by Pamela Cayne
“Tell her you need a yellow teacup,” Lady interrupted and King looked back at her, his face set in a frown. Lady nodded and King turned back to the boy. “Tell her you need a yellow teacup, then do as she asks. I’ve got five shillings for you when you come back, and another five if you don’t tell anybody what you’re doing.” He shut the door.
Lady relaxed once the door was closed, knowing Nessie would soon be on her way. She watched King pull a shirt on and sit in his chair by the now cold fireplace. Whatever he’d been fighting seemed to be coming to an end, so she simply waited and watched.
“You’re awfully calm, considering...” he finally said, turning to face her.
“Considering last night?” She raised her eyebrows at him in question and he nodded. “What can I say? I have the ability to keep this all buried until I have the time to break down.” She tried to sound bored, worldly, but wasn’t sure if he heard the slight quaver to her voice. Please, King. Talk to me. Hold me. Tell me I’m not even more damaged than I was before.
“Yellow teacup?” he asked after a few seconds, and Lady was thankful for the change in subject. The cold details of her situation let her bury that moment of vulnerability with the rest.
“It was Nessie’s idea. In our line of work one needs to prepare for anything. We have a series of code words depending on the situation. In addition to keeping our secrets, it saves time trying to explain things when speed might be necessary.”
“So what does yellow teacup mean?”
“It means I’m okay, but in a situation. Need a change of clothes and to get home quickly.”
“You’re not in any danger here.”
Lady wasn’t sure what to say to that. She was in considerable danger here if anybody knew she had spent the night with King in his bed, naked. Since there were quite a few girls—not to mention Mrs. Henderson one wall away—who could profit greatly from that information, yellow teacup had almost been upgraded to crimson veil.
“I’ll be safer at home, though.” Lady couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t get her so deeply into explanations that she could never get out. And right now, she was too raw to delve into anything. For her own protection, for her struggling sanity, she needed to get home. Now.
“Will you?”
“Yes, I will,” she said clearly, her anger finding a target, one that had been pushing at her for the last five minutes. “And where I appreciate your concern and your assistance, my future affairs need not necessitate similar treatment.”
“Let’s get one thing clear.” King’s voice grew louder with each word as he stood and stabbed a finger at her. “You came here. I didn’t go out and drag you to my home, you showed up on my doorstep with your dress ripped half off. If you don’t want me concerning myself with your affairs, perhaps you should take them somewhere else next time this happens. Somewhere luckier.”
Lady stood up, infuriated. She gripped the blanket with white knuckles. “Well, I would think next time this happens, I’ll get somebody who’s willing to help but not want to start questioning every decision I make. If I didn’t want to think, I would have stayed with Mr. Adams last night. He has absolutely no trouble telling me what to do.”
“Or making you do it,” King said in a low, mean voice.
Lady gasped, her hand pulled back to cover her open mouth. She watched King’s face shift to a tired remorse, but she was too indignant to care. She slowly lowered her hand and closed her mouth, gritting her teeth behind tight lips.
“Have no worries, Mr. King. You won’t find yourself so bothered again.” She grabbed her chemise and dress off the floor and threw them on the bed. With motions driven far past anger, she pulled the blanket off and flipped it onto the bed, never breaking eye contact with King. Facing him the entire time, Lady put on her ruined clothes. King didn’t move through the whole brief event, his eyes even with hers. With the red satin pulled on like a robe, she held it shut at the waist and chest and met his angry gaze with one of her own.
He crossed the room and came up right against her, his shirt brushing the knuckles of her clasped hands. He reached up and cupped the back of her neck, the surprisingly gentle motion drawing her against him.
“Next time you stay with Mr. Adams, Miss Lady,” he said in a low voice thrumming with an emotion she couldn’t name, “you might be bleeding too much to walk afterward.”
