The Gentleman Thief

by Deborah Simmons

  As Savonierre urged her forward, Georgiana remembered her reluctant chaperon. “I, uh, brought my brother Bertrand,” she managed to stammer. After that odd business on the bridge today, she was not about to go anywhere alone with Savonierre, and she held her ground as she glanced around for her brother.

  “I’m coming,” Bertrand said, loping up beside them, and although Savonierre gave her brother an arch look, he accepted the unexpected guest gracefully. Ashdowne, however, was so still that Georgiana felt a wrenching dread, made all the worse after what had just passed between them.

  “Goodbye for now, my lord,” she said to him, but he only stared at her, his eyes bright and hard as Savonierre led her away.

  Georgiana blinked, swamped with melancholy despite her hopes for the investigation. Beside her, Bertrand, oblivious to all the undercurrents, was no comfort, while to her right, Savonierre was a chill and ominous presence. And for the first time in her life, Georgiana had to wonder if this case was so very important after all.

  She felt terrible, her throat thick, her heart heavy, as if she had betrayed Ashdowne in some way. He was just her assistant, Georgiana told herself, yet she could no longer delude herself in that manner. Even she recognized that Ashdowne was so much more than that. Suddenly, with a piercing pang, she realized just how much more, for somehow over the past weeks, she had fallen in love with the elegant marquis—in all of his guises.

  The knowledge, although gratifying in some ways, left her more dismayed than euphoric. Indeed, if this was what her great-uncle Silas thought he was missing, Georgiana could not wholeheartedly endorse it. Love was not the panacea that her mother and sisters professed it to be, but an emotion fraught with pain and anxiety. Although she wanted nothing more than to turn around and rush back to Ashdowne, blurting out the truth, she had no idea how he would respond to her confession. With horror? Amusement? Embarrassment? She quailed at the thought.

  And right now, she had her hands full with Savonierre. Pushing her blossoming feelings for Ashdowne back into the general direction of her heart, Georgiana fought to turn her attention to the man beside her and the speedy resolution of the case that seemed, now more than ever, to stand between her and happiness.

  If she missed the protective presence of her assistant, at least she had possessed the foresight to bring her brother along, and for that Georgiana was very grateful, especially in the close atmosphere of the coach. Later, too, at Lady Culpepper’s house, she was glad of his company, for the evening’s gathering bore little resemblance to the previous ball. This group was very small, with an atmosphere as intimate as was possible in the large, airy rooms.

  It was only after Bertrand ambled off, leaving her alone with her host that Georgiana began to once more regret her attendance. Although ostensibly in Bath to help Lady Culpepper, Savonierre did not appear particularly devoted to her. He treated her with the same cool courtesy he doled out to everyone, the sincerity of which Georgiana still questioned. And when he turned that intense gaze upon her, she nearly cringed.

  “I was hoping that we could talk in private…about the theft,” he said. Taking her arm, he led her to the salon where she had once questioned Lady Culpepper. The room was deserted, and Georgiana hesitated on the threshold. She had fended off overzealous suitors before, and she couldn’t imagine Savonierre turning into one of those fumbling, heavy-breathing sorts, but still she knew that it was not wise to be alone with any gentleman.

  Memories of Ashdowne and what the two of them had done together made her face flame. Surely Savonierre would not attempt such intimacies, she thought as he nudged her forward, but she knew a moment’s alarm as he closed the door behind them.

  “Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to a medallion-backed chair. Stiffly Georgiana took a seat, and was glad when he chose the chair opposite and not one of the sofas. Although the arrangement was not conducive to seduction, she still felt a tinge of anxiety at the poorly lit surroundings.

  “Now perhaps we can discuss the robbery more openly. I can’t help but believe you are constrained in the presence of…others,” Savonierre said smoothly.

  “Really, I have nothing to add,” Georgiana said, avoiding his gaze, while she tried to form a question for him.

  “Really?” he asked, looking so skeptical that Georgiana blushed. “I had thought you were more clever than that, Miss Bellewether.”

