“Ashdowne, you’re too much of a distraction to me,”
Georgiana explained. “I cannot concentrate on the case.”
At her words, he threw back his head and burst into laughter, making her wonder if insanity ran in his family.
“I beg your pardon, but you’re just so deuced…unpredictable,” he finally said.
It hardly seemed a compliment, so Georgiana tossed her curls in pique. “I could say the same of you!”
“Really? How delightful,” he murmured, and Georgiana felt the familiar sensation of surrender as he stepped toward her.
“No!” she said, holding up a hand to fend him off. “I haven’t been able to think at all during supper. You are simply too unnerving.”
Ashdowne’s smile was slow and provocative. “Unnerving, am I?” he purred, taking another step forward. Georgiana moved away, only to come up against the wall of the house at her back.
“I like being unnerving….”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Harlequin Historicals, Harlequin/Silhouette’s only historical romance line! We offer four unforgettable love stories each month, in a range of time periods, settings and sensuality. And they’re written by some of the best writers in the field!
The ever-popular Deborah Simmons is one of those writers. Best known for her medieval novels that feature the mighty de Burgh and de Laci families, Deb is a writer with an amazing range of talent and storytelling. Her newest, a Regency titled The Gentleman Thief, will put you under the spell of the charming Johnathon Saxton, Marquis of Ashdowne. In this story, a beautiful bluestocking stirs up trouble during a season at Bath when she investigates a jewel theft and finds herself closely scrutinizing—and falling for—the irresistible marquis.
Carolyn Davidson returns with The Bachelor Tax, a darling tale about a least-likely-to-marry “bad boy” rancher who tries to avoid a local bachelor tax by proposing to the one woman he’s sure will turn him down—the prim preacher’s daughter…. My Lady Reluctant, a terrific new medieval novel by Laurie Grant, is a true knight-in-shining-armor story filled with edge-of-your-seat intrigue and loads of passion.
Rounding out the month is The Outlaw’s Bride by Liz Ireland, a rising talent who also writes contemporary romances for Harlequin. In this kidnapped bride story, a reputed Texas outlaw and a headstrong “nurse” fall in love—despite the odds against them. Don’t miss it!
Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Deborah Simmons
THE GENTLEMAN THIEF
Available from Harlequin Historicals and DEBORAH SIMMONS
Fortune Hunter #132
Silent Heart #185
The Squire’s Daughter #208
The Devil’s Lady #241
The Vicar’s Daughter #258
*Taming the Wolf #284
The Devil Earl #317
Maiden Bride #332
Tempting Kate #371
The Knights of Christmas “A Wish for Noel” #387
*The de Burgh Bride #399
The Last Rogue #427
*Robber Bride #455
The Gentleman Thief #495
*The de Burghs
For David Robert
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
No one took Georgiana Bellewether seriously.
To her utter dismay, she had been cursed with the lush curves of a cyprian, sprightly blond curls and big blue eyes that had often been compared to limpid pools. People took one look at her and decided that she didn’t have a brain in her head. Of course, most men didn’t think women intelligent anyway, but in her case they could conceive her to be nothing except a goosecap.
It was mortifying.
Her mother was a dear, rather flighty character, her father a genial, rotund squire, and Georgiana had no doubt that she would be happier had she taken after them. Unfortunately, of the four Bellewether progeny, she was the sole child to have inherited the characteristics of her great-uncle Morcombe, a noted scholar with a keen mind. Since her first toddling steps, Georgiana had devoured all manner of study, surpassing the skills of the family governess, the local academy for young ladies and her brother’s tutor with equal fervor.
Her own particular talents leaned toward the solving of mysteries, and she often cursed the female form that kept her from life as a Bow Street Runner. Instead of following clues and daringly capturing criminals, she was forced to content herself with voracious reading and the unraveling of small puzzles that were presented to her in Chatham’s Corner, the hamlet where her father reigned jovially as both squire and sheriff.
But this year, she vowed, it would be different. Her family had repaired to Bath for the summer, and Georgiana intended to make the most of her new location. Surely, in the famous resort town she would come upon at least one poser worthy of her skills! And certainly the wide and varied populace must be possessed of a more discerning nature than the rural inhabitants to whom she was accustomed.
Unfortunately, after a week spent visiting the Pump Room and strolling the avenues at the most fashionable hours, Georgiana was forced to admit her disappointment. Although she had enjoyed exploring, thus far she had met the same sort of genteel types with whom she was already familiar. Worse, not a single conundrum had she come across.
With a sigh, Georgiana glanced about the reception rooms of Lady Culpepper’s lavish town house, eager for a diversion at the first real ball she had attended, but she saw only the usual assortment of dowagers and gouty gentlemen who populated Bath. Several misses, younger than herself, were there with doting mamas, hoping to snare a husband among the resort’s visitors. Unfortunately, Georgiana had yet to meet one with more on her mind than marriage.
