Despite her new surroundings, Georgiana found that Ashdowne was not easily dismissed from her thoughts. Even asleep she could not escape him, for she spent the night dreaming of him—heated, yearning visions, intermixed with odd nightmares in which both he and Savonierre turned into beasts—that left her cranky and out of sorts.
Finally abandoning all hope of rest, Georgiana headed toward the attic, where she spent a fruitful day going over the old stacks of newspapers. Of course, interesting items were always catching her attention, but she tried to limit herself to Savonierre’s movements. They were not hard to find, for he was a favorite with the gossips.
“‘Mr. Savonierre hosted an elegant and well-received rout last night,”’ Georgiana read aloud. She made a note of the date, ignoring the details about the food served and the various luminaries in attendance. Then she picked up the next paper.
“A certain wealthy and renowned Mr. S—was seen squiring a very married Lady B—to the opera last night,” another story reported without mentioning names outright. Indeed, most of the articles pertained not to Savonierre’s alleged influence in government circles, but his penchant for attractive companions. Georgiana frowned in disapproval.
But Savonierre wasn’t the only one whose dalliances made the newspapers. “The younger brother of the Marquis of A—continues to cut a swath through town. Last night alone, he was seen at no less than four entertainments,” read one account. And although she told herself that she didn’t care, Georgiana felt her stomach twist in response.
“Johnathon Everett Saxton, younger brother of the Marquis of Ashdowne, was seen at Lord Graham’s ball, surrounded by ladies. His wit and charm are well-known to make him a favorite,” Georgiana read. Although she tried to ignore the frequent mentions of Ashdowne when he was only a younger brother, his name kept cropping up in the pages, leaping before her eyes as if through no will of her own. Unfortunately, it seemed as though he and Savonierre kept much the same schedules, which was not unusual, considering that they were both members of the most elite circles.
Still, his continued appearance made her oddly apprehensive. If she didn’t know better, she might have imagined him to be The Cat, Georgiana thought, laughing uneasily. Although she pushed her feelings for Ashdowne into some hidden place inside her where she didn’t have to examine them too closely, she couldn’t help making note of his movements.
Meanwhile, she made a chart of Savonierre’s locations, so that she could more easily track his presence, along with a list of where and when The Cat had struck. Interestingly enough, the thief had never stolen anything from Savonierre, a small piece of information that appeared to confirm Georgiana’s suspicions.
Originally she had thought only to study those newspapers from the years when The Cat’s infamy was at its zenith, but once begun, Georgiana’s task held her attention into a second and even a third day of scrutiny. In the more recent editions, she looked for any mention of a crime outside the city that resembled The Cat’s methods, but found nothing at all. It was as if the master thief had disappeared from the face of the earth.
Unfortunately, her concentration was broken every so often by a bored Bertrand demanding that they return to Bath, but Georgiana refused to heed him. “Go away!” she called, diving back into her newspapers. As much as she hated to admit it, she found the vast lines of printed words comforting, for there were few nuances to be found among the bald statements. Facts were her forte, and far easier to deal with than people.
However, Bertrand must have finally enlisted her great-uncle against her, for the older gentleman bestirred himself to bring her a luncheon tray on the third day of her seclusion. Pushing aside a great heap of papers, he sat himself down to face her, and Georgiana was forced to put aside her work.
“Are you finding what you sought?” Silas asked, taking off his spectacles to clean the lenses with the end of his coat.
“Yes,” Georgiana answered. “I have lists and charts, and it looks, from a cursory examination at least, as if my suspicions were correct. I can’t tell you what a help it has been to be able to sort through your collection,” she added, genuinely grateful.
“I’m glad they have been of use to someone,” he said with a small smile as he returned his glasses to his face. The eyes behind them were fraught with intelligence as he examined her, and Georgiana felt oddly uncomfortable under his gaze, like an errant student who had disappointed his teacher.
Finally, as if he had seen all that he must, Silas leaned back against the wooden boards behind him and surveyed his cluttered attic. “Bertrand is growing impatient,” he said.
“I know. As if I could not know when he comes up here banging on the door every other hour!” Georgiana complained. “Although I intended only to look at the older papers, I’ve been searching for some reference to the thief’s whereabouts in recent months, which is taking longer, naturally,” she explained.
