The Gentleman Thief. Deborah Simmons
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To his surprise, she slid him a suspicious glance, and Ashdowne wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Apparently, it was something that nobody else noticed, and the thought sent a shiver up his spine, as if someone were walking on his grave. Unnerved, he rolled his shoulders beneath his fine tailored coat as he awaited her answer.
But when it came, it was as astonishing as anything else she had ever said. “I do not feel at liberty to discuss the case,” she muttered, refusing to look at him.
Uttered with all seriousness, her words stunned Ashdowne from his pose of practiced charm into a startled stare. Who did this mop-haired minx think she was? For a moment, he didn’t know whether to laugh or to strangle her. Unfortunately, they were in full view of several others who were strolling the streets, so the latter was not really an option, and the former would not further his cause.
With an effort, Ashdowne forced himself to swallow the sharp retort that came to his lips while he tried to appear humble. But since the pretense was not part of his usual repertoire, he was not too successful. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to interfere with your investigation,” he said smoothly. “Quite the contrary, in fact. Perhaps if I were to offer my help to you, as an assistant of sorts, you might feel comfortable speaking more…freely.”
His companion gave him a sharp look that told him she thought he was teasing her, but Ashdowne waited expectantly.
“Oh! I’ve never considered…” she began, only to trail off.
Ashdowne remained impassive as her blue eyes studied him, though it was a trifle difficult when he really wanted to get his hands on her neck—or perhaps lower, where an expanse of luscious white breast peeked above the edge of the shawl.
“That is, I have always worked alone,” she mumbled, gazing down at her toes.
It was a habit she had when with him. Although Ashdowne was not certain what it signified, he did not believe it had anything to do with modesty or deference, much to his regret. “Ah, but perhaps, as a man, I could be of some use,” he suggested.
She glanced up at him with a startled expression, a flush staining her cheeks, and Ashdowne felt an echoing interest in his breeches, along with an absurd sense of triumph. At least the chit was not wholly indifferent to him, if she thought he had offered to accommodate her in a purely personal fashion.
“I meant that I might be able to move easier than yourself amongst the male members of society, in places where you, for all your wherewithal, cannot be expected to go,” Ashdowne qualified. She stared up at him, and for a moment he felt transfixed by those blue eyes. They had stopped before her residence, and he stepped closer, an odd sort of anticipation buzzing in his veins.
It had been a long while since his last intimate encounter. Too long. And the young lady before him was a scrumptious delight for the senses, with her flushed skin and bright hair and mouth made for kissing.
“Georgie!” The call came from inside the house, destroying the moment between them and making Miss Bellewether wince. Was it the nickname that dismayed her, or the long minute they had spent mulling over the possibilities between them? Ashdowne had to admit that he was fairly dismayed himself to be attracted to the disastrous Miss Bellewether, no matter how briefly.
“I will consider your kind offer,” she said in what could be nothing but a dismissal. And then, as if she feared to look upon his face, she turned and fled, hurrying toward the house and leaving him standing outside like a tradesman.
At the sound of the door closing behind her, Ashdowne shook himself. He could not remember the last time he had been so summarily dismissed. Even as a younger son, he had moved in the first circles, his looks and charm and ready money assuring him a place at every party.
Rolling his shoulders, Ashdowne set off down the street. He was certain that more than mere shyness had sent her running inside, and the knowledge left him bemused. Although no angel, he was hardly the type of rake to instill terror in the hearts of young virgins. What, then, drove her away from him?
Ashdowne had an idea, but he planned to find out for sure. His instincts were twitching, and he had no intention of letting Miss Georgiana Bellewether do anything to disrupt his life more than she had already.
Lord Whalsey was nowhere to be seen! Georgiana stifled a groan of frustration. She had joined her family in attending this rout in the hope of cornering him again, but both he and Mr. Cheever were conspicuously absent. What was she to do now? Whalsey might very well be at the Pump Room or a concert, or worse yet, headed to London to sell the necklace!
Georgiana’s shoulders slumped as she wondered what course to take. She could present her observations to the magistrate, but experience told her that gentlemen on the whole were extremely dubious of her talents. Her evidence of an overheard conversation and a guilty reaction probably would not convince him, and then Lord Whalsey would escape with his ill-gotten gains!
Blowing away a curl that had plopped over her forehead, Georgiana leaned back against the balustrade behind the elegant town house. She had pleaded a headache when asked to dance and made her escape onto the balcony that overlooked the tiny garden. Here in the silence, she tried to concentrate on her next course of action, but her thoughts were interrupted all too soon.
“Ah, Miss Bellewether. What new disaster are you contemplating?” The question was spoken in a deep, familiar voice that made Georgiana whirl around in surprise.
Stifling a gasp, she blinked at the shadows near the doors, where she could dimly make out Ashdowne’s tall form. How long had he been there? It was rather frightening to think that, for all her skills, she had not noticed his presence, and Georgiana shivered, for the marquis was not the typical nobleman. He was unlike any man she had ever known.
“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