Authors: Jenny Schwartz
Courting Trouble
Courting Trouble
By Jenny Schwartz
Swan River Colony, Australia, 1895
All suffragette Esme Smith wants is respect. Her beau, American inventor Jed Reeve, may be more enlightened than most men, but lately his need to protect her is at odds with her need for independence. Esme begins to wonder if a modern woman can share her life with a man without losing some of herself.
With his courtship of Esme stalled, the last thing Jed needs is the pressure of saving the Prince of Wales. But when blueprints for a sonic destroyer fall into his hands, he uncovers an anarchist plot that could have deadly consequences.
While investigating the threats, Jed is determined to keep Esme out of harm’s way, despite her protests. But when the terrorists capture Jed and demand a priceless emerald in exchange for his life, it’s Esme who must draw on all her strength to save the day.
34,000 words
Dear Reader,
I love October because it’s the perfect month for my favorite season: fall. I adore the sights, sounds, smells and feel of the fall season. Pumpkins and straw bales, colorful mums and burning woodsmoke. And the crisp, cool weather that’s perfect for sitting on the porch and reading a book while sipping hot apple cider.
This month, we have an excellent variety of books perfectly suited to this very thing, starting with
All He Ever Desired,
Shannon Stacey’s latest Kowalski family contemporary romance. As always, Shannon delivers a captivating romance with just the right touch of light humor. Joining her in the contemporary romance category is HelenKay Dimon with
Lean on Me,
the second book in her trilogy. Make sure to check out her first Carina Press title,
It’s Not Christmas Without You,
and look for
We’ll Be Home for Christmas,
coming in December 2012.
If you’re gearing up for Halloween and are in the paranormal mood, check out Regan Summers’s newest novel,
Running in the Dark.
Debut author Bryn Donovan offers a wonderful paranormal romance in
Sole Possession,
while Diana Copland’s male/male paranormal romance
A Reason to Believe
will haunt you long after you’ve read the last page. And joining Diana with a male/male release is L.B. Gregg and her rerelease
Men of Smithfield: Seth and David.
Fans of steampunk romance will be thrilled to see new releases from two of our favorite steampunk authors: Cindy Spencer Pape and Jenny Schwartz. Look for
Moonlight & Mechanicals
and
Courting Trouble
to release in mid-October. And as an aside, can I tell you how much I love Jenny’s series name of The Bustlepunk Chronicles? It’s a perfect fit for this series about a spunky young woman in steampunk Australia.
I’m thrilled to welcome Val Roberts to Carina Press with her newest science-fiction romance novel,
The Valmont Contingency.
Val and I worked together in the past and I love her voice! And returning to us with another release in the fantasy romance genre is Karalynn Lee. If you’ve never had the pleasure of immersing yourself in one of Karalynn’s worlds, now’s the time to check out
Heart of the Dragon’s Realm.
My team is especially excited about this next book from Julie Rowe. As fans of
Downton Abbey,
they fell in love with the first book in her new historical romance series set during World War I,
Saving the Rifleman.
If you’re wondering where the romantic suspense is, not to worry, Kate Sherwood offers up a spine-tingling suspense,
Shadow Valley.
And mystery author Janis Patterson returns with her newest novel,
Beaded to Death.
To round out the month of October, we have two spicy erotic romances to tempt you. With
No Reservations,
Lilly Cain kicks off her new erotic series, Bad Girls Know. Last, but definitely not least, the book from Christine d’Abo’s Long Shots series I’ve been waiting for. Mouthwatering sex club owner Josh is finally going to get his own happily ever after and you don’t want to miss the mind-blowing chemistry Christine has written to get him there in
Calling the Shots.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Chapter One
Swan River Colony,
Australia
September 1895
“Esme Smith, I could spank you.” Jed loomed over the rickety, round table where she sat trying to concentrate on the socialist speaker, whose thin voice was losing badly to the competition of a hurdy-gurdy and the pub patrons’ drunken sallies.
She glanced up, startled, guilty, and then angry at that stab of guilt. Her heartbeat accelerated. She pressed her gloved hands to the table, then snatched them away. The tabletop was sticky with spilled beer even after the landlord had given it a desultory swipe with a dirty rag. Her sherry glass rocked perilously.
“I told you not to come here,” Jed continued.
“That’s right. You
told
me.” She scowled up at him. How dare he stand there like some gunslinger from his native California, daring her to challenge him? Well, she intended to do more than challenge him. She’d set up her Women’s Advancement League because she believed heart and soul that women should be mistresses of their own lives. No man, no matter how charming, intelligent and downright devilishly good-looking, was changing her mind.
“Hello, handsome.” One of the pub’s working girls sashayed up to Jed and stroked a none-too-clean hand down his lapel. “Looking for company?”
“No.” He caught her hand and put it firmly away from him, then turned a look of blistering contempt on Esme.
