At first Georgiana was disoriented by the dark liquid and dragged down by the weight of her gown, then her toe struck bottom, and she managed to right herself, planting her feet solidly. She had just begun to rise above the water, spitting and blowing, when a pair of hands closed around her waist.
“Damn it, Georgiana! I told you to stay put!” Ashdowne’s anger was unmistakable, his shadowed features intense even in the moonlight. She tried to explain, to sputter a protest, but he was too close. And he was wet.
Dragging in a breath, Georgiana felt her insides wobble like jelly as she took in the dark hair dripping water onto his broad shoulders. He must have swum to her in his haste, she thought dimly, as her gaze followed one drop down his throat to his chest, where his dark shirt clung to wide muscles. Her heart started thumping in a most outrageous manner, and her lips parted, seeking more air, for the moist darkness seemed suddenly close and stifling.
“Are you all right?” Ashdowne asked, and Georgiana forced her attention back to his face. She had a full minute to stare into his glittering eyes, during which his alarm turned into something else entirely. He once more looked upon her as though she were, if not a bug, at least something he was likely to devour. Georgiana had time to draw in another breath before he pulled her to him, his mouth descending on hers with a violence she had never imagined.
And then she lost herself there in the darkness, the warmth of the water palling against the heat of Ashdowne’s body and his hands, steaming through her clothes where he touched her. His palms slid up and down her back and then tugged at her shoulders, and before she knew what he was about, her gown was down at her waist, her breasts pressed against the solid wall of his chest.
And then he touched them. With a low cry, Georgiana arched backward as his fingers explored each curve of her skin. Slick with moisture, they slid over her flesh, drenching her in sensation she thought was incomparable until his lips settled there, his tongue rasping against her nipples, his mouth covering her to suckle one and then the other.
Wild feelings shot through her, from her breasts to every part of her, settling most fiercely at the juncture of her thighs, and Georgiana wriggled helplessly in an effort to ease the heaviness there. Finally she felt her legs parted by the firm thrust of Ashdowne’s hard thigh. It pressed right against the spot that so inflamed her, and she nearly wept with relief. Dear Ashdowne, he knew exactly what to do!
“Ashdowne,” she whispered, clutching at his back as her equilibrium faltered. His shirt had come loose, and Georgiana slipped her hands beneath to boldly stroke his skin, smooth and firm and wet. There was something about the water that heightened her senses, Georgiana realized. It was her last coherent thought before her brain surrendered to the rest of her, giving up its dominion gladly.
“Ashdowne,” she whispered again. She felt the wall at her back, heard the low lap of the water and saw the twinkle of stars overhead before he took her mouth once more. Her arms went around his neck, holding him close, as his thigh grazed her. The sensations that slight movement engendered were beyond her comprehension, but Georgiana embraced them, unable to stop, unable to do anything but moan and cry out, bereft, when he shifted.
Murmuring low words of comfort, Ashdowne lifted her higher, pushed her skirts up and stepped between her thighs, so that her most private part was bared beneath the water. But before she could utter an embarrassed protest, he pressed against her. Instead of his leg, she felt the front of his trousers, only that thin layer of material separating her nakedness from the hard, powerful bulge there.
It was beyond anything Georgiana could ever have imagined, and for once, she couldn’t get too close to Ashdowne. She wiggled, seeking some kind of surcease from the feelings building inside her as his body rubbed against her in a primitive rhythm that left her gasping, wanting, needing…until the darkness and the water and Ashdowne enveloped her in a driving heat that peaked as she cried out, drowning in incredible pleasure.
Georgiana would have sunk down into the luxurious embrace of the pool, her legs no more substantial than the night breeze, were it not for Ashdowne’s firm hold upon her. He thrust against her, harder, with a fierceness Georgiana had not known he possessed. Then his ragged groan echoed in the silence as he shuddered, his tall body shaking as if with the force of her own exultation. Had he known similar bliss?
“Oh, Ashdowne,” Georgiana murmured against his throat, too wobbly to do or say anything more complex. And in the utter stillness the only sound was of their own rapid breaths, slowly returning to normal. But would she ever be normal again after what had transpired? Georgiana wondered as she gradually returned to her senses. What miracle had Ashdowne worked upon her? What magic was this that only he could conjure?
