The Fighter and the Fallen Woman

by Pamela Cayne

  “Collins, good to see you.”

  “Please don’t get up on my account, Mr. Adams.” There was laughter in his voice. “I’ll just go amuse myself.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mr. Collins,” Lady said, meeting his eyes and daring him to mock her. “We have some lovely ladies to do that for you.”

  Mr. Collins smiled as wide as he could without showing teeth, the expression one of a shared mirth. “Touché, Lady. As always, a pleasure.” He bowed gracefully and walked away.

  “Is he gone?” Mr. Adams asked, sounding like a little boy who sulked until the bully left.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hoping he would feel it as comforting when she was still trying to push him away. “Yes, he is,” she said in his ear, studiously avoiding the sight of King a fraction to her right. “But you should check with Mrs. Henderson right now. We’ll have all night to continue our discussion.”

  With a final smacking kiss on the skin right above her neckline, Mr. Adams took his hand back and separated from her. “You would do so well in charge here,” he repeated and walked away.

  Lady took a glass of champagne from a passing girl in a short, diaphanous gown and strolled into the hallway outside the parlor. She was still in plain view of Mr. Adams, but had as much peace and quiet as she would find tonight. King was no longer at his post on the stairs and Lady was torn between missing him and being glad he was gone.

  She set the champagne on a nearby table, her taste for it suddenly gone, and leaned against the wall. She let her head drift back until it was resting against the plaster, letting her eyes drift shut at the same time. Even though she rested this afternoon after receiving Mr. Adams’s note, Lady was tired. Some of it was simple fatigue, but there was a weariness that went past her bones and had seeped into her soul.

  “You look nice.”

  Lady opened her eyes and let her head fall to the side. She knew it was King by his voice, by the faintest scent of spice, but she had to look too. The gold in his eyes never failed to warm her and tonight, she needed that warmth.

  “Thank you. So do you. I’m not used to seeing you in anything more than a shirt you’ve tossed on, but you clean up well.” She turned her face back toward the ceiling and closed her eyes again, but kept the image of King in her head. He did look different in the more formal clothes—formal for their world, at least—and Lady found herself thinking he looked like a shopkeeper or even a fruit hawker. He looked handsome. He looked respectable, and it came close to breaking her heart. Why would a man who looked that good, who could be respectable, want a prostitute by his side?

  King chuckled and it sounded like smoke and whiskey fighting it out. She couldn’t help it—it made one corner of her mouth lift. “Mrs. Henderson found these togs for me. I guess what I had been wearing wasn’t good enough for the party.”

  Lady laughed weakly. “Yes, that sounds like her.”

  “Quite a necklace, too,” he said after a few seconds of silence.

  “Thank you. For the necklace.” Lady opened her eyes and again let her head turn so she could see King. He looked a little puzzled and Lady added, “After all, if it weren’t also for your victory the first night, I’m sure I wouldn’t have it.”

  King nodded and regarded her intensely. Lady couldn’t bear meeting his eyes, the knowledge of what else she had done to earn the necklace too vile to accept in his presence, so she looked back at the ceiling, this time keeping her eyes open and blinking rapidly.

  “So what do you get for the next round, sapphires?”

  “That’d be a question for Mr. Adams, wouldn’t it?”

  “They’d match your eyes,” King said softly and she felt the lightest touch on her hand. At the same time, she heard somebody calling her from inside the parlor. She looked into the crimson and gold room, and saw Mr. Collins approaching her. She turned back, saying, “It’s Mr. Collins. You should...” before realizing King was gone. She saw a leg clad in dark gray wool disappear around the corner and already felt colder.

  “Ah, Lady, I’m so glad I found you.”

  Lady turned back and let her posture shift to a seductive unobtainable. “Well, hello, Mr. Collins. Was there something wrong with Jeanette? I’d be happy to find you another girl if you’d like.”

  “Well, there is another girl I’m interested in, quite intensely as a matter of fact.”

