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I’m someone I’m not.”
His brows flickered. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not your wife or your mistress or whoever you think I am. The name is Georgia. You know, like the state. You can call me that, if you want, but I prefer Mrs. Milton until we get to know each other more.” She gestured toward his throat. “Now remove your cravat.”
He stared her down. “If I ever decide to undress for you, Mrs. Milton, it won’t be upon your command but mine.”
She glared at him. “Oh, now, don’t you get cheeky with me, Brit. I’m not askin’ you to undress for my sake. I’m askin’ you to undress for yours . We can’t have you prancin’ about in silk over on Orange Street. You’ll get dirked. Now take it off.”
He stepped back. “Absolutely not. What would your husband say, Mrs . Milton?”
Her lips thinned. Perhaps it was best he thought Raymond was alive. It would keep him from thinking she was up for a toss. “The man would say, for the good of your own breath, you’d best take off the cravat.”
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t. He would say, ‘If you take anything off in the presence of my wife, you will cease to breathe.’”
She let out an exasperated laugh. “As amusin’ as I find you and this, all omnis cease runnin’ in an hour. Do you want to walk fifteen blocks in the dark? I don’t. Now take off the cravat. Even with it bein’ spattered with blood, it makes you look too much like a gentleman.”
“I should probably point out that I consider myself to be a gentleman.”
She quirked a brow, challenging him. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I thought you were a Salé pirate. Isn’t that what you told Dr. Carter?”
He shifted his jaw and glanced away. “I cannot trust what I do or do not remember.”
“Which is why you’ll have to trust me over yourself, dear sir, because I’m not the one sufferin’ from memory loss.”
He muttered something and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He winced, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Remind me not to touch my head.”
Georgia softened her tone, hoping a motherly approach would get him to cooperate. “We really ought to remove that silk from around your throat. Won’t you take it off? For me? Please?”
Stepping closer, she reached up and forcefully unraveled his silk cravat, trying to figure out how the damn thing was supposed to come off. The fabric kept sliding against her fingers like cool water. Their gazes locked and she paused, trying to steady her breathing.
He jerked outside of her tugging hands and shifted his broad shoulders, stepping back. “I’m not at all comfortable with you touching me. You are, after all, a very attractive woman and I would hate for this to progress beyond anything either of us would be able to control.”
She set her hands on her hips. What a cad. “If I were lookin’ to progress things, Robinson, I’d be goin’ straight for the trousers. Rest assured, a man’s throat never once made me moan and I highly doubt yours will, either.”
He stared at her, his expression strained. “Refrain from talking to me in such crass tones.”
“I wouldn’t have to talk at all if you were cooperatin’. Now cease bein’ so damn stupid. I’m here to help.” She stepped back toward him, reached up and forcefully finished yanking his cravat off. She tossed it, letting it cascade to the floor.
His gloved hand jumped up to cover his exposed throat, his shaven face flushing. “I really don’t understand why—”
“Silk just isn’t somethin’ men in my parts wear. Men there are poor. Some of them are very poor. There’s no need to give them a reason to hate or rob you. You bein’ an uppity Brit is goin’ to be bad enough. Men will probably fist you based on your accent alone.”
“Oh, and you plan on taking me there?” He lifted a brow. “Shall I thank you for your overall lack of concern for me now? Or later? After I get fisted?”
She rolled her eyes. “You needn’t worry. I’ll see to it you fall under