No Gentleman for Georgina Read online

  No Gentleman for Georgina

  (The Notorious Flynns Book 4)

  By

  Jess Michaels

  No Gentleman for Georgina

  The Notorious Flynns Book 4

  Copyright © Jesse Petersen, 2015

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information, contact Jess Michaels

  www.AuthorJessMichaels.com

  PO Box 814, Cortaro, AZ 85652-0814

  To contact the author:

  Email: [email protected]

  Twitter www.twitter.com/JessMichaelsbks

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/JessMichaelsBks

  Jess Michaels raffles a FREE Kindle or Amazon gift certificate EVERY month to members of her newsletter, so sign up on her website:

  http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/join-the-jess-michaels-newsletter/

  For Grace Callaway, Delilah Marvelle, Heather Boyd, Vicki Lewis Thompson and all the other authors who looked me in the eye and said, “Leap!” Having you to keep me company as I built my wings has been fantastic.

  And to Michael, master craftsman and repairer of wings. And holder of my heart while I tumble.

  Chapter One

  Paul Abbot had no idea why the Duke and Duchess of Hartholm insisted on inviting him to their balls and soirees. He had no title, little fortune and was nothing more than the manager at their brother-in-law’s notorious club.

  But perhaps that was the answer. His employer’s new family, the Flynns, were welcoming to all comers, and for some reason he had been swept up in their wake. But he knew his place even if they pretended not to do the same.

  And so he stood as far to the back of the ballroom as he could, watching the partygoers swirl by in their foppery and finery. He sipped his one and only drink for the evening and all but forced himself not to look at the pocket watch tucked in his jacket.

  “Counting the moments until you can flee is not good manners,” he murmured to himself as he stifled a yawn. There was nothing here to tempt him.

  Nothing but…

  The moment his mind began that errant thought, his gaze slid across the room and landed squarely on the one and only temptation London Society had ever held for him.

  Miss Georgina Hickson stood on the other side of the room. And she was beautiful, just as she was always beautiful. Her dark blonde hair was fixed so that it framed her oval face perfectly, accentuating high cheekbones and full, rosy lips. He had wondered, more than once, how those lips would taste. Her bright blue eyes were expressive as she chatted with her companions.

  Companions who were all men.

  His heart sank. Georgina never seemed to be short of partners at the events they mutually attended. Paul held his breath every day when he looked at the notices in the Times, waiting to see an announcement of her impending nuptials to the Earl of Very Important Things or the Duke of So Far Above Paul Abbot.

  As if she sensed his stare on her, she suddenly looked across the room. Her gaze locked on him and her smile broadened. His heart stuttered and he forced himself to smile back, to lift a hand in a polite wave.

  She returned it, then spoke to her companions once more before she began to come across the room toward him.

  Paul held his breath as he watched her approach. He had less than thirty seconds to give himself the same talk he always did when Georgina came near. The talk that reminded him that when they had been introduced at a party to celebrate the shocking marriage of his employer, Marcus Rivers, and Georgina’s good friend Annabelle Flynn two years ago, that Georgina had only been polite to talk to him. That it was her continued politeness which drove her to carry on their odd friendship all these years later.

  She was a nice girl and she had to recognize just how out of place he was at these gatherings. Beyond that, her interest in him was less than nothing.

  “Mr. Abbot,” she said, that beautifully melodious voice washing over him like a soothing rain after a too-hot day. “I did not know you were in attendance or I would have sought out your company sooner.”

  He swallowed hard and found his voice. “You seemed quite enthralled—I would not have pulled you away from your companions.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at her circle of men. “Them? Not enthralled, I assure you, nor they with me. We were discussing the weather, of all things.” She rolled her eyes. “I cannot tell you how utterly uninterested I am in the Almanac’s predictions for this year’s rainfall.”

  He laughed. “That does sound rather dull.”

  “So in a way, you saved me,” she said with another of those dazzling smiles. “I am most obliged.”

  “At your service,” he said with a stiff bow that brought a twinge of pain to his shoulder. Pain he had been ignoring for well over a decade and intended to continue ignoring now.

  “How are you, then?” she asked. “I feel like I have not seen you in an age. I always look forward to your company when I visit Annabelle and Marcus’s home.”

  Paul shifted. He wished he could say the same to her, but from his lips those words would be a desperate confession versus her polite overstatement.

  “With Rivers spending more time at home, we do often conduct our business there.” He smiled.

  “It must be rather thrilling, running such a successful establishment.”

  His smile slowly faded. Being an innocent, Georgina had no idea the truth about the club he managed. The Donville Masquerade, Rivers’ den of sex and gambling, would horrify her if she ever did discover the reality of it.

  “Sometimes I think I should sneak a visit there, perhaps convince Annabelle to allow it,” she said with a light laugh.

