by Pamela Cayne
An hour later she was dressed and restored by a cup of tea heavily laced with sugar and cream. As befitted her station as mistress of one of the most powerful men of the East End, Lady wore her new sateen dress of lush red roses on a fawn-colored background, complete with Irish lace collar and cuffs, and a straw bonnet with a fat red rose on one side. If she didn’t dress well, the stern madam of the Red Door was sure to tell Mr. Adams. Once Mr. Adams had taken Lady, one of Mrs. Henderson’s most popular girls and highest earners, out of the house, the madam made sure to keep an extra eye on her on behalf of their master.
Lady flicked open her parasol of the same Irish lace and set off with Nessie for Canon Street Road and the Red Door Brothel. She could hire a hack, but instead started walking at a leisurely pace, telling herself it wasn’t nerves she felt, only excitement about being able to take a stroll on such a lovely day.
“What do you plan to do with King?” Nessie asked after a few blocks of silence. Lady had told her about the events of the prior evening when they were quilting. She’d left out her talk with King and how much the kiss affected her, but Nessie knew everything else, including the way Mr. Adams was having Lady care for and report on his fighter. Not only had Nessie been in the business for years, she knew Mr. Adams, and Lady relied on her opinions.
“Make certain he doesn’t need true medical care, I suppose. I hope King has gotten over whatever made him so upset because I just can’t...”
“It sounded like King was at odds, himself. You can use that to keep him in line, should you need,” Nessie suggested. She gave one nod, as sharp as her comments. Whores past their prime tended to get very focused on how to survive, everybody else be damned. “If it gets King more set on winning or Mr. Adams more set on giving you presents, it’s all for the best, right?”
“First we’ll see if he lets us in,” Lady said as they approached the large red door and knocked. It was always locked before entertaining hours. “Then we’ll see what his mood is. Until then, I’ll be the picture of helpful and caring.”
Nessie nodded, the answer apparently sitting well with her. Lady took a deep breath and put on the air of hauteur expected of her as Mr. Adams’s mistress. When the Red Door’s burly doorman opened the door, Lady sailed past him, Nessie in her wake.
“You’re new, so I’m only going to say this once. I’m Lady and I’ve been asked by Mr. Adams to see to King.” She headed for the room set back in the corner, where Mr. Adams had installed King.
She knocked at King’s door and stepped back, wrapping her fingers in the ribbons of her red velvet bag to cover their slight trembling. After a moment of no answer, she stepped forward and knocked again, this time a little louder.
“What is it? What? What do you want?” King’s voice grew in volume and Lady took another step back as he opened the door. She didn’t know who froze first, but whatever had happened between them last night now locked them together in invisible shackles.
He stood in the door in dark brown pants, but wore neither shoes nor shirt. Faint bruises bloomed against his ribs and his left eye was slightly swollen, marked by a dark purple crescent underneath. Old habits let her size him up as quickly as she did any man, but new to her was quelling the dusty jolt of awareness that sizzled in her belly when she saw his solid chest, giving way to a lean, flat waist. Not a new vision, especially after last night, but seeing him in his home, nobody around save Nessie, it was different. Everything after that kiss was different, even looking into his eyes.
The yearning was new, raw. He was looking at her like an orphaned child looked at a couple with a warm, cozy home. Lady couldn’t stop herself from reaching up toward his face. She was just going to touch his cheek, see if she could take the edge off that brutal pain, but as she raised her hand, he took a step back and blinked hard several times. When she made eye contact again, the only thing left in his gaze was irritation. Lady forced her hand up to fuss with her hair, then let it fall back to her side and take up the ribbons of her bag again.
“Lady,” King said in a slow drawl. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Or should I say, to whom?”
Lady pressed her lips together. “Mr. Adams asked that I come by to minister to your wounds. He wants his man to be in top fighting form.” The last three words were delivered with a sharp edge and she waved her hand in the air to emphasize her point, hoping that would cover for her tender impulse of earlier. It was easier to be angry with King than to treat him like something happened between them last night. Repair the crack, smooth it over.
King appeared to weigh her words for several long seconds, and Lady waited. When she felt like he had pushed her enough, she turned to Nessie and said, “Let’s go, Mrs. Nesbitt. King is a big, strong man and obviously doesn’t need my care. It simply means I get an afternoon to go shopping.” She had taken two steps when King stopped her.
“Wait,” he said, and Lady stopped but didn’t turn to face him. This was his dance to call, but she didn’t have to make it easy. “Won’t you please come in?”
Lady turned, the short train of her dress sweeping the floor in a graceful arc of cabbage roses. King was standing to the side of his door, indicating with his outstretched arm that she should enter. He was looking somewhere past her right hip, but Lady didn’t step forward until he raised his eyes and looked at her.
“Please,” he said. The irritation was gone, banished or hidden. She wanted to tell him she understood what he was going through, torn between the pain of daily life and the secret dreams of somebody so near yet so far, but she could no more do that than kiss him again. She wanted to tell him how much he’d helped that one night Mr. Adams had passed out, earning Lady a few nights’ rest at the risk of their deception being discovered. She wanted to tell him she would die if he didn’t hold her, let her bury her face against his neck and feel safe, but that was the opposite of rebuilding her armor and smoothing it over. No matter how much she wanted it.