She flushed. While she sympathized with the women forced by dire circumstances into prostitution, she hadn’t been aware that such women worked at the Rootail Pub. Their presence had made her question whether Jed just might have possessed a valid point when he’d declared the pub completely unacceptable. She might be a suffragette, but she was respectable.
The working girl shrugged and her neckline slid impossibly lower. “If you change your mind…”
He ignored her. “We’re leaving.” It was an order.
“You can.” Esme lifted her sherry glass but was careful not to actually sip any of the disgustingly sweet wine. “I’m staying.” She replaced the glass carefully on the table.
A muscle in his square jaw twitched.
She smiled up at him, enjoying his frustration. His dictatorial attitude made defying him irresistibly satisfying. He could hardly haul her out of here without causing a scene—and Mr. Respectable wouldn’t want to do that. “Jed, if you could move a fraction to the side…I can’t see the speaker.”
He growled.
She grinned.
He spun on his heel to stride to the door.
Unfortunately, before she could toast her triumph in sweet sherry, the gentleman—and she used the term loosely—at the next table put a hand to the working girl’s bodice and, despite her slap and scream, tore it roughly. “Show us yer tits.”
The ex-pugilist landlord moved forward to intervene.
Jed moved just as fast. “You are leaving, now.”
“There’s no need. The bully is being evicted and—”
Jed swooped and pulled her up and out of her chair. She dug her heels in, grateful for her height and full figure. It made dragging her behind him a difficult proposition.
“If the little lady’s unwilling.” One of the drunks by the bar hitched his trousers and sallied forward.
A glare from Jed sent him stumbling back to his mates, who steadied him even as they laughed uproariously at his retreat.
“Jed, you’re interrupting the meeting.”
“What meeting?” He glanced dismissively at the three tables of assembled socialists, half of whom were well into their third pints of beer.
“Mr. Campion is…was…” She stopped. The little man was staring, dumbfounded, over his spectacles. “You’re interrupting his speech on the rights of the working man.”
“I thought it was
women’s
rights you were interested in.” Jed halted, though, evidently re-considering his unsuccessful strategy of dragging her behind him. “This is your last chance, sweetheart. Will you leave quietly?”
“Me? No, I’m not the one making an exhibition of us—oh!”
He pulled her hard once. She bounced off his chest and, while she was still off balance, he crouched, wrapped a strong arm around the back of her knees—
“Jed, you forget yourself!
Oof.
” He tipped her over his shoulder in a flurry of petticoats.
Her hat fell off.
“Who do you think you are?” Her hair, as ruffled as her spirit at this high-handed behavior, escaped its pins and tumbled free.
Ugh.
Upside down over Jed’s shoulder, she cringed as her hair touched the pub’s filthy floor. She pounded Jed’s back in sheer frustration. “Put me down.”
He stood, a strong arm holding her securely across her thighs. “I’m taking you out of here.”
The pub erupted in cheers and the shrill laughter of the working girls.
“You brute.” The rush of blood from her position, plus embarrassment, flushed her face. “Jed Reeve, I shall never forgive you.”
He stomped on regardless, ignoring the catcalls and her kicks as he wove through the crowded tables.
At least no one tried to pinch her bottom. What a fiasco. She hadn’t thought she’d be so grateful to see the narrow doorway. She stopped kicking.
The difference in atmosphere from the smoky, dirty pub to the street was immediately obvious. Despite her ignominious head-downward position, she inhaled deeply, getting dizzy from smelling Jed’s bay rum cologne.
He set her upright a couple of houses away from the pub and gripped her shoulders. His mouth was a thin, grim line. “Behave, or I will carry you the whole way home. Over my shoulder.”
“You’re a bully and a tyrant.” She grabbed her wildly disarranged hair and twisted it into a temporary knot. “I’ve lost my hat.”
And my composure.
She couldn’t believe he had carried her bodily from the socialist meeting. Only the thought of adding to the scene let her grit her teeth and refrain from screaming at him. The pub’s patrons were watching from its grimy windows. She refused to give them any further free entertainment.
“You’re not going back in there for a hat.” Arms folded over the impressive expanse of his chest, he glared at her.
A youngster ambling home whistled derisively.
Jed transferred his glare to the boy, then back to her. “I am not a tyrant. I care what happens to you.” He took her arm and pulled her into a fast walk. “Ridiculous woman.”
Her hair fell down again. “Blast it all.”
Her thigh muscles strained as they climbed the hill almost at a run. The Smith family mansion claimed the top of the ridge that overlooked the port town of Fremantle. It was empty at the moment. Well, the servants were there, but her father was at his mining claim and Uncle Henry was away, captaining his sleek skimmer boat.
Moths fluttered in the pools of pale light cast by widely spaced gas lamps. The town council was talking about installing an electrical grid, but so far that was all it was—talk. If anyone wanted newfangled captured lightning, they had to invest in their own generator.
She hated admitting any weakness, especially when he was in this mood, but… “Jed, I’m getting a stitch in my side.”
“Humph.” His stride slowed.
