“I beg your pardon,” he said, his tone one of mild amusement.
Georgiana chose to ignore it as she strode across the stones, her thoughts once more upon the case. “Obviously, the necklace is not in the book, but Mr. Hawkins is still our chief suspect,” she said, then paused to consider the vicar before continuing determinedly. “Sooner or later, he will slip up and reveal himself to us. In the meantime, we will have to keep a close watch upon him.”
“Indeed,” Ashdowne said dryly. “From all appearances, I shouldn’t care to get too close to the good vicar.”
Georgiana slanted her assistant a reproving glance before giving in to the laughter that threatened, and it was with muffled chuckles that they made their way out of the building into the darkened streets of Bath. Once outside, she was again seized by exhilaration, the disappointments of the evening forgotten in the excitement of hurrying through the night.
Yet, as they slipped silently among the shadows, for the first time in her life, Georgiana wondered if it was the case that so compelled her—or her assistant.
Georgiana’s doubts lingered into the dawn and beyond. Although she told herself that emotion must not cloud her judgment, her discovery of Mr. Hawkins’s peculiarities had dampened her enthusiasm for following him about. Perhaps she could not distance herself from her suspects well enough, Georgiana mused, a discouraging thought that she put aside to ponder later.
She was hard-pressed to hold any thought at all, thanks to an extremely annoying preoccupation with her assistant. Try as she might, Georgiana could not deny a new, deeper awareness of Ashdowne that was even worse than the distraction she had suffered before. And who could blame her, after what they had shared in the baths? What exactly they had shared, Georgiana was uncertain, although she knew enough of reproduction to realize that her virtue remained intact. Still she could hardly claim to be unchanged by such a momentous event.
After sneaking back to her room, she found the evening’s events had replayed themselves unceasingly in her otherwise orderly mind. When she had finally managed to fall asleep, her dreams had all been of Ashdowne, and she had awoken tangled in her bedding, feeling hot and tired and frustrated, a sensation which, to a lesser degree, had plagued her throughout the morning.
Although Georgiana told herself quite firmly that theirs was a business association, it was difficult to focus on the business part when memories of a quite different sort of relationship kept intruding. To make matters worse, Ashdowne looked even more handsome and wonderful in the light of day when they resumed their pursuit, and Georgiana found herself watching him instead of their quarry.
She couldn’t help but notice the way his dark hair brushed his collar, the soft curve of his lips, the graceful movement of his gloved hands and the hard muscles of his thighs. And she remembered. She knew the feel of those thighs wedged between her own, the thrust of his body against hers, the slippery slide of his wet skin and the moist heat of his caresses. Shuddering, Georgiana wanted to forget what had happened, while, conversely, she yearned to repeat it all again.
Never had she been so confounded, even by the most difficult of cases. To add to her confusion, Ashdowne appeared cool and elegant, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Georgiana would have thought she imagined the intimacy between them if it were not for the occasional glimpse of something like hunger in his eyes, which made her skitter away.
Such glances made Georgiana wonder again just how far Ashdowne planned to take their…experimentation. Although the notion of delving further into such mysteries was quite tempting, Georgiana knew a genteel young woman such as herself should not even consider such a course. Nor could she dismiss outright certain concerns about the marquis himself.
Did he engage in such behavior with every woman he met? Georgiana did not care to be one of an interchangeable array of females, no matter how curious she was to learn more of the pleasures to be found in his arms. Although she would not wish Ashdowne to worship at her feet, as did her most ardent suitors, Georgiana wanted him to feel something for her, some small modicum of affection, along with a respect for her abilities.
Unfortunately, Georgiana could deduce little from his rather closed expression, and she did not feel comfortable broaching such a topic, especially since she was supposed to be concentrating on Mr. Hawkins. But so far, her suspect had done little to garner her interest.
Indeed, the vicar’s day had progressed much like the one before. He had spent the morning in his lodgings, presumably in undeserved rest, before visiting the Pump Room. And there he remained, talking with various elderly widows, while Georgiana and her companion tried to remain unobtrusive.