“Thank you, King.” Lady adjusted the lace at the neck of her dress. “I’d be delighted. Nessie, why don’t you wait here?” Lady indicated a bench set into an alcove near King’s door. Being alone with King could be bad, but having Nessie possibly see King’s true effect on her would be worse.
Lady entered King’s rooms and as she stopped in front of the fireplace to look around the gray and colorless room, she could see him putting on a shirt from the corner of her eye.
Somehow that flustered her worse than seeing his bare torso. His bed three feet away, that slight spice scent she associated with him, even his bare feet, they all caused something to flutter in her belly and the demand that he hold her grew stronger. Doing the only thing she could think of to save them both, Lady drew on the person she’d been last night, haughty and bold. She faced him as he finished buttoning it up, stopping three buttons short of his neck. She raised her eyebrow at him, challenging him to fasten a few more for propriety’s sake, but King didn’t make a move to alter his dress in any way. Fine. If he wanted to play the tough man, she could play the whore. In slow, exaggerated movements, she looked away from him and sat on his bed, deliberately ignoring the proper chair in the middle of the room. She crossed her legs and turned her upper body toward him, the motion causing her to brace her weight on her right arm held behind her. She started to drape her left wrist over her knee, but something caught her eye. She reached over and plucked a long, blond hair off his pillow and held it to the side. “Well, well, well,” she said with a coy smile. “It looks like I’m not the only visitor you’ve been entertaining.”
“Lady, what do you want?” He crossed his arms.
She let the strand of hair go and watched its descent before rubbing her fingers together like she was rubbing dirt off them. She crossed her arms on her legs and leaned on them. “I told you, King. Mr. Adams wanted me to come over and make certain you had everything you needed to be healthy for the tournament. You can ask Mrs. Hen
derson about my skill in nursing, if you’d like, but if you need more care, and I mean medical care, not that kind—” she pointed to the hair on the floor, “—then I am to secure you a doctor.” As unfair as it was, she was upset about that hair. She’d been thinking of that kiss since it happened, and he came home and fucked one of the girls? Even though nothing could happen between them, it hurt knowing how quickly he’d moved on.
King continued to play the statue, his face set in a scowl. Lady’s usual tactics for getting a man to talk were definitely not going to work here, so more conversation it was, lest Mr. Adams be disappointed that she didn’t have more to report. “Fine. Let’s start with you telling me of your injuries from last night. I’ll assess the care you need and we proceed from there. Hasn’t anybody ever nursed you before?”
“Only once.”
“And how’d that turn out?”
“Not too bad, I suppose. Of course, she’s come back to finish the job, so I may be wrong in my judgment.”
“Yes, let’s pray you survive.” That kind of sass usually earned her a slap, but Lady refused to let King think she was one of these simpering women who let a man, especially one who wasn’t paying, say or do anything he liked to her. If he kept acting like this, she wasn’t going to have a problem banishing him from her thoughts.
She stood up and pointed at the bed. “Sit down, please.”
King looked at her, mistrust evident in his gaze, but finally sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees.
“Tell me where you’re hurt,” Lady said, stepping between his knees and studying him.
“You were there. You watched the fight and looked at me after.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m aware of every injury. It would help me tremendously if you could list them for me.”
King sighed deeply and leaned his head back so he was looking at the ceiling. “Lower back, ribs, temple, jaw.”
Lady waited for a few seconds, but when he lowered his head to look at her again, she knew he was through. “What about your hands?”
“What about them?” He looked at them, turning them over so he could see both sides.
“They’re injured.”
King looked closer at his scraped and swollen knuckles. “I suppose you’re right. They always seem to be in this state, so I guess I don’t think about them as injuries anymore.”
“If you don’t see them as injuries, perhaps you should get into a different line of work, King.” Lady’s impudent little grin died as she met his eyes and saw his unspoken response of Maybe you should too.
She lowered her gaze and lifted one of his hands. As she traced a finger over his ragged flesh, she wondered if that was what she looked like on the inside, torn and raw. It was how she felt. Did King feel as torn and raw down deep or was that another part of him always injured, always ignored?
“That tickles,” King said in a soft voice.
She looked at him and felt confusion on her face, but it was happening too fast for her to school her features into anything else. He glanced at their hands and Lady looked down. Her fingers were still stroking his. She immediately stopped and released his hand, reaching deep for something to cover her misstep.
“Sorry,” she said with a sly, one-sided smile. “Habit of the trade. Now, let’s check that nasty bump on your temple.” She pushed his head to one side, firmly enough there was no question of her intentions, and looked at his injury. Having endured this same type of wound before, Lady knew she wouldn’t need to call for a doctor today. The care for it would be simple—some willow bark for any pain, though King was already well aware of that treatment. She took a deep breath and kept telling herself, I’m just a nurse, I’m just a nurse, as she examined the cut and the swollen area around his eye.