“Is it?” her uncle asked, and Georgiana found herself flushing. “If you are researching your case, you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, my dear. But if you are simply burying yourself in my attic, hiding away from other things that are not so easily examined—”
“What tales has Bertrand been telling you?” Georgiana demanded, blushing. If her continued presence here was more palatable than a return to Bath and all the attendant folly there, then who could blame her for lingering? Somehow the urgency that had once pressed her to finish the case no longer drove her as forcefully, and her once-clear purpose was all mixed up with thoughts of the man who had begun to overshadow the investigation itself.
“He mentioned a certain marquis,” Silas said gently.
“My assistant!” Georgiana protested. “Ashdowne is my assistant, nothing more.” Glancing away from her uncle’s penetrating look, she picked up a paper and stared at it unseeing. Leave it to Silas to suddenly emerge from his scholar’s daze to query her when she least expected—or desired—such concern!
“Very well, then. But would you take a bit of advice from an old man?”
“Of course,” Georgiana said, feeling like a churl after all her great-uncle had done for her.
“Good,” he said with a gentle smile. “Don’t make the same mistake that I did and become so immersed in your studies and projects that you forget about people.”
When Georgiana looked at him blankly, he laughed softly. “I’ve had a good life, and I’ve enjoyed it, but your grandfather made the better choice. He had Lucinda and your mother and the grandchildren…” Silas trailed off with a wistful expression that surprised Georgiana.
“But they’re all so silly!” she protested.
Silas laughed again. “Ah, but family is family, no matter how silly, and a joy to an old man. If you bury your nose in books or newspapers or cases, you miss out on a lot of life,” he cautioned. “You’re a beautiful girl, Georgiana, and I wouldn’t want you to end up like me, all alone.” With that, he rose to his feet and headed toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your research, for now,” he said.
Georgiana stared after him, dumbfounded. She had certainly never thought Silas envious of her grandfather, especially since her grandfather had always complained about the children underfoot when they visited. She shook her head, rustling the paper in her lap. People were so difficult to understand, it was no wonder that she preferred hard facts.
That errant thought led, rather circuitously to Ashdowne, and Georgiana felt a pang of guilt for not being totally honest with her uncle. Ashdowne was more than just her assistant, but what? That was the question she had been trying to avoid, yet as if her very thoughts conjured his name, Georgiana focused on the page in front of her, where the marquis himself was mentioned.
“A certain Lady C—, well-known for her expertise in the card room, won a shocking amount of money from the marchioness of Ashdowne at Lady Somerset’s ball last evening. Her brother-in-law is presumed to stand good her vowels, while the young woman has left town the wiser.”
“Uncle! Listen to this!” she called, reading the report aloud to him as he stood in the doorway.
“Hmm. It appears that your assistant is well acquainted with Lady Culpepper’s rather dubious reputation.”
“Odd. He never said a thing about it,” Georgiana mused. He had never mentioned his sister-in-law, either, she thought with a frown. Would Ashdowne find it galling to pay a debt he had not incurred, especially when the lady in question was rumored to cheat at cards? Yet such losses were not uncommon, and perhaps the marquis would not notice even a “shocking” sum.
Georgiana fought against an oddly unsettled feeling, as if there was much more to be resolved between Ashdowne and herself than she had ever considered, and she knew a sudden urge to hear his comments on the matter. Instead of solving the case to her satisfaction, her days of study left her with a sense of unfinished business. But it was clear to her that staying here amid the old papers would see her no closer to the completion of her investigation. And it was time to quit hiding from herself.
“Wait for me, Uncle! I’m coming,” she called over her shoulder as she gathered up her lists and charts. She would need every bit of evidence to convince Mr. Jeffries that Savonierre was not only the thief, but The Cat himself. And she clung to her theory with a ferocity driven by desperation. It had to be Savonierre, Georgiana thought.
Anyone but Ashdowne.
Mindful of her uncle’s warning, Georgiana greeted her family with new enthusiasm, even though her sisters’ giggles grated upon her and she could hardly bear her father’s good-natured teasing. According to him, a certain marquis had been quite put out at her sudden departure from Bath, having called upon her more than once while she was gone. At this news, Georgiana was torn between elation and disbelief, for if Ashdowne was busy with his beautiful sister-in-law, why would he notice she was missing?
