The Gentleman Thief

by Deborah Simmons

  “It was bad enough when you were chasing after Whalsey and Cheever and that misguided vicar, but Savonierre is dangerous. You have to stop this nonsense right now,” he said, his generous mouth carved into a hard line.

  “Nonsense?” Had he said “nonsense”? Was that really how he viewed her investigation? “What do you mean?” she demanded. “You asked me to take you on as my assistant, so I thought you were different from other men. Do not tell me that you are the same sort of condescending, overbearing male as the rest of your gender!”

  “No, I’m not. I admire you, Georgiana. I do, but I think you are too clever for your own good. You cannot accuse the most powerful man in the country of pilfering jewelry!” Ashdowne said with a determined look that only outraged her further.

  “And why not? I tell you that I spent days tracking his movements in old newspapers, and he was in the right place at the right time.”

  “Georgiana, that means nothing,” Ashdowne said. “I’m sure there are a dozen members of the ton who attend the very same functions.”

  “Actually, no,” Georgiana said, coming perilously close to losing her temper. Did he think she was stupid? “In fact, I noticed only two people who seemed to be where The Cat appeared most of the time. One was Mr. Savonierre, and the other was you.”

  Ashdowne stared at her hard for a long moment before shrugging carelessly. “It is gratifying to know that my movements are followed with such enthusiasm by the newspapers. However, you should not believe everything you read,” he said in a dismissive tone. Before her eyes, he had seemingly transformed, turning back into the Ashdowne she had first met, aloof and forbidding.

  “My dear girl, you are clever, but worldly unwise,” he added, his voice dripping with a contempt that belittled all of her skills in one breath. Dear girl? What happened to Georgiana, my sweet? she wondered, remembering with flaming cheeks the endearments he had once whispered to her.

  “I really wouldn’t put too much stock in coincidental appearances reported by unreliable gossips,” he advised her in an arrogant fashion that made her want to smack his handsome face. “As for The Cat, he’s gone. Probably dead and buried, murdered in the act of thieving some trinket.” He paused to lift one dark brow. “Unless you know differently?”

  “Of course, I can’t prove that he still lives, but neither can you convince me that he’s dead,” Georgiana said. She suddenly had the odd notion that she would know if so worthy an opponent no longer lived, and she rejected Ashdowne’s theory as easily as he had her own. Pausing to try to order her thoughts, she glanced up at him only to gape in total bafflement. “What is the matter with you?”

  “I suppose I don’t like being accused of being a common thief,” he answered smoothly.

  “The Cat is hardly a common cutpurse, and I’m not accusing you,” Georgiana said. “I told you that I think Savonierre is the guilty one.”

  Far from appearing mollified, Ashdowne’s face grew even harder. “And I told you to leave him out of this,” he said, reaching out to grip her shoulder in a harsh grasp that made her gasp. “If you have to persist in this mystery solving, then find someone harmless with whom to play out your delusions. But stay away from Savonierre.”

  Delusions? Shaking off the touch she had once longed for, that had once left her a dim-witted foil to his attentions, Georgiana tossed her curls. “You have no right to order me about!”

  “Oh, don’t I?” Ashdowne demanded. Although he still wore the cool facade of the marquis, Georgiana caught a glimpse of the turmoil that lurked behind those startling blue eyes, and she could only stare at him, baffled by the changes in his demeanor. They were both so caught up in each other that neither one heard footsteps approach until it was too late.

  “My, my, Ashdowne. Are you aware that you’re in public? I don’t know what you’re about, but it certainly appears to the casual onlooker that you’re intimidating a lady. I hesitate to interfere, but my gentlemanly honor requires that I intervene. Is there anything I can do, Miss Bellewether?”

  Georgiana was so overwrought that it took her a moment to realize that her prime suspect stood before her, tendering his services. “Mr. Savonierre! You’re just the man I wanted to see!” she blurted out.

  His lips curved slightly. “What a fortuitous coincidence. Shall we walk together, then?” he asked, holding out his arm to her.