  Paul stiffened at the idea of Georgina there. Of watching her watch the debauched acts. Despite himself, his cock began to swell at the thought and he fought for the control he always held over himself before he said, “I doubt your father would approve of such a plan, Miss Hickson.”

  She shrugged, but the light in her eyes dimmed. “My father approves of so little I do anymore, Mr. Abbot. It makes me wonder if I should not try to please myself for a while since he will not be pleased by any action I do or do not take.”

  Paul took a step toward her even though it was improper to do so. He couldn’t help it. Although Georgina rarely made comments like that one to him, he had watched her struggle with her family’s increasing frustration at her lack of a marriage over the years. He wanted to comfort her somehow. Honestly, he wanted to know how the men of the ton had been so stupid as to not snatch her up already.

  But before he could say anything, her face went pale and her eyes suddenly focused on a spot behind him.

  “Georgina,” came the sharp voice of none other than her father. Paul turned and gave a formal nod to the man, which was, as always, ignored. “Come, our presence is required elsewhere.”

  Georgina’s lips pursed together, but she did not argue. She slowly moved away to her father’s side. She turned back before they walked away. “Good evening, Mr. Abbot. I’m sorry we didn’t get to speak further.”

  “Good night, Miss Hickson,” he said as she began to disappear into the milling crowd once more.

  The fact that she was lost to him within a moment of leaving his side was practically a metaphor, and he downed the rest of his drink in a swig.

  “Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself as he set the empty glass aside to be collected by a servant at some point. “Whatever you wish would happen never will.”

  But even as he forced himself to move, find
his hosts and excuse himself for the evening to get back to work, he realized that what he told himself would never change how he felt. It was impossible to change the desires that boiled inside of him. Desires that would remain forever unfulfilled.

  Georgina winced as her father guided her into one of the Duke of Hartholm’s private rooms and shut the door with a loud click. As he turned, she braced herself for the barrage of scolding bound to come, and he did not disappoint.

  “What are you thinking?” he snapped.

  She took a long breath. “About what, specifically?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “No sass, now. You know what I’m talking about.”

  She turned her face, because, of course, she did know exactly what had upset her father this time. It was a subject that always caused consternation between them. Still, she shrugged. “I’m afraid I’m not certain what sin I have committed, Papa. You will have to clarify.”

  “Don’t be daft,” he said with a shake of his head. “We have talked about this many times. You had no reason to be standing in the middle of a crowded room with Paul Abbot.”

  Georgina walked away from him, wringing her hands. Her father had been haranguing her about Paul since the very first night she met him two years ago. He was not rich, and more importantly, he was not titled, so in her father’s mind, there was no need for further discussion.

  What he didn’t know, what he didn’t understand, was that in a room full of people Georgina had been fighting to impress for what would soon be four long Seasons, Paul never made her feel unworthy, or unwanted, or unpretty. When she talked to him, the time flew by. He was comfortable, he was wildly attractive, he was…he was…Paul. After she was with him, all she could think about were his soulful brown eyes, all she could wonder about was if his crisp, short brown hair was soft to the touch.

  But she couldn’t say that, for if her father knew the tender feelings the man inspired in her, he would likely forbid her not just from seeing him again, but from seeing Annabelle Rivers, Serafina Flynn, Gemma Flynn and Gemma’s sister Mary, too. The Flynn wives and daughters had become the best friends she’d ever had.

  “Mr. Abbot and I are friends, Papa,” she said softly, hoping the gentling of her tone would lead to something similar in his.

  Instead her father threw up his hands in something akin to disgust. “The man’s ‘friendship’ can do nothing for you. And perhaps if you were not so blasted distracted by this…this…bourgeois club manager, you would have earned your title last Season.”

  Georgina flinched. Her father hadn’t always been so harsh with her. But the longer she remained on the marriage mart, the more intrusive and angry he became. She felt his disappointment and sometimes his disdain grow with each passing unsuccessful ball and soiree.

  “I’m sorry I’ve let you down, Papa,” she said softly.

  He ignored her comment, or perhaps he had gotten so worked up, he didn’t even hear it. “I will not see you destroy this new Season in the same way. You will not have many more chances, Georgina, and I tell you, you won’t be wasting your time on unsuitable activities or men.”

  Georgina bit the inside of her mouth until she could taste blood. Oh, she talked a very brave game with Paul about doing what pleased her. And she had equally daring thoughts when it came to what she wanted. But she was too cowardly to actually follow through on any of that.

  She pursed her lips and took a deep, cleansing breath before she said, “I promise you, Papa, I am as driven to succeed this year as you are.”

  And she was. To have been out for almost four years with no results wasn’t only humiliating—it was exhausting. She had to be so perfect, so right, to follow so many rules. And the longer it went on, the more likely it became that she would be relegated to spinsterhood. A thought that gave her a shudder.