But he had noted her absence, for it wasn’t long after her return that he arrived to invite her to walk with him. Although outwardly as elegant and composed as always, Ashdowne was not himself, for Georgiana sensed something simmering beneath the surface of his polite expression, a tension that she had never seen in him before. Had he discovered some important clue while she was away? Or was this a final goodbye before he returned home with his sister-in-law?
Georgiana eyed him with some anxiety as they engaged in mindless conversation with her family, anticipation and dread warring within her. When at last they managed to escape her sisters, with her father’s rather obvious assistance, Georgiana wasn’t certain she wanted to be alone with her erstwhile assistant.
For a long while they walked in silence, making Georgiana wonder why he had called upon her. She was trying to gather her thoughts to say something—anything—when he finally spoke. “You might have told me you were leaving Bath,” he said, his harsh tone making the words sound like an accusation, and Georgiana blinked in surprise.
“I wanted to do some research at my great-uncle’s house,” she explained.
“The one who cannot be trusted to squire you about London?” Ashdowne questioned sharply.
“Well, yes, but we didn’t even leave the house. I spent the whole time going over old newspapers.”
“Old newspapers?” Ashdowne’s voice revealed his skepticism, and Georgiana was forced to stop and face him.
“Yes, old newspapers. What on earth has gotten into you?”
Far from showing chagrin at his behavior, Ashdowne’s dark brows lowered and his gorgeous mouth thinned. “I suppose I assumed I might be notified of your movements. As I recall, we were to meet in the Pump Room three days ago, but you never appeared. Did you consider that I might be worried about you?”
Georgiana colored, remembering her cowardice upon seeing him with his lovely relative. “Well, I…I didn’t really think you would notice,” she mumbled.
His dark brow shot up. “You didn’t think I would notice.” He spoke the words in a deathly calm manner, but Georgiana had the growing suspicion that he was angry, perhaps even furious. And she had once wondered what would incite him? Apparently, her failure to appear had loosed a temper she was unaware he possessed.
“I beg your pardon. I should have told you I was leaving, but the idea came upon me quite suddenly, you see,” she said, which was true. “I had the most amazing revelation about the case!”
Although she would not have thought it possible, his expression grew even more black. “The case!”
“Why, yes. It’s most thrilling, and I suppose I should have notified you at once, since you are my assistant—”
“Your assistant,” he echoed, his eyes glittering with a virulence Georgiana could not comprehend.
“Why, yes,” she said, unprepared for the raw emotion that seemed to emanate from him. Accustomed to dealing with facts and logic, she had only just begun to recognize her own feelings and was at a loss to understand Ashdowne’s sudden ferocity.
“Well, maybe I want to be more than your damned assistant. Maybe I’d like to be a man, for a change. Maybe…” Ashdowne turned away and threw up his hands. “Oh, hell. I don’t even know what I want. Since meeting you, I can’t think clearly!”
Georgiana blinked at his vehemence, though she shared the sentiment. But what did he mean about being a man? Wasn’t he going to aid her any longer? Taking him literally, she voiced her concern in tremulous accents. “Don’t you want to be my assistant?”
Ashdowne stared at her as if she had grown two heads, and then, as was his wont, he burst out laughing. “Lud, Georgiana, I don’t know whether to strangle you or drag you off to bed, but I’ve missed you.”
Georgiana’s heart swelled at his words, along with other parts of her body that took special note of his threat to drag her off to his bed? He stepped close, and Georgiana eyed him warily, mindful that they stood in full view of passersby. “Oh, Ashdowne, you shouldn’t say such things,” she murmured.
“Why not?” he asked, as he took her trembling fingers and placed them on his arm, leading her forward once more.
Because they make me want things I can’t have, Georgiana thought ruefully. “Because I can’t think when you do,” she said instead.
“And I can?” Ashdowne asked, lifting one dark brow.
“Of course, you can. I haven’t done or said anything to disturb you,” Georgiana protested in bewilderment.
“You don’t have to,” he muttered. “All you have to do is stand there and breathe.”
“Well, it seems we are in a quandary,” Georgiana said. Although oddly affected by his admission, she had no idea what he intended to accomplish with it. Like herself, he did not seem entirely at ease with her influence upon him.
“I see only one solution,” Ashdowne said, frowning as if considering something distasteful. “One way to assure that, in the future, you do not hare off to your uncle’s without telling me.”
