The Gentleman Thief

by Deborah Simmons

  Jeffries held up the bottle, and Georgiana could see that it was filled with some sort of dark liquid. “And you think this here’s going to do the job?” the Bow Street Runner asked.

  “Oh, most certainly! It will grow hair on a billiard ball!” Whalsey claimed.

  “The professor swears by it!” Cheever put in. “And you should see the head of hair he has on him!”

  “A mane that he was no doubt born with,” Georgiana muttered as disappointment swamped her. After all her careful investigation, she had not recovered the missing gems! And the nefarious scheme she had overheard had come to this: two men fighting over a stolen batch of hair restorative.

  It was decidedly lowering.

  Jeffries cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that whether or not this concoction works is irrelevant, for either way, it’s been stolen, and I’ll be returning it to the rightful owner,” he said firmly. “I’ll have the formula, too, if you please.”

  With another loud huff, Whalsey pulled a paper from his coat pocket and thrust it angrily at the Bow Street Runner.

  “Is this the only copy?” Jeffries asked.

  “Yes!” Whalsey snapped.

  “Very good, then. I’ll be in touch with you two regarding any charges that the professor might want to make against you.”

  “It was all his doing!” Cheever accused, scowling at Whalsey.

  “I did nothing. You’re the one who approached me, you housebreaker!” Whalsey retorted.

  The two were still arguing when Georgiana, Ashdowne and Jeffries left the house, and it was not until they stepped outside that silence reigned once more. Georgiana, for one, was too distressed to speak, and the three walked quietly down the steps that fronted the building. So mired in her own dejection was she that at first Georgiana didn’t hear the sound of a low chuckle. But by the time they reached the street, it was clearly audible. Did Ashdowne mock her?

  Whirling on him, Georgiana prepared to give him a good set-down, but the look on his face stopped her. The marquis, who always seemed so elegant and assured, was grinning helplessly. “Hair restorative!” he murmured. And then he threw back his head and burst out laughing.

  Watching his handsome face relax so fully, Georgiana felt her own tension ease. After all, Ashdowne was not finding humor in her miscalculations, but in the situation in which they had found themselves, which she had to admit was the silliest she had ever encountered.

  Before she knew it, Georgiana was laughing, too, and then, to her surprise, Jeffries joined in with a rough growl of amusement, until all three of them were nearly making a spectacle of themselves on the streets of Bath. Her eyes watering in a most unladylike fashion, Georgiana swayed on her feet, but Ashdowne was there to lean on, and she decided that it was a most pleasant experience to share her mirth with a man.

  It was only later, after sobering once more and parting with her companions, that Georgiana realized the awful truth. If Whalsey and Cheever were innocent, she was left with only two suspects.

  And Ashdowne was one of them.

  Chapter Five

  Ashdowne stretched out upon the uncomfortable Grecian squab couch in his bedroom and propped his feet on the top of a carved stool. He had let the house, including the ghastly furniture, for the season, though he had only intended to stay a short while. Now he found himself hating the fashionable address in Camden Place. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he had disliked his surroundings, but the pretentious trappings bothered him more than usual. Everything seemed to bother him more than usual, Ashdowne thought sourly.

  “I need a drink,” he muttered as his majordomo appeared. A canny Irishman, Finn was not the typical nobleman’s servant, but he was the only member of the staff allowed close access to Ashdowne. The two had been together a long time, their association based on mutual trust rather than employment, for as Ashdowne well knew, the loyalty of a man such as Finn could not be bought.

  “A difficult morning, milord?” Finn asked. He moved to a sideboard, where he poured a liberal portion of port that he soon presented to Ashdowne. Then he returned to fetch himself a good measure before perching on the ugly chinoiserie chair opposite. Camden Place had probably never seen the like of their tête-à-tête, Ashdowne thought with some amusement.

  “Not so much difficult as deuced,” he admitted as he swirled the wine, enjoying its rich bouquet. Although he disdained the ornate town house, some luxuries such as fine port were well worth the cost. He’d always known that, Ashdowne thought wryly as he took a sip.

