Although expert at hiding his thoughts, Ashdowne must have evidenced some hint of his desires, for Georgiana swayed forward only to straighten her shoulders and step back in a physical withdrawal he had seen before.
“I might remind you, Ashdowne,” she said in a prim voice totally at odds with the rest of her, “that ours is strictly a business relationship. And I cannot have you distracting me from my purpose.”
She scowled delightfully at him, and Ashdowne nodded, keeping a tight rein on both his lust and his mirth. “Of course,” he answered as meekly as he could manage. Although Georgiana eyed him skeptically, she turned toward the street, and he fell into step beside her, content to let the day play out as it would.
Life, after all, was an adventure.
By late afternoon, Georgiana had to admit that her interest in the pursuit was flagging. Ashdowne was still with her, but he kept pestering her to stop for luncheon or an early dinner or sustenance of some sort. She supposed that a man who possessed the muscular form of the marquis had to take in sufficient nourishment to preserve that rather fascinating body, but she was loath to take her eyes from Mr. Hawkins for a moment.
Unfortunately, it was not as though the vicar had really done anything of note. He hadn’t emerged from his lodgings until nearly noon, then had made an obligatory stop at the Pump Room, where he had spoken to several older women, possible benefactors perhaps. None looked to be in league with him in any nefarious activities, much to Georgiana’s disappointment.
From there he had walked one of them to her residence before prowling the stores on Milson Street. For a man without a means of living, he had done an awful lot of shopping, Georgiana reflected. Well, not shopping, but looking, because he carried no parcels, for all his wanderings.
“Do you think he knows we’re following him?” Georgiana asked, suddenly stricken by the possibility.
Ashdowne gave her an arch look, as if she had insulted him somehow. “The good vicar hasn’t a clue,” he said. Then he paused to gaze at her with a thoughtful expression. “Unless he can hear my stomach growling.”
“Really, Ashdowne!” Georgiana said, taken aback by his bold speech, but she had little time to dwell upon it, for their quarry was moving again. Grabbing his sleeve, she tugged on it until he stepped forward, strolling down the street to stop in front of a milliner’s bow window. Taking his cue, Georgiana lifted a hand to point out a set of gloves as she watched the glassy reflection of the opposite side of the avenue. It appeared that Mr. Hawkins was entering another establishment.
Turning slightly, Georgiana glanced over her shoulder only to groan, for the man had gone inside a pastry shop. At the sight, Ashdowne threatened to mutiny, and having a weakness for desserts, Georgiana felt her own determination waver, but she bolstered it bravely. Mr. Hawkins was her last chance for vindication, for a famous case to launch her career, and she had no intention of letting him slip by her for the sake of a sugared biscuit or raspberry tart.
“You may do as you wish, but I intend to keep at it,” she told the marquis firmly. Although she fully expected him to leave her, Ashdowne remained where he was with a sigh and a shrug. Georgiana felt a warm surge of pleasure at his continued presence. He really was the most helpful of assistants, she thought, for although they had kept the vicar well within their view all day, she knew that it would have been a boring business without company.
At his insistence, she had long given up calling him “my lord.” Her mother might not approve, but once they handed the vicar over to the Bow Street Runner, the case—and her association with the marquis—would be at an end. Unfortunately, instead of comforting her, that knowledge made her feel all empty inside, like a cake that had fallen in upon itself.
Ever logical, Georgiana put the odd sensation down to hunger pangs and soldiered on only to groan anew as Mr. Hawkins appeared, eating something sticky that he had obviously just purchased. Much to her dismay, he continued to feast, and in a most thorough manner. He even licked his fingers and smacked his lips, which disgusted Georgia.
“Quiet, you,” Ashdowne told his stomach, and Georgiana glanced at her companion. Although she had heard nothing, she found herself staring at where his hand rested on his flat abdomen, thoughts of food fleeing abruptly. All too easily, she remembered sitting on his lap, being cradled by those hard thighs as he touched her breast, and she felt dizzy. Her skin seemed to tighten while, conversely, her insides, including her brain, seemed to grow all soft and liquid.