She couldn’t look away from King’s eyes, the shared knowledge of last night and how very unlucky she could have been causing her knees to tremble. She was opening her mouth to say his name, lifting one hand to grab on to him, taking that last step that would let her totally and completely fall into him, when he let go. The sudden lack of support caused her to stumble back against the edge of the bed. “I’ll wait for Mrs. Nesbitt outside.” He walked to the door without looking back.
Lady slumped to the floor to pick up the scattered pearls and rubies. She wanted to cry, but found she just couldn’t do it. If she broke down now, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Chapter Eleven
After a day of rest, Lady decided to act as though last night had been nothing but a boisterous party. She would fight Mr. Adams to the death—his or hers—if he tried to harm her again, but as of today, Lady’s plans to run were a thing of “when” and not “if.” She told Nessie Mr. Adams had been overly enthusiastic in his attentions last night, not up to having that talk with her friend. Thankfully, Nessie was still in denial about Mr. Adams and didn’t ask about Lady’s injuries, only helped treat them with repeated applications of chickweed oil to her arm and split lip. By nightfall, Lady was able to walk into the warehouse on Mr. Adams’s arm like nothing had happened.
To keep Mr. Adams off guard, Lady asked Nessie to take extra care with her outfit tonight. It would also soothe her friend, letting her think Lady wanted to please Mr. Adams with her appearance. Chickweed oil wasn’t the only thing that could cool inflammation.
They’d pulled her hair back into a sleek chignon with tiny jet beads running through it like a stream of ink. Her eyes were lined with kohl, a tiny, glittering paste chip at the point where the kohl swept onto her temple like a sultan’s favored dancer. Her lips, by contrast, were a muted berry, the color of lips that had spent hours being kissed, nibbled and sucked. She wore a black brocade opera cape lined in black satin ruffles, the garment framing her face like a glowing, living, marble sculpture. All the other whores here styled their hair like rat nests, slathered on thick, pasty cosmetics and wore garish dresses that offered all of the desserts at once. Nessie told Lady she’d stand out like a dark rose among weeds, and judging by the men turning their way, she was right.
She felt Mr. Adams puff out his chest in pride as he walked her around the edge of the crowd. Once she had some time to think today, Lady knew the best thing she could do was to come back even stronger, even bolder. She would wear her whore’s mask until the eve of the tournament, then leave it behind as she made her escape. For in spite of the warmth that fought through her chest when she remembered how it had felt to wake up in King’s arms, she was aware of her future. It didn’t involve being vulnerable to a man or having her life depend on his mood. It might be cold, but it was freedom.
Freedom from being ogled like some geegaw a man could buy, she thought, disdainfully waving away a coarse man who was grabbing his crotch and rubbing it suggestively. Freedom from having no option, no choice, no opinion, she thought, holding a black-gloved hand over her mouth to cover a yawn when a young blade dropped to one knee with his hand over his heart. Freedom from being judged, bought and sold based on her body, hands, and mouth, she thought, giving Mr. Adams a sultry look as he stopped them at the center of the room.
She pulled the bow of her cloak and let Mr. Adams take it off her shoulders, knowing he loved to be the one to unveil her. Her dress was turquoise, ranging from practically black at the hem, to the deep bl
ue-green drapery of her skirt, to the shimmering hue of exotic waters curving up her waist and over her chest like a corset, the tone-on-tone embroidery swirling up to circle her breasts. Over her chest and down her arms to her elbows, a fitted lace jacket offered glimpses of alabaster skin flashing through like opal, lace bows trailing from her upper arms like exotic fronds. Lady smiled and trailed one blue gloved hand over her collarbone, drawing attention to the mica-powdered lotion Nessie used to give her skin an extra sparkle. Both the bows and the lotion were meant to disguise Lady’s bruises, and judging where Mr. Adams’s eyes were, the idea was working.
Mr. Adams slid an arm around her waist and Lady draped hers over his shoulder, idly trailing one finger up and down his neck.
“Pet, you have the eye of every man here.” He sounded happier than when he’d extorted this warehouse from a Red Door customer with a taste for Celestial women.
