The Gentleman Thief

“I…” Words failed her when he moved into the pale moonlight, all in black again, his handsome features cloaked in mystery. Georgiana’s stomach dipped, her pulse raced and her skin tingled. Lifting her hands to her arms, she rubbed the prickling flesh in hopes of warding away the feeling, but to her dismay, the brisk motion did not help, and Ashdowne stepped closer.

“I hope you’ve been thinking about me,” he said softly, and Georgiana’s eyes widened. She had imagined herself immune to the charms of the male gender, but she was rapidly learning differently with Ashdowne. Like a lingering illness, he disturbed her senses and stayed upon her mind, despite her efforts to banish him, and now, standing before her with a smug smile, he totally flustered her. However, Georgiana wasn’t about to admit as much to the arrogant marquis, so she lifted her chin and frowned at his neck cloth.

He chuckled, apparently amused by her obstinateness. “No? Well, then, I’ve come to convince you.”

He purred, almost like a cat, and Georgiana shivered, for here was no tame tabby. She cleared her throat. “Convince me, of, uh, what?” she asked, still refusing to look at him.

“To take me on…”

Georgiana drew a sharp breath.

“…as your assistant,” he added, and she exhaled slowly. “I’m offering my services to you, to aid in your pursuit of justice. What say you, Miss Bellewether?”

Georgiana hesitated, daring to slant a quick glance at him. At first she had thought Ashdowne much like any other man in respect to her abilities, a scoffer so certain of his own superiority that he would not even listen to her theories. But now he appeared to be in earnest. He no longer wore the aloof expression that made her feel like an insect he would prefer to be rid of—and soon. Instead, his features reflected a rather benign interest.

Georgiana blinked, uncertain, but it appeared that for once in her life, a man was actually seeking her opinion, and not in the idiotic manner of one of her swains, either. Ashdowne’s eyes were not glazed over, but were as alert as ever. They glittered faintly, with a rather predatory gleam that made her stomach pitch. Although he said nothing, Georgiana could almost feel the expectancy shimmering in the air. Or at least that’s what she thought it was, for she felt all tingly and alive, as if poised upon the brink of solving one of her mysteries.

Looking away before she became befuddled, Georgiana clutched the balustrade tightly. She tried not to envision what it would be like to be able to speak to someone—anyone—about her investigation, let alone bask in the glow of this handsome man’s attention. The temptation was great, but did she really want to give away any information to one of her suspects? The very notion made her shiver, though more with excitement than dismay.

Then again, she had just been wondering what to do about Mr. Cheever and Lord Whalsey. In the face of their obvious guilt, it seemed foolish to worry about Ashdowne. No, Georgiana amended as her gaze slid over his dark figure. It would never be foolish to remain cautious around the marquis, for here in the moonlight he exuded danger in a manner that Whalsey and Cheever could not. Georgiana knew, with a heady sense of awareness, that she should not be alone with him. Her mother would be horrified!

And yet that very same menace might be of use to her, for Ashdowne appeared to be eminently capable of anything. He certainly would be able to handle a pair such as Whalsey and Cheever with ease, Georgiana decided. “Perhaps you can be of help to me,” she whispered as she stared out into the night.

“Yes?” The word was little more than an exhalation, yet it managed to harry her senses in ways she had never thought possible.

Annoyed, Georgiana forced herself to concentrate. “You see, I know the identity of the thieves, but I fear they will escape Bath unless something is done to stop them.”

“Ah. And what do you suggest?” Ashdowne said. No laughter. No taunts. There wasn’t even a hint of contempt in his manner, and Georgiana knew a swift sense of relief. Perhaps this assistant business was all to the good, for just sharing her thoughts with another seemed to put her more at ease.

“Well, I’m not entirely certain,” Georgiana admitted. “You see, I don’t really have enough evidence to tender to the magistrate, who probably would not deign to listen anyway.” She paused to consider the injustice of it all before mentioning her only other option. “I’m afraid there is nothing for it but to confront one of the culprits.”

“Miss Bellewether,” Ashdowne said. His intense tone demanded her attention, so Georgiana glanced upward, only to shiver at the way his eyes glittered in the moonlight. “You will not confront a criminal.”