Finally he lifted his head, and Georgiana tilted back her own to meet his gaze. He looked slumberous and satisfied, but the wry, rueful curve to his lips confused her. She opened her mouth to speak, or perhaps simply kiss him again, with a more leisurely ardor, when a noise echoed in the silence.
The door.
Georgiana stiffened as Ashdowne’s hand came over her lips, and he pulled her deeper, dragging them low until only their faces lingered above the water, his body tense against her. She looked, wide-eyed, toward the steps, where the lamp she had been bidden to guard sat pointedly spreading its dim glow over the edge of the pool.
“Milord?”
Georgiana felt Ashdowne relax and let her own muscles ease their cramped vigil as she recognized Finn’s voice. Although she expected the marquis to rise, he did not, but remained where he was, holding her tightly beneath the water. And it was truly not until that moment that Georgiana realized her skirts were floating high, while her upper garments were somewhere about her waist. She made a mortified sound that was muffled by Ashdowne’s fingers.
“What is it?” he called to Finn.
“You’ve been in here a good while, milord, and I thought I heard a shriek. I was worried that something had gone amiss, but I see that I must have been mistaken. So, you just take your time and pardon the interruption, if you will,” he said, his voice gravelly with amusement.
“We’ve had trouble finding what we came for, but we won’t be long now,” Ashdowne assured his servant. Not until the door closed once more did Ashdowne release her. Pulling her gently to her feet, he tugged at her bodice and soon had everything righted in a most competent fashion while Georgiana blinked at him dazedly.
She was still standing there, looking foolish, when he turned and strode toward the fallen stone, easily retrieving the book, while Georgiana could only stare at it in surprise. Was that why they had come? For the book? In the exotic enchantment of Ashdowne’s embrace, she had forgotten everything, and still her mind was so slow in functioning that he had to take her hand and urge her forward to where their lantern glowed like a tiny beacon in the darkness.
“Hmm. What’s this?” he said, and Georgiana, who could not remember blushing during their deepest intimacy, now did so as he slowly lifted his once-shiny, expensive boot from the water to drip rather dramatically. Luckily Ashdowne could not see her flush in the darkness.
“It looks like a boot,” she said rather unnecessarily.
“Ah. And a familiar one at that,” Ashdowne added, shooting her a wry glance that she refused to acknowledge as they rose out of the water. The soggy leather fell onto the step with a squish, and Georgiana knew she could put off her reckoning no longer.
“I, uh—” she began, turning to face him.
“Never mind. I won’t decry the loss of one boot when…” Ashdowne’s words trailed off as he reached up to stroke her cheek with a wet finger. Georgiana closed her eyes and shivered. “It was for a good cause,” he said in a low voice that made her legs weak and her wits wander. “But it’s growing late, and I must take you home before you catch a chill.”
The possibility seemed absurd when Ashdowne’s very presence filled her with heat, but Georgiana nodded dazedly, and he stepped away. “Wring out your gown as best you can, and then we’ll have a look at the book.”
The book! Georgiana straightened abruptly, her errant thoughts returning immediately to the evidence at hand. The euphoria that Ashdowne’s touch induced changed into a different sort of thrill altogether—the excitement of the case. Although she wanted to reach for the volume at once, she dutifully pulled up her skirts and twisted them until the worst of the water was out, while Ashdowne donned his boots and coat. Of course, her gown was ruined, but since it was a beribboned lavender one of her mother’s choosing, she spared little thought for it.
Her thoughts were all upon the book, and her hands trembled in expectation when she finally turned toward Ashdowne. Despite his dousing, he managed to look just as handsome and elegant as ever when he presented it to her, and Georgiana was seized by a sudden feeling for him that went far beyond his appearance. He could have inspected the prize himself, but instead he let her do the honors, and the gesture made her stomach dip, as well as something else, higher up in her chest.
Drying her hands upon her cloak, Georgiana reached out to take the vicar’s tome. She opened it with extreme care, but to her disappointment, no hidden compartment revealed the necklace. Instead, she looked down upon a drawing of some sort. Georgiana leaned closer and realized that it was a picture of a man and a woman, both totally devoid of clothing.
“But this is not important at all!” she protested.
“That depends upon your point of view, I would imagine,” Ashdowne said dryly.