Had she been alone, Georgiana was certain she would have done very well. However, Ashdowne was simply too handsome and grand to blend in well with the crowd. She had wanted him to wear a disguise, but the marquis, as was his wont, laughed uproariously at the suggestion and tapped her nose. In an effort to avoid any further touching, Georgiana had dropped the subject.
Now she could see the foolishness of her capitulation, for although they were partially hidden by a screen near the orchestra, Georgiana could see a matronly woman bearing down upon them with a daughter of marriageable age in tow, leaving her with no doubt that her companion had been spotted. Stifling a groan, Georgiana turned to flee, and felt Ashdowne’s gloved hand close around her arm.
“I’m following the vicar,” she whispered, attempting to escape, but Ashdowne held her fast, drawing her near.
“No, you aren’t,” he said mildly. He looked down at her with a bland expression that suggested he was engaging in some pleasantries when he was, in actuality, keeping her prisoner. Georgiana opened her mouth to argue, but she never had a chance to speak.
“My lord! What a pleasure it is to see you gracing our beloved Pump Room! Truly, we did not expect such a treat this afternoon, did we, my dear?” the woman asked, turning toward her daughter. The girl, a tall slender blonde, obediently shook her pale curls and smiled in a coquettish fashion at the marquis.
Georgiana wanted to roll her eyes or heave up her breakfast, but she settled upon a polite smile instead. Her effort was wasted, however, for all the attention that was paid it. “You remember my daughter, Forsythia, do you not, my lord?” the matron asked, pushing the girl forward.
Ashdowne muttered some civility that set the mother to extolling Forsythia’s talents, which were exceeded only by her beauty, in her mother’s eyes at least. Georgiana had a more critical opinion, especially concerning the lack of manners in both women.
Georgiana might well have been a stain upon Ashdowne’s sleeve for all that the ladies had noticed her—which was just as well, of course. Georgiana certainly did not want to draw attention to herself. Yet she couldn’t help feeling a bit proprietary about the marquis. After all, he was her assistant, and she did not care for the way Forsythia was batting her eyelashes at him.
In fact, she had a sudden desire to pluck those eyelashes out, one by one. It was a most unwelcome notion for someone who prided herself on objectivity and a logical, ordered mind. Georgiana had always considered herself far superior to the rest of the feminine population with their petty jealousies, but now she appeared to be prey to the same sort of nonsense. Lately it seemed that she did not even know herself. And who was to blame? Ashdowne!
Frowning at the companion who was deep in conversation with his admirers, Georgiana realized she had forgotten all about Mr. Hawkins, who might well be escaping while she was trapped here at Ashdowne’s side. Gritting her teeth resolutely, she inched away from her assistant and was drawn back easily by one strong arm.
“Pardon me, but have you met Miss Bellewether?” Ashdowne asked in a casual tone that belied his grip upon her. “Miss Bellewether, may I present Forsythia and her mother…” Ashdowne paused to gaze blandly at the matron before him. “I fear I do not recall your name, madam.”
“Mrs. Gilcrest,” the woman said, her toadying smile momentarily faltering. “But tell me, my lo
rd—”
“Ah, you must excuse us,” Ashdowne said, glancing over the lady’s shoulder as if something there had engaged his attention. And before she could respond, the marquis was moving away, dragging Georgiana with him, until they found a new corner behind two portly gentlemen who appeared to be asleep in their seats.
“It simply will not wash!” Georgiana muttered as he finally released her, her pique over sharing him with his devotees still lingering. “Now that you’ve been spotted, we’ll be fair game for all the eligible females and their mothers!”
“Shh,” Ashdowne said, inclining his head toward the entrance.
Georgiana was in no mood to be shushed, but her curiosity was stronger than her annoyance, and she looked in the direction he indicated and spied the vicar deep in conversation with Lady Culpepper herself. Georgiana found the sight most intriguing, especially in light of Mr. Hawkins’s vocal contempt for the woman. “See, he’s lording it over her,” Georgiana whispered.
