The Gentleman Thief

by Deborah Simmons

  “What door? There is no one here to impress but dandified bucks and gouty old people!” Georgiana said.

  “Not in backwater Bath, but in London,” Ashdowne said, warming to his own suggestion. “There you could be the toast of some of the most elite salons, where discussion of events isn’t limited to the latest gossip, but turns on politics and art and literature.” He knew he could gain entrée to such groups with his title, if not on his own past merits, and the thought of Georgiana shaking up some of the intelligentsia made him smile.

  He eyed her expectantly, and for a moment she simply stared at him, perhaps transfixed by his sudden, unusually impassioned speech. Despite himself, Ashdowne found himself waiting for The Look. For once, he deserved it, for he could see her admitted into the most exclusive of societies. But instead of gazing at him as if he were a god, Georgiana donned an expression of exasperation.

  “But, how on earth am I to get to London?” she asked. “Papa could never be induced to go. He is already complaining about Bath, for he wants his daily comforts. He is a man of routine and does not like it disturbed, even for the better.”

  It was Ashdowne’s turn to stare stupidly back at her as he realized just how ridiculous he must have sounded. He had spoken as if he could sponsor her, when, of course, he could not, for she was not related to him in any way. At the realization, he felt deflated, as if all his wild enthusiasm had been drained away, leaving him empty.

  “I beg your pardon,” he muttered, feeling foolish. The situation he had described would be her ruin, should she appear in his company alone, yet, perversely, he could not picture her with anyone else. “Have you no relatives in London?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied.

  “No one at all you could visit or who might take you with them?” Besides me, he thought.

  She made one of her delightful faces, as if deep in concentration, and he fought against his entrancement. “Well, there is my great-uncle, Silas Morcombe,” she admitted.

  Ashdowne felt a surge of relief. “Perhaps your uncle could contrive to take you for a visit,” he suggested.

  Georgiana looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. But I doubt if Mother would agree, for she considers him sadly ram-shackle and would fear that he would not observe the correct proprieties. He’s a bachelor, you see, and never cares much about anything except his latest studies. I would not expect him to squire me about to any drawing rooms, even if he could spare the time.”

  Resting her chin in her palm, she sighed, and the soft sound did something to Ashdowne’s insides. “No. It would be better if I could become famous, then others would come to me, no matter where I am,” she said. “If only I could solve this case, then I would, at last, gain the respect I crave. Not only would I be vindicated, but I could finally make use of my expertise.”

  As Ashdowne watched, Georgiana’s eyes took on a hazy glow, her lips curving into a smile that made him ache in places he didn’t expect and didn’t care to examine. He felt himself sink into the sweet lunacy that was Georgiana, escape at once both impossible and uninviting until she spoke again.

  “It has been my greatest wish, you know, to become a sort of a consultant and to have people from all over the country present to me their mysteries,” she murmured, and Ashdowne’s fey mood vanished with startling abruptness.

  He had been amused at first, then entertained and even rather enthralled by Georgiana’s efforts to solve the theft of Lady Culpepper’s necklace, but he had never imagined that her desire went beyond the gratification of apprehending the culprit. Now he saw her attempts for what they were: the achievement of a lifelong dream.

  The guilt Ashdowne had so successfully kept at bay landed on his back in a thrice, and he frantically sought some way out of a conundrum far more complex than any Georgiana had ever studied. He told himself that the realization of her dream did not hinge upon this theft. There would be other cases, he knew, even as he admitted that none would be so infamous, especially in genteel Bath.

  But what of London? Perhaps he could coax her uncle or someone else to take her there. Ashdowne knew he could force his sister-in-law to sponsor Georgiana, but he didn’t have much faith in that vapid creature’s judgment. And the thought of Georgiana loosed, unprotected, among the males of London was too horrible to contemplate. Nor did he care to entrust some scholarly great-uncle, who did not obey proprieties, with Georgiana’s safety.

