No Gentleman for Georgina

by Jess Michaels

  If only his friend knew the truth. Paul could already hear Marcus’s voice ringing in his ears, lecturing him about how out of reach Georgina was and telling him to walk away. He pushed it aside, along with his own misgivings and stared, unblinking, at the servants’ entrance. Within a moment or two, the door slowly opened.

  He straightened and caught his breath as Georgina slipped into the darkness of the night. She was dressed as though she were going to a ball, in fine pale blue silk with her hair done perfectly. He stepped down from the phaeton and moved on her.

  She smiled through the dim moonlight. “I’m so glad you’re here. I feared you might have changed your mind.”

  “I would not,” he said softly, though in truth he had reconsidered this course of action dozens of times in the past few days. Everything in him knew this was a mistake and yet he was making it regardless.

  Seeing Georgina look up at him in excitement and pleasure was well worth it.

  “Shall we go?” he asked, motioning to Marcus’s rig.

  She nodded and took his hand for help up into the phaeton. As he touched her, a spark seemed to jolt through him. By God, but he wanted her. But he frowned for he knew that would never be.

  He joined her and flicked the reins so the horses would move, and they eased onto the street. It was late, so the roads were mostly quiet. Their only companions were the occasional rig bringing home revelers.

  They rode in silence for a bit, but then Paul sent her a look from the corner of his eye. “You look beautiful, Miss Hickson. Does that mean you had your maid help you? Can you trust her?”

  Georgina glanced over at him. “I do not think I could trust Molly, in truth. She would likely rush to tell my father all my sins if she knew about tonight. No, I prepared myself, Mr. Abbot.” He drew back in surprise and she laughed. “We ladies of the ton are not all so useless as you seem to think. And this dress fastens along the front, so that did make it easier to help myself.”

  He stifled a groan at the thought of Georgina fastening her dress. Of unfastening it and revealing all the creamy skin beneath.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “You made a very funny noise just then.”

  He nodded. “Very well, thank you.”

  “I want to thank you again for arranging for this,” Georgina said, clasping her hands before her. “You have no idea how I have been dancing around the house, looking forward to this night. At supper tonight, even Marcus and Annabelle commented on how I looked happier than I have in years. And it is all thanks to you, Paul. I mean, Mr. Abbot.”

  Paul stiffened at the sound of his name coming from her pink lips. As he turned the phaeton up a side street, he considered his options. Tonight was a stolen moment out of time, after all. Should he not take advantage?

  “You should call me by my first name if it pleases you,” he said. “We are not in company, after all.”

  She seemed to ponder that for a moment. “Very well, Paul. And you will call me Georgina, I hope. Miss Hickson has always seemed too formal to me.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. God, calling her Georgina was an exercise in pain. He wanted to whisper that name. Moan it. Taste it on his tongue even as he tasted her.

  This was most definitely a terrible mistake.

  They turned down the last street, and there was the Magnificent Mercura waiting for them at the end of the lane. Of course, at night, with its lamps extinguished and the streets empty, it looked far from Magnificent. It was just another drab building along the road, surrounded by other equally nondescript shops.

  “We will go around the back,” he explained as he guided the phaeton into the alleyway, “and the servant will let us in.”

  Georgina’s blush was obvious even in just the dim streetlamps. “Will—will this person recognize me?”

  He pulled the rig to a stop behind the building and turned to look at her full on. “I very much doubt it. After all, this is the servant of a woman who is treated as little more than a merchant in this country. If you walked into a store in Cheapside, someplace far from where you live, would you expect the shopkeep to know you?”

  She shook her head. “No, my family is certainly not so well-known that would happen. Perhaps they might know my uncle, the marquis, but even that would be questionable.”

  He nodded. “So you see, there is nothing to fear. And even if there was, I explained to Madame Tussaud—”

  Her eyes lit up. “You spoke to her?”

  He laughed at the thrill in her tone. “I did, Georgina. As I said, she sometimes frequents the Donville Masquerade. I explained to her some of the circumstances—without naming names—and she assured me she would send only her most discreet man to welcome us. He’ll let us in and then all but vanish until we leave and he locks the place back up. So you have nothing to fear.”

  She smiled, her gaze lingering on him. “When it comes to you, it seems that is very true. You think of everything.”

  He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with her rapt attention when he knew her feelings didn’t match his own. Without another word, he climbed down from the rig and around to her side where he took her hand and helped her from the high phaeton.

  He was about to release her hand, free himself from the heat and electricity that shot through him when he dared touch her, but she wouldn’t allow it. She grasped his hand with both hers and drew him closer.

  “I know I said it once, but I’ll say it again before we start. Thank you, Paul. Thank you so much.”

  He wanted to kiss her. A desperate, powerful desire that nearly overtook his reason as he stood staring down at her in the dark. He snatched his hand away and turned toward the door.

  “You’re welcome,” he muttered while he knocked.

  She said nothing as they waited for the servant, but the uncomfortable silence didn’t linger long. The door opened and a squat little man awaited them with a lantern in his hand.

