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tinsel paper. They had even included gaily painted tin baubles. What they hadn’t managed to include was mistletoe—not even the artificial kind.
    Ah well. Doubtless mistletoe would have encouraged rowdiness. But he would have liked to steal a semi-sanctioned kiss from Esme. He studied her lips’ ripe berry fullness wistfully.
    “Mr. Reeve?”
    Her tart tone shook him out of pleasant fantasies.
    “Why would talking to the governor have been suspicious?” She followed him easily through the swirls of the Spanish waltz, the satin skirts of her gown wrapping around their legs, a gentle trap and release.
    He spun them in additional circles, enjoying the sensation of being trapped with her. “What sort of man prefers to talk politics when he could be dancing with a beautiful woman? Trust me, asking you to dance made the best of impressions.”
    Behind them, Nicholas Bambury glared.
    Jed eased Esme a fraction closer. “And I think a Sunday stroll together would confirm that impression.”
    “What impression?”
    “That I’m a gentleman of impeccable taste.”

Chapter Five
    “Have you had a chance to travel north of the river, yet, Mr. Reeve?”
    “Jed,” he reminded Esme. “And no, I haven’t.” His mouth twitched in amusement and he turned away to hide it. If he laughed at her annoyance, she wouldn’t ever forgive his high-handed behavior at last night’s dance.
    By delivering her back to Captain Fellowes and swiftly taking his own leave, he’d left her with no choice but to accept the appointment for a Sunday stroll.
    A lesser woman might have indulged her pique by claiming a previous engagement and being out when he arrived, leaving him to be turned away by a servant.
    Esme simply descended the stairs dressed in a walking suit of English tweed, her white frilled collar fixed with a gold pin in the form of a stylized lion, roaring. Her chestnut brown boots and leather gloves matched the narrow-brimmed hat she’d perched on her coiled hair. She was aloof, practical and distantly gracious.
    “How sharp are your hat pins?” he asked, following his own line of thought about possible revenges.
    She blinked, then smiled. “I would never be so unsubtle. Although…” She reached up and slid a pin from the pert hat. “I ordered these from an American suffragist catalogue called ‘Modern Tools for Modern Women.’ It’s rather like a Swiss Army knife.”
    An array of clever gadgets unfolded from the unsharpened end, including tweezers, scalpel blade and a needle.
    “Ingenious.” He handed it back to her. “What else did the catalogue advertise?”
    She refitted the pin. “Laughter capsules which I believe contain nitrous oxide. Guaranteed to enliven the dullest evening,” she quoted the catalogue with droll amusement.
    “I could have used those a few times.” He offered his arm and they exited the house.
    The sun shone clear and brilliant over the dancing ocean waves and the wide river mouth. Sea gulls glided on the updrafts. There had been rain in the morning, making the trip to church a wet one, but with the noon hour, the sun had broken through the steel grey clouds and now a brisk ocean breeze harried them eastward.
    Esme led the way around the house to the carriage entrance. A gig with a glossy black horse in the shafts stood waiting, a groom at its head.
    “I thought we might as well visit Bombaytown, the Indian center of town.” She accepted his assistance and stepped up into the passenger’s side of the gig. From the groom’s shocked stare, she usually drove. “I did think of cycling, but with the weather uncertain and…well, it is Sunday.”
    “Is there a Sabbath prohibition against cycling in Swan River?”
    “No.” She smoothed her skirts into place, catching his admiring glance at her ankles. “I was thinking of wearing my new Turkish trousers, but I thought displaying them for the first time on a Sunday might be a touch scandalous. And I really don’t like pedaling in a skirt. All