  In fact, the only person he trusted to watch after Georgiana was himself, and swift on the heels of that acknowledgment came a series of wild thoughts. They churned through him, a relentless parade of mad possibilities that left him reeling though he tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

  Obviously he failed, for Georgiana soon noticed his silence, and she blinked in surprise when she turned to look at him. “Oh, dear, you are as distressed as I am! How thoughtless of me not to take your own disappointment into consideration,” she said, patting his sleeve in gentle sympathy.

  And because he could not voice a coherent thought, Ashdowne only nodded, eager to go home and sort through the maelstrom in his mind. He needed to be alone, he knew that much, for he doubted his ability to think clearly when faced with a certain pair of limpid blue eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ashdowne was still reeling when he arrived at Camden Place, after returning a glum Georgiana to her parents, for the brisk walk had done little to bring order to his unruly thoughts. He felt hot and tingly, like someone who had survived a lightning strike—or a man torn between his good sense and a lot of wild ideas, he thought grimly.

  “I need a drink,” he called to Finn as he strode into the study. There he fell into one of the hard armchairs, for once not noticing the discomfort of his furnishings.

  “Right, milord,” Finn said, hurrying after him. He closed the door and moved to the sideboard, eyeing Ashdowne over his shoulder. “But what of the miss? Have you abandoned her to her own devices?”

  At his words, Ashdowne frowned. He had been so consumed with his own thoughts that he had forgotten about Georgiana’s annoying habit of getting into trouble in his absence. “She’s fresh out of suspects for now, at least,” he muttered, more to reassure himself than his servant.

  Finn said nothing as he crossed the room with a delicate crystal glass and handed it to his employer. Murmuring his thanks, Ashdowne took the port and stared into the depths of the liquid as if seeking an answer there. When none appeared, he related his afternoon encounter with the mistress of punishment, much to Finn’s amusement.

  Finn’s robust laughter was a welcome diversion, but Ashdowne’s uneasiness must have been apparent, for the Irishman’s amusement faded as he studied his employer shrewdly. “You should have let the vicar take the blame for it,” he said.

  “What? The theft?” Ashdowne asked. At Finn’s nod, he shook his head. “The vicar isn’t guilty of much more than unpopular polemics. And he’s right about most of the ton being a bunch of hypocrites.” He paused to fix his gaze on Finn. “Do you know that he suggested Lady Culpepper’s necklace was never stolen, but simply broken down in a plan to collect the insurance money?”

  “Did he now?” Finn asked in a speculative tone, and the two exchanged a look fraught with meaning. “But what of the miss, milord? What will she do now? She’ll be looking for another suspect before long.”

  “Perhaps her interest in the case will dissipate at last,” Ashdowne said hopefully.

  Finn scratched his chin. “I don’t know, milord. She seems quite fierce about the whole thing.”

  “Yes, I know,” Ashdowne acknowledged. If only she felt that passionate about him instead of some deuced mystery! His disgust turned to a kind of horror as he realized that he was becoming jealous of a case. Just how low was he sinking? He rolled his shoulders in an effort to ease the tension that had seized him ever since Georgiana had confided her dream.

  “Unless you can distract her,” Finn suggested slyly.

  “Yes, but—” Ashdowne began, only to je
rk as the Irishman slapped him on the back.

  “Aye. Now, there’s your answer, milord,” he said heartily. “And I’ve no doubt of your abilities in that regard.”

  Ashdowne smiled weakly. He was glad that Finn had such faith in him, but truth be told, he was not quite sure anyone could keep Georgiana distracted for long. A man would have to have the stamina of a…

  “Shall I keep a watch on her until you can make sure she’s occupied with other matters?” Finn asked.

  “Yes. Thank you,” Ashdowne muttered as he tried to ignore his accelerating heartbeat. He thought of himself as a worldly gentleman, with his share of love affairs, so why did the thought of distracting Georgiana excite him so? He stifled a groan as his attention returned to all the other questions that plagued him.

