nothing to worry about, does he?” He shoved past her and strode into the room. Glancing toward Robinson, he slowly shook his head. “But he did stay the night. So he’s dead.”
Reaching beneath his shirt, Matthew withdrew a pistol from the leather holster sitting on his hips and coolly leveled the pistol at Robinson’s head. He cocked it. “Step outside, Brit. I don’t want to get blood all over the walls.”
“Matthew!” She jumped between him and Robinson, her pulse roaring, and pressed her body protectively against Robinson’s frame, widening her stance. “Do you remember the man who was hospitalized for tryin’ to reclaim my reticule? The one I told you about? Well, this be him. I’m boardin’ him. He promised me six dollars if I’d take him in for the month and you know I need the money if I’m ever to move west.”
Matthew didn’t bother to lower his pistol. Instead, he offered her a blunt, wry stare and angled the muzzle menacingly down at her. “Six dollars for rent? When he can easily board himself down the street for three cents a day? Are you bloody yanking my cacks, Georgia? Hell, for six dollars, I’d feck him and take him in.”
She narrowed her gaze, not in the least amused. “Whether I’m feckin’ him or not is neither your business nor John’s.” She reached out and pushed the pistol away from her face in disgust. “Look at you. Pointin’ a pistol at me like some Quaker on opium out to shoot himself a few Irish. Your father would spit upon your behavior if he saw this. I may be younger than you, Matthew, but I’m still legally your mother and I’m not afraid to take a crop to your head. So leave off. You hear? Leave off and never touch this man or point anythin’ at him again, or by Joseph, I’ll feck him in front of you and John and all of Five Points just to shut everyone up!”
Silence pulsed within the room.
Robinson’s large hand pressed against the small of her back and curved possessively around the waist of her nightdress, making her heart pound. He dragged her back against the muscled heat of his body, as if he’d been riled by raw pride.
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out, trying not to focus on the fact that her entire backside was now draped against Robinson’s entire front side. She reached back and gently pinched his muscled thigh through the smooth fabric of his trousers for being bold enough to actually grope her in front of Matthew’s still-pointed pistol.
Matthew sighed and lowered the gun. “What’s his name?”
“Robinson Crusoe,” she obliged.
Matthew arched a brow. “His name is Robinson Crusoe? ” He snorted dismissively. “Lest you forget, Mum, I grew up with personal tutors and read the damn book in its entirety at an age when you were barely crawling. What’s his real name?”
She sighed. “He doesn’t know his name, Matthew, and hasn’t been able to remember much of anythin’ since he awoke in the hospital. Dr. Carter is tryin’ to locate his family, and I’m givin’ him a place to stay and watchin’ over him.”
Matthew squinted at her with his visible eye, the patch shifting against his cheekbone. “The devil, you say. He can’t remember his own born name?”
“No, he can’t,” she insisted. “Dr. Carter calls it ‘memory loss.’”
“Memory loss ? What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know! He just can’t remember things.”
Matthew squinted at her again. “Can he at least talk? Or did he conveniently forget that, too?”
“I can talk, Mr. Milton,” Robinson interjected in a chiding tone. “And despite your doubts pertaining to my condition, I assure you, ’tis extremely inconvenient being in my own head. I suggest you put the pistol away.”
Matthew popped up the pistol and pointed it at Robinson’s head on an angle. “I don’t do soft merely because a man asks me to. Georgia might not have a reputation to uphold, but I do.”
Georgia jumped forward at the insult, snapping up a rigid fist. “You’re
Reaching beneath his shirt, Matthew withdrew a pistol from the leather holster sitting on his hips and coolly leveled the pistol at Robinson’s head. He cocked it. “Step outside, Brit. I don’t want to get blood all over the walls.”
“Matthew!” She jumped between him and Robinson, her pulse roaring, and pressed her body protectively against Robinson’s frame, widening her stance. “Do you remember the man who was hospitalized for tryin’ to reclaim my reticule? The one I told you about? Well, this be him. I’m boardin’ him. He promised me six dollars if I’d take him in for the month and you know I need the money if I’m ever to move west.”
Matthew didn’t bother to lower his pistol. Instead, he offered her a blunt, wry stare and angled the muzzle menacingly down at her. “Six dollars for rent? When he can easily board himself down the street for three cents a day? Are you bloody yanking my cacks, Georgia? Hell, for six dollars, I’d feck him and take him in.”
She narrowed her gaze, not in the least amused. “Whether I’m feckin’ him or not is neither your business nor John’s.” She reached out and pushed the pistol away from her face in disgust. “Look at you. Pointin’ a pistol at me like some Quaker on opium out to shoot himself a few Irish. Your father would spit upon your behavior if he saw this. I may be younger than you, Matthew, but I’m still legally your mother and I’m not afraid to take a crop to your head. So leave off. You hear? Leave off and never touch this man or point anythin’ at him again, or by Joseph, I’ll feck him in front of you and John and all of Five Points just to shut everyone up!”
Silence pulsed within the room.
Robinson’s large hand pressed against the small of her back and curved possessively around the waist of her nightdress, making her heart pound. He dragged her back against the muscled heat of his body, as if he’d been riled by raw pride.
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out, trying not to focus on the fact that her entire backside was now draped against Robinson’s entire front side. She reached back and gently pinched his muscled thigh through the smooth fabric of his trousers for being bold enough to actually grope her in front of Matthew’s still-pointed pistol.
Matthew sighed and lowered the gun. “What’s his name?”
“Robinson Crusoe,” she obliged.
Matthew arched a brow. “His name is Robinson Crusoe? ” He snorted dismissively. “Lest you forget, Mum, I grew up with personal tutors and read the damn book in its entirety at an age when you were barely crawling. What’s his real name?”
She sighed. “He doesn’t know his name, Matthew, and hasn’t been able to remember much of anythin’ since he awoke in the hospital. Dr. Carter is tryin’ to locate his family, and I’m givin’ him a place to stay and watchin’ over him.”
Matthew squinted at her with his visible eye, the patch shifting against his cheekbone. “The devil, you say. He can’t remember his own born name?”
“No, he can’t,” she insisted. “Dr. Carter calls it ‘memory loss.’”
“Memory loss ? What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know! He just can’t remember things.”
Matthew squinted at her again. “Can he at least talk? Or did he conveniently forget that, too?”
“I can talk, Mr. Milton,” Robinson interjected in a chiding tone. “And despite your doubts pertaining to my condition, I assure you, ’tis extremely inconvenient being in my own head. I suggest you put the pistol away.”
Matthew popped up the pistol and pointed it at Robinson’s head on an angle. “I don’t do soft merely because a man asks me to. Georgia might not have a reputation to uphold, but I do.”
Georgia jumped forward at the insult, snapping up a rigid fist. “You’re
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