  Finn snorted into his drink. “How could your day be anything but odd when that Bellewether chit’s involved?” he asked in his gravelly voice, the Irish lilt still evident.

  “Yes, she is definitely unusual,” Ashdowne mused, but missing from his tone was the acerbity that had formerly graced any discussion of Georgiana. It had been conspicuously absent ever since last night on the terrace when he had kissed her.

  The kiss had been a game, really, a way to gain her confidence and as such, a seduction of necessity. Why, then, was he struck so forcefully by the memory of it? Why, whenever he saw her, was he seized by the urge for a repeat performance? Ashdowne shifted on the couch, a move that did not go unnoticed by his observant majordomo. Finn’s dark eyes narrowed speculatively.

  “So? What happened today? Did the runner arrest poor Whalsey?”

  Ashdowne smiled. “No. I’m afraid not. The most incriminating evidence was a pilfered potion of hair restorative.”

  “No!” Finn brayed a low laugh.

  “Yes,” Ashdowne replied, chuckling at the recollection. When was the last time he had been so thoroughly, delightfully entertained? He could not recall such a catharsis as the laughter that had ensued outside Whalsey’s house—or the pleasurable feeling it engendered in him. The memory, while a fond one, also was strangely disquieting. Why, after all this time, was he stimulated by none other than the Bellewether chit?

  “Hair restorative? Ha! No wonder his lordship’s always wearing a hat!” Finn said, slapping his knee in hilarity. “But where’d he get the stuff?”

  “Apparently he and his cohort, a Mr. Cheever, cooked up a scheme to steal it from the professor who concocted it, which means our Miss Bellewether isn’t quite as daft as we thought,” Ashdowne said, his grin fading. “Although they knew nothing of the necklace, Whalsey and his friend technically qualify as thieves.”

  “If you say so,” Finn said, between rumbles of laughter. “But I doubt if the Bow Streeter will see it that way.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Ashdowne replied. Jeffries appeared to be a decent, solid sort, not like some of his kind, who were known to be as dishonest as their prey.

  “Give over, milord!” Finn said. “Even the stupidest thief taker wouldn’t put stock in the girl’s jabbering now.”

  “No. Probably not,” Ashdowne agreed, shifting uncomfortably once more. And it wasn’t just the hard length of couch that bothered him, but something remarkably akin to guilt, though why he should be plagued by such an alien sensation, he didn’t know. He’d done nothing other than fall in with the chit’s scheme. In fact, she had been inordinately pleased when he had used his influence on Jeffries.

  Too pleased. Perhaps that was the problem, for Ashdowne could not help remembering the smile Georgiana gave him when he induced the Bow Street Runner to accompany them to Lord Whalsey’s residence. No one in his less than exceptional existence had ever looked at him like that, as if he had pulled down the moon and stars and presented them to her! Although Ashdowne had to admit that past lovers had often gazed at him with dazed gratitude after one of his more inventive nights, it was not the same.

  Georgiana’s expression held no hint of lust for his body—or anything else. It was more like sheer, unadulterated adoration. Ashdowne took a large swallow of port as he amended his thought. Undeserved adulation. He had been no more interested than anyone else in her absurd investigation, except to make sure that it didn’t impact upon him in any way.


  Ashdowne was rather ashamed of that, for his perception of the indefatigable Miss Bellewether was undergoing a change. She had shown such pluck today that he couldn’t help feeling a certain reluctant admiration for her. Her ideas might be skewed, but she acted on them. She pursued her own course, without regard to anyone else’s opinion, blithely searching out mysteries in a world that sorely lacked them.

  Perhaps that’s what made him so uncomfortable, for Ashdowne well recognized her reaction. He too had once sought excitement to feed a need within himself that few others could begin to comprehend. But such quests were often hazardous, and when Georgiana had baldly talked of confronting possible criminals, Ashdowne had reacted instinctively. The single-minded Miss Bellewether was liable to get herself into all sorts of trouble—trouble of a far more dangerous sort than that he had already witnessed.