  Georgiana was so put out with her assistant that she nodded, thoroughly enjoying the expression of outrage on Ashdowne’s face that was quickly masked. Let him stew! He had no business telling her what she could do and treating her so poorly. She was sadly disappointed in him, as well as hurt by his behavior.

  “Actually, Miss Bellewether and I were having a private conversation,” Ashdowne said, stepping forward as if to block their path.

  Savonierre gave him a look of arch incredulity. Staring pointedly at the body that halted their progress, he made it clear that Ashdowne’s manners appalled him. “It appears that your conversation is over. Am I right, Miss Bellewether?”

  “Yes,” Georgiana answered softly. She had nothing further to say to Ashdowne until he calmed down and began acting like himself. Although something flickered in his eyes at her breathless reply, she lifted her chin and turned back to Savonierre.

  “Well, then, if you will excuse us, Ashdowne?” For a long moment, Georgiana thought that the marquis wasn’t going to move, that he might actually come to blows with Savonierre, and she immediately regretted her stance, but ever so slowly, with an insolence that astounded her, Ashdowne moved aside and bowed slightly, his gaze touching hers in mute accusation.

  Although he was most certainly the villain in what had passed between them, Georgiana felt like crying. Instead, she tossed her curls and walked past him without a backward glance, determined to turn her thoughts back to the case and away from such messy things as the feelings that Ashdowne invoked in her.

  “Actually, I can’t count it a coincidence that I chanced upon you, for I was searching for you.” Savonierre’s silky tones made Georgiana start, and she looked up at the man she had so blithely joined. His words were vaguely alarming, and though she tried not to show it, she sensed his awareness.

  “I was wondering if you’ve learned anything new about Lady Culpepper’s robbery,” he explained, his lips curling slightly, as if he were amused by her wariness.

  Only that you’re responsible, Georgiana thought, stifling an inappropriate giggle that rose in her throat. She shook her head, unwilling to lie outright, and tried to marshal her thoughts.

  Savonierre was like Ashdowne in many ways, tall and dark and handsome, and with an innate sense of power that she supposed came with enormous wealth and noble relations. But there was a calculation in Savonierre that was not evident in Ashdowne, even at his worst. Ashdowne could be dangerous, she knew, for she felt it whenever his body tensed, as if every bit of him was alert and ready to pounce. But Savonierre oozed danger all the time, even in the most simple and innocent of situations, as if beneath that polished exterior lurked a primal animal searching for prey.

  Perhaps it was the threatening posture that had made Georgiana uncomfortable in his presence long before she had laid the theft at his door. Or perhaps it was his intensity. Although Savonierre had never gaped at her bosom, Georgiana had the odd sensation that he could see beneath her clothes. His dark gaze was simply too piercing. Or perhaps it was his detachment. He was ever smooth, going through the motions of polite society when she had a notion that it meant nothing to him. Indeed, what would he care about? she wondered.

  As if aware not only of her scrutiny but every thought in her head, Savonierre slowly turned toward her, a slight smile on his hard mouth. Georgiana’s palms began to sweat inside her gloves and she struggled to open her fan, her heart thumping out a warning. She had always taken the burglary very seriously, but now she felt its gravity in a way that she had never known when pursuing Whalsey or Hawkins. At last she spread her fan, and although she had never learned the intric
acies of flirting with it, now she was heartily glad of the breeze it sent across her flaming cheeks.

  “I take it the investigation is at a standstill, then?” Savonierre asked, smoothly persistent.

  Georgiana stammered a reply as she tried to concentrate. Unfortunately, her mind, ever distracted by Ashdowne, kept harking back to their row instead of staying put on the case. Angrily determined not to waste this opportunity mooning over her assistant like some lovesick fool, she at last managed to come up with an idea. If only she could think of some way to turn the tables on Savonierre…

  “Unless you know something that I don’t?” Georgiana asked, hoping to blame her shaky voice on the rough walkway as they turned toward the stone bridge that curved over the river.

  Savonierre slanted her a questioning glance under his dark lashes, but Georgiana said no more. “Perhaps a visit to the scene might help,” he suggested. “In truth, I was seeking you out to invite you to a small rout Lady Culpepper is holding this evening. I was hoping that I might escort you and then perhaps we could discuss the theft in more detail.”