“Have you a craving, too?” Ashdowne’s voice washed over her senses like warm chocolate, and Georgiana shivered before jerking her gaze back to his face. Whatever was he talking about? Her face flaming at the direction her errant thoughts had taken, Georgiana turned on her heel and rushed after the vicar.
During the ensuing hours her culprit made no unusual stops, had no clandestine meetings and talked with no unsavory characters. He did nothing noteworthy at all, but began walking again until they once more reached the Pump Room. Although Ashdowne made no complaint, Georgiana was thoroughly exasperated.
“Oh, doesn’t the man ever do anything interesting?” she complained as she plopped down upon a low stone wall.
“I fear we all can’t be as intrepid as yourself, my sweet,” Ashdowne said, leaning casually against a buttress.
With a toss of her head, Georgiana bent down to tug off her slipper, banging it against the wall until a small pebble dislodged itself and fell to the pavement.
“May I assist you in any way?” Ashdowne asked, eyeing her foot in a proprietary fashion that threatened to reduce her to a dazed ninny again.
“No!” Georgiana answered, her temper running short.
“I could rub your foot,” Ashdowne suggested in a tone that made her feel warm and gooey inside until she caught herself. She slapped her slipper back into place and glared at him before sinking her chin onto her hand.
“Don’t try to cheer me up,” she warned him, “for I am sunk in the dismals.”
“Shall I seize him by the throat and demand he confess?” Ashdowne asked.
In spite of herself, Georgiana smiled. Although the plan had its merits, Mr. Hawkins was of a different caliber than Lord Whalsey and would not be so easily intimidated. “No,” she muttered. “Let’s just keep watching him.”
“Until we starve to death,” Ashdowne said.
“Yes,” Georgiana agreed.
But just as she was beginning to think they would have to separate so that they might manage to eat, Mr. Hawkins went into a coffee shop and ordered supper. Discreetly following, Georgiana and Ashdowne took a tiny table in the shadows at the rear of the room and proceeded to dine quite agreeably.
Although she was forced to forgo the rich dessert she was considering when Mr. Hawkins finished his meal early, Georgiana was feeling much better by the time they followed their quarry back into the streets to one of the city’s lesser baths. Not nearly so grand as the King’s Bath or one of the other more well-known watering places, it was small and less fashionable, and, as Ashdowne noted, probably quite cheap.
After waiting a few moments, they went inside, hanging back by the doorway. Although some of the more famous spots were open only during limited morning hours, Georgiana caught a glimpse through an archway of several bathers nearly submerged in the dark waters. Although the building was made of the usual creamy stone for which the city was well-known, the pool was open to the sky, an advantage on sunny days but hardly a plus when it rained, Georgiana surmised.
Lingering behind the archway, she watched the vicar speak to one of the attendants and head toward the steps. To her surprise he pulled a book from his coat, taking it with him as he stepped into the medicinal waters. Although he soon sank lower and lower, Mr. Hawkins kept the volume with him and opened it, as if to read. But Georgiana caught his gaze drifting from the page, most notably when nearing a female companion.
“Odd,” Ashdowne murmured beside her. “From what you’ve said, I would hardly think him such a d
evoted cleric that he studies the Bible while in the baths.”
Georgiana made a low sound of disgust. “I don’t think he’s reading it at all! I suspect he comes here simply to ogle the women in their wet clothing.” Although some of the baths provided their customers with smocks, the moisture made all garments cling, sometimes leaving little to the imagination.
Ashdowne glanced toward her, one dark brow lifted and a wry smile on his face, but Georgiana held her ground, for he was the one always insisting on plain speaking. “I have observed that Mr. Hawkins has a marked interest in ladies’ chests,” she insisted.
To Georgiana’s dismay, Ashdowne’s dark gaze traveled slowly down to her own breasts, which seemed to swell and preen in response. “Well, he had better keep his eyes off yours,” the marquis said in a serious tone that threatened her sensibilities most thoroughly.
