The Fighter and the Fallen Woman

by Pamela Cayne

  King stared at the door. He was so far beyond confused that he was starting to simply accept the events of the past several minutes. It was certainly easier than trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened. But if he was going to think about all of this, he needed peace and quiet, and there was no way he was going to get it this close to Lady, so he headed home. He lifted the blanket to his face and breathed deeply. He smelled tea and soap and the faintest hint of lemon, and suddenly, nothing seemed as impossible as it had before.

  He laughed and shook his head. That woman had him tied in more knots than the rigging on a sailing ship. He liked it.

  * * *

  The next day, Lady was feeling particularly good. Her impulsive decision to give King the quilt felt right. Ever since he’d steadied her feet and whispered of willow bark, she’d trusted him. It went against everything she knew, everything Nessie taught her, and Lady should be in Bedlam for such a thought, but deep in her gut, she knew he wouldn’t cause her harm. The quilt was her way of saying thank you and, to no small degree, that he could trust her too. It meant other things, good things, and the idea of him sleeping under it was part of what put her in such an agreeable mood.

  The other was Nessie. They had cooked and laughed and talked and celebrated, enjoying their feast well into the night. It was almost like it was back when Mr. Adams had brought Mrs. Nesbitt over to be Lady’s housekeeper, and they would laugh and talk into the night. But ever since Lady had started feeling angry over Mr. Adams’s increasing abuse, it had become obvious Nessie either didn’t understand or didn’t want to hear it, so laughter had become scarce around their house. Giving King the quilt, laughing with Nessie, it all felt good, though she guessed trouble between Nessie and King was yet to come. Nessie was very protective of their friendship, and having King around would cause quite a bit of friction, to say nothing of how Nessie viewed Mr. Adams as a good protector and would see King as a threat to that relationship, as well.

  She needed to talk to Nessie about leaving, either with King or without him, but first she needed to get through to her dearest friend. Mr. Adams was like a stray dog you fed. He was getting a taste for using his fists and before long, that would be his answer to everything. If she couldn’t make Nessie see that, understand that pleasing him meant losing themselves—or their very lives—then she had a very difficult decision ahead of her. She would give herself until the end of the tournament to convince Nessie. That might not be when they ran, but if Lady couldn’t get through to Nessie by then, she never would.

  Now Lady sat at the little table in their cozy kitchen, mending her frayed hems while Nessie made a stew from the leftover goose and crusty bread for tonight’s meal. No fights meant a blissful, quiet night. Christopher, the young boy who helped out, had been by earlier to fill the wood box, sweep and empty the basins and slop buckets, and received two fresh pastries for his efforts. When he appeared at the back door again, Nessie automatically went for more of the treats.

  “Still hungry, eh, lad? I suspect you’ve got an empty leg down there, the way you can put away food.”

  Christopher laughed and made a face. “Nah, I’s got a letter from Mr. Adams.”

  Nessie smiled but Lady felt a hard pit develop in her stomach. A note was nothing unusual, but anything involving Mr. Adams now caused her a flare of panic before anything else. She took deep breaths as Nessie closed the door and handed her the note. Lady looked at it as though she could determine its contents from the outside. A little voice in her head said not to open it, pretend it had never arrived, but that would only make everything worse, so Lady broke the wax seal. She skimmed the contents and felt her spirits slump.

  “What does he want?” Nessie went back to kneading the bread, still watching Lady’s face.

  “Mr. Adams is having a party tonight at the Red Door for the gentlemen in town for the tournament. He wants me there to help out.”

  “Help out?” Nessie raised an eyebrow.

  “No, not that kind of help.” Lady stood, clutching her half-mended dress to her. “More like hostessing. Like he had me do for that party he threw for the ship’s officers, the ones who brought back his cargo three weeks early.”

  “What do you need?”

  She went and pressed a kiss to Nessie’s cheek. “Nothing, now. I’ll go upstairs and pick out a dress. The party doesn’t start until eight o’clock, so I don’t have to start getting ready until six.” She glanced down at the dough, flecks of rosemary speckling its surface, and sighed. “Looks like our dinner is off.”