Frowning at what sounded an awful lot like an order, Georgiana nonetheless chose not to argue, for she fully intended to use his objection as a means to her end. “Well, that’s where you could…step in, as it were,” she said.

“You want me to confront the fellow?” Ashdowne lifted one dark brow in speculation.

“Well, that, uh, would be a good job for an assistant, don’t you think?” she asked, smiling tentatively. “And I would be there to do all the talking. I have little doubt that I can wrangle a confession from them, or one of them, at least, because when I spoke to him in the Pump Room, he became quite agitated in a most telling fashion.”

Ashdowne’s lovely lips thinned. “Are you telling me that some brute knocked you down this morning?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking—”

He muttered something she could not quite discern. “You are lucky the fellow did not do more! You cannot go around accosting lawbreakers. You have no idea what that sort of man is capable of, but I’ve seen some in London who would slit your throat for a shilling!”

“Oh, I realize what you are saying, and I heartily agree,” Georgiana replied. “You see, I make it my business to follow the London newspapers quite thoroughly, especially the criminal exploits and the heroic actions of the Bow Street Runners. However, I must assure you that this fellow is not a common cutpurse.”

Ashdowne did not appear mollified. Rather, he seemed to be in quite a taking, his handsome face hard and his mouth grim. To Georgiana’s surprise, he reached for her, and she sucked in a strangled breath as his gloved hands closed over her bare arms. The heat that they generated was alarming, as was the abrupt metamorphosis of her companion. Right before her eyes the Marquis of Ashdowne had changed from smooth and charming to threateningly feral, and Georgiana blinked in amazement.

Held by his hands and his glittering gaze, Georgiana felt caught between dread and titillation, between the heat of his touch and the cold of the shiver that ran up her spine. “Miss Bellewether, you will not confront anyone, no matter how harmless you believe them to be,” he said.

“Well, I—” Georgiana opened her mouth to protest. She had not even formally agreed to take him on as her assistant, yet the arrogant man was trying to tell her what to do. This was not at all what she had imagined, but then Ashdowne was always doing the unexpected. And this moment proved no different, for as Georgiana watched with widening eyes, his head dipped, his features blurred and he kissed her.

Georgiana had been kissed before, of course, but those country lads and military gallants had never aroused in her any enthusiasm for the intimacy. She had always thought it rather distasteful to have someone place his mouth on her own. Until now.

Quite simply, Ashdowne put those other lads to shame. He played upon her lips like a master, his first touch a mere brush, a featherlight caress that left her aching for more. And instead of giving it to her, he grazed the line of her jaw, her cheek, her eyelids and her forehead, where a curl had fallen. Then he pressed against the errant lock, with a deliberate caress that hinted of delights untold.

“You are quite a sumptuous feast, are you not?” Ashdowne whispered against her hair, and then, to her infinite relief, his lips returned to hers, enticing and molding them until Georgiana heard a low moan that shocked her as her own. She lifted her hands to Ashdowne’s embroidered silk waistcoat, drawing in a giddy breath at the heat that emanated from his muscular form. He was so warm and solid and sleek that Georgiana couldn’t help running her palms around to his back, beneath his coat.

As if her explorations encouraged him, Ashdowne touched her with his tongue, and she gasped in surprise only to feel him enter her mouth in a smooth invasion that seemed to affect her entire body in the most peculiar ways. Curious…that something so odd could be so delicious, Georgiana thought, for Ashdowne tasted better than anything. Although a devotee of desserts, Georgiana could liken him to none she had ever had before, his flavor a dark, rich embodiment of…passion?

The thought made its way through her dazed senses, and she realized she should not be clutching the marquis’s person in such a manner. She should not let one of his elegant hands clasp the back of her neck while her head fell back, her mouth opening under his. She should not push so close to him that her breasts were smashed against his elegant waistcoat. And, most of all, she should not be moaning wantonly at the extraordinary bliss to be found in his arms.

Vaguely Georgiana heard the sound of footsteps, followed by the frustrating vacation of Ashdowne’s lips. “Whom do you suspect?” he whispered against her ear, and it took her fogged brain a full minute to comprehend his question. During that time, he stepped away, and Georgiana’s arms fell to her sides, empty and anchorless.

