The Gentleman Thief. Deborah Simmons

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      Blinking, she searched the room once again, and her hours of vigilance were rewarded when she caught a glimpse of the viscount. He moved through the crowd, greeting his favorites among the middle-aged widows, before finally settling down with a serving of the odoriferous water for which Bath was famous.

      “Lord Whalsey! Good afternoon!” Georgiana said, stepping forward boldly. They had been introduced briefly a few days before, but she saw no recognition in his eyes, only a spark of interest as they focused eagerly on her bosom. Hiding her annoyance, Georgiana forced a smile. “I did not see you leave the ball last night. Did you depart early?”

      The inquiry, innocent though it was, made Whalsey start, and his gaze moved up to her face in what could only be described as a most anxious manner. Georgiana felt a surge of triumph СКАЧАТЬ