With some effort, Georgiana tore her attention away from her alluring assistant back to the suspect. She watched him walk along the perimeter, Bible in hand, but as if to prove Georgiana right, he looked rather slyly at the women, nodding in a superior manner whenever they chanced to pass him, but studying them when they were unaware.
He continued along in the same vein until Mrs. Fitzlettice, a rather ill-tempered wealthy widow, entered the water. Upon seeing her, Hawkins swiftly closed the volume and glanced around rather suspiciously. Apparently convinced that no one was watching, he tucked the book behind a loose stone in the wall.
Georgiana swung her face toward Ashdowne and saw her own astonishment reflected on his features. “Did you see that?” she asked.
“I’ll be deuced,” he muttered.
“I’m going in!” Georgiana said, lurching forward, but Ashdowne halted her with a firm grip about her arm.
“Wait!” he said. “Hawkins will see you.” Although certainly not what she wanted to hear, the words were spoken in a knowledgeable tone that made her stop. He was right, of course. Both the vicar and the widow were standing too near the book’s hiding place for either she or Ashdowne to retrieve it.
Georgiana frowned in frustration. “What if one of us were to cause a diversion, allowing the other to snatch the volume?” She glanced up at her assistant hopefully, but his only reply was a look that told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of her suggestion.
Botheration! Just because he had seen her at her worst did not mean that every one of her endeavors ended in disaster. Georgiana opened her mouth to tell him so, but Ashdowne shook his head. “I doubt if even your incomparable endowments are enough to divert the good vicar’s attention from a possible benefactress, especially one whose pockets are so well lined.”
Although she colored at his description of her chest, Georgiana had to admit he was right. However, she was too impatient to stand back and wait with the ease that seemed to come naturally to Ashdowne. They had been following the vicar all day, and this was the first sign that he actually was the thief, the first real confirmation of her suspicions.
“He must have had the book with him all day,” she whispered to Ashdowne. “No wonder we could find nothing at his lodgings. No doubt, he carries it about with him everywhere, keeping it always upon his person! And what better place to secret the necklace than in a hollowed-out book?”
No one would think anything of a vicar carrying around a Bible, Georgiana reasoned with growing excitement. The only time he was liable to run into trouble was if a devout person, like Mrs. Fitzlettice, should ask to view a verse in the volume! That, of course, was why Mr. Hawkins had hidden it away before greeting her. Georgiana smiled. It was all falling into place so perfectly that she was practically squirming with eagerness.
Unfortunately, Mr. Hawkins was still deep in conversation with Mrs. Fitzlettice, and they continued to speak for what seemed an interminable length of time before beginning to move away from the concealed goods. The moment they started walking, Georgiana jerked forward again, only to be detained by her more cautious assistant. He inclined his head toward the pool, where, to her surprise, the vicar and Mrs. Fitzlettice were rising from the water. Apparently, they were departing together and leaving the book behind!
Startled, Georgiana let Ashdowne urge her out of the building and into the shadows of a nearby doorway. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, and she blinked at the dark figures who emerged from the baths. Mr. Hawkins and the widow were but the first among a line of patrons who exited, and Georgiana waited breathlessly then gasped in alarm at the sound of a lock clicking. The place was closing!
Angrily Georgiana whirled upon Ashdowne, for this impasse was all his fault. Far from assisting her, he had done nothing except restrain her unreasonably, and now it was too late! She opened her mouth to vent her outrage, but before she could utter a word, he took her hands in his and pulled her close.
“We will come back tomorrow, first thing,” he promised.
Despite the lure of his words, Georgiana pulled her fingers free, determined not to let him lull her into complacency with his honeyed voice and overpowering presence. “No! The jewels are in that book, I am certain of it! And, if so, Hawkins will not leave them for long. I am convinced that he never intended to let them out of his hands,” she said. “He certainly won’t wait till morning to retrieve them.”
Ashdowne groaned, but Georgiana ignored his protests. Tossing her curls, she glared up at her assistant defiantly and stated her case with firm intent. “We must come back when the place is deserted, but before it is too late!”
“And just how do you propose to get inside?” Ashdowne asked.
