, like the auto-reloading catapult that once triggered by tripwire would continue to fling chloroform pellets that would stick to the intruder before releasing their coma-inducing fog.
And yet, things could go wrong. Her father could be in Bambury’s power, his life threatened.
“If I marry you, how do I know you’ll set Father free?”
“You have my word on it.”
“I am to trust in a kidnapper’s honor?” Her mouth twisted in a scornful smile.
“I am a Bambury. And I don’t like being forced into this position any more than you do,” he added pettishly.
“Oh, I doubt that. But out of interest, why are you?”
“Money,” he said. “My family might have land and a name, but Father and Grandfather were appalling businessmen.”
“So you came West to woo an heiress. Jed was right.”
“Don’t mention the American’s name. You would have accepted my offer of marriage if he hadn’t arrived and charmed you.”
“You delude yourself.” And at his menacing movement: “Fine. You’re an unprincipled cad, but since you leave me no choice, I’ll marry you. But if Father’s not at the wedding, you’ll wait a cold day in hell for my ‘I do.’”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Bambury scowled. “Your word is worth nothing. If you saw your father safe and well, you’d go back on your word and refuse to marry me. No, you’ll see your father after you’re Mrs. Nicholas Bambury.”
She swallowed her instinctive Never! If worse came to worst, there was always divorce or widowhood. For now, it was clear she had to play for time and that meant appearing to accept defeat. “I will have to trust in your honor for Father’s life.”
“Sensible girl.” Relief improved his mood. He strolled forward. “I suppose your beauty might provide some recompense.”
She put a chair between them.
He smiled. “Yes, there are aspects of this marriage I might enjoy. Remember, not a word to anyone. I shall arrange a special license and contact a minister. I’ll send word of the date and time.”
He walked out and she collapsed onto a chair, shaking.
Maud found her there an hour later. “Miss Esme, what are you doing, sitting in the dark?”
“Thinking.” The evening had drawn in, unnoticed. She blinked at the sudden illumination of gaslight. “Maud, we have a problem. Can you call Francis in?”
Maud and Francis stood in front of her, grey-haired, active and anxious because she looked worried. She had known them far longer than the two years her family had been able to afford employing them. They were friends. Bambury saw them as servants and would never dream of confiding in them. She reminded herself she had allies he hadn’t considered. Resourceful allies.
“Nicholas Bambury just informed me he has kidnapped Father and will kill him unless I marry the loathsome snake.”
“Lord above.” Maud plumped down on a sofa.
“I don’t believe it,” Francis said. “Aaron would never let a city boy like—”
Esme held out her father’s watch.
“Bambury could have hired someone,” Francis said slowly. “The goldrush has attracted men who’d kill for a sniff of go
ld. But it could be a con. The watch could be stolen. Sneak thieves are easily hired, more easily than kidnappers. I’ll ask some questions in the pubs.”
“Only if you can do so without starting waves,” Esme said. “I need your help with something else.” She looked at Maud. “Both of you.”
“Of course.” The housekeeper stopped twisting her apron and blinked rapidly. “Anything.”
“We’re going to con Bambury. I’ve been thinking. He got his timing wrong. To marry me out of hand, he needs a special license, but the bishop is upcountry until Saturday. Trying to squeeze a marriage in Saturday night would cause comment and Sunday is impossible. No one marries on a Sunday. So we have until Monday before Bambury can insist on me presenting myself at church.”
“Near on a week.” Francis nodded.
“Time enough for me to check if Bambury’s running a bluff. I’m the only one who knows where Father’s camp is. If he’s there, he’ll come back with me and we’ll sort out Bambury. If he’s not… But he must be. Father takes precautions. He knows all about claim jumpers. He has a shotgun and a couple of pistols, plus the dogs and who knows what devices of warning and repelling.”
“You think Bambury’s counting on panicking you into marriage?” Francis frowned. “It’s an audacious scheme.”
“Desperate, more like,” Maud said.
Esme nodded. “He said his family has run out of money. I’m to be his golden goose. I find it difficult to believe, though, that he’d risk his own hide by kidnapping the richest man in Australia.” She shivered. “But I can’t chance it. The Outback hides a lot of secrets.”
She stood and paced, rubbing her arms. “What I need the two of you to do is present the illusion that I’m still here. We can’t let anyone else in on the secret. Trays of food taken to my room must look like they’ve been eaten, linen washed, bathwater run. I want the idea out there that I’m in seclusion. If Bambury thinks I’m sulking or overset, all the better. Refuse to let him in to see me, but if he writes a note, Francis, I want you to forge my handwriting and respond. You’ll know my likely response.”
“That he can go to hell.” The old man and ex-forger grinned briefly.
“I wish he was there, now,” Maud said. “Evil man.”
“Put off anyone and everyone who inquires for me. Even Dr. Palmer. We can’t trust him with this sort of secret. He’d be so angry he’d explode.”
“What about the American?” Francis asked. “Reeve’s not the sort to be fobbed off. What’s more, I reckon you can trust him.”
Maud leaned forward. “Take him with you. I’d feel better if someone rode with you and Bambury would notice any of us absent.”
“He’ll be keeping an eye on Jed, too.” But Esme experienced a rush of relief at the thought of Jed accompanying her. It wasn’t the Outback that scared her: It was the fears she’d be traveling with.
If she had to marry Bambury—
“I can get Reeve here without anyone noticing,” Francis said.
It struck Esme that her friends trusted Jed. So did she. The thought of being able to rely on someone as strong as herself… “Please.”
Esme and Maud packed and planned the subterfuge by which Maud would make it seem that Esme lurked in her suite of rooms.
Meanwhile, in Mrs. Hall’s boarding house, Francis sidled into Jed’s room.