  Savonierre acted as though the public streets did not provide enough privacy for such speech, and his attitude made her wary. But Georgiana could not deny a desire to see the house once more, especially with Savonierre giving her entrée. Perhaps she could even speak to the servants, she mused, as they strolled onto the bridge. “That would be lovely, thank you,”

  “Very good. I will look forward to seeing you there, then,” he said, his considerable strength tugging her toward him as they neared the center of the stone span. Uncomfortable with such closeness, Georgiana tried to put more distance between them, but Savonierre held firm. Finally she managed to pull from his grasp, only to have the sudden movement throw her off balance. Wildly she flung out her arms and tried to regain her footing, but she seemed destined to fall headfirst into the river below until a strong hand pulled her back from the railing.

  “Don’t get too close to the edge,” Savonierre warned her in a harsh voice, and Georgiana shook her head blindly. Had the man tried to push her off the bridge, or was he simply threatening her with that possibility? Like a cornered animal, she had to fight the urge to surrender all, blurting out her theories and apologizing for them before fleeing for her life.

  It was only when she managed to finally look at her companion that Georgiana realized he was just as shaken as she was, if not more so. For once, the wealthy and powerful Savonierre appeared to have lost his poise. His face was white as a sheet, his mouth turned down as he took quick, shallow breaths, and Georgiana stared at him in amazement.

  “I fear you’ve discovered my weakness,” he said as he visibly recovered himself, his expression once more one of cool detachment. “I have no love of heights,” he said curtly, replacing her hand upon his arm and leading them toward the shore.

  Georgiana stumbled along beside him, her mind awhirl. The Cat afraid of heights? But that was impossible! He was known for his daring and agility! Georgiana wanted to argue with him, and her mixed feelings must have shown, for he turned his attention toward her, his dark gaze ominous.

  “I trust that I can be assured of your confidence in this matter,” he said in a silky yet menacing voice. “I would hate to have to take action against so lovely a young lady,” he added, the threat implicit.

  Georgiana nodded numbly, unsure whether to believe his confession or not. Savonierre was just clever enough to fabricate the falsehood in order to throw her off the track, but that would mean he knew she was aware of his identity. And how could he know? Fervently Georgiana wished that Ashdowne was not behaving so oddly, for she could well use his input.

  The thought made her pause in horror, for if Savonierre really was afraid of heights, then she was left with but one man among her list of suspects: Ashdowne.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Georgiana stood in the Pump Room, fidgeting with her fan while Bertrand lounged nearby. Normally she would be listening eagerly to the elegantly dressed ladies in their evening gowns and the gentlemen who danced attendance upon them. But tonight she was fidgeting, her impending meeting with Savonierre uppermost in her mind.

  She had spent the few hours since their parting trying to frame some questions for her chief suspect, but it was a most challenging task. Perhaps it would be best to begin with the subject of his arrival in Bath and his whereabouts during the theft, she mused, wondering how to query him without being too obvious. She frowned in concentration only to blink at the sight of Ashdowne ahead of her in the crowd, striding purposefully in her direction.

  Georgiana glanced about helplessly for some way to avoid a confrontation with him, but the only person in the vicinity was Bertrand, who would be no help. Although she was not usually a coward, she had quite enough to think about without entering into another argument with her assistant. If he even was her assistant. After his behavior this afternoon when he had forbidden her to work on her own case, Georgiana certainly did not consider him worthy of the position. To say nothing of the heartache that she was steadfastly trying to ignore.

  Georgiana’s dismay grew when she caught sight of the grim expression he wore as he heedlessly brushed past matrons and their daughters, and she felt a frisson of unease dance up her spine. Wishing to avoid another display of his baffling wrath, she turned abruptly toward Bertrand, but she had barely opened her mouth to engage him in conversation when Ashdowne stepped between them.

  “Excuse me, but I’d like to speak with your sister,” Ashdowne said, in a preemptory manner that left Georgiana gaping. She had half a mind to refuse him an audience, but the look in his eye held a warning that made her reconsider.