“Now just a moment,” Georgiana protested. “I did not hare off. I was studying the case.” Disliking the scowl he wore and the words he used, she suddenly realized that he had not inquired at all about the investigation, and she lifted her chin. “Just in case you’re wondering, I made quite a breakthrough.”
“Really?” Ashdowne asked dryly, his tone reflecting frustration rather than enthusiasm.
“Yes, really. Of course, if you have no interest in the case any longer—” Georgiana began, only to be cut off by her companion, who halted his steps.
“Very well. Go ahead and impart this amazing discovery of yours before you burst,” he said.
With a smile, Georgiana leaned close to impart the information she had shared with no one. “I believe our thief is none other than The Cat!” she whispered, only to draw back in surprise.
Ashdowne, who so rarely revealed himself, gave her a startled look that bordered on horror.
“You have heard of The Cat?” Georgiana asked, puzzled.
“Of course, I’ve heard of The Cat,” Ashdowne said harshly. “But—”
“Then you must realize that his methods are exactly the same as those used in Lady Culpepper’s robbery,” Georgiana said.
“I hardly think—”
Georgiana, thrilled to be expounding her discoveries, didn’t let him finish. “He was never caught, you know, and I am convinced that he was but biding his time in the country, waiting to strike in a new location. And that location is Bath!” she concluded with a flourish. Breathlessly she waited for Ashdowne to wax eloquent over her cleverness, or at least evince his approval.
Contrary to Georgiana’s expectations, Ashdowne did not appear impressed. In fact, the elegant marquis scrubbed at his face with one gloved hand as if trying to awaken from a nightmare.
“Georgiana, you really don’t imagine Mr. Hawkins to be The Cat?” he asked her, his exasperation apparent.
“Oh, no!” she said. “I’ve found an even better suspect in Mr. Savonierre!” Georgiana explained triumphantly.
Unfortunately, Ashdowne didn’t share her enthusiasm. He stared at her, all expression leaving his face as it went rigid. “No.” He shook his head. “No, Georgiana. This has gone far enough.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, disappointed that he was not excited about her deductions. After all, it was not as though Mr. Jeffries had recognized the similarities between this case and those of The Cat. She alone had made the connection, and she wouldn’t mind receiving a pat on the back for her trouble. Instead, Ashdowne was glaring at her.
“It was bad enough when you were chasing after Whalsey and Cheever and that misguided vicar, but Savonierre is dangerous. You have to stop this nonsense right now,” he said, his generous mouth carved into a hard line.
“Nonsense?” Had he said “nonsense”? Was that really how he viewed her investigation? “What do you mean?” she demanded. “You asked me to take you on as my assistant, so I thought you were different from other men. Do not tell me that you are the same sort of condescending, overbearing male as the rest of your gender!”
“No, I’m not. I admire you, Georgiana. I do, but I think you are too clever for your own good. You cannot accuse the most powerful man in the country of pilfering jewelry!” Ashdowne said with a determined look that only outraged her further.
“And why not? I tell you that I spent days tracking his movements in old newspapers, and he was in the right place at the right time.”
“Georgiana, that means nothing,” Ashdowne said. “I’m sure there are a dozen members of the ton who attend the very same functions.”
“Actually, no,” Georgiana said, coming perilously close to losing her temper. Did he think she was stupid? “In fact, I noticed only two people who seemed to be where The Cat appeared most of the time. One was Mr. Savonierre, and the other was you.”
Ashdowne stared at her hard for a long moment before shrugging carelessly. “It is gratifying to know that my movements are followed with such enthusiasm by the newspapers. However, you should not believe everything you read,” he said in a dismissive tone. Before her eyes, he had seemingly transformed, turning back into the Ashdowne she had first met, aloof and forbidding.
“My dear girl, you are clever, but worldly unwise,” he added, his voice dripping with a contempt that belittled all of her skills in one breath. Dear girl? What happened to Georgiana, my sweet? she wondered, remembering with flaming cheeks the endearments he had once whispered to her.
“I really wouldn’t put too much stock in coincidental appearances reported by unreliable gossips,” he advised her in an arrogant fashion that made her want to smack his handsome face. “As for The Cat, he’s gone. Probably dead and buried, murdered in the act of thieving some trinket.” He paused to lift one dark brow. “Unless you know differently?”