“Lording what?” Ashdowne asked.
“The theft! After years of study, I know the criminal mind,” Georgiana replied. “I suspect our thief gains a perverse pleasure out of playing the supplicant, while knowing that he is in possession of the very thing that means the most to her.”
“You’re right about the perverse part,” Ashdowne said dryly. “But I think it far more likely that he is currying her favor, perhaps in an effort to gain the living her family endows at their seat in Sussex.”
Georgiana dismissed that supposition with a wave of her hand, too intent upon their quarry to argue. Finally the vicar was doing something interesting, so she kept her attention upon him, despite her assistant’s disturbing nearness.
“And, Georgiana, love, someday you must enlighten me as to your knowledge of the, uh, criminal mind, as you call it,” Ashdowne said in a seductive voice, his whisper brushing against her ear with startling familiarity.
Georgiana felt a dizzying awareness, which she firmly quelled as she watched Lady Culpepper sweep from the room. The vicar was left with an unpleasant expression upon his face, his feelings quite obvious, though swiftly masked when he recovered himself. “See?” Georgiana asked Ashdowne in a triumphant tone.
“What? I admit that he dislikes the woman, but so do most of those who know her,” the marquis answered. And then their conversation was, by necessity, cut short, as their quarry moved forward. Not wanting to draw attention, they remained in their position behind the sleeping gentlemen, while keeping the vicar well within their sights.
The Pump Room was not very crowded, so Georgiana had no difficulty keeping an eye upon Mr. Hawkins. It was interruptions and distractions along the lines of Mrs. Gilcrest that concerned her. So far, they had been able to avoid members of her family and her limited number of acquaintances, but Ashdowne was far too well-known to avoid discovery, and soon they were marked once again.
This time, it was Ashdowne who gave a low sound of warning, and Georgiana flinched, fully expecting to see another determined mother bearing down upon them, but it was a man who appeared before them. He was as tall as Ashdowne, with black hair and eyes of a dark, rich green that nonetheless seemed curiously impassive. With some surprise Georgiana recognized him as Mr. Savonierre, the man who had brought the Bow Street Runner to Bath.
Having seen him only from a distance before, she had noticed little about him, but now she realized that he was quite a striking figure. Being of a similar height and coloring, at first glance he reminded her of Ashdowne. However, Savonierre’s features were harder, and he emanated a coldness that was far chillier than the marquis when most aloof. Georgiana felt a shiver snake up her back.
“Ashdowne.” Savonierre inclined his head, but his expression was not one of cordial greeting, and his eyes were shuttered, as if a world of secrets existed behind them. Although Georgiana could not name it, she sensed something about him that was distinctly disturbing.
Ashdowne, too, must have felt it, for he answered with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Outwardly he was serene and polite, but Georgiana could feel the wariness in him and she wondered at it. Who was this man?
“Taking the waters, are you?” Savonierre asked, and the marquis responded with a shrug. “How unusual to find a man of your particular talents here in Bath, or perhaps, in light of events, it is not that unusual, after all,” Savonierre murmured, as if intimating something that was lost upon Georgiana.
“No more unusual than your own visit,” Ashdowne said. “I would think Brighton more to your liking.”
“Ah. But I am here for a reason, a familial duty, as it were,” Savonierre said. “Surely, you know that I count Lady Culpepper among my connections?” he asked, the question oddly taunting. When Ashdowne only nodded, as though bored, Savonierre smiled slightly, like some sort of predator. He moved forward, as if to menace them, and Georgiana stepped back, though the marquis held his ground.
“I came straight away when I heard about the stolen emeralds,” Savonierre explained. He glanced toward the crowd and then back to Ashdowne. “I admit to being a bit disappointed with the Bow Street Runner I hired. It has been four days, and he has not yet unveiled the thief.”
Georgiana, too, was a bit disenchanted with Jeffries, but she had to admit that his plodding pace was to her advantage. “I have my own suspicions,” she said, seizing upon the subject most dear to her heart.
