Forever and a Day (18 page)

He yanked his arm from hers. “I just have one last point to make, dearest.” Rounding John fast, Robinson took advantage of his hunched position by grabbing hold of his shoulders and shoving John straight down toward the pavement in full force. “
That
is for watching us, you prick.”

John stumbled to the ground, catching himself with his bloodied hands. Collapsing against the pavement, he rolled onto his back and choked up at him, “She deserves far more respect than you’ve been giving her…and you know it. You know it.”

Robinson’s chest knotted with regret. Though a vicious and dark part of him wanted to send a double fist crashing down into that sniveling face and into his gut, he knew John was right. Georgia did deserve far more than he’d been giving her. She deserved her field, she deserved her apple trees and, above all, she deserved a man who knew his own goddamn name.

Rounding John and the pavement, he gently took Georgia’s hand and kissed it, wordlessly leading her down the street, their movements echoing in the darkness. Whoever the hell he really was, and whatever the hell his reasons for originally engaging her on the street had been, he only hoped he was worthy of Georgia.

R
OBINSON
SAT
QUIETLY
IN
Georgia’s dimly lit kitchen, fingering the scrap of linen she’d resoaked in whiskey and rewrapped around his hand. Though the wound no longer bled after the blow he’d delivered to John, it still stung. Christ help him if he really did have a wife. Or…children. Oh, God. What if he had children?

Georgia reappeared in the doorway of the low closet, her slim body outlined by the glow of the oil lamp she had lit beside her bed. “Robinson?”

He glanced up and drew in a breath, noting that she wasn’t wearing a corset
or
a chemise beneath that thin linen nightdress. Through the wavering light filtering from her room, he could see the outline of breasts and nipples, slim thighs and sinewy limbs peering out through the sheer, plain cotton that swept down to the floor.

He met her gaze, trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed her near-nudity, even though every muscle in his body roared with tension. “Yes?”

She leaned her braided hair against the frame of the door. “You were rather soft on John. Considerin’. I’m impressed.”

“He was drunk,” he muttered, lowering his gaze.

She sighed and tapped on the door. “Remove your clothes, save your undergarments, and get into bed. I’ll not let you sleep in that chair another night. The bed is small, but there’s more than enough room for the both of us.”

He shook his head. “The chair is fine.”

“Robinson—”

“No. The chair is more than fine.”

She bit her bottom lip before dragging it loose to say, “You need better rest than what you’ve been gettin’.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She leaned against the doorway, swinging out playfully toward him, those small breasts jiggling beneath the fabric of her nightdress. “We’ll keep it respectable and only sleep. I promise.”

He averted his gaze from those breasts he wanted to cup. The damned woman didn’t even realize that everything about her made him want to toss the last of whatever gentlemanly ways he had.

Robinson removed his boots and let them thud against the floorboards. “I am not getting into that bed with you, Georgia.”

Leaning far back against the chair, he crossed his arms, stretching the rough, yellowing linen of his shirt. “You and I should not touch again. Not until my mind is what it should be. My own.”

She tsked, her nose crinkling. “You really need sleep.”

He glared at her. “What if I’m married, Georgia? What if I have a house full of children and have yet to know it? What becomes of
this
or of
them?
By God. I have knowingly made a whore of not only
you
but
myself
.”

Her grin faded. “Is that what’s been weighin’ on you?”

“What sort of man goes pounding a woman into a wall, only to then almost break a man’s skull?”

She shook her braided head. Padding over to his chair, she leaned over and kissed his cheek soundly with soft, warm lips. The stinging scent of lye and starch still clung to her skin after their long day of laundry.

“Should you change your mind and wish to sleep on the straw mattress beside me,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his cheek, “I’ll not think any less of you. In my eyes, you will always be a gentleman worth knowin’ and havin’.”

Brushing her roughened fingers alongside the curve of his unshaven face, which caused his body and his jaw to tighten, she straightened and lingered. “Is there anythin’ else botherin’ you? Be honest.”

He glanced up at her. After a long moment, he asked, “What happened to you at the dancing hole? Why is it John knows and I don’t?”

She quietly stepped back, her features tightening. “I’d prefer to tell you another time. All right?”

“Do you not want me asking?”

“Nah. ’Tis all right to ask and I’m glad you did. I’m just not in the mood to cry.” She lowered her gaze, fingering the waistline of her nightdress. “Set aside whatever guilt you feel about tonight and know that waltz made me forget for one beautiful moment that I’d ever danced with any man but you. Somethin’ I never thought possible after my Raymond. So thank you for that. I needed to know that I could move on and leave him behind. And tonight, I got my answer.” She blinked rapidly, nodded and padded her way back into the closet. “Good night.”

“Good night, Georgia.” He swallowed, tilting his head back against the hard wood of the chair, and squeezed his eyes shut. Something kept chanting that time was ticking toward his departure, calling his mind out of the void and into a different reality.