She dismissed them all only to have her gaze arrested by an elegant figure dressed entirely in black. Now there was a puzzle, Georgiana thought, her eyes narrowing. It didn’t take someone of her particular talents to realize that the appearance of the Marquis of Ashdowne was most unusual, for the haut ton no longer favored Bath as they had a half century ago. Handsome, charming noblemen of Ashdowne’s ilk stayed in London or followed the Prince Regent to Brighton. Or, Georgiana speculated, they spent their time at scandalous parties held in their huge, elegant country homes.
Not for the first time since she had heard of his visit, Georgiana thought Ashdowne’s sudden interest in Bath was decidedly odd. She would have liked to find out why he was here but had yet to wrangle an introduction. He had arrived just a few days ago, sending all the young unmarried ladies, including her sisters, into a flutter of excitement, and it was difficult to see him through the crowd of women who surrounded him.
He had let one of the fashionable houses in Camden Place, and this was the first the general populace had seen of him. He was here supposedly to take the waters, but Georgiana found the idea absurd, for he was not quite thirty and not reputed to be ailing. Make that definitely not ailing, Georgiana amended, as the group parted, affording her a good view of the man.
He was the very picture of health. Indeed, the Marquis of Ashdowne might well be the healthiest man Georg
iana had ever seen, she decided, with a swift intake of breath. He was tall, probably six feet in height, and slender. Not skinny, mind you, but broad shouldered and muscular, though not in a bulky sort of way. All in all, the marquis possessed a grace and bearing Georgiana had not expected in one of the overfed, debauched members of the ton.
Lithe. That was the word that struck her as her attention traveled up the elegant, expensive clothing to his face. His hair was dark and sleek, his eyes a startling blue, and his mouth was…Georgiana could muster no description for it, with its lush curves and a small indentation above his upper lip. Ashdowne, she realized, swallowing abruptly, was handsome beyond belief.
And awake on every suit.
The knowledge came to her with a shock, for although Georgiana was all too aware of the misjudgments to be made based upon outward appearance, she assumed that someone that rich and powerful and beautiful could not possibly be blessed with brains, too. But she was wrong, for just as she blinked in amazement at his features, the Marquis of Ashdowne met her gaze with his own, bright with intelligence. Had Georgiana been the fanciful sort, she might have thought him aware of her scrutiny, for it seemed as though he had singled her out of the crowd most particularly.
Georgiana drew back, ashamed to be staring, and when one of Ashdowne’s dark brows lifted in response, she colored. Fanning herself, she deliberately looked away. She had only been studying the man, as she would anyone else, and she grimaced in annoyance at his intimate glance. Ashdowne probably thought her just another one of the smitten females who practically swooned at his charm.
Whirling around, Georgiana was nearly halfway across the airy reception room when she realized that she had missed a golden opportunity for an introduction. Botheration! She snapped her fan in disgust, for she knew better than to let her personal feelings interfere with an investigation. She could hardly imagine a Bow Street Runner abandoning his case because one of his suspects eyed him with too much familiarity.
With a small sound of irritation, Georgiana turned back toward the way she had come, but already her place had been filled by other women, both young and old. Then her mama appeared, cajoling her to dance with a young man, and Georgiana, from long experience, knew better than to argue.
Mr. Nichols, Georgiana soon discovered, was a nice enough fellow, here with his family from Kent, but as he spoke haltingly on such bland topics as the weather and the society of Bath, Georgiana’s attention wandered. Although she kept craning her neck in an effort to see Ashdowne, when she finally spied the marquis, he was heading out to the garden with a young widow who apparently had abandoned her mourning most precipitously.
Georgiana frowned as Mr. Nichols met with her again during the dance, and she nodded absently at his questions. She really had no time for such inanities! Unfortunately, she recognized all too well the dazed expression on her partner’s face. If focused, it would no doubt rest upon her curls or her white throat, or worse yet, the alarming expanse of pale breast that her mother insisted she expose as fashionable.
He paid no attention to what she was saying, of course, and at times like these, Georgiana was often tempted to whisper of insurrection or confess to a murder, in an effort to jolt her audience into awareness. Her admirers usually fell into two camps: those who paid no heed whatsoever to what she said, and those who hung on her every word.
Unfortunately, the latter were of no more use to her than the former, for she always failed to engage them in any kind of meaningful discourse. The sapskulls agreed with everything she said! She supposed she ought to be used to it by now, but nevertheless, Georgiana felt a twinge of disappointment.
Her mother was always extolling the virtues of marriage and parenthood, but how could Georgiana even entertain the notion of a life spent with a man such as this? Yet how was she, in her small venue, to acquaint herself with anyone else? Education among the gentry was a haphazard business at best, and even those with a modicum of schooling seemed to be struck dumb by her appearance.
It was the curse of her existence. And so she discouraged them all, much to her mother’s disappointment, and resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, where she might have the freedom to finally dress and act as she wished, providing her great-uncle Morcombe left her the stipend he had promised. Not that she wished him to pass on in the near future.
