The Gentleman Thief

“A nobody!” Lady Culpepper said in an imperious tone. “Just what makes you think you can barge in here—”

“But you invited me, my lady,” Georgiana protested, earning a rebuking glance for her interruption.

“You, young lady, are impertinent! I agreed to see you because I thought you knew something about my stolen necklace!”

“But I do!” Georgiana said. “I can help you, if—”

“Bah! The help of a silly girl who thinks she knows more than her superiors!”

“I assure you that my abilities are quite well-known at home, though here in Bath—”

“Home! A tiny village of no importance, I am sure!” Lady Culpepper sniffed, and Georgiana decided another tack was called for at once.

“What have you to lose, my lady?” she asked. “I want no reward, but only wish to assist you as well as I may.”

A look of avarice flashed in the older woman’s eyes at the mention of a reward. “And you will most certainly have none,” she confirmed. A moment passed in which Georgiana met her glare impassively, and finally Lady Culpepper sniffed, her chin held high. “Very well. Ask your questions, but quickly, for I have more important matters demanding my attention than to indulge the whims of every silly girl in Bath.”

In the few minutes that Lady Culpepper allotted her, Georgiana discovered that the jewel case had been found open, its other contents left intact. The door was locked, and the servant stationed to watch it swore that none had entered.

“And why did you set the servant to guard your room? Does he do so at all times or only during entertainments at your home?” Georgiana asked.

Lady Culpepper appeared startled by the question, then she lifted her chin to look down her nose at Georgiana. “That, young lady, is none of your affair. Enough of these questions!”

“But, my lady!” Georgian protested. Unfortunately, all her efforts to see the premises were met with haughty refusals, as were her requests to talk to the servants, while Lady Culpepper grew increasingly short-tempered.

For her part, Georgiana was unimpressed with the noblewoman. The more she spoke, the more Lady Culpepper resembled a fishwife, and Georgiana wondered about her antecedents. Biting back a sigh, she persevered as best she could. “Can you think of any servant or guest at the party who would do such a thing?” Georgiana asked.

“Certainly not!” Lady Culpepper answered. “One hopes that none of one’s acquaintances is a foul criminal! Of course, this is Bath, not London, and it is no less than what I deserve for opening my home to the ill-bred rabble that frequent this city. I assure you that as soon as I have my jewels back, I will be returning to London, where I am far more selective in my invitations.”

Georgiana refrained from mentioning the higher incidence of theft in the more notorious city, but nodded in a placating manner before continuing. “You have no enemies or those who might seek to target you in particular?”

Georgiana noted the sudden paling of the older woman’s face with interest. Whether Lady Culpepper was angered by the very suggestion of malice or by the truth of it, Georgiana could not tell. “Begone with you, child! I have wasted enough of my time with this nonsense!” she said, her tone brooking no opposition.

With a wave of dismissal, Lady Culpepper called for the butler to show Georgiana out, and there was nothing to do but thank the ungracious woman for her time. As Georgiana took her leave, she could not help feeling dissatisfied. She was struck by the uncharitable notion that the obnoxious woman deserved to have her jewels stolen, but firmly quelled such thoughts, for it would not do to let emotions color her investigation.

Once outside, Georgiana told the startled butler that she was going to have a look around the grounds and walked into her ladyship’s garden without a qualm, leaving him sputtering on the doorstep. She made her way slowly to the rear of the building, where she stood staring up at the reported locations of the bedroom windows. The view was much better in the daylight, and Georgiana noticed an arched pediment that curved above them—as well as upon the windows below.

Blinking at the sight, she wondered if, instead of scaling the side of the building, the culprit had simply slipped into another room and out onto the pediment to climb inside Lady Culpepper’s bedroom. The footing for such a feat looked quite precarious, and Georgiana’s heart began hammering fitfully at the idea, for she did not like heights in the slightest. However, an agile man who was unafraid and trained in such dexterous movements might well—”Harrying the plants again?”

Georgiana was so lost in thought that the abrupt sound of a caustic voice close by startled her and she whirled around, sending her reticule swinging wildly. It connected quite firmly with the form of a man she had not realized had come to stand behind her.

“Oomph!” he said, laying a hand upon his patterned silk waistcoat. “What do you have in there, rocks?”

Georgiana’s gaze flew from the slender gloved fingers to the handsome face, where one black eyebrow climbed upward, and she blinked in horror. “Ashdowne! I mean, my lord! I beg your pardon!”

The marquis’s beautiful mouth turned down at the corners as he smoothed the elegant material, drawing Georgiana’s attention across his broad shoulders and wide chest to his flat abdomen. The sight seemed to make her own far more rounded stomach dip and pitch, and with effort, Georgiana tore her gaze away and back to his face. “What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

The black brow lifted again, above eyes brimming with distaste. It was a look Georgiana recognized from the night before, and once more she felt like an insect that the marquis found particularly annoying. While she stared, he tilted his head to the side as if to better study the strange specimen that was she.

“I’ve come to offer Lady Culpepper my condolences, of course,” he said, his tone implying that his movements and their cause were none of her business. “And you?” he asked, glancing rather pointedly toward the side of the building that had so occupied her interest.

“Yes, I was just doing that myself,” she muttered, trying to marshal her wits. If Ashdowne had been attractive at night, dressed all in black and moving at one with the shadows, he was startlingly so in the daylight, the sun catching the even contours of his face and glinting upon his golden skin. His dark lashes were thick and lustrous, his blue eyes so vivid that they stole Georgiana’s breath, and that mouth…

When she found her gaze lingering, Georgiana wrenched it away to look down at her toes. If the simple sight of the man wrought such havoc with her senses, then she would do better to inspect the ground at her feet, she decided with some aggravation.