“Suspect?” she asked, her voice a breathless squeak. “Oh, uh, Lord Whalsey and Mr. Cheever.”

“Ah,” he said softly, already moving into the shadows. “I’ll have Whalsey’s house watched.”

Georgiana blinked, seized by a disappointment so acute that she was tempted to call him back or throw herself against his wonderful, tall body, and beg for more, but he was backing away silently.

“Miss Bellewether!” The sound of a voice made Georgiana whirl guiltily, and she flinched at the sight of Mr. Hawkins, the displaced vicar, approaching. “I can see it is a good thing that I came outside, for you should not be here alone,” he said, his eyes traveling to her bosom, and Georgiana was grateful for the darkness. She was certain that every inch of her skin was flushed right down to her toes.

“Oh. I was, uh, just going in,” she managed to reply.

Mr. Hawkins looked disgruntled but offered to escort her, and she took his arm, though it was a poor replacement for Ashdowne’s. Trying to marshal her muddled thoughts, Georgiana blinked as they stepped into the reception room, automatically scanning the assemblage. Immediately she noted the presence of Lady Culpepper, who was deep in conversation with a black-haired gentleman.

“I see that she has recovered from her grief,” Mr. Hawkins said, with a frown in Lady Culpepper’s direction.

It was an odd comment for a vicar, and Georgiana felt her wits return with the realization. “Perhaps the gentleman is extending comfort to her,” she said.

Mr. Hawkins’s only response was an unchurchmanlike snort.

“Who is he?” Georgiana asked, eyeing the fellow with interest now. He was tall and handsome and dressed in an elegant but understated way.

“Only one of the richest and most arrogant men in the country,” Mr. Hawkins said in a derisive voice. “He’s related to half the peerage, but has more money than nearly all of them.”

“Oh, perhaps he’s a relative of Lady Culpepper, then?”

“So they say. Supposedly he’s brought someone from London just to try to recover her necklace, as if he could care! Pocket change for him, no doubt. Odd business, if you ask me.”

Georgiana’s head turned so swiftly toward her companion that a curl landed smack in her eye. Impatiently she blew it away while her heart took up a furious rhythm. “And just whom has he brought from London?” she asked.

“A Bow Street Runner,” Mr. Hawkins said. “Though I imagine the fellow will soon be sorry he came when he has to deal with the likes of those two,” he added in his most pompous tone.

But Georgiana was no longer paying attention. All she could think about was the Bow Street Runner and the expectation that, after years of following their exploits, she would finally meet one of the elite criminal investigators in the flesh! She glanced around for Ashdowne, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she spared a moment’s annoyance at the man’s frequent disappearances.

Perhaps he was off to Lord Whalsey’s, she thought, and not a moment too soon. She would like to have spoken with the Bow Street Runner tonight, but knowing Ashdowne was keeping watch on her prime suspect gave her ease. And first thing tomorrow, she would set off to find the investigator. If all went well, she could lay her case before him and hand over the culprits by noon. Hopefully, the jewels were still in Whalsey’s possession, and, if so, she might be able to personally return them to Lady Culpepper.

Then, the rather ungracious noblewoman would have to change her opinion of Miss Georgiana Bellewether. Indeed, everyone would have to take her seriously, Georgiana thought with giddy anticipation. And her long-awaited career as a renowned mystery solver could, at last, begin!

Chapter Four

Georgiana stood across the street from Lady Culpepper’s residence, trying to appear inconspicuous. It was a bit difficult, because she’d been at her post since sneaking out of her own house early this morning, and she was already receiving odd looks from those who staffed the luxurious homes around her, as well as the occasional peddler. However, she refused to budge other than to pace up and down a short way, for she was a woman with a mission.

Sooner or later the Bow Street Runner who had arrived last night would have to visit the scene of the crime, Georgiana reasoned, and she intended to have a word with him when he did. But Lady Culpepper’s late sleeping habits seemed to be making the inevitable interview later rather than sooner. So far the only traffic into the house had been servants and a rather rumpled middle-aged man who had gone by the tradesmen’s entrance.