With a sound of frustration, Georgiana held up the volume by its spine and shook it, yet no jewels fell out. Then she began leafing through the pages, but they all turned freely. There was no hidden compartment, only more pictures. Unable to believe her eyes, Georgiana let the book fall open and stared at it in dismay, her gaze riveted by a drawing in which a man intimately held a woman in the air, her legs wrapped around his waist. Turning the book this way and that, Georgiana blinked.
“Is that possible?” she asked.
Ashdowne cleared his throat. “Yes. Certainly,” he said softly. And suddenly she realized that what looked so astonishing was not that different from what she had been doing only moments ago. If she had but lifted her legs and…Georgiana drew in a sharp breath at the memory of that incredible pleasure.
Abruptly she turned the page only to see the same sort of intimate activity, although this time the man was positioned behind the woman. “Oh, my,” Georgiana whispered. The baths once more felt close and stifling as she became increasingly aware of Ashdowne’s presence at her back, looking over her shoulder. How would she feel if he stepped closer, pressing himself against her? She stifled a groan and turned the page.
Here, the woman knelt before the man, her mouth enclosed about a certain engorged part of his body, and, caught between startlement and curiosity, Georgiana nearly dropped the evidence completely. Her face flamed as she remembered that part of Ashdowne’s body rubbing against hers. How would he react if she dropped to her knees and…the moist warmth of the baths pressed down on her, robbing her breath, and she shut the book with a loud thump.
In the ensuing silence, the heat inside her dissipated, replaced by a wave of disappointment. She had been right in that the book was no Bible, yet neither was it a secret hiding place for the stolen necklace. “But I don’t understand,” Georgiana muttered in frustration. “Why would he carry this about with him in the baths?”
“I suspect you were correct to begin with, that Mr. Hawkins is not partaking of the waters for his health, but for the titillation of seeing ladies in wet clothing. Beneath the surface, the…uh, evidence of the direction of his thoughts would not be visible.”
Georgiana blinked as she realized just what sort of evidence Ashdowne was talking about, and she made a sound of distress at the thought of their suspect walking about in such a state.
“Yes. Let’s hope that’s all he does in there,” Ashdowne muttered. “Or the idea of climbing into that odoriferous water becomes infinitely unappealing, my own, uh, lapse, notwithstanding.”
Although Georgiana didn’t quite understand what Ashdowne was saying, certain words resonated loudly in her mind, most especially “unappealing” and “lapse.” She drew herself up to her full height and turned to face him, focusing firmly on his throat. But with the absence of his neck cloth, she was able to see the muscles in the strong column, a definite deterrent to her concentration. “I regret, uh, putting you to all that trouble in the bath,” she murmured.
“I would hardly call it trouble,” Ashdowne said, reaching out to take her hands and draw her closer. “You, Miss Georgiana Bellewether, are an utter delight, and being with you is always a…pleasure.” His voice deepened on the last word, and Georgiana blushed to the roots of her hair. Grateful that he could not see, she felt the slow, languid sweep of his lure engulfing her, and she deliberately looked away.
She wondered just how far her assistant might take this flirtation between them. The pictures in the book had both alarmed and excited her, and being of a curious nature, naturally she was interested in human experience in all of its forms. However, she knew that society as a whole, and her mother in particular, would not approve of that sort of fact-finding.
She pulled her hands away and stared down at her sodden slippers. “About that, uh, pleasure…” Her words trailed off, lost in the confusion of Ashdowne’s nearness.
“I’m sorry, Georgiana,” he said, lifting a hand to brush her cheek. And despite all her fine resolve, she turned toward his touch like a flower to the light. “I never meant for things to go that far, although my only regret this evening is that you didn’t find what you were looking for, or did you?”
Georgiana was uncertain of his meaning. Sometimes the man talked in riddles, and how could she concentrate on anything when he was looming over her? She moved back, farther away from him, and tried to concentrate. “I might remind you that you were to keep your mind upon business, not that…other,” she said rather stiffly.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his tone one of mild amusement.
Georgiana chose to ignore it as she strode across the stones, her thoughts once more upon the case. “Obviously, the necklace is not in the book, but Mr. Hawkins is still our chief suspect,” she said, then paused to consider the vicar before continuing determinedly. “Sooner or later, he will slip up and reveal himself to us. In the meantime, we will have to keep a close watch upon him.”
“Indeed,” Ashdowne said dryly. “From all appearances, I shouldn’t care to get too close to the good vicar.”
