The Gentleman Thief

The Gentleman Thief
Deborah Simmons

Botheration!Why her family had elected to spend an entire season in boring Bath, Georgiana Bellewether couldn’t fathom. Nothing to stimulate her inquisitive mind ever happened here – until the night Lady Culpepper’s emeralds were stolen! Now, if only she could keep her mind on the case and her hands off the enigmatic man in black – the beguiling Lord Ashdowne!As the newly made, ever-responsible Marquis of Ashdowne, Johnathon Saxton bemoaned the lack of excitement now marking his days. But when quixotic, exotic Georgiana Bellewether literally tumbled into his arms, he knew he’d caught himself an armful. The woman was a disaster in the making!

‘Ashdowne, you’re too much of a distraction to me,’

Georgiana explained. ‘I cannot concentrate on the case.’

At her words, he threw back his head and burst into laughter, making her wonder if insanity ran in his family.

‘I beg your pardon, but you’re just so deuced…unpredictable,’ he finally said.

It hardly seemed a compliment, so Georgiana tossed her curls in pique. ‘I could say the same of you!’

‘Really? How delightful,’ he murmured, and Georgiana felt the familiar sensation of surrender as he stepped towards her.

‘No!’ she said, holding up a hand to fend him off. ‘I haven’t been able to think at all during supper. You are simply too unnerving.’

Ashdowne’s smile was slow and provocative. ‘Unnerving, am I?’ he purred, taking another step forward. Georgiana moved away, only to come up against the wall of the house at her back.

‘I like being unnerving….’

About the Author

A former journalist, DEBORAH SIMMONS turned to fiction after a love of historical romances spurred her to write her own, HEART’S MASQUERADE, which was published in 1989. She has since written more than twenty-five novels and novellas, among them a USA TODAY bestselling anthology and two finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s annual RITA

competition. Her books have been published in 26 countries, including illustrated editions in Japan, and she’s grateful for the support of her readers throughout the world.

Novels by the same author:

THE DARK VISCOUNT

GLORY AND THE RAKE

REYNOLD DE BURGH: THE DARK KNIGHT

THE GENTLEMAN’S QUEST

THE LAST DE BURGH

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Gentleman Thief

Deborah Simmons

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For David Robert

Chapter One

No one took Georgiana Bellewether seriously.

To her utter dismay, she had been cursed with the lush curves of a cyprian, sprightly blond curls and big blue eyes that had often been compared to limpid pools. People took one look at her and decided that she didn’t have a brain in her head. Of course, most men didn’t think women intelligent anyway, but in her case they could conceive her to be nothing except a goosecap.

It was mortifying.

Her mother was a dear, rather flighty character, her father a genial, rotund squire, and Georgiana had no doubt that she would be happier had she taken after them. Unfortunately, of the four Bellewether progeny, she was the sole child to have inherited the characteristics of her great-uncle Morcombe, a noted scholar with a keen mind. Since her first toddling steps, Georgiana had devoured all manner of study, surpassing the skills of the family governess, the local academy for young ladies and her brother’s tutor with equal fervor.

Her own particular talents leaned toward the solving of mysteries, and she often cursed the female form that kept her from life as a Bow Street Runner. Instead of following clues and daringly capturing criminals, she was forced to content herself with voracious reading and the unraveling of small puzzles that were presented to her in Chatham’s Corner, the hamlet where her father reigned jovially as both squire and sheriff.

But this year, she vowed, it would be different. Her family had repaired to Bath for the summer, and Georgiana intended to make the most of her new location. Surely, in the famous resort town she would come upon at least one poser worthy of her skills! And certainly the wide and varied populace must be possessed of a more discerning nature than the rural inhabitants to whom she was accustomed.

Unfortunately, after a week spent visiting the Pump Room and strolling the avenues at the most fashionable hours, Georgiana was forced to admit her disappointment. Although she had enjoyed exploring, thus far she had met the same sort of genteel types with whom she was already familiar. Worse, not a single conundrum had she come across.

With a sigh, Georgiana glanced about the reception rooms of Lady Culpepper’s lavish town house, eager for a diversion at the first real ball she had attended, but she saw only the usual assortment of dowagers and gouty gentlemen who populated Bath. Several misses, younger than herself, were there with doting mamas, hoping to snare a husband among the resort’s visitors. Unfortunately, Georgiana had yet to meet one with more on her mind than marriage.

She dismissed them all only to have her gaze arrested by an elegant figure dressed entirely in black. Now there was a puzzle, Georgiana thought, her eyes narrowing. It didn’t take someone of her particular talents to realize that the appearance of the Marquis of Ashdowne was most unusual, for the haut ton no longer favored Bath as they had a half century ago. Handsome, charming noblemen of Ashdowne’s ilk stayed in London or followed the Prince Regent to Brighton. Or, Georgiana speculated, they spent their time at scandalous parties held in their huge, elegant country homes.