  Georgiana bristled at the thread of amusement in his tone. Was he making fun of her? It was nearly impossible for her to judge the sincerity of his words, such was his cool reserve. “I fear I am still trying to piece together the series of events,” she said with a touch of asperity. “For instance, when exactly did you arrive, Mr. Savonierre?” Was that a flicker of surprise or humor in his dark eyes, Georgiana wondered, as his lips curled.

  “Ah. Now you justify my opinion of you, Miss Bellewether, but surely you don’t think I had anything to do with the theft?”

  When Georgiana tossed her curls without comment, he laughed aloud, though it was not the same warm, infectious sound that she had come to know from her assistant.

  “Oh, you are interesting. I can see why Ashdowne likes to keep you on a close tether,” Savonierre said.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Georgiana asked. Startled by his mention of the marquis, who was so much upon her mind, she sought his gaze, and the dark eyes met hers with a regard so intense they seemed to strip her bare. She had the uneasy sense that he was robbing her of her will, not in the sensual manner of Ashdowne, but through the sheer force of his dark personality.

  Georgiana felt a frisson of fear that had nothing to do with seduction and everything to do with the very ownership of her soul. Was this man a demon? Being a devotee of facts, not fiction, she was not usually given to such whimsy, but something about his probing stare unnerved her. Finally, just as she felt her resolve give way, he released her gaze, and Georgiana’s shoulders slumped with relief.

  “Why, I meant nothing at all,” said Savonierre, glancing about the dim room in a careless manner, as if he had not just held her prisoner of his will. When his face swung toward her again, she refused to look him in the eye. “Then, again, I’m certain you are clever enough to figure out just what I mean for yourself, if you think upon it. Alone.”

  Georgiana blinked, nearly overwhelmed by this man whose words seemed to hold some cryptic messages that she could not decipher. Frantically she tried to gather her wits, and she admitted to herself that Ashdowne might have been right. Savonierre was far too dangerous for her.

  “Alas, I am at a loss, Miss Bellewether, for my Bow Street Runner is as dumbfounded about this burglary as you claim to be,” he said, blithely turning the conversation back to the theft, just as though it had never veered away into ominous territory.

  “I suppose some cases are difficult even for a professional,” Georgiana murmured, marshaling all of her reserves just to keep up with this man.

  “Perhaps,” Savonierre acknowledged. “But you, Miss Bellewether, you disappoint me. I had thought surely you would have solved the theft by now.”

  Georgiana didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered by his professed faith in her. “Well, it is difficult for an outsider like myself to gain access to all the necessary information when I cannot question the servants or view the scene of the crime,” she said in her own defense.

  Something flickered across Savonierre’s hard features. “You wish to see the room where the theft occurred?” he asked in a casual tone.

  “Why, of course! It is what I wish above all!” Georgiana exclaimed, without considering her words.

  Savonierre’s lips curved in a smile that held no warmth. “My dear Miss Bellewether, had I but known of this burning desire of yours, I would have satisfied it immediately,” he said.

  Georgiana felt her face flame at his choice of words, although his expression had not changed from its polite inquiry. She sensed, with either an investigator’s instincts or her heretofore unexercised woman’s intuition, tha
t the man had no real interest in her. Perhaps he was one of those rakes who preyed on all women for the sheer thrill of conquest. Or, he might well be toying with her only because of Ashdowne.

  That suspicion felt so right that it brought clearness to her thoughts, and so Georgiana lifted her chin in a parody of his own politesse. “When can I see it?”

  “Why, you may see it right now,” Savonierre said. “I have kept the room closed up and guarded so that nothing has been disturbed. You will find it just as it was that night, following the theft.”

  Georgiana drew in a sharp breath as he rose to his feet and presented his arm. Although she too stood, she shook her head. “I think tomorrow would be soon enough. I can return first thing in the morning, if you will leave the instructions with a servant.”

