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 itself. When it did not, she turned to her daughter.
“Lovely girl, but not too graceful, I fear.” Her father’s booming voice made Georgiana grimace, as did the titters of her sisters. Must her whole family make so much of this?
“Are you all right, Miss Bellewether?” As if things were not bad enough, Mr. Nichols had found her again. And how could he not, considering the spectacle she had made of herself? “I say, one can hardly move in this dreadful squeeze, and to clutter the floor with obstacles…” He shook his head, his gaze drifting down her wrinkled clothes to her ankle. Hastily Georgiana smoothed her gown and sighed as her mother urged her to a nearby chair and Mr. Nichols forced upon her the ice that was now sadly warm.
While they fussed, Georgiana fought the urge to leap to her feet and flee their attentions. Worse yet, she felt as if all eyes in the room were upon her—a terrible prospect for someone who was trying to be unobtrusive. She had bungled royally—and just when she was finally hearing something interesting.
Scowling with exasperation, Georgiana waved her mother away and searched the crowd for any sign of Lord Whalsey and his cohort, but all she saw was Ashdowne. Although he appeared to be speaking with the hostess, his eyes were on her, his mouth curved in condemnation as if he held her entirely responsible for the recent debacle.
Botheration! She had not asked for his help, nor had she even seen him tendering it, so he could hardly blame her if his efforts went awry. She would have done better without him, she thought, her cheeks flaming, and she had a notion to tell him so, but her opportunity for dialogue had once again slipped away. And it was all her own fault!
A Bow Street Runner would not have gaped like a schoolroom miss at a pretty visage, but would have made the most of the chance encounter, asking Ashdowne what he was doing in Bath, judging his answers and slyly maneuvering him into an admission of…something. Georgiana wasn’t sure what exactly, but she was determined to find out.
She glanced toward the subject of her musings and nearly started in surprise, for he was gone once again, Lady Culpepper now being deep in conversation with a turbaned matron. Amazed, Georgiana blew out a breath, disturbing one of her curls, and shook her head. The man seemed to appear and disappear in an instant, and she decided it was a good thing she was not given to whimsy, or she might suspect him of preternatural abilities.
“…like limpid pools.” The sound of Mr. Nichols’s voice brought her attention back to him, and, pasting a smile upon her face, Georgiana tried to show more forbearance than was her wont. She managed the task for a few minutes before abandoning her efforts and excusing herself.
Telling her mother that she needed to freshen up after the mishap, Georgiana instead roamed the room looking for Whalsey and Cheever, to no avail. When she caught a glimpse of Mr. Hawkins bearing down upon her with grim intent, she fled out into the garden, where she breathed a deep sigh of relief.
The night air was scented with the spring flowers that lined secluded walkways, lit only by the glorious display of stars overhead. Another young lady might have found magic in the evening, but not Georgiana. She wondered who was out there in the darkness. Had Whalsey and his cohort adjourned to a more private location to discuss their suspicious business? Only Georgiana’s innate good sense prevented her from indulging her curiosity and slipping onto the paths herself.
With a sigh, she cursed the gender that made her prey to the designs of men and subject to the confining strictures of society. A Bow Street Runner could easily go wherever he wanted, whether a midnight garden or the seediest neighborhood in London. Ah, what a wonderful life, she thought, never pausing to wonder how such a fellow would manage to gain entry to a party such as this one. She spent long, delightful minutes enjoying the illustrious career that could have been hers, if only she had been born a man.
Georgiana might have remained there forever, lost in pleasant musings, if not for a loud giggle that erupted behind one of the nearby shrubs. With a sigh, she decided it was time to return to the party before she saw the kind of assignation that was of no interest to her—the romantic sort. No doubt her mother was searching for her, for it was growing late, and the rather staid Bellewether party would be heading home soon.
With one last glance at the dark lawn, Georgiana turned and slipped through the French doors into the reception room, prepared to find her family, when a bloodcurdling scream rent the air. Stunned, she turned toward the sound and caught sight of the hostess, Lady Culpepper, rushing down the main staircase, accompanied by the turbaned matron she had seen earlier.
Both women looked distraught, and Georgiana hurried forward. She reached the bottom of the steps just in time to hear the turbaned woman babble something about a necklace, and then the cry went up, carried through the crowd faster than any wildfire: ”Lady Culpepper’s famous emeralds have been stolen.”
As news of the theft flew through the reception room, the rest of the house and, presumably, all of Bath, Georgiana, who had refused to budge until she heard the whole of it, was privy to the first breathless report of the turbaned woman she later identified as Mrs. Higgott.
Weeding through the babbling to the bare facts of the matter, Georgiana learned that the two women had been discussing Lady Culpepper’s jewelry when Mrs. Higgott expressed admiration for the emerald necklace, well-known among the ton as the pride of her collection. Lady Culpepper, either graciously or vainly, offered to show off the piece and the two went to her bedroom, where they found the jewel case open upon the bed, the piece in question gone and the window open.
Since a servant had been stationed in the hall outside the door all evening, it was assumed that the thief somehow managed to scale the side of the building, a feat that engendered nearly as much talk as the burglary itself. Although Georgiana forced her brother Bertrand to accompany her
