CHAPTER FOUR

      Of old there was nothing, nor sand, nor sea, nor

       cool waves. No earth, no heaven above. Only the

      yawning chasm.

      —Saemundar Edda, Codex Regius (early fourteenth century)

      ROBINSON INTENTLY WATCHED the shadows of wood buildings as they bobbed and rolled by through the small dirt-streaked window at his elbow, waiting to recognize just one thing. And yet he didn’t. Not the buildings. Not the streets. Not the omni he rode in. Not even the night itself. It was as if he were looking out upon a chasm that meant nothing to him. How much longer would he have to live feeling as if he were seeing everything for the first time?

       He tightened his jaw and glanced toward the young woman sitting beside him on the bench. Georgia. Like the state. Who the hell named their daughter after a state? It would be like naming one’s daughter after Paris. It bespoke of too much grandeur with very little to show.

       Her sloppily gathered strawberry locks quivered within her frayed, beribboned bonnet with each strong sway of the omni that sent her shoulder bumping into his shoulder. Despite the sways that forced their bodies to touch, she indifferently stared out across the narrow space toward the bench opposite their own, which had long been emptied of passengers.

       Something about her was so achingly familiar, but for some reason, it didn’t match any of the erotic images she evoked in his head. He could vividly see pale, freckled limbs and cascading long red hair similar to hers splayed out against linen, but there simply wasn’t a face associated with it. Who was the naked woman in his head if it wasn’t this Georgia? Was it a wife he couldn’t remember? Or a…mistress?

       God help him either way.

       He dragged in a breath. “What do you know about me?” he eventually inquired above the clattering of the wood wheels.

       Georgia shifted toward him. Her seductive eyes met his through the dim light of the lantern that swayed above the closed omni door, shifting shadows. “I know as much about you as you know about yourself.”

       “Are you certain I never mentioned having a wife?”

       “You told me you had no wife.”

       “Oh.” Had he lied to her? No. He wasn’t that sort of man. Or rather, he could sense he wasn’t that sort of man. He shifted closer to her on the bench, his thigh bumping hers. “And how do we know each other again?”

       “We met on Broadway. You affixed one of the ribbons on my bonnet when it came loose and it led to a bit of conversation.”

       “Ah. And was I at least courteous and respectable toward you during our initial interaction?”

       She eyed him. “Courteous, you most certainly were. Respectable? Mmm. No. Not really. Not given the way you insisted I join you for coffee. You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

       He cleared his throat. “There isn’t anything wrong with a gentleman insisting on mere coffee, is there?”

       “If the coffee is at his hotel, I’d say there is.”

       He lowered his chin. “I propositioned you?”

       “Right there on the street.” She waggled her brows and nudged him. “You practically poured coffee down my throat.”

       What breed of a bastard ambushed a woman on the street and tried to drag her over to his hotel under the pretense of coffee? If he ever did remember being that sort of man, he’d up and fist himself. “I can only apologize for my behavior.”

       “Apology much appreciated and accepted.”

       Scanning her full lips, Robinson tried to conjure a memory of what might have been. He would have remembered making love to a mouth like that, wouldn’t he? But then again, he really couldn’t remember making love to any mouth. It was alarming to know all about what went on between a man and a woman and yet not remember doing any of it aside from some random flash of nakedness belonging to God knows whom. “So what happened between us? Did you and I ever…?”

       Her brows rose. “What sort of woman do you take me for? I said no and sent you on your way, is what. You were the one followin’ me like a dog.”

       He leaned toward her. “If nothing happened between us, and you know as much about me as I know about myself, why are you taking me home with you? Aren’t you at all worried I might be deranged or how this might affect your reputation? I don’t quite understand your reasoning.”

       She clasped her bare hands, bringing them to the lap of her calico gown. “Don’t complicate this, Brit. I’m only doin’ this because I’ve got guilt as deep as the Hudson and you’ve got money to see us both through. I also wasn’t about to let you aimlessly wander the city in your condition.”

       He shrugged. “I would have managed.”

       “Yes. The way you managed that day on the street and ended up where you are now, completely oblivious to yourself and the world.”

       Robinson lapsed into agitated silence, trying to recapture what he could remember. He remembered the hospital and all of the brass beds that lined the hall. He remembered the oatmeallike plaster ceiling that peeled in sections above his bed. He remembered the endless conversations he’d shared with Dr. Carter, who had patiently assisted him in doing things he already knew how to do but oddly couldn’t remember doing. Like how to shave, tie a cravat and read from a book of poems by Robert Burns. “Dr. Carter mentioned an omni being responsible for my condition, but refused to share any details pertaining to the incident. What happened?”

       “’Twas sad,” she admitted quietly. “Some pignut slit the strings on my reticule and you chased him in an effort to retrieve it. That’s when the omni swiped you.”

       It was so odd to hear about himself doing things he didn’t remember doing. “Rather heroic of me.”

       “Actually, here in New York, we call that