Deborah Simmons - The Gentleman Thief

Ashdowne had an idea, but he planned to find out for sure. His instincts were twitching, and he had no intention of letting Miss Georgiana Bellewether do anything to disrupt his life more than she had already.

Lord Whalsey was nowhere to be seen! Georgiana stifled a groan of frustration. She had joined her family in attending this rout in the hope of cornering him again, but both he and Mr. Cheever were conspicuously absent. What was she to do now? Whalsey might very well be at the Pump Room or a concert, or worse yet, headed to London to sell the necklace!

Georgiana’s shoulders slumped as she wondered what course to take. She could present her observations to the magistrate, but experience told her that gentlemen on the whole were extremely dubious of her talents. Her evidence of an overheard conversation and a guilty reaction probably would not convince him, and then Lord Whalsey would escape with his ill-gotten gains!

Blowing away a curl that had plopped over her forehead, Georgiana leaned back against the balustrade behind the elegant town house. She had pleaded a headache when asked to dance and made her escape onto the balcony that overlooked the tiny garden. Here in the silence, she tried to concentrate on her next course of action, but her thoughts were interrupted all too soon.

“Ah, Miss Bellewether. What new disaster are you contemplating?” The question was spoken in a deep, familiar voice that made Georgiana whirl around in surprise.

Stifling a gasp, she blinked at the shadows near the doors, where she could dimly make out Ashdowne’s tall form. How long had he been there? It was rather frightening to think that, for all her skills, she had not noticed his presence, and Georgiana shivered, for the marquis was not the typical nobleman. He was unlike any man she had ever known.

“I…” Words failed her when he moved into the pale moonlight, all in black again, his handsome features cloaked in mystery. Georgiana’s stomach dipped, her pulse raced and her skin tingled. Lifting her hands to her arms, she rubbed the prickling flesh in hopes of warding away the feeling, but to her dismay, the brisk motion did not help, and Ashdowne stepped closer.

“I hope you’ve been thinking about me,” he said softly, and Georgiana’s eyes widened. She had imagined herself immune to the charms of the male gender, but she was rapidly learning differently with Ashdowne. Like a lingering illness, he disturbed her senses and stayed upon her mind, despite her efforts to banish him, and now, standing before her with a smug smile, he totally flustered her. However, Georgiana wasn’t about to admit as much to the arrogant marquis, so she lifted her chin and frowned at his neck cloth.

He chuckled, apparently amused by her obstinateness. “No? Well, then, I’ve come to convince you.”

He purred, almost like a cat, and Georgiana shivered, for here was no tame tabby. She cleared her throat. “Convince me, of, uh, what?” she asked, still refusing to look at him.

“To take me on…”

Georgiana drew a sharp breath.

“…as your assistant,” he added, and she exhaled slowly. “I’m offering my services to you, to aid in your pursuit of justice. What say you, Miss Bellewether?”

Georgiana hesitated, daring to slant a quick glance at him. At first she had thought Ashdowne much like any other man in respect to her abilities, a scoffer so certain of his own superiority that he would not even listen to her theories. But now he appeared to be in earnest. He no longer wore the aloof expression that made her feel like an insect he would prefer to be rid of—and soon. Instead, his features reflected a rather benign interest.

Georgiana blinked, uncertain, but it appeared that for once in her life, a man was actually seeking her opinion, and not in the idiotic manner of one of her swains, either. Ashdowne’s eyes were not glazed over, but were as alert as ever. They glittered faintly, with a rather predatory gleam that made her stomach pitch. Although he said nothing, Georgiana could almost feel the expectancy shimmering in the air. Or at least that’s what she thought it was, for she felt all tingly and alive, as if poised upon the brink of solving one of her mysteries.

Looking away before she became befuddled, Georgiana clutched the balustrade tightly. She tried not to envision what it would be like to be able to speak to someone—anyone—about her investigation, let alone bask in the glow of this handsome man’s attention. The temptation was great, but did she really want to give away any information to one of her suspects? The very notion made her shiver, though more with excitement than dismay.

Then again, she had just been wondering what to do about Mr. Cheever and Lord Whalsey. In the face of their obvious guilt, it seemed foolish to worry about Ashdowne. No, Georgiana amended as her gaze slid over his dark figure. It would never be foolish to remain cautious around the marquis, for here in the moonlight he exuded danger in a manner that Whalsey and Cheever could not. Georgiana knew, with a heady sense of awareness, that she should not be alone with him. Her mother would be horrified!

And yet that very same menace might be of use to her, for Ashdowne appeared to be eminently capable of anything. He certainly would be able to handle a pair such as Whalsey and Cheever with ease, Georgiana decided. “Perhaps you can be of help to me,” she whispered as she stared out into the night.

“Yes?” The word was little more than an exhalation, yet it managed to harry her senses in ways she had never thought possible.

Annoyed, Georgiana forced herself to concentrate. “You see, I know the identity of the thieves, but I fear they will escape Bath unless something is done to stop them.”

“Ah. And what do you suggest?” Ashdowne said. No laughter. No taunts. There wasn’t even a hint of contempt in his manner, and Georgiana knew a swift sense of relief. Perhaps this assistant business was all to the good, for just sharing her thoughts with another seemed to put her more at ease.

“Well, I’m not entirely certain,” Georgiana admitted. “You see, I don’t really have enough evidence to tender to the magistrate, who probably would not deign to listen anyway.” She paused to consider the injustice of it all before mentioning her only other option. “I’m afraid there is nothing for it but to confront one of the culprits.”

“Miss Bellewether,” Ashdowne said. His intense tone demanded her attention, so Georgiana glanced upward, only to shiver at the way his eyes glittered in the moonlight. “You will not confront a criminal.”

Frowning at what sounded an awful lot like an order, Georgiana nonetheless chose not to argue, for she fully intended to use his objection as a means to her end. “Well, that’s where you could…step in, as it were,” she said.

“You want me to confront the fellow?” Ashdowne lifted one dark brow in speculation.

“Well, that, uh, would be a good job for an assistant, don’t you think?” she asked, smiling tentatively. “And I would be there to do all the talking. I have little doubt that I can wrangle a confession from them, or one of them, at least, because when I spoke to him in the Pump Room, he became quite agitated in a most telling fashion.”

Ashdowne’s lovely lips thinned. “Are you telling me that some brute knocked you down this morning?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking—”

He muttered something she could not quite discern. “You are lucky the fellow did not do more! You cannot go around accosting lawbreakers. You have no idea what that sort of man is capable of, but I’ve seen some in London who would slit your throat for a shilling!”

“Oh, I realize what you are saying, and I heartily agree,” Georgiana replied. “You see, I make it my business to follow the London newspapers quite thoroughly, especially the criminal exploits and the heroic actions of the Bow Street Runners. However, I must assure you that this fellow is not a common cutpurse.”