  Vaguely he noted Finn’s agreement and subsequent departure, but neither the port nor the conversation had brought him any closer to making sense out of the mad thoughts that careened through his brain. The indecision was doubly frustrating, for usually he was the most meticulous of thinkers. In the past, his very life had depended upon careful planning and foresight, yet now he felt as if one petite blonde had totally disordered his existence with a simple toss of her curls.

  And, despite the clamor of his good sense to the contrary, Ashdowne knew it would never be the same again.

  A night of serious contemplation had restored Ashdowne’s equilibrium, if not his reason. He knew what he wanted all right, but his entire body rebelled against it. Well, not every portion, to be exact, just enough to make him hesitate. And even setting aside his lingering doubts, he was not one to take such a precipitous step lightly. There was a part of him that wasn’t ready, no matter what the provocation. And there was another part that warily guarded all his secrets.

  The irony of his situation was not lost upon him, yet Ashdowne knew an urge to let matters take their course. Although at odds with his calculating nature, it drove him to Georgiana’s residence, where he coaxed the dispirited investigator out for a carriage ride, while fending off the invitations of her younger sisters.

  She didn’t want to join him, really, and Ashdowne felt the snub right down to his boots. Along with the prick to his pride came an overwhelming desire to prove to her just how well she liked his company. It was a rather primitive sensation, the kind that presumably fueled the Norse invaders who dragged their stolen brides back home without a twinge of guilt. He was more civilized than that, Ashdowne told himself as he rolled his shoulders in an effort to be rid of the tension that gnawed at him.

  Although some sticklers for propriety might not approve of Ashdowne escorting a genteel young woman in his curricle, the two of them had thoroughly flouted conventional custom so often lately that he refused to consider a chaperon. And they could hardly speak freely in front of another about Georgiana’s beloved case. Or at least that’s what Ashdowne told himself in order to justify taking her off to some secluded grove above the city.

  And Georgiana’s father, whether from lack of good sense or an optimistic view toward a title for his daughter, was fool enough to entrust her to him. Although Mr. Bellewether’s jovial good wishes fell in well enough with Ashdowne’s plans, he felt a surge of annoyance at the man for not safeguarding Georgiana.

  When he had a daughter, he would take better care of her, Ashdowne vowed. And, surprisingly, the notion of siring children was not so startling as it once might have been. He pictured cherub-faced girls with golden curls sprawling on the lawn in front of the family seat and smiled, firmly ignoring the now familiar thrum of doom that accompanied the vision.

  Handing Georgiana into the waiting curricle, Ashdowne climbed up beside her and breathed a sigh of relief that he did not have to spend the morning lounging outside of the vicar’s apartments, waiting to follow him. The pleasure of having Georgiana all to himself was an anticipation that built rather feverishly, despite Ashdowne’s best efforts to quell it.

  However, it wasn’t long before he realized that the case still stood between them, for Georgiana sat beside him in dour silence, her lovely face drawn up into a glum expression, her pretty shoulders slumped. When she sank her chin into one gloved palm, Ashdowne decided he had never seen a female look so positively disappointed to be in his company. He didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted, but that was Georgiana.

  No matter what, she was always interesting, he thought with a smile, although he didn’t like to see her so dejected. But all his efforts to point out the buildings of Bath or make conversation did little to cheer her, and finally, Ashdowne began to wonder if he should suggest a new suspect. Only the absurdity of the notion, along with the desire to steer clear of Bedlam, kept him from doing so.

  To his delight, Georgiana perked up when they reached the hills that encompassed the city, and even Ashdowne could admire the greenery and tall oaks. After tethering the horses, he tossed aside his gloves and lay his cloak upon the grass. He urged Georgiana to sit, but she seemed transfixed by the view of the city below.

  “It is beautiful,” he murmured, moving to stand behind her.

  Georgiana made some noise of agreement, then pointed to the pale stone buildings in the distance. “Look how well you can see the houses!” she said, leaning forward and squinting as if she would focus on some particular dwelling. Turning to him suddenly, she blinked. “I wonder how closely you could view the doings with a spyglass.”