It was with much relief that Georgiana realized the set was coming to an end, and she sent Mr. Nichols happily off to fetch her an ice, which granted her a slight but much desired reprieve from his company.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” her mother gushed into her ear. “I have it on good authority that he will come into a lovely piece of land in Yorkshire from his grandfather, which ought to provide him with a thousand pounds a year!”
The earnestness in her dear mother’s face prevented Georgiana from dashing the woman’s hopes with a scathing reply. If not Mr. Nichols, then some other gentleman would be forced upon her, so she simply nodded absently while searching the room for Ashdowne. To her surprise, he had joined in the dancing, moving with a grace that caused a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Please, excuse me,” she said, moving away from her mother with a distracted air.
“But Mr. Nichols…”
Ignoring her mother’s protest, Georgiana slipped into the crowd. Although she lost sight of Ashdowne, she was pleased to be free of both her dear mama and Mr. Nichols, and so she made her way slowly through the press of people, watching and listening. It was one of her favorite pastimes, for there was always the chance she might overhear information that could come in handy. Not gossip, of course, but something pertinent to her investigation.
In this case, talk about Ashdowne.
Unfortunately, she didn’t hear much of use, only that he was so dashing and charming, etcetera, ad nauseam. He had been a younger son, coming into the title after the death of his brother a year ago. He appeared to have settled into the title quite nicely, according to one knowing matron, and did not hold himself above the rest of the world, as evidenced by his most gracious manner. Etcetera. Ad nauseam. The conversations were much the same. All the gushing over Ashdowne became positively annoying, and, perversely, she became even more determined to find the man guilty of something.
“Ah, Georgie!” Stifling a groan, Georgiana turned to find her father standing beside her with a sober-looking gentleman. Another potential suitor for her, she surmised, fighting the urge to run screaming from the room.
“Mr. Hawkins, here she is, my eldest daughter! Lovely girl, just as I told you, and such a clever thing. I’m sure you will find her most interested in your scholarship!”
Georgiana, knowing her dear father all too well, gathered that he was not, and was eager to pass his new acquaintance on to herself.
“Georgie, love, this is Mr. Hawkins. He’s newly arrived at Bath, too, and hoping to find a living here, as he’s a vicar and very learned.”
Georgiana pasted a smile on her face and managed to greet Mr. Hawkins with a modicum of civility. He was attractive in a rather severe way, but something in his gray eyes told her that he was not the kind of gentle, unassuming soul as was their own Vicar Marshfield.
“A pleasure, of course, Miss Bellewether,” the man said. “But a lady such as yourself could hardly be expected to understand the intricacies of philosophy. Indeed, I suspect that most men would be hard-pressed to match my knowledge, since I have devoted my life to its study.”
Before Georgiana could argue that she was a devotee of Plato, who had, after all, founded the science of logic, Mr. Hawkins went on. “And, I must admit that Rousseau has fallen out of favor, what with the unpleasantness in France. However, I cannot see how he can be blamed for what befell the unfortunates there.”
“So you believe that—” Georgiana began, but Mr. Hawkins cut her off with a sniff.
“But, then, the most enlightened men have often suffered for their genius,” he declared.
It didn’t take Georgiana’s keen fa
culties to determine that the pompous vicar counted himself among the persecuted academics, and Georgiana’s spark of interest was immediately and firmly doused. She would find no intellectual stimulation here, for Mr. Hawkins obviously was in the habit of expounding—not conversing.
Stifling a yawn, she stood there while he tossed off long words and theories in a strange mix that left her certain he understood very little of what he was spouting. No wonder her father had been so eager to be rid of the man! Georgiana was rapidly reaching her limits of endurance, too.
“Ah, there is our hostess!” she said, in an effort to break away, but Mr. Hawkins would not let her go so easily.
“Humph! I am surprised that she has opened her home to so many of her social inferiors, for it has been my experience that those of her rank are rarely cordial to the less fortunate.”
Although Lady Culpepper was prone to the condescending air of the nobility, Georgiana did not find her any worse than most. “I admit that she could be more gracious, but—”
“Gracious?” Mr. Hawkins cut Georgiana off with an unbecoming scoff, an odd vehemence in his voice. “The lady and her kind are not known for their courtesy to others, but lord their wealth and power over the rest of us. I find them frivolous beings with no concerns except their own selfish caprices!”
Mr. Hawkins’s sudden venom surprised Georgiana, but then, as swiftly as it had come over him, the mood was gone, replaced by a rather bland expression. “However, a man in my position must do his best to mingle with society,” he added, as if begrudging his chosen career.
“I would think it your vocation to convince people to be more charitable,” Georgiana noted idly.
Mr. Hawkins responded with a patronizing smile that made her bristle. “It is to your credit that you would think of such things, but I can hardly expect such a beautiful lady to understand the complexities of my position,” he said, and Georgiana was tempted to boot him into a new position with a good swift kick. “Indeed, I vow that you, Miss Bellewether, are the saving grace to a tedious evening spent in ill company.”
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