Part Two

CHAPTER TEN

Scarcely knowing where he was, or what to believe,
for a few moments Verezzi stood bewildered,
and unable to arrange the confusion
of ideas which floated in his brain…

—Percy Bysshe Shelley,
Zastrozzi: A Romance
(1810)

A
RAPID
POUNDING
AGAINST
the entrance door startled Robinson into bolting up out of the chair and onto his feet. He staggered, all of the muscles in his shoulders and thighs tightly knotted and sore from sleeping in an awkward position. He winced and then groaned, knowing he couldn’t keep living like this. He’d be dead by the end of the week.

Thunder boomed in the distance, making him pause as the floor, as well as the windows, rattled. The rushing of rain whipped at the glass when the thunder silenced, wind pelting it hard on an angle. It was morning already. Though not a very welcoming one given the menacing weather.

“Georgia?” John yelled out from the other side, rattling the door. “
Georgia!
Where’s Robinson? Get him out here, will you? And hurry it up!”

He was going to bury that bastard in an unmarked ditch outside of New York. Stalking toward the door, Robinson unbolted the locks one by one and swung the door open.
“What?”

John’s hardened blue eyes met his gaze. His swollen nose and bruised face were sleeked with rain, his unshaven square jaw dripping wet like the rest of him. Drenched, frayed clothing clung to his lean body, and his almost whitened leather boots trailed not only puddles of water but clumps of mud onto Georgia’s doorstep.

Robinson stared him down. “I suggest you and the mud leave. Because I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

“I’m not here to put up fists,” John muttered, shifting from boot and boot. “I’m sorry about the…razor. I was being stupid and had far more whiskey than I should have. Marshals were going door to door in the building looking for you. No one wanted to talk, thinking Georgia was in trouble, but as it turns out they’re here to help you. So I…I told them which door you were at.” He stepped back and thumbed toward the stairs behind him, where four large men in drenched uniforms were jogging up the stairs, their muddied boots echoing around them.

Robinson’s breath hitched as all four men in full military regalia, with swords at their sides, filed onto the landing.

“This be the one,” John announced in a low tone, gesturing toward Robinson.

One of the uniformed men formally inclined his head toward Robinson and gestured toward the stairwell behind them with a gloved hand. “His Grace will be most pleased to know you are safe and is anxiously waiting for you to join him downstairs.”

Robinson stepped back. His Grace? He knew what that meant. It meant the man was a…
duke
. It meant that the man was of British nobility. Swallowing, he took another step back. How did he know that? “Who is this man to me?”

The mustached officer closest to him leaned in and offered, “The Duke of Wentworth is your father, my lord.”

A displaced sensation of familiarity clamped down on him.

Imageless memories pierced his thoughts, bringing a rush of not only an estate but servants.

“My lord?”
the officer inquired from somewhere before him. “Are you unwell? Do you require assistance down the stairs?”

Robinson refocused his thoughts. “No. I am quite well, thank you. I just…” He held up a shaky hand, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. “I’m trying to remember things, that is all.”

Another officer held out a sizable leather satchel that tinkered with what appeared to be coins. “This here is for Mrs. Milton. It bears gold coins amounting to an even hundred. His Grace asks that the moment these coins are delivered into her hands in honor of her generosity toward you, that you join him in the carriage outside.”

Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. Everything was unraveling too fast for him to make sense of it all.

Robinson grabbed the weighty satchel. “Georgia?” He whipped back toward the direction of the closet just beyond the kitchen where she already stood in her calico gown, her hair neatly bundled and her feet bare. It appeared she had been awake for some time.

“My father is here,” he whispered in disbelief, holding up the weighty satchel. “He wanted you to have this.”

A lone tear spilled its way down her cheek. She nodded and swiped at it. “All that matters is that you’ve found what I had lost. ’Tis good to know you have a father. ’Tis more than good, actually. ’Tis absolutely marvelous.”

He tossed the satchel toward the table with a thudding
chink
and stepped toward her, unfolding his arms. “Come here, Georgia. Come here, before I tell everyone to leave.”

She let out a sob, hurried toward him and flung herself into his arms, pressing him tightly against herself. “I told you someone would come.” She dug her entire face harder into his chest and tightened her hold. “I told you.”

“That you did.” He pressed the side of her soft cheek against his chest and held her for a long moment, praying this wouldn’t be the last time he’d hold her. “It would seem I am bound to far more than wealth.”

She leaned back and searched his face, still clinging to him. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed. “I am a lord, and my father, who is waiting downstairs, appears to be a duke.”

She gasped, her eyes widening, and scrambled out of his arms. A trembling hand drifted up to her mouth. She stared as if she no longer knew who he was.