  “Nonsense.” Nessie steered her toward the stairs. “It’ll be lighter and earlier is all. Now you go, find something that makes you feel good and lie down for a bit. You’ll need your rest for tonight.”

  Lady had started up the stairs when Nessie called after her, “Don’t forget the necklace. Mr. Adams is going to want to show both of you off.”

  “Thank you, Nessie.” Lady smiled. She liked having somebody to fuss over her as much as Nessie liked fussing. Lady made it up two more stairs when Nessie called again.

  “And don’t forget something with sleeves. Mr. Adams isn’t going to want you showing your arm, as well.”

  “Thank you, Nessie.” They had to get out of here. King had to keep winning so Mr. Adams would keep buying her gifts. It was the only way. That or the grave.

  Chapter Eight

  King lay on his bed, hands clasped beneath his head, and sighed. He’d come home and spread out the blanket, a pattern of blue, green and brown blocks, all on a field of white. It certainly added color to his room, just like Lady had said. With compulsion like an itch in his blood, he’d taken off his boots and stretched out on it. The blanket smelled like her, and that soothed the itch like cool water. It was the closest he’d come to peace in a long, long time, and heaven knew he needed it.

  He had Mr. Collins trying to buy his fight. That money was enough to help Lady find her house, but they’d still have Mr. Adams to contend with, he who hated losing. And if King did lose the fight, would Mr. Adams take it out on Lady or not, and if so, how much?

  Lady had almost asked him to leave with her, and the thought of it was wreaking bloody havoc with his brain, his body and every scrap of common sense he possessed. It was a lot to gamble on, that Lady fit him, accepted him, could love him. But he was starting to feel that way about her and the idea they might really have a chance was paralyzing.

  Bloody hell, life had been simpler when he was just a fighter living in a whorehouse.

  Somebody knocked on his door. It was from the house side rather than the alley door. Odds were it was business. He got up and opened the door to Jenny on the other side. She had her hands clasped behind her back and was swaying from side to side while glancing up at him from beneath lowered lashes. Lord, let her not be here as another gift.

  “Yes, Jenny?”

  “I’ve got a note for you, Mr. King.”

  “Yes, Jenny.”

  Slowly, she reached between her upthrust breasts and pinched the edge of a folded piece of paper. Even more slowly she drew it out and presented it to him.

  “Thank you, Jenny.” He took the warm, wrinkled note.

  “Don’t you want to see if I’ve got other things for you?”

  He smiled and chucked her on the chin. “No.” He shut the door. Maybe he should take her up on her offers, an uncomplicated girl who wouldn’t make him question every decision he had before him. Yeah, and maybe he should give up on ever being happy.

  He opened the note and read it. Mr. Adams wanted to see him right away. King put on his best shirt of blue chambray, brushed off his dark pants and wiped his boots with a wet rag. It was as presentable as he could get. Best not to keep Mr. Adams waiting over what clothes to wear.

  When he turned down Mr. Adams’s street, he saw a woman leave the house, but it wasn’t Lady. Sh
e was older, smaller, more worn. King leaned against the wall of a town house, trying to blend in with the brick. He wanted to see who this woman was without her seeing him.

  She turned to her right and started to walk down the sidewalk. King tried to keep pace from his vantage point along the wall, but couldn’t see anything. “Turn around, turn around,” he muttered and froze when she stopped.

  She looked over her shoulder, but King couldn’t see her face under the brim of her bonnet. Suddenly, she turned completely around and scanned the walk and across the street.

  It was Mrs. Nesbitt.

  She started walking again, more quickly this time. When she reached the corner, she rounded it and disappeared from view.

  King leaned against the wall, stunned and a little distressed. Mrs. Nesbitt was reporting Lady’s activities to Mr. Adams. That could be the only reason for why she was there and looking so nervous. Did she tell him what Lady and King talked about yesterday at the market? King tried to remember how close Mrs. Nesbitt had been to them, if she could have heard some of Lady’s traitorous questions. Even one would be enough to sink them.