  Although Ashdowne told himself that she was no concern of his, he knew a niggling sense of worry just the same. Of course, it was only natural to want to protect a lovely young woman from harm, especially after the look she had given him, but Ashdowne still decried the sensation. The chit was unnerving him in a way that nothing had since his brother’s death, and he did not care for it in the least.

  “Don’t tell me that the little baggage is affecting you, milord?” The sound of Finn’s amusement brought Ashdowne from his dark thoughts, and he frowned in response to the all too accurate allegation.

  “Of course not,” he answered smoothly, but Finn knew him too well to accept the lie.

  “Right!” the servant snorted. “But you have to admit that she’s a beauty, with a body made for pleasing a man.”

  “Yes,” Ashdowne agreed, though even the best of female forms had never stirred him the way Georgiana did. It wasn’t the way she looked, but the way she looked at him. However, he had no intention of telling his manservant that the Bellewether chit eyed him as though he were a bloody god. Finn might hurt himself laughing.

  “And I suppose it’s a refreshing change not to have the lady panting after your title,” the majordomo said, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

  “Yes,” Ashdowne agreed. One could hardly accuse Georgiana of such aspirations, for she had always seemed more leery of him than not, and unlike every other unmarried miss he had ever met, she was more interested in mysteries than matrimony. Ashdowne smiled at the thought.

  “So that’s her appeal?” Finn asked.

  Eyebrow inching upward, Ashdowne glanced at his manservant with a wry expression. “Her appeal? I wasn’t aware that she had any.” Just because he found her stimulating did not mean he was attracted to the chit! The kiss had been a seduction of necessity, nothing more. In fact, most of the time he didn’t know whether to laugh at her antics or strangle her.

  Finn made a disbelieving sound as he rose to his feet. “Well, if you’re not interested in her, does that mean we have to rush back to the old place?” he asked.

  No doubt Ashdowne’s ancestors would cringe at the family seat being referred to in such a manner, but he only smiled. Ashdowne Manor was old. With a pang, he realized that he ought to start thinking about making improvements, on top of everything else required of him, but his mind rebelled. He found himself longing to stay in Bath, if only for a while. For necessity or pleasure? Did it matter? Ashdowne knew it did, but he told himself that an extended visit would be in his own best interests.

  “I think it might be wise to remain a little longer, just to tie up all loose ends here,” he said slowly.

  “Well, that suits me,” Finn said, returning his glass to the sideboard. “I, for one, ain’t ashamed to admit that I’ve a notion to see what the chit comes up with next.”

  Ashdowne glanced up to see Finn’s back as he considered the Irishman’s words. His lips curved slightly, for he, too, couldn’t deny a certain sense of anticipation where Georgiana was concerned. “Yes. The whole business is becoming far more entertaining than I ever imagined,” he replied.

  After all, with Whalsey and Cheever exonerated, at least in the matter of the necklace, Georgiana was bound to set her sights on a new suspect. And Ashdowne, who hadn’t been interested in much of anything for the past year, suddenly found himself eager to see what wild scheme she would hatch.

  Finn turned to fix him with a deliberate look. “You just make sure you don’t let that dizzy chit get under your skin. Many’s the time a pretty face has been the ruin of a man, and I might remind you of all that you have to lose.”

  This time it was Ashdowne who snorted. “There’s no danger of that, I assure you. I am hardly about to succumb to the young lady’s extremely dubious charms.” Pushing aside the memory of the feel of her in his arms, all soft and warm and willing, Ashdowne instead concentrated on her outlandish behavior. But after the discovery of the pilfered hair restorative, Georgiana’s methods didn’t seem nearly as silly as before.

  Ashdowne frowned at the thought. “There is one thing that worries me, though,” he said.

  “What’s that, milord?” Finn asked.

  Ashdowne tilted his head, struck by an alarming feeling. “She’s beginning to make a strange sort of sense to me,” he said with a mixture of wonder and horror.

  Finn, taking his words as a joke, burst into laughter once more, and Ashdowne tried to join in. But he couldn’t quite ignore an insidious voice that kept whispering of his doom.