  Lady’s smile grew into something that promised assistance and sport in exchange for a secret, a gypsy’s smile. “Tell me about this girl who’s captured your interest and I’ll do what I can.”

  “I’d be ever so grateful. She’s graceful and beautiful and composed and witty, everything a man could want. I would make it well worth her time if she would consider my suit.”

  While Mr. Collins always seemed genteel and pleasant, Lady examined his tone, his posture, his words, to see if there honestly was that yearning he declared. It might be he was truly besotted by one of the girls. Stranger things had happened.

  “She sounds like a paragon of feminine wiles, Mr. Collins. Give me her name and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Mr. Collins only smiled.

  Chapter Nine

  As comprehension dawned, her mouth dropped open of its own accord. Quickly, she closed it and gave a tinkling laugh.

  “Oh, Mr. Collins, you do me a great honor, but you’re well aware of my current commitment.”

  “I am, Lady, but I’m also aware it is perhaps more of a business arrangement than anything else.” Mr. Collins pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and unscrewed the top. He took a brief nip and held it out to Lady. “I offer you not only security, but a wealthy future and a true measure of fondness. Can he say otherwise?”

  Lady said nothing, knowing she should neither accept nor decline the American’s offer. Nessie would tell her it was like a favor—something that could be pulled out later if needed. She took the flask and swallowed. When a man offered a drink, it was easier to take it than decline. However, this drink was overly sweet and after the first swallow, her heart started to race. She struggled not to start coughing.

  “My apologies, Lady. American bourbon isn’t for everybody.” Sebastian plucked the flask from her hand and screwed the top back on. “However, I’d give you a ship of the finest French champagne if you but said yes.”

  Lady smiled. There was nothing she could say now, so she waved to one of the girls, an auburn-haired lass with skin like cream. “Mr. Collins, meet Meghan. Why don’t you let her get you some good Irish whiskey?”

  Meghan linked her arm through Mr. Collins’s and started to lead him back into the parlor. As Meghan turned the corner, Mr. Collins leaned toward Lady and whispered, “It doesn’t have to be like this. You could have a fresh, new start.”

  She let his words sink in. As she gazed around the room, she saw Mrs. Henderson staring right at her. Lady would bet her new pearl-and-ruby necklace she had seen the whole thing. Lady returned the glare, knowing there was little Mrs. Henderson could do. But then she smiled at Lady, a tight, knowing smile.

  A cold knot of fear formed just below Lady’s teardrop ruby.

  * * *

  Hannibal looked over the parlor and enjoyed what he saw. His girls in his house entertaining his guests who were here for his tournament. He’d win the tournament, he had no doubt of that. It was what he had cultivated King for, after all. But bigger than that were the men here in this room—men of power, of influence, of knowing sometimes it took a little extra to get business done. If he could get this web of influence set up just right, his business would grow like his cock did around Lady.

  He laughed in anticipation and watched as Mr. Collins approached him, Meghan on his arm. He liked Meghan. Something about seeing that red hair between those white thighs always drove him crazy. He felt his blood start to stir and blew out a harsh breath from betwe
en clenched teeth. Bloody hell, it was a good day to be alive.

  “Mr. Adams, lovely party.” Mr. Collins said it like they were two swells in a ballroom. “I’ve never been to one where the, um, decorations were quite so lovely.” He looked down at Meghan and smiled.

  “Glad you approve.” Hannibal’s mood started to wilt. Looking anywhere but at Mr. Collins, he picked up his cigar from the crystal ashtray and clamped it between his teeth. Even though he was powerful, and Hannibal respected a man of power, there was something about the American that always made him want to break out his teeth with a piece of wood.

  “And speaking of lovely, I was wondering if I could have a word with you about our wager.”

  Hannibal glanced at Collins and weighed his request. It couldn’t hurt to hear him out. He could always say no. He looked at Meghan and jerked his head to the side. She went and sat in a chair facing them, her legs spread so a sprinkling of that lovely red hair could be seen. Good girl.