“Ah,” Ashdowne said in a voice that told her he did not believe her explanation for an instant but was too much of a gentleman to argue. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, Miss—”

“Bellewether,” Georgiana said, relieved to find speech much easier when she had no real view of the marquis. “I, uh, should beg your pardon for, uh, knocking you down last night.”

“I must say, I think a potted plant hardly the place for an assignation,” Ashdowne said, and Georgiana’s gaze flew to his face.

“Oh! I was not…” As the words left her mouth, Georgiana realized her mistake. Just one glance at those lips and already she was becoming stupid! Fighting back a snort of disgust, she turned toward the flowering shrubs that carved pathways through the rear of the property and lifted her chin.

“I was not meeting anyone,” Georgiana declared. When silence met her protest, she frowned. “Actually, I was listening and learning, a habit of mine, you might say, for you never know what interesting things you can discover.”

“Ah, gossip,” Ashdowne said in a tone of dismissal.

Georgiana stared at his neck cloth, determined to be able to speak to the man without swooning. “I am not concerned with rumor or innuendo, but facts only—facts, in this case, pertinent to the events of last night,” she said. “You see, I have a knack for solving mysteries, my lord, and I intend to lend my talents to the resolution of the theft that occurred here yesterday evening.”

Georgiana looked up in challenge, but Ashdowne’s expression was unreadable. He neither scoffed at her declaration, nor did he appear particularly threatened, and she had to stifle a surge of disappointment that her bold words did not result in his immediate confession to any number of misdeeds. He only tilted his head, as if to study her in that way of his which she found vastly insulting.

“And just how do you intend to do that?” he asked. His lovely lips curled wryly, and Georgiana suspected he was laughing at her. Unfortunately, it was an attitude with which she was more than familiar.

It was the curse of her appearance. If only she looked like Hortense Bingley, the spinster who haunted the lending library at Upwick, or Miss Mucklebone, a bluestocking who wore thick glasses and was known to brandish her cane at tart-tongued youngsters. Once, during her schoolroom years, Georgiana had borrowed a pair of spectacles from a classmate in an effort to be taken more seriously, but her parents had put a stop to that immediately upon her return home. And so she had to bear the scorn of those who took her at face value, including, apparently, the marquis.

“I intend to discover the culprit through simple reasoning, my lord,” Georgiana said, tossing her curls. She was so annoyed that she managed to eye him directly without feeling anything except contempt. “By studying the facts, eliminating all but the most probable of possibilities, and drawing a conclusion.” With a curt nod, Georgiana begin moving. “And now, if you will excuse me, I must be on my way. Good day, my lord.”

“Don’t hurry away,” Ashdowne said, and to Georgiana’s consternation, he fell into step beside her. “I find your comments most fascinating. Please tell me more.”

A sidelong glance at his restrained expression told Georgiana that he did not believe her capable of doing what she claimed. Few men did, but somehow his skepticism riled her more than usual. If he had so little faith in her abilities, why was he pretending interest? Georgiana scowled suspiciously. “I hardly think so,” she murmured, keeping to her pace.

“But I find these methods you spoke of most interesting,” he said. His blue eyes were suddenly intense as they met her own. To Georgiana’s relief, they had reached the front of house, where Ashdowne presumably was headed to make his call, and she seized the opportunity to escape that intent scrutiny.

“I fear I must be on my way, my lord. Perhaps another time,” she murmured, her hand trembling as it found the gate. And then, aware that she was acting rather rudely, but resentful of the way he seemed to be toying with her, Georgiana slipped away without a backward glance. As she hurried onto the street, she heard no steps behind her to indicate the marquis’s entrance into the house, and it took all of her will not to turn around to verify the speculative gaze she sensed was upon her.

It was only when she had reached the corner that Georgiana realized she had once more let pass a golden opportunity to question the man. Fast upon the heels of that discovery came selfcensure. Never before had she behaved like such a pea-goose with someone! Ashdowne, it seemed, had a most peculiar effect upon her.

The knowledge was decidedly lowering.

Georgiana stood in the Pump Room surveying the crowd and leaning on one foot in an effort to rouse her weary limbs. She felt as though she had been waiting here forever, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lord Whalsey, who usually made an afternoon visit. Indeed, everyone appeared at the social hub of the city sooner or later, on a daily basis, more often than not.

At least that’s what Georgiana told herself to strengthen a resolve that was sadly slipping. Although Whalsey would be wise to conduct himself in his accustomed manner, she knew that he might even now be racing toward London with his booty. It was a discouraging thought, for how was she to follow? Again Georgiana cursed the limits of her gender, which prevented her from pursuing her prime suspect wherever he might go.

Unfortunately, she could only look for him in the Pump Room, and she had to admit that she was becoming weary of her watch. Her sisters had long ago left for a walk in the Crescent and her other acquaintances dispersed to hillside climbs or carriage rides. Only Bertrand, content to do nothing, lounged in a corner chatting to a couple of young men she had tried her best to discourage.

Georgiana was able to turn them aside more easily than usual today because they, along with everyone else, were occupied with discussion of the theft, including wild conjectures as to the culprit. She had listened to the speculation with some impatience, for rumors were growing apace. Most of the dowagers were certain a group of ruffians had moved to Bath to terrorize the town, and it was all Georgiana could do not to scream in exasperation at such nonsense.

The theft was not the work of a gang, but one man alone, Georgiana thought, shifting to her other foot. A vision of Ashdowne as he had been last night, all in black, swam before her, and she dismissed it. Although he was certainly suspicious, she was here to concentrate on Whalsey and his cohort, who were the most likely candidates.