“And half of the women,” she answered, dropping her tone to a throaty purr. Regardless of what every man in here thought, she had won the fights tonight.
His hand clenched on her hip. “If I wasn’t enjoying so much the sight of these toffs memorizing you so they can toss off into their hands later, I’d push you against the wall and be fucking you before any of them could make a fist.”
Lady could feel the slight tremor running through Mr. Adams and knew he could still end up doing that yet. She continued to take deep, slow breaths and pictured the little cottage up the Scottish coast. Freedom.
“Of course,” Mr. Adams said, obviously talking to himself at this point, “it would make them even greener if they did have to watch me fuck you, knowing I had your sweet cunny while they had these wrung-out whores. They’d have to watch the rest of the night, knowing I was running down your leg. I wonder if they’d be able to smell it?”
Lady leaned over to whisper in Mr. Adams’s ear, discreetly bobbing her face toward a portly yet finely dressed gentleman over to their right. “Lindsay said that Mr. Sands over there couldn’t perform unless she spanked him and he addressed her as ‘Mother.’”
Mr. Adams’s face lit up as he looked at the poor man, and Lady felt a bite of pity for throwing the poor fellow to the dogs like this, but she needed something to get Mr. Adams off the dangerous track he was on, and naughty gossip was the best way to do it.
“Oh, he’s one of those, is he?” He grunted out a bawdy chuckle. “That could come in handy someday.”
Since Mr. Sands was involved in the same world of fighting and whoring as Mr. Adams, Lady’s sympathy for him didn’t reach too high a pitch. Lie down with dogs and all. Lady knew how painful those fleas could be and she was fine letting somebody else get bitten for a change.
The first fight was announced, Shade in the opening match. Lady had been so focused on making it through tonight that she hadn’t paid any attention to the pairings. She glanced at Shade in the ring and saw him staring at her. Normally that didn’t bother her, but his look was almost predatory. She’d seen that look before when one whore thought another had taken her man, but it seemed wrong on Shade. It was twisted and eerie.
“Are you going to bet, Mr. Adams?” She casually eyed the crowd. “It is Shade, after all.”
Mr. Adams looked in the ring with the same fevered excitement as when he had been talking about fucking her a moment ago. He was in a state, all right.
“Right you are, pet. Right you are.” He slid a folded twenty-pound note into her cleavage. “Place the bet for me. I’m going to have a word with Shade before the fight begins.”
Lady found the wager taker and got the betting ticket for Mr. Adams, then stayed at the back edge of the crowd for a moment where she could enjoy a little peace. She figured anybody fool enough to disturb her either hadn’t seen Shade kill a man at the last fight or was trying to be the next in line. Thankfully, there were none and she was left alone.
“Another sure bet?”
The low, rough voice in her ear shattered Lady’s calm. She knew before slowly turning around to face the man that it was King.
Pulling her nerves back together, she waved her marker at him. “This is for Mr. Adams. I’ve learned that I haven’t the stomach to wager.” She turned back toward the crowd.
“Even after you won?”
“I never said anything about winning or losing, King.” Without looking back, Lady walked into the crowd. Mr. Adams would be looking for her as soon as the fight started, but she was more anxious right now to get away from King before she gave up the cold future of her freedom and threw herself into his arms.
* * *
King retreated to the back of the warehouse and leaned against the wall, hidden in the shadows. He could see the back of Lady’s head and, every so often, the edge of her profile as she looked to her left. In the torchlight of the warehouse, she looked like a mythological water creature holding court over the flames. The men surrounding her in their coats and top hats looked like ashes dancing in her wake.
She was stunning, and King found himself wanting to applaud this goddess of survival. What she’d endured from Mr. Adams last night—what she’d had to endure from him, and what a bastard he’d been to her—and here she was, giving the piss to each and every man in her sight. It made him believe that maybe they really could make it. If Lady hadn’t been knocked down yet, running from Mr. Adams wasn’t going to be what did it. But for them to have a chance, both escaping and as a couple, they desperately needed to talk. He’d even start: I’m sorry.