Georgiana slanted her assistant a reproving glance before giving in to the laughter that threatened, and it was with muffled chuckles that they made their way out of the building into the darkened streets of Bath. Once outside, she was again seized by exhilaration, the disappointments of the evening forgotten in the excitement of hurrying through the night.
Yet, as they slipped silently among the shadows, for the first time in her life, Georgiana wondered if it was the case that so compelled her—or her assistant.
Georgiana’s doubts lingered into the dawn and beyond. Although she told herself that emotion must not cloud her judgment, her discovery of Mr. Hawkins’s peculiarities had dampened her enthusiasm for following him about. Perhaps she could not distance herself from her suspects well enough, Georgiana mused, a discouraging thought that she put aside to ponder later.
She was hard-pressed to hold any thought at all, thanks to an extremely annoying preoccupation with her assistant. Try as she might, Georgiana could not deny a new, deeper awareness of Ashdowne that was even worse than the distraction she had suffered before. And who could blame her, after what they had shared in the baths? What exactly they had shared, Georgiana was uncertain, although she knew enough of reproduction to realize that her virtue remained intact. Still she could hardly claim to be unchanged by such a momentous event.
After sneaking back to her room, she found the evening’s events had replayed themselves unceasingly in her otherwise orderly mind. When she had finally managed to fall asleep, her dreams had all been of Ashdowne, and she had awoken tangled in her bedding, feeling hot and tired and frustrated, a sensation which, to a lesser degree, had plagued her throughout the morning.
Although Georgiana told herself quite firmly that theirs was a business association, it was difficult to focus on the business part when memories of a quite different sort of relationship kept intruding. To make matters worse, Ashdowne looked even more handsome and wonderful in the light of day when they resumed their pursuit, and Georgiana found herself watching him instead of their quarry.
She couldn’t help but notice the way his dark hair brushed his collar, the soft curve of his lips, the graceful movement of his gloved hands and the hard muscles of his thighs. And she remembered. She knew the feel of those thighs wedged between her own, the thrust of his body against hers, the slippery slide of his wet skin and the moist heat of his caresses. Shuddering, Georgiana wanted to forget what had happened, while, conversely, she yearned to repeat it all again.
Never had she been so confounded, even by the most difficult of cases. To add to her confusion, Ashdowne appeared cool and elegant, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Georgiana would have thought she imagined the intimacy between them if it were not for the occasional glimpse of something like hunger in his eyes, which made her skitter away.
Such glances made Georgiana wonder again just how far Ashdowne planned to take their…experimentation. Although the notion of delving further into such mysteries was quite tempting, Georgiana knew a genteel young woman such as herself should not even consider such a course. Nor could she dismiss outright certain concerns about the marquis himself.
Did he engage in such behavior with every woman he met? Georgiana did not care to be one of an interchangeable array of females, no matter how curious she was to learn more of the pleasures to be found in his arms. Although she would not wish Ashdowne to worship at her feet, as did her most ardent suitors, Georgiana wanted him to feel something for her, some small modicum of affection, along with a respect for her abilities.
Unfortunately, Georgiana could deduce little from his rather closed expression, and she did not feel comfortable broaching such a topic, especially since she was supposed to be concentrating on Mr. Hawkins. But so far, her suspect had done little to garner her interest.
Indeed, the vicar’s day had progressed much like the one before. He had spent the morning in his lodgings, presumably in undeserved rest, before visiting the Pump Room. And there he remained, talking with various elderly widows, while Georgiana and her companion tried to remain unobtrusive.
Had she been alone, Georgiana was certain she would have done very well. However, Ashdowne was simply too handsome and grand to blend in well with the crowd. She had wanted him to wear a disguise, but the marquis, as was his wont, laughed uproariously at the suggestion and tapped her nose. In an effort to avoid any further touching, Georgiana had dropped the subject.
Now she could see the foolishness of her capitulation, for although they were partially hidden by a screen near the orchestra, Georgiana could see a matronly woman bearing down upon them with a daughter of marriageable age in tow, leaving her with no doubt that her companion had been spotted. Stifling a groan, Georgiana turned to flee, and felt Ashdowne’s gloved hand close around her arm.
“I’m following the vicar,” she whispered, attempting to escape, but Ashdowne held her fast, drawing her near.
“No, you aren’t,” he said mildly. He looked down at her with a bland expression that suggested he was engaging in some pleasantries when he was, in actuality, keeping her prisoner. Georgiana opened her mouth to argue, but she never had a chance to speak.