  “I hope so,” he said as he moved for the door. There he looked back at her. “I know I sound severe, but trust that I have your best interests at heart. I’ll allow you a moment to gather yourself before you return to the ballroom.”

  He left her, and she sagged. In truth, she did think her father wanted the best for her. He was severe about it—he was sometimes very cold about it—but in his mind, he was trying to ensure her future.

  Only the older she got, the longer she knew Paul and the more she saw her friends marrying men they truly loved, the more she had begun to question the future her father foresaw for her.

  But there were things no one could ever change. She was foolish to hope for more when it was very likely more would never come.

  Chapter Two

  Georgina looked up from the paper and could hardly contain her excitement. “Papa, did you read the news?”

  Her mother and father had been talking, but now both shifted their attention to her. “What news?” her mother asked.

  “Madame Tussaud’s traveling wax exhibit is back in London after years touring the countryside,” she said, turning the paper so they could see the advertisement. “I hadn’t realized it returned a few months ago, but with everyone coming to Town for the Season, they’re doing a special showing with new figures.”

  Her mother’s eyes, dark blue like her own, suddenly filled with worry, and her father’s face drew down with a frown.

  Georgina rushed to avoid the refusals that were clearly on their lips, hoping she could find a way to convince them. “I’ve always wanted to see the figures,” she said. “You know that many very important people have posed for Madame. Even the titled.”

  Her mother shot a side glance at her father before she answered Georgina. “I think I recall you asking to see the exhibit when it first came to London. You were less than ten, and of course we couldn’t allow it.”

  Her father snorted out a derisive laugh. “Just as we won’t allow it now, Eugenia.”

  Georgina sucked in a breath. “Oh, Papa! You know her figures are all the rage.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Many things are the ‘rage’, Georgina. Many very inappropriate things that could damage you.”

  “Papa, I’m not asking if I may ride astride in Hyde Park,” she argued. “This is art! No one could think that it would be inappropriate to—”

  “The very idea of it is garish and disgusting,” her father interrupted with a wave of his hand. “It is one thing to go look at a pretty portrait in the gallery or to learn needlepoint, but to take death masks of those who were killed in the Revolution? Or to mold a woman’s body out of wax and dress it up? That is not art, Georgina. And I shall not have my daughter taking any part in it.”

  Georgina pushed the paper aside, frustration mounting in her. Hadn’t she done everything her father had asked of her over the years? Hadn’t she primped and prepared and said yes when she meant no and danced with men with bad breath only because someone called them “my lord”? Why couldn’t he allow her this one pleasure?

  “Papa,” she began. “Please, you must listen to me—”

  “I said no and that is the end of it,” he said, slapping a hand down on the table.

  She turned to her mother, hoping to find an ally, but she merely shook her head gently and Georgina slumped in her chair. It seemed she was destined to be stuck in the life her parents designed for her. There would not even be release for a little diversion like seeing the wax exhibit.

  She took the section of the paper with the advertisement for Madame Tussaud’s exhibit and quietly excused herself from the table. And tried very hard, as she trod up the stairs to her chamber, not to cry with disappointment that seemed to mount each day.

  Paul sat at the desk in Marcus’s study, looking over paperwork his employer had asked him to review that afternoon. They had once held these meetings in the office above the main room of the hell Marcus owned, but in the two years since Marcus’s marriage to Annabelle, Paul had found himself in their home more and more. And there he was witness to the loving bond that was shared between husband and wife.

  On one hand, he was truly h
appy for his friend. Marcus had helped him in ways the other man probably didn’t even realize, and seeing him content as he was pleased Paul. But it was also a form of torture. Marcus and Annabelle’s sideways stares and lingering touches only illustrated just how alone in the world Paul was.

  He shook his head and pushed the chair away from the desk. He was being maudlin, something that was bound to happen when he spent too much time poring over figures. And since Marcus had slipped from the room half an hour before, Paul hadn’t even had someone to talk to in the hopes he could clear his mind.

  He moved to the sideboard to pour himself tea, but as he neared the door, he heard voices in the hallway. Female voices, lifting and falling as if there was an argument happening. Curious and needing to stretch his legs, he stepped into the hallway and came to a short stop as he found Annabelle standing in the foyer with Georgina.

  The women were so involved in talk that for a moment they didn’t notice him. He couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but Georgina was speaking rapidly, her face and tone revealing her upset, and she was waving around what looked like a piece of newspaper.

  He should have simply turned around and walked back to the study to complete his work. But seeing Georgina here was too strong a draw. He found himself walking toward the women, his legs moving almost without his permission.

  As he entered the foyer, he heard Annabelle say in a soothing tone, “Dearest, please, you are making no sense at all. You must calm yourself and come with me. We’ll sit down and have tea and work out whatever is wrong—”

  At that moment, he cleared his throat and both women jumped as they realized his presence. Georgina’s face went bright red and she shoved the torn paper in her hands down into the reticule dangling from her wrist.