Jed recognized him and let his knife slide back into his boot. A shushing gesture from Francis stopped his exclamation.
The old handyman locked the door and silently closed the window. “Miss Esme’s in trouble.”
The rage Jed felt as Francis outlined the situation nearly blew off the top of his head. “I’ll see Bambury dead before he marries Esme.”
“Sure and all,” the other man agreed. “But I’m thinking Miss Esme’s right and the man’s running a bluff. But we can’t be gambling with Aaron’s, Mr. Smith’s, life. So, will you ride out with her?”
“Yes.” Jed threw a few articles into a satchel and buckled it with fiercely controlled movements. “But if Bambury checks on my whereabouts…”
“I’ve an idea,” Francis said. “That Indian boy you rescued has been copying you—your clothes, the way you walk, even the way you talk. He wouldn’t fool anyone close up, but from a distance or in the shadows he’ll do. I’ll map a path for him: that shed you disappear into, a few telephone conversations with men in Perth, a thwarted visit to Miss Esme. You leave the stage managing to me. Just write a note asking the boy for this favor.”
Jed gave him a searching look, and saw determination and confidence. “All right. I’ll trust you to stage manage the details.” He scribbled the note and handed it to Francis, who tucked it in a pocket before leading him through back streets and shadows, away from Smith’s mansion. “Where the hell are we going?”
“Horses,” Francis whispered back. “If Bambury has any sense, he has someone watching the house. Won’t matter. Mr. Smith has a passion for inventing things—same as Captain Fellowes. There’s a tunnel, as well as a secret room and heaven above knows what else. Miss Esme can slip out, but no point us increasing the chance of being noticed by trying to sneak you in, and then out, with her. She’ll meet you at the horses.”
The horses, Jed found, weren’t the expensive bloodstock stabled at the mansion, but were held at a small farm on the outskirts of the town, and tended by a surly man of few words who didn’t question Francis’s request to saddle up two horses in the middle of the night. He simply swung down from his house, landing lightly.
It was the first tree house lived in by an adult that Jed had ever seen and it suited the solitary man who worked without meeting anyone’s eyes. He simply pulled the rope ladder up behind him when he retired at night, effectively isolating himself.
The stabling and yards didn’t aspire to the eccentricity of the tree house, although also built of timber. They held a mixed herd of equine misfits that suggested a sanctuary for mistreated animals rather than a working stable. But from them, two sound horses were cut out and saddled. The groom attached what Francis called swags to both. Jed recognized the bare minimum of camping gear.
Esme arrived at that point. She wore men’s clothes and a cap hid her long hair. She barely greeted Jed as she swung into the saddle, clearly accustomed to riding astride. “Tommy, don’t mention to anyone that Jed and I were here or that any horses are gone.”
A grunt signalled the man’s assent.
Francis buckled on her saddlebags, while Jed secured his satchel and struggled to find words. What he wanted to do was pull Esme off her horse, hold her and tell her he’d fix everything. Instead, aware of Tommy’s presence, he stayed silent.
The horses fidgeted, unsettled by the strangeness of a nighttime ride and perhaps by the emotions swirling in the moonlit yard. Settling into the saddle, Jed realized why the pair had ended up at the sanctuary. Although schooled, they had the skittishness of rogues. At least, they looked likely to balance their awkward temperament with speed and endurance.
“We’ll be back Saturday,” Esme said to Francis. It sounded like a vow.
Jed made his own vow as he brought his horse up to hers and they set off across country. Bambury would not live to marry Esme.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m glad you’re with me,” Esme said to Jed as they slowed their horses to a walk. The canter had taken the edge off the horses’ fidgetiness and her own nervous impatience. “Thank you.”
“Anything I can do,” he said, quiet and sincere. “Esme, when I think of that bastard— If he has your father, we’ll get him back. You don’t have to marry him.”
“I’m hoping it’s all a cruel bluff. Father’s outwitted better men than Bambury.”
The night sounds of the bush drifted around them: the wind stirring the restless gum trees, the scampering of nocturnal animals disturbed by their passing. A mopoke called mournfully. Yesterday’s rain had dampened the earth and the scents came strongly, menthol and winter grass.
Esme had
an oiled cape strapped to her saddle, but she hoped she wouldn’t need it. Rain would add another layer of misery, although at least on horseback they wouldn’t risk the miring that carts faced in this weather.
“I need to know Father’s safe,” she said from the heart.
“I know.”
The steady reassurance in Jed’s voice comforted her, just as his silence asked nothing, only offered the support of his presence. It was exactly what she needed.
Around midnight, clouds obscured the moon and forced them to stop.
“We need to sleep, anyway.”
She pressed her lips together, knowing he was right, but still wanting to carry on. She made herself dismount and turn to unsaddling. Her fingers were clumsy from the cold. She flattened them a moment against the heat of Thunderclap before tugging again at a stubborn buckle.
Jed glanced at her once, assessing, but the darkness hid her and he concentrated on his own horse before taking both down to the river to drink.
She unrolled the two swags beneath a river gum where the ground was almost dry and slid into her own. Her tension made the ground feel doubly hard.
“I miss Kelly,” she said, hearing Jed return. “He always goes bush with me.”
She’d left her dog behind to aid the pretense of her own presence.
“I’m sorry.” Jed loomed beneath the river gum’s spreading branches, before getting into his own swag. “I’m here if you need anything.”
Someone to hold me in the darkness? She pulled the scratchy wool blanket higher, finding no comfort in it.
“Good night, sweetheart,” he said. “Try to sleep.”
She didn’t expect to, but physical weariness and nervous exhaustion dropped her into sleep and into nightmares of obscene marriage ceremonies presided over by crows in white surplices. She woke at daybreak, lying still for a moment beneath the river gum.
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