The Widow Wager (32 page)
Authors: Jess Michaels
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #General
He tilted his head. “Do you? And what is that?”
She leaned closer and said, “The baby is coming in May of next year.”
He drew back, his heart leaping. “Baby? What baby?”
She didn’t answer, but just smiled and drew a hand across her belly. He stared into the eyes of this woman, his wife. He had never expected to find her, certainly never expected to want her and love her as deeply as he now did. What was equally shocking was how much he wanted the baby she had just revealed was coming. A child created from their love. A child who would carry his name and perhaps her eyes.
“Crispin?” she asked, her tone filled with concern. “Are you happy about this?”
“Happy?” he repeated on a laugh. Then he let out a bark of joy that shocked the entire table into silence. It was an amazing thing to realize his heart had never been so full. “I have never been so excited to meet another person in my life.”
The Notorious Flynns
The Other Duke
(Book 1)
The Scoundrel’s Lover
(Book 2)
The Ladies Book of Pleasures
The Pleasure Wars Series
Mistress Matchmaker Series
Albright Sisters Series
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Take a Sneak Peek at
No Gentleman for Georgina
Book 4 of the Notorious Flynns:
Paul Abbot had no idea why the Duke and Duchess of Hartholm continually insisted on inviting him to their balls and soirees. He had no title, little fortune and he 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 attendees to the ball 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 just 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 when he was invited to 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 in me. We were discussing the weather, of all things.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “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 over statement.
“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 a little. “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 little while since he will not be pleased by
any
action I do or do not take.”
Jess Michaels writes erotic historical romance from her home in Tucson, AZ. She has three assistants: One cat that blocks the screen, one that is very judgmental and her husband that does all the heavy lifting. She has written
over
50 books, enjoys long walks in the desert and once wrestled a bear over a piece of pie. One of these things is a lie.
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