Suddenly, King took her wrist and held her still as he slowly turned his head back until they were face-to-face, only the width of her hand between them. Lady’s heart started to pound. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and she watched as King looked at her parted lips and then met her eyes again.
The urge to throw her arms around his neck, cradle his head against her breasts, made her hands tremble. Her pulse jumped as he stroked her wrist with his thumb. He was thinking the same thing as she—now that they were here, their time together approved and justified, who was to say what kind of nursing went on behind these closed doors? Desire started to flare between them, but instead of stirring Lady, it terrified her. She’d been a whore for so long, did she even truly know what desire was? Even without Mr. Adams in the picture, could she and King be something? The fantasy of him was one matter, but the reality of it was quite another.
“Your wounds aren’t serious, but there is a salve that might help them heal faster, plus soothe any sting that remains—that is, if big, strong fighters admit their scrapes sting.” She forced a light laugh as she stepped away. “There’s an apothecary toward Charles Street that should have it.”
“If you think it will help.” King stood, hands clasped behind his back.
“It will. You’ll do fine without it, but why live in pain if you don’t have to? I’ll make sure you know of the salve so next time you won’t need me to hold your hand like a schoolboy. I’ll gather Nessie and meet you in the front.” Lady gathered her bag and headed for the door.
“Lady? Since we’re... I mean, if you could...” As King tried to say whatever was on his mind, Lady slowly turned back to him, confused beyond anything she’d ever faced before. Was he going to ask her for a tumble? Was that the reason this hard man was tripping all over his tongue? And what in heaven’s name would she answer if he did?
Coming to some kind of conclusion, he looked at her and abruptly headed for a small table near the fireplace. He pulled an old rag off a box and indicated she should look inside. Lady stepped hesitantly forward. She had been asked to look in boxes before, and they never contained something seen in a polite sitting room.
Bracing herself for the worst and pasting a small smile on her face, Lady looked. It was a small brown ball of feathers with a dirty white strip of fabric around its middle.
“It’s a bird,” Lady said, surprise causing the smile on her face to become real. She reached out to touch it, then pulled back, suddenly scared of hurting the tiny thing.
“It’s okay.” He picked it up and cradled it gently to his chest. “I found her outside a few days ago, and except for her wing, she seemed fine. But I’m not a doctor, not even a passable nurse—” he laughed as he briefly met her eyes, “—but I was wondering if you knew of anything at the apothecary’s that might help her.”
Lady looked at King’s face and found herself lost at his gentle expression. This fearsome bruiser, who beat a man bloody last night, was babying this little ball of fluff like most girls would play Mother and Baby with kittens.
“Can you think of anything?” He looked up at her, and his eyes were as innocent as the bird’s. She took a step back before she could take the bird’s place in King’s arms—safe and warm.
“Ahhh, perhaps. I don’t know. We’ll ask there. I’ll wait outside until you’re ready,” she said in a rush and left. As she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Are you well, Lady?” Nessie rose from the bench and touched her lightly on the hand. “You look pale.”
“I’m well, Nessie.” Lady put her other hand over Nessie’s. “King’s injuries were a little nastier than I expected. We’re going to an apothecary’s to get him some salve.”
Nessie nodded. “Good girl. That’ll get him right as rain in no time.”
Perhaps she should get some for herself, as well.
* * *
King left his rooms by way of the back door and came around the front of the building looking for Lady and Mrs. Nesbitt. As he turned the corner, he sa
w them and was able to study Lady for several seconds.
For one of the most prized whores of the East End, right now she looked like any other woman on an outing with her maid. She stood with her shoulders back and chin up, an invisible book balanced on her head. In contrast to her rigid posture, she wore a pleasant, faraway expression on her face like she could see the ocean in front of her, smell the bite of salt in the breeze. If he had to guess, he’d say she looked happy.
Mrs. Nesbitt glanced his way and then whispered something to Lady. He watched the ocean disappear as she looked over her shoulder and saw him watching her. She was still smiling, but it looked harder, brittle somehow. He’d done that.
“Shall we?” He paused for a few seconds, then started walking. Lady joined him after a few steps, Mrs. Nesbitt trailing a discreet distance behind.
“Lovely day for a stroll,” she said after a moment.
“If you enjoy gray skies and rain.”
King waited for her to say more, do like she was supposed to and make another comment about the weather, but she didn’t. They’d shared looks aplenty, terrible situations a handful of times, but they’d never really shared a conversation. Fighting three men at the same time would have been easier than navigating this new step with Lady. He wished he could take her hand and simply walk together like couples did. He glanced at her, close to defeat, then came up with a last idea.
“That’s a lovely hat you’re wearing,” he said, gesturing toward her head. If a woman wasn’t willing to talk about her hat, he was a goner.
“Thank you, King,” Lady said slowly. “It’s traditionally called a bonnet, but I suppose a hat isn’t incorrect.”
“Where did you learn to speak so nice?” King asked, the words blurting out of his mouth. He’d never heard any bangtail, anybody from the East End for that matter, sound like they could have been gentry.
“You mean for a whore?” she asked him in a dry voice, and King felt like he’d been punched in the gut—that same dull flower of pain followed quickly by the bile rising in the back of his throat.