“My lord! What a pleasure it is to see you gracing our beloved Pump Room! Truly, we did not expect such a treat this afternoon, did we, my dear?” the woman asked, turning toward her daughter. The girl, a tall slender blonde, obediently shook her pale curls and smiled in a coquettish fashion at the marquis.
Georgiana wanted to roll her eyes or heave up her breakfast, but she settled upon a polite smile instead. Her effort was wasted, however, for all the attention that was paid it. “You remember my daughter, Forsythia, do you not, my lord?” the matron asked, pushing the girl forward.
Ashdowne muttered some civility that set the mother to extolling Forsythia’s talents, which were exceeded only by her beauty, in her mother’s eyes at least. Georgiana had a more critical opinion, especially concerning the lack of manners in both women.
Georgiana might well have been a stain upon Ashdowne’s sleeve for all that the ladies had noticed her—which was just as well, of course. Georgiana certainly did not want to draw attention to herself. Yet she couldn’t help feeling a bit proprietary about the marquis. After all, he was her assistant, and she did not care for the way Forsythia was batting her eyelashes at him.
In fact, she had a sudden desire to pluck those eyelashes out, one by one. It was a most unwelcome notion for someone who prided herself on objectivity and a logical, ordered mind. Georgiana had always considered herself far superior to the rest of the feminine population with their petty jealousies, but now she appeared to be prey to the same sort of nonsense. Lately it seemed that she did not even know herself. And who was to blame? Ashdowne!
Frowning at the companion who was deep in conversation with his admirers, Georgiana realized she had forgotten all about Mr. Hawkins, who might well be escaping while she was trapped here at Ashdowne’s side. Gritting her teeth resolutely, she inched away from her assistant and was drawn back easily by one strong arm.
“Pardon me, but have you met Miss Bellewether?” Ashdowne asked in a casual tone that belied his grip upon her. “Miss Bellewether, may I present Forsythia and her mother…” Ashdowne paused to gaze blandly at the matron before him. “I fear I do not recall your name, madam.”
“Mrs. Gilcrest,” the woman said, her toadying smile momentarily faltering. “But tell me, my lord—”
“Ah, you must excuse us,” Ashdowne said, glancing over the lady’s shoulder as if something there had engaged his attention. And before she could respond, the marquis was moving away, dragging Georgiana with him, until they found a new corner behind two portly gentlemen who appeared to be asleep in their seats.
“It simply will not wash!” Georgiana muttered as he finally released her, her pique over sharing him with his devotees still lingering. “Now that you’ve been spotted, we’ll be fair game for all the eligible females and their mothers!”
“Shh,” Ashdowne said, inclining his head toward the entrance.
Georgiana was in no mood to be shushed, but her curiosity was stronger than her annoyance, and she looked in the direction he indicated and spied the vicar deep in conversation with Lady Culpepper herself. Georgiana found the sight most intriguing, especially in light of Mr. Hawkins’s vocal contempt for the woman. “See, he’s lording it over her,” Georgiana whispered.
“Lording what?” Ashdowne asked.
“The theft! After years of study, I know the criminal mind,” Georgiana replied. “I suspect our thief gains a perverse pleasure out of playing the supplicant, while knowing that he is in possession of the very thing that means the most to her.”
“You’re right about the perverse part,” Ashdowne said dryly. “But I think it far more likely that he is currying her favor, perhaps in an effort to gain the living her family endows at their seat in Sussex.”
Georgiana dismissed that supposition with a wave of her hand, too intent upon their quarry to argue. Finally the vicar was doing something interesting, so she kept her attention upon him, despite her assistant’s disturbing nearness.
“And, Georgiana, love, someday you must enlighten me as to your knowledge of the, uh, criminal mind, as you call it,” Ashdowne said in a seductive voice, his whisper brushing against her ear with startling familiarity.
Georgiana felt a dizzying awareness, which she firmly quelled as she watched Lady Culpepper sweep from the room. The vicar was left with an unpleasant expression upon his face, his feelings quite obvious, though swiftly masked when he recovered himself. “See?” Georgiana asked Ashdowne in a triumphant tone.