There was a loud cheer followed by the referee declaring Shade the winner. At least he didn’t kill this opponent—the crowd would have been much louder with a death. Maybe he should take Mr. Collins’s bribe before the crowd was cheering his body on the ground. He could take the money, grab Lady’s hand and run. He’d promised the American an answer soon and had been hoping for some kind of sign of which road he should pick—a guaranteed payoff or twice the purse with a greater risk of injury. Once he apologized to Lady, he’d ask her thoughts on what he—what they should do.
He was up next. King started to bounce from foot to foot and swing his arms back and forth. His next opponent, an Italian named Roberto, was big but a little slow. King would have to wear him down with short, quick attacks, all while staying out of Roberto’s reach.
Lady was looking around the room again, but this time her search ended with her eyes on him. King kept loosening up but he didn’t look away from her, either. Lady slowly turned back, scanning the crowd as though he was simply another part of it. Furious at himself for making her feel like she couldn’t even look at him and even angrier at Mr. Adams for what he’d done, King was more than ready to beat somebody senseless.
The referee called his name and King tore off his shirt with two sharp movements. He strode into the ring and focused on the fight, his opponent. If he lost his focus for even one second it could mean the difference between winning and losing. Or worse.
As the referee called Roberto into the ring, King started hitting his own chest and arms with his fists and yelling. Each thump of flesh, each roar, caused the crowd to cheer louder and louder. King danced around the edge of the ring, circling Roberto. He kept pounding his chest and shouting, driving the crowd into a fury. King only registered it as noise, blocking out the vultures around him and focusing on winning the match.
The referee shouted, “Go!” and jerked his hand up, signaling the start of the fight. King tried to slip in on Roberto’s left but the big man turned, keeping King square in front of him. King tried to slip in again, but at the last instant, darted low and to the right, landing two quick punches to the Italian’s gut. For all of King’s fury, he had trouble landing any good punches.
When the referee called the end of the first round, King had been dancing around Roberto for the full three minutes and only landed two or three substantial hits. Roberto had managed to land a few blows of his own, one alm
ost knocking King to his knees. King took a drink of water, swishing the second swallow around in his mouth before spitting it to the ground. He dumped the rest over his head.
The referee called round two and King approached the ring a little more cautiously. With most of his anger drained away, he took a moment to think about the fight. If he wasn’t landing punishing blows to Roberto, he was only tiring himself out. Time to use a little more strategy.
King circled the Italian, waiting for his moments rather than forcing them. He noticed when he moved more slowly, Roberto tended to glance at the crowd. King forced himself not to look at what the other man was watching but to keep his eyes locked on Roberto’s face. Twice, he was able to step in and deliver a solid blow to the jaw, so his slow but steady strategy was working.
Roberto looked to his left and King stepped in to throw a one-two punch. As King bent his knees to take him low enough to strike at Roberto’s middle, the Italian crouched down as if to block the blow or strike one of his own. In a split-second decision, King used the bend of his knees to jump up, driving an elbow to the top of Roberto’s head as he came down. Right as he was landing the blow, Roberto reached out and pulled King into a bear hug, his arm awkwardly caught behind him by Roberto’s grasp, but King’s downward momentum continued. He managed to drive Roberto down with his blow, but it only caused the vise of the big Italian’s arms to jerk suddenly and King felt a sickening roll of pain as his shoulder popped.
Chapter Twelve
Before either of them could do more damage, the referee called round two and each man went to his corner. King tried to take a deep breath and almost bent over from the pain radiating from his shoulder. There was no way he could continue this fight without risking further injuries. He glanced over at Roberto and saw the big man sitting on his stool, holding the back of his head and rolling it from side to side. Good. He must have caused a little damage himself. Perhaps he wasn’t through quite yet.
