Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz Read Free Book Online

those grease smudges and getting caught up. Men have life a lot easier.”
    “Uh.” Was Jed’s smooth response. The vision of Esme in Turkish trousers occupied all his attention. The outline of her hips and sweetly rounded—
    “Jed?”
    “I think you made the right decision.” He didn’t want other men seeing or thinking of Esme in such a revealing manner. “Not on a Sunday.” Not ever. He climbed into the gig and took up the reins, nodding to the groom to release the horse’s head. “And it’s a nice day for a drive.”
    The black horse snorted and its ears twitched, waiting for the command to walk on.
    “Gee up.”
    It was well trained, as he’d have expected from any animal Esme owned. The gig traveled smoothly down the driveway and Jed turned the horse for town.
    “You’ll want to take the second street on your left. Bombaytown is over the bridge, just north of the rail line to Perth.”
    “I know the direction.” He urged the horse to a trot. “We have Chinatown in San Francisco. Would Bombaytown be something similar?”
    “I expect so, if Chinatown is an enclave of Chinese attempting to replicate a slice of home in alien environs.”
    “That captures it perfectly.”
    “Bombaytown is actually quite welcoming—regardless of whether you’re Indian. A number of British settlers spent time in India and enjoy reliving elements of that experience. I like the spices and the hint of the exotic. Many women buy the silks and muslin for their dresses at Indian merchants’ warehouses.”
    Every man and his dog were out taking the air. Maids and mistresses, dressed in their Sunday finery, strolled along the high street down to the harbor to observe the boats at anchor. On one crowded corner, the gig paused long enough for Esme to exchange greetings with a friend before Jed took advantage of a gap in the traffic.
    The slight lurch pushed Esme back against the gig’s seat and the jolt triggered the automated parasol behind her to unfold. It wobbled upward, stuttered and folded back as she turned and hit the retract button.
    “I’d rather have the sun.” She turned her face to its warmth. “I love the fact winters here aren’t too cold. I can’t imagine living somewhere grey like England or where it snowed.” She peeked at him. “Here it’s warm enough to paddle in the river—not swim—even in winter.”
    “Miss Esme,” he pretended horror. “Never say you paddle.”
    The vision enticed him, of Esme stripping off her stockings, holding her skirts to her knees, frilly petticoats bunching as she waded into the shallows.
    She laughed. “Not where anyone can see me. Although in summer I do visit Bather’s Beach for a morning swim. I admit, it’s one time when I appreciate the segregation of the sexes. Modern swimming costumes are awfully form-fitting.”
    I’d like to see that.
    An idiot on a rusty penny-farthing wobbled toward them and saved him from making that admission out loud. Esme wasn’t being saucy. He heard the note of nostalgia for childhood freedoms in her voice.
    “Idiot cyclists.” He twitched the reins and the black horse responded instantly, veering to the right and putting on a burst of speed. They clattered onto the bridge in fine form.
    “The best part of paddling in the river are the minnows. They nibble your toes.”
    Lucky minnows. He swallowed and nudged the conversation into safer channels. “It’s a wide river.”
    “Wide, lazy and surprisingly deep just here. Before the bridge, people lost their lives being ferried across, particularly with animals. Cows are stupid creatures. They panic.” She smiled. “Not that I’d say that in Bombaytown. Most of the people are Hindu. If you see a cow, don’t smack it or shove it aside. They’re all quite tame and must be treated with respect. Straight ahead and turn left. We’ll stable the gig at the Chai House.”
    The Chai House turned out to be a large timber and tin building with deep verandas and a blue roof. A boy