“What? I admit that he dislikes the woman, but so do most of those who know her,” the marquis answered. And then their conversation was, by necessity, cut short, as their quarry moved forward. Not wanting to draw attention, they remained in their position behind the sleeping gentlemen, while keeping the vicar well within their sights.
The Pump Room was not very crowded, so Georgiana had no difficulty keeping an eye upon Mr. Hawkins. It was interruptions and distractions along the lines of Mrs. Gilcrest that concerned her. So far, they had been able to avoid members of her family and her limited number of acquaintances, but Ashdowne was far too well-known to avoid discovery, and soon they were marked once again.
This time, it was Ashdowne who gave a low sound of warning, and Georgiana flinched, fully expecting to see another determined mother bearing down upon them, but it was a man who appeared before them. He was as tall as Ashdowne, with black hair and eyes of a dark, rich green that nonetheless seemed curiously impassive. With some surprise Georgiana recognized him as Mr. Savonierre, the man who had brought the Bow Street Runner to Bath.
Having seen him only from a distance before, she had noticed little about him, but now she realized that he was quite a striking figure. Being of a similar height and coloring, at first glance he reminded her of Ashdowne. However, Savonierre’s features were harder, and he emanated a coldness that was far chillier than the marquis when most aloof. Georgiana felt a shiver snake up her back.
“Ashdowne.” Savonierre inclined his head, but his expression was not one of cordial greeting, and his eyes were shuttered, as if a world of secrets existed behind them. Although Georgiana could not name it, she sensed something about him that was distinctly disturbing.
Ashdowne, too, must have felt it, for he answered with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Outwardly he was serene and polite, but Georgiana could feel the wariness in him and she wondered at it. Who was this man?
“Taking the waters, are you?” Savonierre asked, and the marquis responded with a shrug. “How unusual to find a man of your particular talents here in Bath, or perhaps, in light of events, it is not that unusual, after all,” Savonierre murmured, as if intimating something that was lost upon Georgiana.
“No more unusual than your own visit,” Ashdowne said. “I would think Brighton more to your liking.”
“Ah. But I am here for a reason, a familial duty, as it were,” Savonierre said. “Surely, you know that I count Lady Culpepper among my connections?” he asked, the question oddly taunting. When Ashdowne only nodded, as though bored, Savonierre smiled slightly, like some sort of predator. He moved forward, as if to menace them, and Georgiana stepped back, though the marquis held his ground.
“I came straight away when I heard about the stolen emeralds,” Savonierre explained. He glanced toward the crowd and then back to Ashdowne. “I admit to being a bit disappointed with the Bow Street Runner I hired. It has been four days, and he has not yet unveiled the thief.”
Georgiana, too, was a bit disenchanted with Jeffries, but she had to admit that his plodding pace was to her advantage. “I have my own suspicions,” she said, seizing upon the subject most dear to her heart.
But before she could speak further, Ashdowne broke in. “Have you met Miss Bellewether? She is an amateur investigator and has been following the case quite closely.”
“Indeed?” Savonierre’s attention swung toward her, and Georgiana noted the intensity of his gaze. Although she usually embraced an opportunity to expound upon her theories, she felt uncomfortable under such intent scrutiny. Her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth, as if he had stricken her mute with that piercing stare, and so, for once, she did not elaborate.
“Perhaps I shall succeed where Mr. Jeffries cannot,” she stated simply, when she finally managed to speak.
Instead of scoffing like other men, Savonierre glanced from her to Ashdowne and then back again, an odd smile twisting his mouth. He inclined his head toward her, his green eyes glinting. “Perhaps you will, Miss Bellewether. I shall look forward to it.”
Savonierre’s tone held a dark edge of promise that made Georgiana draw in a sharp breath, and she held it as he bowed and left, expelling a low sigh of relief at his departure. “Who is he?” she whispered to Ashdowne. “And why does he hate you so?”
For a moment, Ashdowne said nothing, but stood staring after Savonierre with such a dangerous expression that Georgiana feared he might go after the man with violent intent. Anxious, she tugged on his sleeve until he turned toward her, his face rigid.
“He has certainly taken a dislike to me, but I have no idea why. He is, however, a very powerful man and one not to be trifled with.” Casting a last look in the direction that Savonierre had taken, Ashdowne seemed to recover his usual aplomb. He took her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze that Georgiana presumed was one of friendly encouragement until she realized that he was urging her forward into the crowd.
Mr. Hawkins, drat him, had disappeared.