  Feeling his gaze on her, she forced herself to remain impassive, and soon she heard a soft chuckle. “My dear Miss Bellewether, are you intimating that you don’t trust me, a gentleman of the realm, to take you into Lady Culpepper’s bedroom?”

  When Georgiana did not comment, he laughed, a low sound that held no real humor. “Touché, my little investigator. Perhaps you are clever enough, after all, to unveil the thief,” he said, his smile taunting her.

  “Tomorrow, then, but make it around eleven,” he said. “I will have Mr. Jeffries here to escort you to the scene in my stead. Surely, you will consider yourself safe enough with him?” Savonierre asked, pausing to send her an assessing look. When she nodded, he bowed his head slightly. “Very good. And perhaps the fool can learn something from your methods.”

  “Thank you,” Georgiana managed to murmur, though he made no acknowledgment. When he opened the door of the salon, led her into the reception room and released her in the general vicinity of Bertrand, Georgiana breathed a sigh of relief, only to swallow it again as his attention returned to her once more.

  His gaze was hard and intent as it found hers. “I shall put my faith in you, Miss Bellewether,” he promised, as if that in itself was a threat. And then, with a small bow, he was gone.

  Georgiana’s legs felt unsteady, and she had to restrain herself from falling against her brother in reaction to her nerve-racking encounter. It was only when she had recovered herself sufficiently that she paused to consider what kind of game Savonierre was playing. What did he hope to gain by letting her see the scene? She shook her head, baffled but too overcome by anticipation to worry about his motives.

  At last she would see the scene of the crime.

  She almost told Ashdowne. Georgiana had a notion to go straight to his residence in the morning and take him with her to Lady Culpepper’s house. Several things stopped her, however. First, she was not certain what time he normally rose and did not want to rouse him from his bed, especially since she might be tempted to join him there. And, of course, there was his warning never to visit his home, but Georgiana didn’t take that too seriously.

  More important, to her mind, was her desire not to become embroiled in a major dispute with Ashdowne when she had an appointment at eleven that she did not want to miss. Worse, yet, Savonierre, being no friend of Ashdowne’s, might well retract his invitation if she showed up with her assistant in tow.

  Coldhearted reasoning perhaps, but Georgiana knew a pressing need to conclude the business of the case before going on to the more ephemeral concerns of her heart. And though she was not normally prone to whims, she could not deny a certain desire to examine the site of the burglary alone, without prejudice of any kind. Sometimes Ashdowne didn’t take things seriously enough, she told herself, even though she knew there was more to her wariness than that.

  And so, Georgiana didn’t tell him, but presented herself, alone, at Lady Culpepper’s exactly at eleven. There, she was immediately ushered into the drawing room, where Jeffries stood waiting, looking much as he always did, rumpled and yet steady, a far more comforting presence than she would have expected.

  “Good morning, Miss Bellewether,” he said with a nod of his head. “I believe you would like a look at the lady’s bedroom?” Georgiana opened her mouth to exclaim, only to shut it again as she noticed the twinkle in the Bow Street Runner’s eye. He knew very well just how much she wanted to view the scene.

  “Why, yes, I would,” she said with a smile.

  He returned the grin, and although she had anticipated some ill feelings because of what he might perceive as encroachment into his territory, Jeffries was as kind and polite as usual. Without further ado, he led her through the upper rooms to where a servant sat positioned near a closed door.

  “Why do you think Mr. Savonierre has kept the room untouched?” she whispered to the Bow Street Runner as she glanced toward the silent servant.

  Jeffries waited until they were inside, the door closed behind them, before he answered. Then he simply shrugged, as if he knew no better than she. “Mr. Savonierre is quite intent upon finding the thief. Perhaps he thinks some clue awaits fresh eyes.”

  With a nod, Georgiana turned her attention to the room. Heavy drapes that hung over the tall windows were pulled open, sending a spill of light across the thick carpet and the mixture of gilt and white furniture in the French style. And there upon the vast expanse of the bed lay the famous jewelry case, still open.

