The Gentleman Thief. Deborah Simmons
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Although Lady Culpepper was prone to the condescending air of the nobility, Georgiana did not find her any worse than most. “I admit that she could be more gracious, but—”
”Gracious?” Mr. Hawkins cut Georgiana off with an unbecoming scoff, an odd vehemence in his voice. “The lady and her kind are not known for their courtesy to others, but lord their wealth and power over the rest of us. I find them frivolous beings with no concerns except their own selfish caprices!”
Mr. Hawkins’s sudden venom surprised Georgiana, but then, as swiftly as it had come over him, the mood was gone, replaced by a rather bland expression. “However, a man in my position must do his best to mingle with society,” he added, as if begrudging his chosen career.
“I would think it your vocation to convince people to be more charitable,” Georgiana noted idly.
Mr. Hawkins responded with a patronizing smile that made her bristle. “It is to your credit that you would think of such things, but I can hardly expect such a beautiful lady to understand the complexities of my position,” he said, and Georgiana was tempted to boot him into a new position with a good swift kick. “Indeed, I vow that you, Miss Bellewether, are the saving grace to a tedious evening spent in ill company.”
If Georgiana had thought the man too full of himself to have noticed her presence, she was sadly mistaken, for even as he spoke warmly of her, his gaze drifted tellingly to her bosom. And for a religious man, he was studying her a little too avidly for her taste. “You must excuse me,” she said abruptly, and hurried off into the crowd before he could launch into another lengthy discourse.
After slipping through the assemblage, keeping her eyes and ears attuned to anything of interest, Georgiana halted behind a tall potted plant, a large fern of some sort, where she listened to several conversations, all of them exceedingly dull. At last, growing restless, she was about to depart when there was a shuffling nearby and the sound of whispered voices, which, as everyone knew, invariably signaled something interesting.
Moving unobtrusively closer, Georgiana peered through the greenery in an effort to catch a glimpse of the speakers. She saw a rather sturdy looking gentleman with a sadly receding hairline whom she immediately recognized at Lord Whalsey, a middle-aged viscount. Rumor had it that he was dangling for a rich wife among those who came to Bath, and, indeed, he was a popular one with the ladies, if a bit full of himself. As she peeked under a particularly large leaf, Georgiana could see him hunched next to a younger man with a rather pinched face, and the two appeared terribly serious. She leaned closer.
“Well? Do you have it?” Whalsey asked, his voice betraying an agitation that immediately seized Georgiana’s attention.
“Er, not exactly,” the other man hedged.
“What the devil? I thought you were going to get it tonight! Demn, Cheever, you swore you could manage this, you—”
“Hold on there,” the man called Cheever said in a placating tone. “You shall have it all right. There’s been a complication, that’s all.”
“What kind of complication?” Whalsey spat. “And it better not cost me more!”
“Well, I’ve run into a bit of difficulty locating it.”
“What do you mean?” Whalsey cried. “You know very well where it is! That’s why we came to this deadly dull backwater!”
“Of course, it’s here, but it’s not lying about in plain view, now is it? I’ve got to make a search for it, and I haven’t had a chance because some bloody idiot’s always around!”
Forgetting about Ashdowne, Georgiana held her breath and stuck her head right into the foliage.
“Who?” Whalsey asked.
“The servants!”
“Well, tonight’s your chance, you dolt! What are you doing standing here?”
“I might as well enjoy a bit of the evening while I’m out, mightn’t I?” Cheever said smoothly. “It hardly seems fair that you’re dancing and frolicking while I’m doing the dirty work!”
Whalsey’s face turned florid, and he opened his mouth as if to shout, but, to Georgiana’s disappointment, he appeared to recover himself, lowering his voice until she had to strain to hear. “If you’re angling for more money, I told you I haven’t a penny to—”
Frustrated by the inaudible words, Georgiana leaned forward a little too far. The plant, berthed in an elegant urn, tipped slightly and, caught in its growth, she too swayed precariously. With a low gasp, she reached for a heavy leaf, hoping to right both the shrub and herself, but lost her balance. For one moment, Georgiana seemed to hang in the air, staring at the horrified faces of Lord Whalsey and Cheever.
So intent was she upon the fleeing twosome as they hurried away that Georgiana did not see the other man approaching. Only after she veered violently in the other direction in an attempt to regain her footing did she glimpse him. And then, of course, it was too late. Both she and the wretched plant toppled directly into him, sending all three of them to the floor in a heap.
Vaguely Georgiana heard startled gasps from around her as she struggled to separate herself from the thick leaves. She was on the carpet, her legs all tangled up with those of the man who lay beneath her, and her gown had risen scandalously to expose her ankles. Worst of all, she had missed hearing more about the nefarious plot she was certain the two men were hatching. Botheration!
Blowing away a fat curl, Georgiana pushed off the floor in an effort to sit, only to hear a pained grunt from below as her knee connected with a certain portion of male anatomy. With a cry of dismay, Georgiana jerked upward, but she was stopped by her twisted skirts and fell forward once more.
More gasps went up from around her and then Georgiana felt firm hands upon her waist as she lifted her head only to recoil in horror at the face that came into view. Dark brows were no longer raised in arrogance but lowered in a disturbing manner that made the elegant features below them appear rather fierce, while that compelling mouth twisted into something resembling a snarl. “For God’s sake, stop wiggling!” he said.
“Ashdowne!” Georgiana breathed. She had a moment to blink in alarm before the hands at her waist lifted her effortlessly upward and then they were both upright, the marquis setting her on her feet. She took a faltering step backward, but he held on to her, and Georgiana suddenly became aware of the heat generated by his touch. Like fire, it burned through the thin silk she wore, igniting her skin and sending warmth rushing throughout her body.
Curious. Georgiana glanced at her companion and stared, transfixed. He was just that much more beautiful up close, his eyes so blue as to make her own seem insipid instead of limpid, and Georgiana felt an odd dipping sensation in the pit of her stomach. As she gaped, he released her and stepped back, his handsome face wearing an expression of extreme annoyance as he raised one slender hand to brush a smattering of dirt from his elegant silk waistcoat. To her dismay, the marquis was looking at her as if she were an irritating bug he would like to squash—or at least be rid of.
Jolted from her stupor by the realization, Georgiana muttered her apologies in a hushed whisper that sounded like the breathless nonsense of a swooning admirer. And then, Georgiana, who thought herself past the age of blushes, felt a fiery stain rise in her cheeks as embarrassment claimed her. She was not one of those marriage-mad misses, and she desperately sought the words to convey that to his lordship. But her halting excuse was cut short by the arrival of her mother, along with two servants, who hurried to clean up the spilled soil.
“Georgie!” Wincing at the sound of her pet name called out loudly, Georgiana did not hear Ashdowne’s murmured platitude. And before she could question him, he tilted his head and moved away, as if all too relieved to quit her company. To her dismay, Georgiana found herself surrounded by her mother and her sisters, while he disappeared into the crowd.
“Georgie! What on earth were you doing—inspecting the shrubbery?” her mama asked, eyeing the nearby plant as if it ought to explain