  Or was Lady in on it too?

  Maybe this was Mr. Adams’s way of testing King, and Lady was part of the setup. If so, this would be a fast meeting. After all, it wouldn’t take long for Shade to put a pistol to the back of King’s head and pull the trigger while he was talking to Mr. Adams.

  King tugged at his sleeves and straightened his collar. He’d escaped Death several times over. Perhaps it was time to pay his dues. Maybe he should have taken Jenny up on her offer—send him off smiling and all.

  He approached the door and knocked. A little woman who had the shape of a child’s snowman answered the door.

  “Hello, Mrs. Binkley. Mr. Adams sent for me.”

  She opened the door wider. “Come in, Mr. King, come in. Mr. Adams is waiting for you in his study with Mr. Shade.” She led him in, then hurried away. King went down the hall to the study and knocked twice. Mr. Adams called out to enter, so he took a deep breath and opened the door, pushing down the fear like he did at the beginning of any fight.

  Mr. Adams was sitting behind his desk. King didn’t know anything about it other than it was bigger than his bed and made of a dark wood with columns carved into the corners. Shade sat in one of two chairs in front of the desk, made of the same wood but covered seat and back in green leather. He didn’t look back or greet King, only faced Mr. Adams with nary a twitch.

  “King, good, you’re here,” Mr. Adams said and got up and came around the desk. He shook King’s hand and led him to the second green chair, then offered him a cigar from the humidor on his desk. King took it because it was what Mr. Adams wanted, but was torn on whether he was supposed to smoke it or not. With a quick sideways glance, he saw Shade was holding his, so King slipped it into his shirt pocket.

  Mr. Adams settled on the edge of his desk, one foot struggling to brace itself on the floor firmly enough for him to sit without toppling. His face showed a powerful pleasure and King thought there was still a good chance he could end up dead. That kind of thing always made Mr. Adams smile.

  “Gentlemen, I appreciate your coming. I’m throwing a small soiree tonight and need some assistance.” He gave up the struggle and walked around to sit behind the desk. “I’ve decided to have the gents from the tournament over to the Red Door for some sport. I want you two there to help control things.”

  Shade nodded once and did nothing else. King had some questions but he didn’t feel like he could ask them after Shade’s blind acceptance. It did beat the grand plans he didn’t have and there was a possibility he’d get another bonus, one he could choose this time. It might be best if he started saving some coin rather than turning down Jenny time and again.

  “Of course, Mr. Adams. What time?”

  “Eight o’clock will be fine. Remember, these men are business associates of mine and aren’t to be treated like the usual fucked-up clients. If you see something happening that shouldn’t be, let me or Mrs. Henderson know. Got it?” He stabbed a finger between them and was glaring at both of them, his pupils surrounded by white.

  This time King joined Shade in a silent, emphatic nod.

  “Good.” Mr. Adams flipped them each a pound. “Now go get yourselves some good food. I want my boys in top form.” He crossed his arms over his stomach and turned to face the window behind him. They were obviously dismissed.

  King got up and left, wondering if this party had anything to do with Mrs. Nesbitt’s visit. He decided to think of her as in Mr. Adams’s pocket until proven otherwise. He couldn’t duck from a punch if he didn’t see it coming.

  * * *

  Lady stood with Mr. Adams in the parlor at the Red Door, greeting his guests like any couple would when throwing a party. Like any couple with several unwed, underdressed female relations lounging provocatively on any soft surface.

  Lady would have liked nothing more than to let her mind wander away from this awful situation, but too much depended on her keeping her breasts pushed up and her ears wide open. She had picked her dress to showcase Mr. Adams’s necklace, the ruby teardrop once again nestling deep in her décolletage and the crimson satin of the gown setting off the stone. Lace sleeves covered her bruise and emphasized the pearls, and judging by Mr. Adams’s reaction when he saw her, he was happy with her decision.

  A big, weathered man dressed immaculately approached them and gave a stiff bow. “Mr. Adams, ’tis grateful I be for this foine event. Consider Angus MacDonnelly to be at yer service.”

