Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz

undoubtedly lured by the fire and the prospect of company. She tugged her hat over her face and stayed in the shadows. Jed’s accent would mark him as American, but a lot of Americans had been lured to Swan River by the goldrush. It was she who couldn’t afford to be recognized.
    “Hello, the house.” The stranger pulled up his horse, but two dogs that had been trotting at its heels raced on to fawn at Esme’s feet.
    “Father?” She stumbled over one dog and Jed righted her. “Father!”
    She ran forward, throwing herself at her father as he swung out of the saddle.
    His arms closed protectively around her. “Esme, what are you doing here? And who’s this with you?”
    “I was coming to find you, Father. And this is Jed. Jed Reeve. He’s helping me because—oh, Father, I thought you’d been kidnapped.”
     
    Meeting Aaron Smith, Jed understood why Esme had found it difficult to believe Bambury could have kidnapped him. Not only was Smith well over six feet, the heavy work of gold prospecting had given him formidable muscles. Plus he carried a shotgun and the two dogs who ran with him were large, rangy crossbreeds.
    “Roo dogs,” Smith called them, when he’d heard Esme’s story, finished cursing and settled back to smoke an after-dinner pipe. “Somewhat similar to what the English call poacher’s dogs.”
    “They look fast and fierce.”
    “I’d like to set them on Bambury.”
    “We will have to do something about him. But nothing that he can haul you in front of a magistrate for.” Esme cradled her mug of tea and stared into the fire. “I wonder who he hired to steal the watch from you.”
    “Francis will find out.” It was unnecessary for Smith to add that he’d deal with the fellow. After all, he’d ridden in from his claim for just that reason: to chase down the thieving no-good who’d stolen the precious memento of his late wife. He’d discovered the watch gone two days ago and wasted a day searching in case he’d dropped it. “First, though, I’m getting it back from Bambury if I have to rip his head off.”
    “Or publicly skewer him,” Jed suggested.
    The Smiths, father and daughter, looked at him.
    “Father is not engaging in a duel!”
    “No. I was thinking more along the lines of public humiliation.” Jed cracked a stick and tossed it into the fire. “If we’d found you missing, sir, presumably kidnapped, we’d have had to deal with a worst case scenario. I’ve been turning over plans in my mind. How to neutralize Bambury’s threat to kill you if Esme told anyone of your kidnapping and how to find you. Really, they were the same problem, one of extracting you safely. You see, I didn’t see how we could set about finding you without Bambury knowing we were looking—with all respect to Francis, finding a kidnapped and hidden man is a more challenging quest than a stolen watch.”
    Smith grunted.
    “The solution, as I saw it, was to confront Bambury in such a way that your death would cause him more problems than money or revenge could compensate for.”
    “A public denunciation?” Esme put her mug down and hugged her knees. “It would have been risky.”
    “It would have relied on you—and me—convincing the audience. And it had to be the right audience, not people in the street, but the high flyers and influential men Bambury considers his class. I thought we’d tackle him on his Friday luncheon at the men’s club.”
    She stared at him, awed. “Taking the battle into his territory.”
    “And making it ours.” Jed nodded. “His pride in his social reputation is Bambury’s weakest point, so that’s what we’d have hit. We still can.”
    “Nicholas Bambury the Third, ruined for life.” She smiled. “It’s brilliant. His scheme demonstrates the evil that comes from denying married women rights over their own property and bodies.”
    Smith’s loud laughter startled the horses. “Well, you’re back to normal.”
    “Not quite,” Esme said. “But I