  Collins smiled in appreciation at the sight, though he seemed to have no trouble looking at Hannibal instead. His jaw tensed and he bit on his cigar again.

  “I want to propose a little wager with you.”

  Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “Instead of the one we’ve got?”

  “In addition to.”

  “Go on.”

  “If King wins, you win the ten thousand and Jonathan, and I’ll throw in a twenty percent interest in my shipping company.”

  Hannibal appreciated the deal, but knew the other side was going to be as steep. He simply waited for Collins to continue. This was his proposal. He wasn’t going to rush him.

  “If Jonathan wins—” Collins paused, looking over his shoulder toward the doorway before turning back to their conversation, “—you can keep the ten thousand, but I get Lady.”

  Hannibal threw back his head and laughed, almost dropping his cigar on the crimson rug with designs of fucking on it—men, women, solo, groups. He loved it and it’d be a shame to see a burn mark on the magenta quim peeking out from under his shoes. “Is that all?” he asked and started laughing again.

  Hannibal’s laughter finally trailed off, and he shook out his handkerchief to wipe the tears away from his eyes. “You’ve got bollocks, I will say that.” He tucked the hankie back into his jacket pocket and took the cigar in the crook of his finger. “Now what makes you think I’ll give her up or that she’ll go with you?”

  The American looked over his shoulder again and Hannibal started to feel that old, trusted desire to hurt somebody. Collins always had a cat-and-the-canary attitude to him, but Hannibal had brushed it off as his business face. The way he kept looking at Lady made him wonder if it was more than that. What if there was more to the episode with the flowers? It was possible Mrs. Nesbitt hadn’t heard all of the conversation between them. Her visits since then had been practically worthless as far as information went. Damned biddy. What good was she if she couldn’t report on everything? He’d have to talk to Shade about her.

  Collins looked back at Hannibal. “Let’s say I have a feeling, about both. I understand you’re a businessman and this is nothing more than a business arrangement. I think—”

  “I’m a businessman? This is a business arrangement?” Hannibal interrupted in a shout, then lowered his voice, letting the anger and outrage he felt give menace to what he said next. “You know nothing of my arrangements, not unless I choose to discuss them with you, and I am not discussing Lady with you. You would be best served to go fuck Meghan and stop making such bloody stupid wagers, especially ones you don’t have a chance in hell at winning.”

  For once, Collins’s smile faded, and it felt good. The American bowed deeply to him and Hannibal entertained a thought of breaking that crystal ashtray over the back of his head. For starters.

  “I am deeply sorry,” Collins said after he had risen. “I certainly meant no offense and apologize if any was given. I think I went too far in coveting what you have. Can you truly blame me for trying to gain a few precious gems for my own collection?”

  Hannibal’s breathing returned to normal and he stuck his cigar back in his mouth. There was another week to the tournament and a possibility he could still use Collins’s business contacts. Best not to step on his neck any more tonight. He nodded once and looked out over the parlor.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I believe the lovely Meghan is waiting.” With another brief bow, the American left and Hannibal watched as he followed that red-haired pinchcock upstairs. Good. One thorn out of his side for now.

  “Mr. Adams, a word if you please.”

  Hannibal looked to his left where Mrs. Henderson was standing on the other side of the bar. Now here was a woman who would tell him the whole picture, whom he could trust, and who was worth watching. If Mrs. Nesbitt had the sense and the loyalty Mrs. Henderson had in her pinkie finger, he would be a happy man. Maybe he needed to get Lady back at the Red Door sooner rather than later. Two madams—one for running the business and the other for running the pleasure. Yes, a happy man indeed.

  “Absolutely, Mrs. Henderson. I am at your disposal.” Hannibal leaned forward.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I absolutely knew I had to tell you and let you deal with it as you may.”

  “Of course, of course.” He patted her hands, clasped together on the bar. Whatever it was, it had her upset. Hannibal could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Mrs. Henderson upset in the eighteen years he’d employed her.