  “You Abbot?” he asked, peering past Paul to Georgina.

  Paul nodded. “Indeed, I am. Are you Winston?”

  “Come in, come in. The treasures await you,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on a jolly, barker quality.

  Paul stepped aside and motioned for Georgina to go first. She kept her eyes averted from him as she did so. He could see his abruptness had hurt her feelings. But of course, had he followed through on his unforgivable desire to kiss her…well, she would have been more than just put out. She probably would have smacked him and run screaming into the dark to escape his unwanted advances.

  They followed Winston down a series of back hallways until he stopped at a tall door. He handed over the lantern to Paul with a smile.

  “Through here is the main foyer and where you will begin your tour,” he said. “I lit a few lamps here and there, but not many of them so we won’t attract interest from the street, you see. You’ll need to use the lantern to guide your way. Oh, but don’t lean it too close. Wouldn’t want to melt away some lord or lady’s face, would we?”

  He burst into a throaty, smoky laugh that brought smile to Georgina’s face.

  “No, that would be terrible,” she agreed, some of the humor back in her voice. “Will you be all right guiding yourself through the dark back here, Mr. Winston?”

  He chuckled again. “Me? I know these passages like the back of my hand, but thank you for your concern, miss. When you’re ready to leave, snuff out the candle by the main entrance. I can see that light from Madame’s office and I’ll know you’re ready to leave so I can guide you out through the maze. Enjoy yourselves.”

  He gave a tiny bow, clearly meant for her, and then scuttled away back into the dark, leaving Paul and Georgina alone. Paul smiled at her, hoping to reassure her after he’d hurt her feelings. “Are you ready?”

  Her grin was back, lighting up her already pretty face, but giving it more joy and animation. “I am so very, very ready!”

  He waited no more, but opened the se
cret side door into the foyer. He allowed her to enter first, holding the lantern high as she slipped past him, leaving a trail of soft, sweet scent in her wake. Paul drew a deep breath of it before he followed her in.

  She came to a stone stop, her hands clasped at her breast as she stared around the first room. There were only a few figures here, but Georgina stared at them with a focused attention and wonderment that Paul could not help but smile over. She was so utterly enchanted and enchanting.

  And in that moment, he had never been happier that he had broken out of the normal regime of his life and taken her here. Even if it was only a stolen moment in time, he would take it and savor it and live it over and over later.

  Georgina could scarcely breathe as she stepped up to yet another fine figure that Madame Tussaud had labored over. Paul stood behind her, holding up the lantern for her, just as he had been with all the figures in the foyer and into this second display room.

  “How can they be so lifelike?” she whispered as she reached her hand out. But she stopped before she could touch, unwilling to ruin the artwork with her fingers.

  “Years, decades of practice in her art,” Paul said softly. “She made the death masks from the Revolution, you know.”

  She nodded. “I read that somewhere. What a sad and beautiful duty to perform, capturing the last moment of someone’s life, especially after such a violent end. It must have been horrible for her.”

  Paul said nothing, and even though Georgina continued to stare at the figure before her, she winced slightly. He must think her very silly if the way he jerked away from her earlier or how he grew silent when she prattled on were any indications.

  She stepped forward in the room. At the end were two signs, one pointing right, the other left.

  “If we go right, we can see those famous death masks,” she said. “Left takes us to the East India Company. Which would you prefer?”

  She turned to receive his answer, but found Paul standing stock still, the lantern in his hand trembling ever so slightly as he stared at the sign she had just read. He said nothing, but slowly turned to the left and walked away.

  She followed him, confused by the sudden change in his expression, his demeanor.

  “Mr. Abbot?” she asked as he stopped in front of a tableau of several East India Company troops. He said nothing. “Paul?” she asked, this time softer.

  His hand continued to shake as he lifted the lantern and leaned in to the figures. His face was very pale and his eyes spoke of a sadness, a depth of loss that made Georgina’s chest hurt as she stared at him.

  Perhaps she should have stepped away, left him to ponder these figures alone. But there was something in her that would not allow that. Instead, she leaned forward and touched his forearm.

  “Paul, what is it? What troubles you so?”

  He jolted a bit at the contact and turned his face to look at her. There was a hollow quality to his eyes that even in the dim light was obviously caused by some deep pain.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, moving to turn away.

  She could have let him go, but she didn’t. “Please,” she whispered. “You are obviously upset by this exhibit. Won’t you tell me why?”

  He seemed to struggle with that question for a long moment, then he nodded. “Very well. I-I’m sure you don’t know, but I once served with the East India Company.”

  She drew back. “You did? Marcus has never said anything about it.”

  “He may not know, we have never spoken about it,” Paul said with a shrug. “I joined when I was but sixteen. It was a way to escape the life I was born into.” He looked at her for a long time. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  She flinched. “Perhaps not the circumstances, as I suppose you believe I have never encountered hardship. But as far as wishing to escape the life I was born into, I believe I understand that somewhat. But to be so young…”

  “I was not the youngest, I assure you. At first, it was all fun and adventure. Oh, it was blasted hot, of course, and sometimes unpleasant, but mostly I loved every moment. Then there was a cholera outbreak and we lost sixty percent of our group.”