  Georgiana sat in the drawing room, one elbow propped on the rosewood writing desk and her chin resting in her hand. She was not so somber or self-important as to lack all manner of levity, and once over her initial shock, she had been quick to see the humor in Lord Whalsey’s situation. And she had found it both pleasant and novel to share laughter with a man, specifically a man such as Ashdowne.

  However, the intimacy of that experience, like so much that occurred within a close vicinity to the marquis, had a peculiar effect upon her. In what was becoming a familiar sensation, Georgiana began feeling more with her heart and other parts of her anatomy, than her brain, and she had been forced to quit his company in order to think clearly once more.

  Sadly, she had also required some time alone in which to swallow her disappointment. It had all been going so well—her investigation, the assistance from Ashdowne, the Bow Street Runner’s attentiveness—until that dreaded box had been opened to reveal not the emeralds, but a bottle of hair restorative.

  With a disgruntled sigh, Georgiana blew away a curl that had fallen over her forehead. When she thought of the precious time she had wasted on Whalsey, she let out a groan. And now Mr. Jeffries would be even harder to convince of her theories than before—although at least Whalsey and Cheever had been involved in a crime of some sort. Dear Ashdowne had made much of that once they had all recovered from the giggles outside of Whalsey’s house.

  Dear Ashdowne? Georgiana flung down her arm and lifted her chin in dismay. It would not do at all to begin thinking of her sometime associate in such a manner. No, she would be wise not to consider him at all. But logic told her that she needed him, or at least his influence with Mr. Jeffries, in order to unmask the culprit. Unfortunately, the wobbly thrill that went through her at the expectation of working alongside the marquis had very little to do with logic.

  Reining in her wayward impulses with some effort, Georgiana straightened. She had far more faith in her abilities than in those of Mr. Jeffries, no matter what his credentials. She suspected that the poor man would never uncover the thief without her help, so she must put aside her prejudices and work with Ashdowne. She simply would have to avoid getting too close to him, and she vowed that there must certainly be no more kisses!

  Firmly ignoring the sense of loss that accompanied her pledge, Georgiana tried, instead, to focus on the notes she had spread out before her. With a frown, she stared long and hard at her short list of suspects before taking up her pen and putting a line through Cheever and Whalsey. Unfortunately, she was left with only Mr. Hawkins and Ashdowne.

  It had to be the vicar.

  The thought
of the elegant marquis climbing the side of a building for a few baubles seemed ludicrous, and Georgiana had to admit that she might have been a little precipitous in considering the wealthy nobleman as a possible robber. Even setting aside her own rapidly warming feelings toward the marquis, Georgiana had to wonder at a motive. The man seemed to have everything, so what would he want with Lady Culpepper’s necklace? Although she still wasn’t sure why Ashdowne was in Bath, blaming him for the theft appeared to be as preposterous as Jeffries had claimed.

  Lifting the pen, Georgiana prepared to blot out Ashdowne’s name, only to hesitate, her fingers suspended over the foolscap. Again, something tugged at her memory, just out of reach. But what? She laid down the pen and concentrated. There was something about the robbery that she wasn’t seeing, something important…yet long moments of searching her mind dredged up nothing more than she already knew.

  It must be the vicar, Georgiana thought, tossing her curls in exasperation. Unmasking him might prove difficult, for she had no evidence beyond motive and opportunity, but Georgiana never failed to rise to a challenge, and this one could provide her the rewards she had been seeking for what seemed like a lifetime. Here was her chance, and she was not going to miss it because of a balding lord’s vanity.

  However, she just might need some help.

  Once he had decided to remain in Bath a bit longer, Ashdowne looked forward to the days ahead. There were dispatches from the family seat to be dealt with, of course, but somehow even the business of being marquis wasn’t quite so stultifying here in the quaint, hill-enclosed city. He was at work in the study, a tray of sandwiches that Finn had left beside him still untouched when the Irishman interrupted his work.

  “Uh, milord, there’s a lady here to see you,” Finn said.

  Ashdowne looked up in surprise. Even in the more egalitarian Bath, women did not call on gentlemen unless they were related, and he had no family left except his late brother’s wife. “Don’t tell me Anne is here!” he said, staring past Finn as if to find his sister-in-law hiding behind his majordomo.