  Georgiana felt a prickle of excitement run up her spine, for here she was at last doing some real investigative work. She released a shuddering sigh of pleasure and then began to move slowly around the area. She was careful to disturb nothing and Jeffries, apparently satisfied that she would not, walked to the windows to stare out at the misty morning.

  Georgiana studied every inch of the carpet beneath her feet before she took each step, gradually making her way toward a cluttered dressing table. Mentally cataloging its contents, she crouched low to look beneath it, but decided that no one could take shelter there without notice. Finally moving on, she stopped before a narrow door. “Where does this lead?” she asked.

  “The dressing room,” Jeffries answered, with a cursory glance over his shoulder. “It has no other outlet.”

  Georgiana eyed the door in speculation. “Is it possible that someone could have hidden inside before the ball?”

  Jeffries shook his head, although he showed no scorn for her question. “No. The maids were in and out all day and her ladyship was in dressing all afternoon, I gather,” he muttered, his tone making clear his impatience with such lengthy feminine trivialities.

  Smiling, Georgiana walked toward the wall where he stood staring outside. “And the windows were open?”

  He nodded. “Just as they are now, I’m told.”

  Georgiana braced her hands on the edge and stuck her head out. As she suspected, the wide arch of a curved pediment butted outward not far below. Turning her head, she saw another on her right, close enough to use as a foothold. Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to look downward, only to shudder in horror at the sight of the ground, too far below her.

  Yes, it was possible that a man had gained entrance to this room by climbing from one pediment to another, but what kind of person would risk his life sneaking in here? Immediately, a picture of Savonierre appeared in her mind, taunting, dangerous, and playing a strange game of his own. Such a man would laugh at the danger, she suspected, if he was not afraid of heights.

  Jerking her head back inside, Georgiana continued circling the perimeter of the room, only to halt at the sound of a low curse. She turned in time to see the Bow Street Runner imitating her previous stance and muttering about the type of fool who would scale the side of a building for a few gems.

  “He could have used a grappling hook, but there aren’t any marks,” Jeffries said, more to himself than to her. Shaking her head, Georgiana kept silent, for she had no intention of sharing her own theories just yet. Walking slowly, she approached the bed, her eyes bright and alert for anything unusual. Keeping out of a direct path from the window, she bent low to examine the carpet all along the side of the massive piece of furniture.

  Alth
ough Georgiana heard the low drone of Jeffries’s voice behind her, she paid no heed, for she was too intent upon her own investigation. The carpet was gold, with swirls of red and green, and she had to look closely to see beyond the pattern. Perhaps if it had been a darker color, she would have never noticed the small bits of dirt. But she did and, reaching out, she picked up a piece, testing it with her fingers.

  It was not the same consistency as the dust that had settled on the contents of the room in the past few days. Nor was it the kind of earth that could be found in the garden, making its way in on someone’s shoe. It was a darker, richer kind of a soil, and Georgiana blinked in horror as she suddenly recognized it.

  Although she was crouching close to the floor, she felt unsteady, as if the whole world tilted upon its axis, threatening to upend her. Overcome by dizziness, she struggled for breath, her lungs seemingly unable to draw in enough air to support her. Dimly, from behind her, Georgiana heard Jeffries’s voice droning on, oblivious to her plight, but she could not call out. Her hands trembled, and she felt so ill that she feared she might faint, but in the end, the pain cut through her light-headedness, honing her senses to a razor sharpness.

  And it was the pain that gave her the strength to rise to her feet, the tiny fragment still clutched in her fingers as a talisman of her betrayal. For she knew this piece of dirt. No ordinary bit of soil, it had come from the potted plant she had knocked over the night of the ball, the very same earth that had been crushed into her gown and dusted over the elegant waistcoat of one of the guests.

  Ashdowne.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blinking against the tears that threatened, Georgiana realized that her very own assistant, the man she loved, was the thief, and probably The Cat himself. Yet somehow she managed to make her way around the rest of the room. Thankfully, there was little enough to draw an investigator’s attention, for she simply went through the motions of looking, seeing nothing but Ashdowne’s treachery.