  “Yes, what is it?” she asked as he crowded her against the wall. He really could be quite intimidating, and it took all of Georgiana’s will to lift her chin to meet his gaze. When she did, her first thought was that he did not look well. He looked…distracted. Harried. Unhappy. And Georgiana felt her earlier disapprobation melt away. Instead of sparring with him, she wanted to lift a hand to his face and smooth away the lines that formed there.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. So soft and gruffly did he speak that Georgiana hardly heard him.

  “What?”

  “I apologize,” he said, louder this time. “I realize that I sounded rather curt earlier today, but I’m just trying to protect you, Georgiana. I’m your keeper, remember? It’s my job.” He sounded so sincere that she smiled. He’d always been autocratic, with a tendency to order her about; it was undoubtedly a flaw in his character. But he was still the most wonderful man she had ever met, and she felt that old, familiar weakening in his presence.

  “What about the case?” she asked before her wits began their usual defection.

  Ashdowne drew a deep breath, as if steadying himself. “We’ll work something out,” he said.

  Georgiana’s resultant euphoria at his gentle assurance lasted a full minute—until she saw his sister-in-law gracefully moving through the crowd. “And what of your sister-in-law?” she asked, scowling at the beautiful woman. “It’s bad enough that I must stand and watch every mama with an eligible daughter foist them upon you, but I don’t care to watch you dote upon her, too!”

  As Ashdowne stared at her with a dumbfounded expression, Georgiana flushed. “All right. I admit it. I’m jealous, which is an entirely feminine trait that I loathe, but if I am to place myself under your protection, then I should be entitled to your full attention, and…well, they’ve got you practically marrying the woman!”

  “Anne?” Ashdowne gave her an incredulous look and then burst out laughing. “I can’t imagine a more horrifying prospect!” he said between gasps for breath. And although Georgiana could have wished for more circumspect behavior in the Pump Room, she was so thrilled by his denial and so pleased to see him laughing again that she could hardly fault his outburst.

  “Anne is the most tedious creature imaginable, and though I know my duty toward her, the poor woman gives me hives. I have yet to d
iscover how she managed to travel here, for she is the most timid of females. She appears to have some reason for her abrupt arrival, but every time I think to pry it out of her, she either bursts into tears or runs away like a frightened hare. Perhaps you could find out for me,” Ashdowne suggested. “It is just the sort of mystery at which you excel.”

  At his warm words of praise, Georgiana felt something shift inside her, something that made her want to weep, not with sorrow, but with joy, something that made her very glad to be a woman, after all. It must have shown upon her face, for Ashdowne’s expression softened, and for one terrifying moment, she feared he might kiss her then and there—in full view of all those around them.

  Instead, he touched the tip of her nose. “You, on the other hand, are utterly delightful and though the gossips apparently have taken no notice, I have. And I would very much like to speak to you privately about prolonging our association,” he said.

  Georgiana managed a wobbly smile, relief at their reconciliation overwhelming her. “You’ll still be my assistant?” she asked.

  Ashdowne groaned. “Certainly, but what I had in mind was a more—”

  “Ah, Miss Bellewether.” The silky tones of Savonierre speaking her name brought an abrupt end to Georgiana’s brief idyll. So intent had she been upon the marquis that she had forgotten all about her promise to Savonierre, but here he was, claiming her attention in his imperious fashion, while Ashdowne, flinching as if he had been struck, gazed at her in question.

  “You’ll have to excuse us, Ashdowne, but we have an engagement,” Savonierre said, smoothly taking Georgiana’s arm. She flushed, uncomfortable under the marquis’s regard yet unable to explain her plans for the evening with Savonierre standing right there.

  For one wild moment, Georgiana considered crying off the rout, but when would she have another chance to question Savonierre, who just might be lying about his fear of heights? And she wanted so desperately to gain entrée to Lady Culpepper’s house. Sending Ashdowne a pleading glance for understanding, she knew she could not forgo this opportunity to view the scene of the robbery.