  “I feel you’re being cuckolded by Lady.” She dropped her gaze to their hands, as though she couldn’t stand looking him in the eye anymore. “A little while earlier, she was speaking with somebody in the hallway. I couldn’t see who it was, but I could tell it was a man. Then, soon after, Mr. Collins approached her and spoke to her. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but something he said startled her quite visibly. She matched him up with Meghan but there was something in her expression not quite right. From my experience at this fine establishment, I would say she’s hiding something quite big. And, from my experience at this fine establishment, a secret that big usually only means one thing.”

  Hannibal felt a rush of several things, almost as if a wave from the Thames had knocked into him. He heard Collins asking for Lady as the winning purse to a wager, he saw Lady speaking to the American at the fight the other night, he felt Lady’s reluctance, even after giving her that costly pearl-and-ruby necklace. Was she playing him for a fool?

  No, not Lady. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  He drew his hand off Mrs. Henderson’s and stalked the length of the bar, leaving her where she stood. It was natural other men wanted Lady, that was who she was. When he had seen her in Mrs. Henderson’s parlor, he’d known she was a diamond and that he would have her for his very own, not to be shared. He liked how other men looked at her, but looking was it. He was the one who took her to the house he rented for her and he was the one to touch her, fuck her, make her moan. Not them. Never them.

  Slowly, Hannibal turned and walked back toward Mrs. Henderson. But there had been something lately, something not quite right. Perhaps Lady was getting a little too grand for her station, putting on airs that she was more than a whore. Was that what Collins was trying to offer her, woo her with? The promise she’d be more than a prostitute?

  Hannibal slammed his fist on the bar. That was it. Lady was his and she knew that, but she needed to be reminded who was the slave and who was the master. As soon as his guests were taken care of, he’d take care of Lady.

  * * *

  For the length of two and a half whiskeys, King sat in his chair by the fire, trying not to think about Lady. He’d watched her throughout the evening, deftly avoiding being grabbed or singled out, or at least after Mr. Collins had found her in the hall. She had made Mr. Adams look powerful, skilled and, most of all, envied. And more than any
thing, King wanted to carry her somewhere quiet, let her simply sit and not have to pose or flirt. She could lay her head on his shoulder and do nothing she didn’t feel like and he would watch over her. Lord, how he wished he could.

  Soon after midnight, most of the guests had either left or retreated to private rooms, and King had felt some relief as the party died down. Lady had still been within view, even though she was on the opposite side of the room from Mr. Adams, had been for a least a quarter hour. It seemed odd that Lady not be attached to Mr. Adams’s side. King was about to slowly make his way over there and ask if she was all right when Mr. Adams released him from his duty. Shade was still around somewhere, but he wasn’t King’s concern. So with a last glance at Lady, her looking out the window, he’d returned to his rooms for a bath and some rest. Jenny had followed him and made it more than clear she was willing, but he once again turned her away.

  With the whiskey easing the knot of pain buried deep beneath his chest, King decided it was time for the bath to ease the aches of his body. He poured the first cauldron of steaming water into the small tub and put another on the hook over the fire. Even shirtless, he smelled of sweat, brandy and the rose perfume some of the girls wore. Unable to bear his stench another second, he dunked a cloth in the water and wrung it out, the water almost too hot to touch. He wiped the steaming rag over his head and chest and blew out a huge sigh. The party had been over for an hour or more, yet even through the walls, King heard some boisterous noises. Somebody was having a good time.

  King rinsed out the rag and started on his arms when there was a hesitant knock at his back door, the one not connected to Mrs. Henderson’s entryway. Knowing he wouldn’t shock anybody around this neighborhood with how he was dressed, he dropped the rag back into the tub and opened the door.

  It was a woman, but she was wearing a dark cloak with its hood shielding most of her face. She was frantically looking out at the street, as though she was worried somebody had followed her, but King didn’t comprehend the danger she was searching for until she turned around.