LITMIR.BIZ

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“I ask that you not talk like that to me, Georgia. I find it unsettling and vulgar coming from your mouth.”

       She clicked her tongue at him. “I’m a nun compared to all the other women around me, but I’ll do my best not to offend.” She drifted past him toward the cupboard and pointed toward a corked bottle. “I’ve got whiskey, if you want it. Came straight from the barrel down the street. ’Tis the best in the ward at a dime a gallon and has enough smoke and bite to make it worth your while.”

       He let out a low whistle. “In England we call that death.”

       A giggle escaped her. She turned toward him, tilting her head to one side to better observe him. “Do you remember anythin’ about England?”

       He paused. “No. Not really.”

       “Ah, you’re better off, I say. You’re cursed enough. Now. How about you drink up a good tin of whiskey? It’ll help you sleep.”

       He shook his head. “No. I would rather not. My mind is muddled enough without—”

       A resounding thud hit the adjoining wall, sending a tremor throughout the room.

       He rose to his feet. “What was that?”

       She winced and waved toward the main wall opposite them. “Never you mind John Andrew Malloy over there. He feels the need to entertain the masses every now and then. Just ignore it.”

       “You mean he’s hosting a formal gathering? At this hour?”

       She pursed her lips as if he were a complete dolt. “Not quite.”

       Steady, rhythmic thuds grew more and more pronounced as muffled moans filtered through the wall. “That’s it, Georgia. Come on. Let me hear it.”

      A woman cried out, mingling with those thrusting grunts.

       His brows rose as his face and skin prickled with astounded heat. He glanced over at Georgia and gestured toward the wall. “By God. Did he just…say your name? Or did I imagine that?”

       She turned and quickly headed over to the cupboard and commenced arranging and rearranging all of her plates, even though they were already arranged.

       Apparently, he hadn’t imagined it at all.

       Rapid, feverish thumps rattled the plates Georgia tried to reorganize. “Take it, Georgia. Take every last—”

       A woman gasped against a massive thud that vibrated the floor beneath Robinson’s boots. “Now, now, not so hard, John! I’m not running a charity here.”

       Georgia cringed and swung away, slapping a hand over her mouth.

       Robinson’s throat tightened as the need to protect her honor descended upon him like a massive wave crashing to the shore. She didn’t like it. And neither did he.

       Stalking over to the wall, he banged his fist against the plaster, causing it to tremor beneath each hit. “John Andrew Malloy!” he boomed, leaning toward the wall and pounding it again. “Unless you want a fist to find its way through this wall and into your skull, I demand you desist using the name of a woman you aren’t even with!”

       She choked on a laugh, dropping her hand to her side, and swung toward him. “Shush! He’ll hear you.”

       He stepped away from the wall and adjusted his coat in riled agitation. “I hope to God he does. That is vile. You shouldn’t have to listen to that. And neither should I.”

       She groaned and yanked her apron up over her face and head, burying herself in it. “If John comes over here, I’ll up and die.”

       “If John comes over here, he is going to up and die.”

       An anguished moan and one last “Georgia” ripped through the air. Everything soon lulled itself back into silence.

       Georgia quietly lingered before the doorless cupboard, her head still buried in her apron. “I’m never comin’ out knowin’ you heard that.” She suffocated a giggle. “Not ever, ever, ever.”

       At least she had a sense of humor about it. “You have to come out sometime.”

       “No, I don’t.”

       Knowing she was being silly, he edged toward the bolted door and, despite hearing nothing, said in a taunting voice, “I hear footsteps.”

       She whipped her apron down from her face and gawked at him in exasperation. “You do not.”

       “No. But I got you out, did I not?” He leaned against the bolted door and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to appear indifferent even though he was thoroughly agitated to know some man was yelling out her name in the throes of passion. “How often does he do that to you? And why?”

       She rolled her eyes, her smooth cheeks flushing. “He has a bit of a fancy for me.”

       “A bit? He was saying your name.”

       “Oh, all right, more than a fancy.” She glanced toward the wall and lowered her voice, pointing at him. “This doesn’t leave the room.”

       Now, this he had to hear. “I won’t say a word.”

       She heaved out a breath and waved toward the wall. “John Andrew and this redhead from over on Anthony Street started seein’ each other about a month ago. I thought it was movin’ toward matrimony and was actually quite happy for him. Then I ran into the woman one mornin’ whilst gettin’ my yams, and she thanked me for the business I was givin’ her. I told her I most certainly didn’t know what she was talkin’ about, and that’s when she laughed and told me all about how John Andrew Malloy pays her fifty cents to ride her up the hole he shouldn’t, all whilst callin’ her Georgia.” She snorted. “I about fainted. But better her than me, I say.”

       Robinson drew in a ragged breath and let it out. He was going to slaughter this John Andrew Malloy.

       A door slammed in the distance beyond, making them both pause. Steady footfalls headed toward them from next door, followed by a knock that vibrated the bolted door he was still leaning against.

       “Ey, Georgia!” a man called from the other side. “Open up.”

       Her eyes widened as she slammed down a reprimanding foot. “Drat you and that mouth, Robinson!” She hurried toward him, shaking her head, and waved him away with both hands. “Step aside before he chews my door to bits.”

       “I intend to chew him to bits. Pardon me.” He whipped toward the door, his chest tightening as he undid the bolts. He was going to scatter the bastard’s innards across the entire length of the corridor.

      “No.” Georgia shoved him away from the door and swung a finger toward the shadowed wall where the lamp didn’t reach. “Step into the shadows and put your back against the wall. I don’t want him seein’ your face.”

       He squinted at her. “Are you defending this man?”

       “No. I’m defendin’ you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “John happens to be one of the boys. And the rule around here is not to stir the pot before you’ve had a chance to put anythin’ in it. You don’t want him spreadin’ rumors and havin’ people hunt you down. He’s known for it. Now get in the shadows.”

       He threw up both hands in exasperation and fell against the wall behind him with a thud.

       “Don’t say a word until I get rid of him.” She pointed at him one last time as if that were going to keep him in place, then unbolted the door and swung it open.

       His brows rose a fraction at what came into view in the dim light just outside his shadowy hiding spot.

       A tall, shirtless youth who looked barely old enough to shave casually leaned against the doorway outside, his smooth, muscled chest and face glistening from the sheen of sex-induced sweat. Wool trousers were crookedly affixed on those narrow hips and his two large feet were as bare as the

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