The world faded as if he were being dragged into a reality he didn’t want to be a part of. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m still the same man.”

“I knew you had money, but I never once thought you were some…aristo.” She dropped her hand to her side. “Mother on high, had I known I most certainly wouldn’t have—” She stepped toward him, looking panicked. “We can’t have you lookin’ like this. Your father is goin’ to blame your wretched appearance on me.”

He lowered his chin. “You do realize you just insulted my appearance?”

“Oh, hush up and stand still.” Stuffing his linen shirt into his trousers, she smoothed it against his chest and shoulders, before readjusting his trousers on his hips with a firm tug. “There. Now—”

She turned, grabbed up his boots from beside the chair and set them before him with a thud. “Put your boots on. I’ll go get a rag to polish them.” She grabbed the other, small satchel from off the table, the one containing his fob, and shoved it into his hand. “Don’t forget this. It has your money and your watch in it. Maybe now you’ll be able to find the key that winds it.” Turning, she jogged into the front room and disappeared.

Only Georgia would think of winding a watch at a time like this. He glanced back at her. “Georgia.”

“Put on your boots,” she called back, knowing he hadn’t.

He heaved out a breath. Lowering his gaze to those boots, he leaned over and yanked each boot on, dreading everything that awaited him. It would be like waking up in the hospital again. Not knowing who or what to expect. What if he didn’t recognize his own father? What if he
never
recognized the man?

Georgia reappeared with not only a wet rag, but his waistcoat, coat and brush in hand. “Put them on. Apologize to your father about the buttons. Will he want them back? Should I go dig them out? I should, shouldn’t I? They’re silver.”

He slipped into his embroidered waistcoat, which she had laundered and dried for him all but yesterday. “I don’t think he’ll want them. They are, after all,
my
buttons. Not his.” He pulled on his coat, adjusting them both against his body and sighed. “Better?”

“Much. Lower your head for me.” She turned him toward herself and reached up, brushing his hair back and out of his eyes with several quick strokes. She stepped back, smacking the brush against the palm of her hand and set her chin. “There. Much better. Now stand still.”

Tossing aside the brush with a clatter, she kneeled before him on the wood floor and bent toward him, polishing his black leather boots with a rag as if she were now his servant.

His eyes widened. “Georgia, what—?” He leaned down and yanked her savagely back onto her feet, causing her to stumble. He shook her. “What the hell are you doing?”

She scrambled back, tightening her hold on the dirty, wet rag she clutched, and awkwardly replied, “Now I won’t get arrested for treatin’ you like a hog.”

He captured her gaze, his throat tightening. “You treated me like a damn king.” In that breath and in that moment, he knew he could
never
live without her. Not even if he were married with fourteen children. Jesus, he was fucked. “I want you to meet him. I want you to come downstairs with me. Come.”

Her brows pinched together as she stepped farther back and shook her head. “He doesn’t want to meet me.” She tossed aside the dirty rag and smoothed her hands against her gown. “I don’t even own a gown worth bein’ seen in.” She edged back, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry I made you live like this. I really am.”

He fought the need to grab her and shake her for saying such a thing. “Cease.” He held out an impatient hand. “Now come. You’re going with me.”

“Don’t do this to me, Robinson. Please don’t.” She pushed him toward the door, making him stumble against her weight. “What if you’re married? I’ll not be the cause of a broken marriage.”

He leaned back toward her, clutching the small leather satchel hard. “What if I am unwed? What if I am free to love you? What then? Will you have me?”

Tears now streamed down her pale face, reddening those pretty green eyes. “A man such as you, belongin’ to the duty of nobility and wealth, could never be free to love a woman like me. Don’t you see that?”

His eyes widened. She didn’t even sound like herself. “Are you being blinded by something as stupid as status and wealth? Do you really want the west? Or do you really want
me?
’Tis as simple as that.”

She swiped away her tears. “Stop it,” she choked out. She swung away. “I haven’t the right to impose what I want upon you.”

His throat burned in an effort to keep himself from grabbing her and shaking the wits out of her. “People who love each other
will
impose upon each other. That is the price and burden of love. Unless, of course…you don’t love me.”

“This isn’t about love, Robinson.”

“Then what is it about?”
Rancor sharpened his voice.

She shook her head again. “Regardless of whether you see it or not, I’ll only be a woman you dragged out of the mud and I’ll not do that to you or myself. I’ll not hang our dignity like this. I just won’t.”

He leaned toward her and hit the satchel he was holding against his chest. “Our dignity?
Our dignity?
Dignity won’t mean a goddamn thing if we’re not together!”

A sob escaped her. “That’s because you don’t
know
what it’s like to live without dignity. But I do, Robinson. I’ve been livin’ without it since I took my first breath and I’ll not do that to you. I’ll not.” She clamped a hand to her mouth and quickly veered out of sight, into the front room of her tenement.