When the same fellow left the building a good half hour later, Georgiana thought nothing of it—until he crossed the street and came directly toward her. She frowned, unwilling to waste her time chatting with a man who probably wanted to sell her something. She had to keep her eyes and her wits upon Lady Culpepper’s, or miss her chance entirely.

“Excuse me, miss,” the man said politely, and Georgiana nodded. He had stopped in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck in order to see the doors to the Culpepper house. “You seem to be interested in that building over there. Would you mind telling me why?”

Surprised by his blunt manner, Georgiana studied the stranger anew. Although his clothes were of a poor cut, they were decent, and most everyone rubbed elbows in Bath. Stifling a groan of impatience, she tried to be gracious. “Haven’t you heard? A Bow Street Runner has been summoned to look into the infamous theft of Lady Culpepper’s emeralds,” Georgiana explained.

The fellow appeared taken aback, his thick brown brows furrowing. He had a world-weary countenance, with more lines perhaps than could be accounted for by his age. Normally Georgiana would have been interested in meeting someone outside her usual realm of acquaintances, but not today; she was too busy. Nor did she have the time to relate the details of the robbery to him, should he be new to Bath and unfamiliar with the tale.

“Pardon me for asking, miss, but what does that have to do with you?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

“I am waiting for him!” Georgiana said loftily, hoping that the man would take her tone as a dismissal.

He did not. To Georgiana’s annoyance, the stranger continued to obstruct her view with his rather stocky, compact form. He showed no signs of discouragement, but bent his head in the sketch of a bow. “Wilson Jeffries, at your service, miss.” Oh, would he not go away? There was some activity across the way, and Georgiana fidgeted to see over his shoulder.

“Miss? Just what did you want to see me about?”

“You?” Georgiana blinked in surprise.

The man nodded, his mouth curving into the ghost of a smile. “Yes, miss. I’m from Bow Street.”

Georgiana took in a deep breath as her attention was drawn from Lady Culpepper’s house to the fellow in front of her. Truth to tell, she had to admit to a slight disappointment, for Wilson Jeffries was hardly what she had conjured in her mind as one of London’s expert thief takers. Quite naturally, Georgiana had pictured a young virile specimen, bulging with the muscles necessary to subdue his prey and with a sort of seedy cast to him—from his association with all those criminals.

She found herself eyeing a man of medium height and build, with rounded shoulders that made him appear slumped and rather tired, a weariness that was echoed in his brown eyes. With his wrinkled clothes and unthreatening demeanor, he looked more like a simple shopkeeper than a trained investigator.

Wilson Jeffries seemed neither tough nor particularly clever, and Georgiana decided right then and there that it was a good thing she had stumbled upon him. Undoubtedly, this particular Bow Street Runner was in sad need of her aid. Pleased with the thought, Georgiana smiled at him and leaned close.

“Why, Mr. Jeffries, it is not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,” she said.

When he eyed her quizzically, Georgiana explained herself with some measure of confidence. “You see, I am accounted a bit of an investigator myself, and I have studied this case most thoroughly. I was there when it happened, you know.”

“And you have some information about the theft?” He had a rather skeptical air about him, but Georgiana was not deterred. It was the nature of men to be dubious of her abilities, yet this one could not afford to maintain that attitude for long, and that knowledge lent fresh enthusiasm to Georgiana’s efforts.

She leaned close, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Indeed, I at once narrowed the field of suspects down to three,” she said in a confidential tone.

The fellow eyed her assessingly. “Did you now?” he asked.

“Yes! And I will be happy to impart to you my deductions, including the identity of the robber himself!”

“Would you?” Jeffries said. He was certainly a man of few words, and Georgiana wondered if he used that to his advantage during the course of his questioning or if it might not be a hindrance to him. Perhaps she could not only assist him with this case, but give him a few suggestions on how to improve his technique in the future.

“I own I would dearly love to pursue a career such as yours, but, sadly, I am a victim of my gender,” Georgiana admitted. “However, that does not prevent me from solving whatever mysteries I can, small ones for the most part, but this business at Lady Culpepper’s is a true crime! And I am only too happy to lend my expertise to you for its speedy resolution.”