  Something about the man’s stiff formality and way he rolled his r’s chased a little bit of her unease away. She’d always enjoyed a Scottish accent and felt a real smile lift her lips.

  “Then can I ask you to have your fighter lose?” Mr. Adams said and Lady’s new smile froze. She wasn’t aware of Mr. Adams’s plan for tonight, and she wouldn’t be surprised if this was it—buy, threaten or trick the tournament into his hands.

  Angus obviously felt some of the same apprehension, as the expression on his face dimmed a little. For a second or two they were all caught that way, then Angus laughed, a loud, barking laugh, and Mr. Adams did too. Lady managed a weak giggle.

  “Don’t ask, don’t get.” Mr. Adams offered his hand to Angus. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

  Angus shook his hand. “No, I canna. Nor can I blame you for keeping this bonny creature so close to yer side,” he said and faced Lady. He lightly took her offered hand and bowed over it, laying a chaste kiss on its back. “You make the heather on the glens wither in shame of your beauty.”

  “Thank you, Mr. MacDonnelly. Won’t you have a drink and enjoy some refreshments? Marie will make sure you have everything you need.” She beckoned to a willowy, dark-haired woman in a lilac peignoir and watched as the Scotsman was led to a settee in the corner.

  “You do that so well, pet,” Mr. Adams said in a quiet voice. “Make them feel like they’re in the presence of a queen, then send them off with a whore, smiling the whole time. Keep this up and you may replace Mrs. Henderson.

  “Ah, Randolph,” he said, greeting his next guest. It left Lady a moment to digest what he’d said, and the very bones in her body shivered in reaction. To be tied to him further, still his whore, but now also responsible to him for this business? He believed it was a great honor he was offering her, but the thought of it threatened to bring up the stew and bread she’d eaten with Nessie an hour ago.

  Another greeting, another pass-off to one of the girls. As she watched this couple find a quiet spot, her eyes fell on Mrs. Henderson. The madam was at the end of the bar, watching the room with sharp eyes, but the look she gave Lady would have been less deadly had she broken the whiskey bottle against the mahogany and come at her with the jagged edges.

  Slowly, trying her best not to show any reaction, Lady turned back to
Mr. Adams. Whores had their territory and Mrs. Henderson obviously felt hers included Mr. Adams. Lady fingered the ruby between her breasts. Maybe it was enough for her and Nessie to escape with tonight.

  “I’m glad you like it, pet.” Mr. Adams was watching her touch the necklace, and at his comment, she let one finger drift over the swell of her breast. After last night, her best bets were to keep him distracted or amorous, probably both.

  “How could I not? It’s so beautiful and has such wonderful memories with it. I simply adore it.” She gave a breathy little moan in his ear, obscenely fingering the ruby and her breast.

  Her plan worked and Mr. Adams roughly pulled her to him. He pressed several biting kisses against her breast at the same time he pressed his erection against her leg. Lady softly gasped like she was supposed to and let her head roll to the side.

  Which was when she saw King watching her.

  Dressed in a bone-colored shirt with a gray vest and darker gray pants, he was standing four or five steps up on the grand staircase, able to see the whole room. His hands were loosely clasped and his face looked pained. With him watching her, for the first time in a long time, Lady felt like a whore.

  Slowly, gently, she pushed at the leech attached to her skin. “Mr. Adams, your guests.”

  “Let ’em rot,” he said and raised her skirts with one hand, then roughly cupped her quinny. She could feel him fingering for the slit of her drawers and closed her eyes, trying to think of King so he wouldn’t find her completely dry.

  “My goodness, it always seems like I’m approaching you at the most inopportune times. I do humbly apologize, but the...butler said I should seek you out first.”

  Lady recognized that voice, the sardonic lilt to it, without even having to look. Judging by his groan and the way his hand stopped burrowing between her legs, Mr. Adams did, too. At the same time she opened her eyes to look at their guest, Mr. Adams spoke from between Lady’s breasts.