No Gentleman for Georgina Read Online Free PDF

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