Not for the first time since she had heard of his visit, Georgiana thought Ashdowne’s sudden interest in Bath was decidedly odd. She would have liked to find out why he was here but had yet to wrangle an introduction. He had arrived just a few days ago, sending all the young unmarried ladies, including her sisters, into a flutter of excitement, and it was difficult to see him through the crowd of women who surrounded him.

He had let one of the fashionable houses in Camden Place, and this was the first the general populace had seen of him. He was here supposedly to take the waters, but Georgiana found the idea absurd, for he was not quite thirty and not reputed to be ailing. Make that definitely not ailing, Georgiana amended, as the group parted, affording her a good view of the man.

He was the very picture of health. Indeed, the Marquis of Ashdowne might well be the healthiest man Georgiana had ever seen, she decided, with a swift intake of breath. He was tall, probably six feet in height, and slender. Not skinny, mind you, but broad shouldered and muscular, though not in a bulky sort of way. All in all, the marquis possessed a grace and bearing Georgiana had not expected in one of the overfed, debauched members of the ton.

Lithe. That was the word that struck her as her attention traveled up the elegant, expensive clothing to his face. His hair was dark and sleek, his eyes a startling blue, and his mouth was…Georgiana could muster no description for it, with its lush curves and a small indentation above his upper lip. Ashdowne, she realized, swallowing abruptly, was handsome beyond belief.

And awake on every suit.

The knowledge came to her with a shock, for although Georgiana was all too aware of the misjudgments to be made based upon outward appearance, she assumed that someone that rich and powerful and beautiful could not possibly be blessed with brains, too. But she was wrong, for just as she blinked in amazement at his features, the Marquis of Ashdowne met her gaze with his own, bright with intelligence. Had Georgiana been the fanciful sort, she might have thought him aware of her scrutiny, for it seemed as though he had singled her out of the crowd most particularly.

Georgiana drew back, ashamed to be staring, and when one of Ashdowne’s dark brows lifted in response, she colored. Fanning herself, she deliberately looked away. She had only been studying the man, as she would anyone else, and she grimaced in annoyance at his intimate glance. Ashdowne probably thought her just another one of the smitten females who practically swooned at his charm.

Whirling around, Georgiana was nearly halfway across the airy reception room when she realized that she had missed a golden opportunity for an introduction. Botheration! She snapped her fan in disgust, for she knew better than to let her personal feelings interfere with an investigation. She could hardly imagine a Bow Street Runner abandoning his case because one of his suspects eyed him with too much familiarity.

With a small sound of irritation, Georgiana turned back toward the way she had come, but already her place had been filled by other women, both young and old. Then her mama appeared, cajoling her to dance with a young man, and Georgiana, from long experience, knew better than to argue.

Mr. Nichols, Georgiana soon discovered, was a nice enough fellow, here with his family from Kent, but as he spoke haltingly on such bland topics as the weather and the society of Bath, Georgiana’s attention wandered. Although she kept craning her neck in an effort to see Ashdowne, when she finally spied the marquis, he was heading out to the garden with a young widow who apparently had abandoned her mourning most precipitously.

Georgiana frowned as Mr. Nichols met with her again during the dance, and she nodded absently at his questions. She really had no time for such inanities! Unfortunately, she recognized all too well the dazed expression on her partner’s face. If focused, it would no doubt rest upon her curls or her white throat, or worse yet, the alarming expanse of pale breast that her mother insisted she expose as fashionable.

He paid no attention to what she was saying, of course, and at times like these, Georgiana was often tempted to whisper of insurrection or confess to a murder, in an effort to jolt her audience into awareness. Her admirers usually fell into two camps: those who paid no heed whatsoever to what she said, and those who hung on her every word.

Unfortunately, the latter were of no more use to her than the former, for she always failed to engage them in any kind of meaningful discourse. The sapskulls agreed with everything she said! She supposed she ought to be used to it by now, but nevertheless, Georgiana felt a twinge of disappointment.

Her mother was always extolling the virtues of marriage and parenthood, but how could Georgiana even entertain the notion of a life spent with a man such as this? Yet how was she, in her small venue, to acquaint herself with anyone else? Education among the gentry was a haphazard business at best, and even those with a modicum of schooling seemed to be struck dumb by her appearance.

It was the curse of her existence. And so she discouraged them all, much to her mother’s disappointment, and resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, where she might have the freedom to finally dress and act as she wished, providing her great-uncle Morcombe left her the stipend he had promised. Not that she wished him to pass on in the near future.