She took heart from this small sign that reason might have reentered his thick masculine skull. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You slung me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“By heaven.” He swept off his hat, hit it against his knee, slapped it back on and scowled, first at the stars above, then at her.
Esme had had just about enough.
He embarrassed me.
She stopped and put her hands on her hips.
“Don’t start,” he said. “You were in a hellhole of vice and ruination, and you refused to leave. What was I meant to do? Walk away and leave you there?”
“Yes!”
“Blasted, stubborn…”
“You owe me an apology, and I’m not moving till I get one. You have no right to dictate where I go or what I do or who I talk to.” She could see the high garden wall of her home just a few feet away. It only inflamed her temper. That was where Jed wanted her to stay, tucked away like some harem princess, some mindless doll, some witless… “I’m not learning cross-stitch.”
“What?” His forehead wrinkled and his hat tilted. He straightened it impatiently. “Esme—” He broke off to glare at a passerby who’d slowed down to eavesdrop on their argument. The small man’s footsteps sped up, and he turned hastily into the nearest side street.
“Now you’re intimidating little Mr. Gordon, a harmless solicitor’s clerk. Is there no end to your— Jed!”
He grabbed her arm and jerked her off balance into a stumbling run. He stopped just as abruptly, and she cannoned into him. His arm immediately pinioned her to his side, while he stretched the other arm over the gate and unlatched it.
She could have wriggled free, but she didn’t bother.
The gas lamp that lit the side gate to her home showed him clearly. Her exasperating American beau was tall and lean, muscled, intelligent, his square jaw clean-shaven. Usually his eyes beguiled her even when she most wanted to resist his charm. Laugh lines crinkled the corners, and humor lurked in their dark sepia depths.
He appealed to her on so many levels—except he’d just shown himself to be an egotistical bully, no better than any of the other men who thought themselves lords and masters of their world. It was an attitude she’d fight till her last breath.
He pushed her through the gate and banged it shut behind them. “Esme, be reasonable. You were in the worst sort of public bar.”
“I was attending a socialist meeting.” She shook loose of his hold and stepped away, unwilling to stand there being lectured and loomed over. She was accustomed to tall men—what with her father and uncle both being over six feet—but Jed made her feel shiveringly feminine. She wasn’t certain she liked her susceptibility. She preferred being in control.
She put her hands behind her, flat against the rough limestone wall.
“I asked you not to.” The shadow of the high wall and the jacaranda tree growing near it hid his face. “I specifically told you the Rootail Pub is no place for a lady.”
“I’m a suffragette.” Founder of the Women’s Advancement League. She was proud of her leadership role, committed to the fight for universal suffrage. If only she didn’t suffer this lack of control when Jed looked at her—roiling emotions, flushed skin, pounding pulse. It was surely inappropriate to her public position. A giddy young girl with her first beau felt this way, not a grown woman with a mind of her own. Esme raised her chin in defiance. She would not surrender to these dizzying, wanting feelings.
“I know you’re a suffragette, but I’d hoped you were also old enough to respect other people’s feelings, their concerns.” Jed’s voice was suddenly, dangerously cool, the American drawl pronounced. “Do you think you’re the only person with a right to be angry here? You put yourself and your reputation in danger, going to that pub on a Friday night.”
“Don’t you mean
your
reputation?”
“What are you on about? Never mind.” He waved away her comment as if it were a bothersome fly.
He could afford to ignore it, she thought sullenly, all the simmering resentment of the past weeks rising like a volcano. He was the hero of the hour. He’d saved her from a blackmailing would-be murderer. The entire colony approved of his courtship. Worse, the men couldn’t wait to hear that he had tamed her. “Darn ’em, and darn Shakespeare, too.”
“Esme, you’re not making sense.”
“I’m trying to tell you that, while you might enjoy the role of Petruchio, I’m never going to play Kate.”
“Play Kate? Woman, tonight you’re not making sense. As far as I can tell, you never play at all. You’re too intent on proving yourself as good as any man. So recklessly independent. It’s all work and politics with you.” His voice slowed. “Wait. Are you referring to
The Taming of the Shrew?
”
“Yes. The wretched men in this town, and some of the women, are just waiting for you to tame me.” She stamped her foot. “Let women be a little assertive, and men panic. I bet the men will congratulate you on carrying me out of the socialist meeting like some Viking raider.”
“I didn’t feel like a Viking raider.” A note of his customary humor threaded through his voice. “I felt like an outraged husband.”
Her breath hissed in on a sharp breath. “Well, you’re not.”
“Sweetheart.” He took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “Satan’s knickerbockers! The last thing I want is to argue with you. Your father and uncle are away. You’re a little reckless and I…I need to keep you safe.”
“Safe at home! Tucked away like a good little woman. Well, that’s not me. But nor am I
reckless.
For your information, Mr. Jedediah Reeve, I’ve been looking after myself for years. I thought you understood that. I thought you respected me. I’ll tell you what I don’t need. I don’t need you or any man telling me what to do.” She whirled and ran for the house. “Good night!”