  “Oh, Paul.”

  “I watched men die terrible deaths. I waited to be stricken, and I was. But I survived.” He shook his head. “The year I turned twenty I was shot during a skirmish to gain control over a little corner of land that would make a trade route easier.”

  “Paul!” she gasped, her grip on his arm tightening out of reflex. “How badly were you hurt?”

  “I nearly lost my arm,” he admitted, his tone dull. “And I was sent back to London where I had nothing. For a year I drank and lost myself and suffered the pain of the injury. But then I met Marcus, and here we are. But looking at these uniforms…” He shook his head as he turned away. “It is like going back in time.”

  She stepped in front of him, watching his face. She had never seen him like this, so open, so emotional. Normally, he kept himself in the deepest, most severe check, never allowing emotion to bleed through. But he could not cover the pain of his memories now.

  She lifted her hand and gently cupped his cheek, stroking her fingers over the skin.

  “I cannot imagine what it must have been like. Did you have no one to talk to about it?”

  He was staring at her now, his focus shifted from the past to her face. And a new expression joined whatever pain he had shown her. But she couldn’t name it. All she could see was that it was hot and focused and made her stomach flip in a most pleasant fashion.

  “No,” he whispered. “No one knows what happened to me. You are the first soul I have ever spoken to.”

  “And your arm?”

  “My shoulder still hurts from time to time.” He rotated it with a slight wince. “But I am a whole man, if that is what you are asking me.”

  She swallowed. There was such a tension between them now that she could hardly breathe. Hardly think. Instead, she whispered, “Paul…”

  He let out a low moan and moved even closer to her. They were almost touching now, she was almost in his arms.

  “Say my name again and I may not be able to stop myself,” he whispered, his voice painfully rough.

  She blinked, not understanding, and yet her body reacting in ways she did not control. She felt hot, so hot, and she was trembling as she slowly wet her dry lips and said, “Stop yourself from what?”

  He leaned away, watching her face with an intensity that made her shake. “Georgina,” he whispered. “You must know that I have—I have feelings for you.”

  Chapter Five

  The moment those horrible words of confession fell from his lips, Paul wished he could take them back. Especially when Georgina’s expression twisted into one of utter shock. He had gone too far, let his emotional response to the East India Company figures and the memories they inspired make him lose his faculties.

  Georgina was kind to him, but there was nothing more there. And now he had ruined everything between them.

  “Georgina,” he began, intent on apology and minimization of this foolish mistake.

  But before he could continue, she shocked him by launching herself forward into his arms. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and she kissed him.

  For a fraction of a moment, he could only register surprise. Georgina was a proper lady in all things—and this reaction was anything but proper. But that surprise faded at the innocent ardor of her kiss, and he couldn’t resist what she offered.

  His arms came around her. He cupped the back of her head gently, angling her for better access, and returned the kiss. At first it was chaste and closed-mouthed, but her lips were too soft, her breath too sweet, and he couldn’t help himself. He had to taste her.

  He darted his tongue out, tracing the crease of her lips. When she gasped, he took the opportunity and slid inside. She stiffened only for a flash and then relaxed, first letting him slide his tongue over hers, then tentatively returning the passion in his kiss.


  She was so innocent and yet she learned quickly, and soon she was delving into exploration with as much fervor as he felt. And it was too much temptation, too much desire that she stoked in him. He felt his cock beginning to swell, his blood beginning to boil, everything in his mind and body demanding that he strip her propriety away and claim her in some way.

  He couldn’t claim. That would be desperately unfair to her. But couldn’t he give pleasure? Couldn’t he have that small boon to cling to later when Georgina had married some proper man and she would likely not even be allowed to call him friend? That time was coming, he knew it, and he wanted this stolen night to give him comfort when it was all over.

  He slowly guided her back, toward an exhibit where an elegantly dressed wax figure stood beside a velvet settee. When he lowered her to the seat, she didn’t resist. Her kiss didn’t slow, she didn’t pull away. In fact, she let out a low, needy moan that made his cock even harder.

  He knelt beside her as she reclined and slowly let one hand roam down her collarbones, her chest, until he gently cupped her left breast. When he did so, Georgina gasped and finally broke their kiss. She looked up at him in the dim light, her eyes wild and filled with both confusion and need.

  “Paul?” she whispered, her voice harsh and broken.

  He stared into her eyes, those beautiful dark blue eyes that had captivated him from the very first moment he’d met her two years before. “Do you want me to stop?”

  He prayed she would say no. And that silent prayer was answered. She slowly shook her head. “It feels—it feels good when you touch me,” she admitted.

  He groaned, aroused even further by the response. Some women would have done that on purpose, but it was the fact that Georgina didn’t know how stimulating her words were that made them even more so.

  “I won’t do anything that will…ruin you,” he promised.