  Ashdowne simply stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing. Leave it to Georgiana to ignore the romance of such a spot while considering the practical applications of her visit. If she wasn’t so entertaining, he would have taken insult. Any other woman alone with him here would not be thinking of what was happening in the city, but any other woman wouldn’t see suspects behind every corner, either.

  Georgiana’s unique perspective was both alluring and frustrating, for his thoughts were such that he wanted her attention on himself, for once, and not her case. “Surely, there must be something else in Bath besides robbery that could draw your interest,” he suggested wryly.

  “Yes, but I am still unsettled by the theft. I keep feeling as if I’m missing something,” she mused thoughtfully.

  Ashdowne knew what he was missing, but he was trying to keep his rampant desires in check. Despite the casual air he had long presented to the world, he was very aware of all that went on around him. It was necessary. He had to consider every detail and plan accordingly, for the slightest miscalculation could spell disaster. Never before had he allowed himself to become diverted from the business at hand, and yet, ever since meeting the intriguing Miss Bellewether, he had felt his control slipping.

  It was slipping now.

  Although he felt like Achilles going in for a boot fitting or Samson asking Delilah for a trim, the ominous sense that Georgiana meant his downfall was somehow all mixed up with the wild notion that she could well be his salvation. Ashdowne could no longer judge what was best. He knew an urge to surrender entirely to the force that had seized him and let it take him where it may.

  Stepping behind her, Ashdowne leaned close in order to catch the delicate scent of her curls. He felt her sway toward him, and he knew a gratifying salve to his pride. Despite her behavior to the contrary, Georgiana was drawn to him, and her standoffishness became a challenge, filling him with a rush of excitement that made his body tighten.

  He moved closer, laying his hands on her shoulders, and for one moment she leaned against him, her head resting upon his chest, before she jerked away to turn and glare at him accusingly. “I thought we agreed to keep to…business,” she said, her face deliciously pink.

  “Actually, I had a more permanent relationship in mind,” Ashdowne said, reaching for her.

  Totally ignoring the import of his words, she stepped back, holding up a hand as if to ward him off, and he grinned at her rather panicked expression. No woman had ever refused his advances, let alone fought them, but Georgiana’s seeming reluctance only incited his passion. Although he would never fo
rce her to do anything, Ashdowne knew from experience that she could be easily persuaded, and he fully intended to coax her willingly into his arms.

  “No! Don’t come any closer,” she said, as if well aware of his intentions. “My mind gets all muddled when you are too near.” Her mouth took on a prim little twist that made him want to feel it relaxing beneath his own, but he remained where he stood, and when he raised a hand toward her face, she swatted it away. “And no touching!” she said.

  Ashdowne tried his best to look innocent. “What if I but take your hand?” he asked.

  “Well, I—”

  Before she could answer, he caught one of her hands in his own, while lifting his brows, as if to question her wariness. But Georgiana remained chary, frowning at him in a manner that told him she knew him too well. “All right, but just my hand,” she said grudgingly.

  Ashdowne laughed in pure delight, anticipation flooding his veins at her eventual surrender. He had never been a rake, prone to prey on young women, but this game with Georgiana was too enticing to relinquish. Once before he had made her moan and sigh and cling to him, had brought her to exquisite release, and he would do so again. He gazed into her dazed blue eyes and knew that she was aware of the power he wielded.

  But Ashdowne had no intention of rushing anything. Making no sudden moves that might scare her away, he simply stood before her, holding her hand in what could be construed as a most innocent gesture. Then, very slowly, he began to rub his thumb over her palm, against the soft kid of her gloves, though he longed to strip the concealing fabric from her, to feel her bare skin as he had the other night in the baths.

  The memory rushed over him, kicking Ashdowne’s desire to a new level as he stared down at her tiny wrist, enchanted by its delicacy. Lifting her wrist to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her pulse point, smiling when it tripped erratically beneath his lips. He glanced up at her face, already flushed, to see her staring at him in rapt fascination.