Georgiana flashed him a smile, for she knew well his talents in that direction. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of a way.”
Ashdowne glanced over at the now quiet building, then back down at her, his blue gaze glittering in the gathering twilight. “Very well,” he said, muttering something about his doom. “We will return tonight, once it is full dark.”
Ashdowne would not let her leave alone, and since Georgiana insisted that someone must watch the building, he had sent a passing boy back to his residence with a message, and soon his manservant had appeared. A wiry Irishman, Finn agreed to keep an eye on the place while Ashdowne escorted her home. Of course, it was wholly unnecessary, as Georgiana kept telling him, but the marquis could be dreadfully obstinate at times.
Once back at her parents’ residence, Georgiana took to her bed with a headache, to later sneak out through the kitchen, meeting Ashdowne at the garden gate. Per his instructions, she wore a black cloak, and despite all logical protestations to the contrary, the clandestine nature of their investigation roused all her senses.
Their circuitous route through the alleys and dark streets of Bath served to increase her excitement, and by the time they reached their destination, Georgiana was certain that no matter how famous she should become, she would never forget this night, her first real case, or her one and only assistant.
Although Georgiana did not see the Irishman, Ashdowne assured her that he was there, watching in the shadows, and would alert them should the vicar, or anyone else, approach. The neighborhood was quiet, the darkness nearly complete as they stood before the doors to the baths, and Georgiana took a moment to appreciate her companion. She could have managed without him, but there was something about Ashdowne that inspired confidence above and beyond her own.
He was dressed all in black, without even the white of a neck cloth to relieve the starkness of his costume, and he moved with a lithe grace that she could only admire. He was tall and strong, and Georgiana had no doubt that he could subdue any miscreant who might be so bold as to approach them. He was, she decided, entirely competent.
But, more than that, Ashdowne emanated a power and danger that struck Georgiana in a way she had never before known. She was not frightened of him. Indeed, the look of him, with his face hidden in shadows, his gloved fingers moving silently as he bent to pick the lock, merely enhanced her excitement, until she wondered if the man himself could possibly eclipse her interest i
n the investigation.
It was a sobering thought and one that made Georgiana look determinedly away. She was too near him, she decided. Therein lay the problem, for whenever she was close to Ashdowne, her brain seemed to shut down, while giving sway to the rest of her body. She would do well to keep her distance, she reminded herself.
A soft click drew Georgiana’s attention back to her companion, who flashed her a white grin before pushing open the door. He really was quite talented, she admitted, for had she been here alone she would have had to use a tool or something equally incriminating to gain entry.
“Can you teach me how to do that?” she whispered.
“No,” Ashdowne answered, and before she could reply, he was pulling her inside and closing the door behind them. Immediately, the baths seeped into her awareness, the warm, moist air surrounding her, the unpleasant odor of the famous waters more subtle than usual because of the open roof. Georgiana tried futilely to gain her bearings in the utter blackness of the area near the entrance, but Ashdowne seemed to possess the senses of a cat, for he somehow managed to light a small, shuttered lantern.
It gave out little more illumination than a candle, but at least it would not be as susceptible to breezes and stray drops of moisture. And it guided their way toward the pool. As they approached, the stones became slippery, and Ashdowne reached out to take hold of her arm, aiding her in an unnecessary but thoughtful fashion toward the steps.
There he stopped, and Georgiana felt the eerie silence deep in her bones. Although the smallest of the city’s baths, the place seemed cavernous in the darkness, with no attendants or patrons to fill it, and with its ceiling open to the sky far above them. Stars twinkled high overhead, while moonlight cast a pale sheen across the black water. Georgiana shivered.
“I’ll go in,” Ashdowne said as he released her. “You stay here and watch the lantern, for I don’t care to be mucking about in total darkness.” Georgiana turned toward him with a comment, but it died upon her lips when she saw that Ashdowne was removing his coat. Right there in front of her. She watched as he shrugged out of it, flexing his wide shoulders in a most disturbing manner.
The Gentleman Thief Page 12