“Of course, I can’t prove that he still lives, but neither can you convince me that he’s dead,” Georgiana said. She suddenly had the odd notion that she would know if so worthy an opponent no longer lived, and she rejected Ashdowne’s theory as easily as he had her own. Pausing to try to order her thoughts, she glanced up at him only to gape in total bafflement. “What is the matter with you?”
“I suppose I don’t like being accused of being a common thief,” he answered smoothly.
“The Cat is hardly a common cutpurse, and I’m not accusing you,” Georgiana said. “I told you that I think Savonierre is the guilty one.”
Far from appearing mollified, Ashdowne’s face grew even harder. “And I told you to leave him out of this,” he said, reaching out to grip her shoulder in a harsh grasp that made her gasp. “If you have to persist in this mystery solving, then find someone harmless with whom to play out your delusions. But stay away from Savonierre.”
Delusions? Shaking off the touch she had once longed for, that had once left her a dim-witted foil to his attentions, Georgiana tossed her curls. “You have no right to order me about!”
“Oh, don’t I?” Ashdowne demanded. Although he still wore the cool facade of the marquis, Georgiana caught a glimpse of the turmoil that lurked behind those startling blue eyes, and she could only stare at him, baffled by the changes in his demeanor. They were both so caught up in each other that neither one heard footsteps approach until it was too late.
“My, my, Ashdowne. Are you aware that you’re in public? I don’t know what you’re about, but it certainly appears to the casual onlooker that you’re intimidating a lady. I hesitate to interfere, but my gentlemanly honor requires that I intervene. Is there anything I can do, Miss Bellewether?”
Georgiana was so overwrought that it took her a moment to realize that her prime suspect stood before her, tendering his services. “Mr. Savonierre! You’re just the man I wanted to see!” she blurted out.
His lips curved slightly. “What a fortuitous coincidence. Shall we walk together, then?” he asked, holding out his arm to her.
Georgiana was so put out with her assistant that she nodded, thoroughly enjoying the expression of outrage on Ashdowne’s face that was quickly masked. Let him stew! He had no business telling her what she could do and treating her so poorly. She was sadly disappointed in him, as well as hurt by his behavior.
“Actually, Miss Bellewether and I were having a private conversation,” Ashdowne said, stepping forward as if to block their path.
Savonierre gave him a look of arch incredulity. Staring pointedly at the body that halted their progress, he made it clear that Ashdowne’s manners appalled him. “It appears that your conversation is over. Am I right, Miss Bellewether?”
“Yes,” Georgiana answered softly. She had nothing further to say to Ashdowne until he calmed down and began acting like himself. Although something flickered in his eyes at her breathless reply, she lifted her chin and turned back to Savonierre.
“Well, then, if you will excuse us, Ashdowne?” For a long moment, Georgiana thought that the marquis wasn’t going to move, that he might actually come to blows with Savonierre, and she immediately regretted her stance, but ever so slowly, with an insolence that astounded her, Ashdowne moved aside and bowed slightly, his gaze touching hers in mute accusation.
Although he was most certainly the villain in what had passed between them, Georgiana felt like crying. Instead, she tossed her curls and walked past him without a backward glance, determined to turn her thoughts back to the case and away from such messy things as the feelings that Ashdowne invoked in her.
“Actually, I can’t count it a coincidence that I chanced upon you, for I was searching for you.” Savonierre’s silky tones made Georgiana start, and she looked up at the man she had so blithely joined. His words were vaguely alarming, and though she tried not to show it, she sensed his awareness.
“I was wondering if you’ve learned anything new about Lady Culpepper’s robbery,” he explained, his lips curling slightly, as if he were amused by her wariness.
Only that you’re responsible, Georgiana thought, stifling an inappropriate giggle that rose in her throat. She shook her head, unwilling to lie outright, and tried to marshal her thoughts.
Savonierre was like Ashdowne in many ways, tall and dark and handsome, and with an innate sense of power that she supposed came with enormous wealth and noble relations. But there was a calculation in Savonierre that was not evident in Ashdowne, even at his worst. Ashdowne could be dangerous, she knew, for she felt it whenever his body tensed, as if every bit of him was alert and ready to pounce. But Savonierre oozed danger all the time, even in the most simple and innocent of situations, as if beneath that polished exterior lurked a primal animal searching for prey.