But before she could speak further, Ashdowne broke in. “Have you met Miss Bellewether? She is an amateur investigator and has been following the case quite closely.”
“Indeed?” Savonierre’s attention swung toward her, and Georgiana noted the intensity of his gaze. Although she usually embraced an opportunity to expound upon her theories, she felt uncomfortable under such intent scrutiny. Her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth, as if he had stricken her mute with that piercing stare, and so, for once, she did not elaborate.
“Perhaps I shall succeed where Mr. Jeffries cannot,” she stated simply, when she finally managed to speak.
Instead of scoffing like other men, Savonierre glanced from her to Ashdowne and then back again, an odd smile twisting his mouth. He inclined his head toward her, his green eyes glinting. “Perhaps you will, Miss Bellewether. I shall look forward to it.”
Savonierre’s tone held a dark edge of promise that made Georgiana draw in a sharp breath, and she held it as he bowed and left, expelling a low sigh of relief at his departure. “Who is he?” she whispered to Ashdowne. “And why does he hate you so?”
For a moment, Ashdowne said nothing, but stood staring after Savonierre with such a dangerous expression that Georgiana feared he might go after the man with violent intent. Anxious, she tugged on his sleeve until he turned toward her, his face rigid.
“He has certainly taken a dislike to me, but I have no idea why. He is, however, a very powerful man and one not to be trifled with.” Casting a last look in the direction that Savonierre had taken, Ashdowne seemed to recover his usual aplomb. He took her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze that Georgiana presumed was one of friendly encouragement until she realized that he was urging her forward into the crowd.
Mr. Hawkins, drat him, had disappeared.
Chapter Ten
To Georgiana’s immense relief, they soon spied the vicar exiting the Pump Room and fell into their positions behind him. Although she expected a further repetition of yesterday’s schedule, this time Mr. Hawkins turned away from the shops toward a more residential area.
Keeping a good distance away, they nonetheless managed to follow their quarry through winding streets to a rather shabby neighborhood. It was less genteel than the one in which he lived, but not so inelegant as to cause Georgiana alarm. She felt eminently safe with Ashdowne, and although he kept wanting to turn back, she would have none of it.
“This is exactly the sort of place where he is most likely to reveal himself,” Georgiana argued. “Why, he might be on his way to a dealer in stolen goods. We might very well catch him in the act!”
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“That is what I’m afraid of,” Ashdowne muttered, but he grudgingly stayed beside her. Georgiana dismissed his concerns with an airy wave, for she was firmly focused on the case again and eagerly anticipating its resolution. Although Ashdowne seemed to view her resurgent enthusiasm with some reluctance, he voiced no more complaints, and Georgiana was able to give her full attention to the vicar.
And Mr. Hawkins definitely was up to something. When he turned into an alley and stopped before a door there, Georgiana nearly clapped her hands in glee, for it certainly looked as though he was making his move. As if to confirm her suspicions, the vicar looked about him furtively before knocking, but he did not note Ashdowne or Georgiana, hidden behind the corner of a building across the way, peeping out intermittently.
Hawkins wasted no time slipping inside when the worn door opened to admit him, and Georgiana hurried across the street, anxious to inspect the place. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be learned in the alley, so she made her way into the building’s back garden, a sadly ill kempt area littered with refuse. There, another door was flanked by two tall windows, and Georgiana motioned for Ashdowne to hurry as she climbed upon some broken stone to peep through the glass. A tiny, dark kitchen met her gaze, and she groaned in frustration.
Unwilling to give up, she dropped back down to the ground and, heedless of her skirts, clambered over the dirt and trash until she reached the other window. But it was too high for her to see in, and she glanced about, ready to direct her assistant to move some of the fallen stones, when she was arrested by sounds from inside the very room she was trying to view.
Extremely odd sounds. Puzzled, Georgiana moved closer to the building and listened. At first, all she could hear was a low moaning of sorts, punctuated by a sharp cracking noise. As she stood still, the latter became more pronounced, the moans more like groans of pain, and Georgiana glanced toward Ashdowne in alarm.
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