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radiance.
    But he’d heard the gossip.
    The society matrons disapproved. They didn’t think Esme’s outspoken ways deserved the reward of a gentleman such as Nicholas Bambury the Third. Apparently, he was everything a doting mother desired and a dutiful daughter dreamed of. He was rich, handsome and socially connected. He was one of the Bamburys. Jed gathered they were one of the founding families of Sydney, the cream of the East Coast elite, gentlemen farmers who dabbled in politics.
    So why was he in the West? Jed knew from his American experience that established Eastern families tended to dismiss Westerners as upstarts and irrelevant. His father fought that attitude regularly. Could it be that Nicholas Bambury took the threat of secession seriously and was over here, attempting to keep the Swan River Colony engaged in plans for the new nation? Even snobbish Easterners wouldn’t want to lose the Western wealth.
    And speaking of wealth…there were any number of rich men who wouldn’t mind adding to their pile by marrying an heiress. Looking at Bambury’s smooth smile and gliding step, the hand firmly guiding at Esme’s waist, he thought he spied a fortune hunter. The man was a fool. Esme’s value wasn’t her father’s gold. It was her. She sparkled with light, eyes as bright as the sapphires that flashed in the gaslight.
    He ought to punch Bambury in his smirking face.
    Tarnation . He’d known Esme Smith a mere two days and already he was feeling possessive.
    The music stopped and he found a smile for his partner, thanked her for the dance and handed her back to her mama, who studied him thoughtfully. He backed away. Match-making mamas were dangerous. Besides, he had other fish to fry.
    “Where’s your stick?” he muttered to Captain Fellowes, who was propping up a wall near the punchbowl. A strong scent of cloves and nutmeg, lemon and cinnamon indicated someone had been lavish in the preparation of the Christmas treat, mulled wine.
    The older man chuckled. “Bambury bothering you?”
    Jed settled for glaring.
    “Relax. Esme told me herself she can’t stand the man.”
    “That’s right. I forgot.” Tight muscles in Jed’s stomach relaxed a fraction. “He looks like every woman’s dream. The rest of the women certainly think so. They’ve been singing his praises all night. I’d forgotten he has one deadly fault.” He grinned with savage satisfaction.
    “Yup.” Captain Fellowes swallowed a last bite of mince pie. “The man’s against women winning the right to vote. Esme thinks he’s poison.”
    Jed watched Esme smile as Bambury led her into a group of older couples, including the governor. “So you think she’s using him for political purposes?”
    “Ha. I gave up second guessing that girl when she turned seven. She’s smart and tricky and damn stubborn. Bambury doesn’t know what he’s tangling with. Question is, do you?”
    “Yes.” Jed straightened from the wall. “And I’m not running scared.”
    “I didn’t think you would.”
    “Which is why you told your niece I was the scoundrel she wanted?”
    Captain Fellowes grinned. “Women have a soft spot for a scoundrel. You should be thanking me.”
    “Maybe later.”
    Jed worked his way through the crowd. He felt like a cad, but he avoided the hopeful eyes of the wallflowers. He’d asked a number to dance already tonight, but now he needed to detach Esme from the smirking Bambury.
    “Miss Smith, my dance I think?” He escorted her onto the floor in one smooth relentless charm offensive.
    Her eyes snapped with annoyance. “I was talking with the governor—and you should have taken the opportunity to do the same.”
    “It would have been suspicious.” With his arm around her waist and the music flowing them gently together, his tension receded. It couldn’t be jealousy. He was never jealous.
    He lifted his gaze and looked around the crowded ballroom. Whoever had decorated it had made lavish use of pine boughs, cones and