Perhaps it was the threatening posture that had made Georgiana uncomfortable in his presence long before she had laid the theft at his door. Or perhaps it was his intensity. Although Savonierre had never gaped at her bosom, Georgiana had the odd sensation that he could see beneath her clothes. His dark gaze was simply too piercing. Or perhaps it was his detachment. He was ever smooth, going through the motions of polite society when she had a notion that it meant nothing to him. Indeed, what would he care about? she wondered.
As if aware not only of her scrutiny but every thought in her head, Savonierre slowly turned toward her, a slight smile on his hard mouth. Georgiana’s palms began to sweat inside her gloves and she struggled to open her fan, her heart thumping out a warning. She had always taken the burglary very seriously, but now she felt its gravity in a way that she had never known when pursuing Whalsey or Hawkins. At last she spread her fan, and although she had never learned the intricacies of flirting with it, now she was heartily glad of the breeze it sent across her flaming cheeks.
“I take it the investigation is at a standstill, then?” Savonierre asked, smoothly persistent.
Georgiana stammered a reply as she tried to concentrate. Unfortunately, her mind, ever distracted by Ashdowne, kept harking back to their row instead of staying put on the case. Angrily determined not to waste this opportunity mooning over her assistant like some lovesick fool, she at last managed to come up with an idea. If only she could think of some way to turn the tables on Savonierre…
“Unless you know something that I don’t?” Georgiana asked, hoping to blame her shaky voice on the rough walkway as they turned toward the stone bridge that curved over the river.
Savonierre slanted her a questioning glance under his dark lashes, but Georgiana said no more. “Perhaps a visit to the scene might help,” he suggested. “In truth, I was seeking you out to invite you to a small rout Lady Culpepper is holding this evening. I was hoping that I might escort you and then perhaps we could discuss the theft in more detail.”
Savonierre acted as though the public streets did not provide enough privacy for such speech, and his attitude made her wary. But Georgiana could not deny a desire to see the house once more, especially with Savonierre giving her entrée. Perhaps she could even speak to the servants, she mused, as they strolled onto the bridge. “That would be lovely, thank you,”
“Very good. I will look forward to seeing you there, then,” he said, his considerable strength tugging her toward him as they neared the center of the stone span. Uncomfortable with such closeness, Georgiana tried to put more distance between them, but Savonierre held firm. Finally she managed to pull from his grasp, only to have the sudden movement throw her off balance. Wildly she flung out her arms and tried to regain her footing, but she seemed destined to fall headfirst into the river below until a strong hand pulled her back from the railing.
“Don’t get too close to the edge,” Savonierre warned her in a harsh voice, and Georgiana shook her head blindly. Had the man tried to push her off the bridge, or was he simply threatening her with that possibility? Like a cornered animal, she had to fight the urge to surrender all, blurting out her theories and apologizing for them before fleeing for her life.
It was only when she managed to finally look at her companion that Georgiana realized he was just as shaken as she was, if not more so. For once, the wealthy and powerful Savonierre appeared to have lost his poise. His face was white as a sheet, his mouth turned down as he took quick, shallow breaths, and Georgiana stared at him in amazement.
“I fear you’ve discovered my weakness,” he said as he visibly recovered himself, his expression once more one of cool detachment. “I have no love of heights,” he said curtly, replacing her hand upon his arm and leading them toward the shore.
Georgiana stumbled along beside him, her mind awhirl. The Cat afraid of heights? But that was impossible! He was known for his daring and agility! Georgiana wanted to argue with him, and her mixed feelings must have shown, for he turned his attention toward her, his dark gaze ominous.
“I trust that I can be assured of your confidence in this matter,” he said in a silky yet menacing voice. “I would hate to have to take action against so lovely a young lady,” he added, the threat implicit.
Georgiana nodded numbly, unsure whether to believe his confession or not. Savonierre was just clever enough to fabricate the falsehood in order to throw her off the track, but that would mean he knew she was aware of his identity. And how could he know? Fervently Georgiana wished that Ashdowne was not behaving so oddly, for she could well use his input.
The thought made her pause in horror, for if Savonierre really was afraid of heights, then she was left with but one man among her list of suspects: Ashdowne.