“I see,” Jeffries said, although he did not look at all as if he did. Perhaps he was slow but thorough, Georgiana thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Shall we walk?” Georgiana asked, for even though the Bow Street Runner seemed oblivious to his surroundings, she was keeping a wary eye out for curious passersby.

Jeffries appeared nonplussed, but when she tugged on his sleeve, he fell into step beside her. “Did you question the servants?” she asked.

“Miss, I…”

“No matter,” Georgiana said with an airy wave. “I am certain of the identity of the thief.”

“And just how did you decide, miss?” Jeffries asked.

“Well, as I said, I narrowed it down to three likely candidates,” Georgiana explained, pleased to have the opportunity to expound upon her theories. “At first, I considered Ashdowne—”

“Lord Ashdowne? The Marquis of Ashdowne?” Jeffries stopped to gape at her until Georgiana was forced to nudge him forward once more.

When they were walking again, she continued. “I admit that he seems less likely now, but I cannot shake the feeling that he is up to something, for he is hardly the sort to frequent Bath. I ask you, why would a healthy man such as he claim to be in need of the waters?” Georgiana said. Immediately, she regretted her words as a blush climbed her cheeks. All too well, she recalled just how healthy—and hard and muscular-was Ashdowne.

Jeffries, apparently mollified, smiled slightly. “It’s been my experience, miss, that it’s nigh impossible to figure out the ton and their doings.”

Georgiana nodded, although she thought his admission a sad commentary on his skills, for it was his job to discover motivations and such. Still, a man so aware of his own shortcomings might be more amenable to assistance than someone more arrogant, Georgiana mused, and she stepped alongside him with increasing assurance.

“Be that as it may, I have dismissed him as a suspect, for he became most interested in the investigation. He offered to assist me and is watching the culprit’s house even as we speak,” Georgiana said. Or so she hoped.

“Did he now?”

Georgiana thought she caught a sly grin on the taciturn man’s face, but she ignored it, not wishing to enter into any further discussion of the marquis. She had lain awake long enough last night thinking about Ashdowne and his kisses, and she had concluded that it was a good thing the Bow Street Runner had arrived to close the investigation.

Her association with her one and only assistant would soon be at an end, effectively eliminating the need for any further contact with the incredibly handsome nobleman. Although Georgiana had to admit to a certain amount of pleasure in his company, he was just too much of a threat to her senses. Why, she could hardly think when he was near, and that would not do at all for someone who delighted in mental exercise.

No. Ashdowne was too much of a distraction even now, Georgiana mused as she forced her errant thoughts back to the matter at hand. She held up three fingers and immediately ticked off one, then another. “I also had my suspicions about a certain Mr. Hawkins, late of Yorkshire,” she confided.

“Did you now?” Jeffries asked, and Georgiana was pleased to note the Bow Street Runner’s increased interest.

“Yes. He is in town looking for a new living, and—”

Jeffries cut her off with a startled sound. “You’re accusing a vicar?”

“Well, yes,” Georgiana admitted. “For the most part, I’m certain that those who choose a religious life are above reproach, but, alas, I am equally sure that some commit the same sins as lesser men. And Mr. Hawkins is no ordinary vicar,” Georgiana explained. “I have talked to him twice now, and his speech on both occasions struck me as most peculiar.”

Georgiana leaned closer to her companion to impart her information more confidentially. “He harbors a grudge against the rich that cannot be put down to mere envy. And since he is looking for a new post, I would imagine he is in need of funds.”

“You’re saying a man of the cloth sneaked into Lady Culpepper’s bedroom, stole the necklace and climbed out the window?” Jeffries asked, his expression dubious.

“Why not?” Georgiana returned, straightening to her full diminutive height. “I tell you, he has something against the wealthy in general, if not Lady Culpepper in particular.”

To her immense gratification, Jeffries turned thoughtful. “I see. But you have since changed your mind about him?”

“Not really. It is simply that I have found a far more likely culprit,” Georgiana declared. Nodding to a passing couple, she inched closer to Jeffries and spoke in a low tone as she pressed upon her third outstretched digit. “On the night of the theft, I overheard two men plotting most suspiciously. One of them I recognized immediately as Lord Whalsey, and the other I have identified as a Mr. Cheever.”