The Fighter and the Fallen Woman

by Pamela Cayne

  King took a big step forward and wrapped Lady in his good arm. She started to struggle, beating her arms against his injured shoulder, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “I’m not the one you’re fighting,” he said, a few inadvertent grunts the only signs of his pain. “You can scream at me, hit me, curse me to hell and back, but I won’t let you destroy yourself this way.”

  Lady felt the anger start to drain out of her and let her hands fall to her sides. She honestly didn’t know if she was mad at King or not anymore, but something was radically different than it had been only a day or so ago.

  King shifted so his embrace became one of softness rather than strength. He was murmuring and she couldn’t tell what he was saying but it soothed her. She wrapped one arm around him and lifted the other so her hand lay on the one spot of his bare chest not covered by the bandage. She felt his heartbeat against her palm, heard it in her ear. She took a deep breath and let it out, and beneath her hand, she felt his heart speed up.

  She lifted her head, his hand holding the back of it, and looked him in the eye. Years of practice taught her how to recognize desire in a man, but there was something else in his eyes, on his face, that she didn’t know. If it was Nessie, she would have said it was tenderness, but there was no possibility this scarred, cold fighter harbored that emotion, regardless of what he’d said or done before.

  He started to lower his head and it was slow enough Lady knew they both had the opportunity to say no or move away. As he came closer and her eyes lowered, she felt their first kiss like a memory. Would this one taste like life too?

  The first touch of his lips was brief, yet it brought memory to life. A slow warmth flowed through her, easing the confusion and the fear and the anger. She opened her eyes and looked at him from inches away, finally acknowledging to herself just how hard she’d fallen for this man. This time, she was the one who started to lean forward to meet him, letting her eyes drift shut and going back to that warm place inside.

  He kissed her, his lips sweetly claiming hers. He roamed from one side of her mouth to the other, lowering his arm to wrap around her waist. Yet through it all, he never used his tongue or kissed her deeply. She’d never been softly and sweetly kissed before, kissed by a man who made her knees weak by how gentle he was. It was a new experience for her, and she adored him for it.

  Her lips, her jaw, her throat—they all were kissed, treasured. She twined her arms around his neck and held him close as they kissed. His bound hand could only cup her hip, but he lifted the other to hold her face, tip her head so he could kiss her earlobe and the sensitive spot behind it. When he pressed his lips there, his breath coming in a small gust, she started to feel something she had never experienced before.

  Passion.

  It started with a flutter in her chest, like she had swallowed a dozen butterflies, and then moved into her stomach. Lower. She felt heat and a swelling need for something else. She brushed her hips against his and felt his ridge of desire. For the first time ever, it felt right.

  Dear God, maybe she wasn’t broken after all. The thought made her pull away and smile at him, full of thoughts about the best way and time to continue this. He smiled back—a smile of joy and possibility and the exquisite thoughts of what could happen next, and it was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. She leaned in to kiss him again, but before she could touch him, a soft knock sounded and they both froze.

  Chapter Sixteen

  King looked at her and raised one eyebrow, seeming to ask if she wanted him to answer the door or ignore it and continue.

  The knock sounded again and from outside, a girlish voice called, “King? Are you there?”

  Lady nodded and King released her. She turned to face the fire, smoothing her dress and hair, and she could hear King cross the room to the door.

  “King,” she whispered, getting his attention. “I’m supposed to be here. Mr. Adams asked me to check on your shoulder.”

  He nodded once and Lady turned back to the fire, relieved she’d remembered to tell him. She heard King open the door and say, “Jenny, what is it?”

  Jenny—another one of Mrs. Henderson’s girls. Mr. Adams told her once he’d gone to her when Lady had her female problems, but he said he’d never returned because though they looked a little alike, Jenny was no Lady. Perhaps it was Jenny’s hair she’d pulled off King’s pillow. She hated the idea that King had been with her, that Jenny was readily available when Lady wasn’t.

  “I wanted to see if you were feeling right. I can help you feel better, I can.” Jenny’s high-pitched voice carried through King’s rooms and Lady clenched her hands into fists.

  “That’s nice, Jenny, but I’m good. You should see if Mrs. Henderson needs you.”

  “But that’s who sent me,” she answered, obviously pleased with the chore. Lady was wondering if this was what jealousy felt like. She was hating herself for the way it was making her doubt everything that had happened between her and King and forced her hands to relax.

  “That’s kind of you, Jenny,” Lady said in a clear voice, walking toward the door. “But I’m afraid you won’t be needed. Mr. Adams asked me to come by and make sure King was in the best of health, and even though King is a big, strong man, his injuries require at most one nurse. Tell Mrs. Henderson you’re free to return to your other duties.” With a smile that could shatter ice, she shut the door in Jenny’s face.

  She walked back to her post by the fireplace, glad her back was turned so King couldn’t see the little smile of pleasure on her face, doubled in size when Jenny could clearly be heard venting her displeasure. Lady obviously wasn’t the only one stricken by jealousy.

  “Goodness, she’s in quite a state.” Lady reclined in the leather chair. “Obviously she hasn’t had enough of you yet.”

  “She hasn’t had any.” He tried to pull her up by her arm.

  Lady slipped out of his grasp, turned her head and said, “I’ve never heard that before.”

  King braced his arm on the chair and leaned into Lady, his face only a few inches from hers. “Believe it. If I wanted Jenny or any of the girls here, all I’d have to do is crook my finger and I’d be belt-deep in whores. Why would I lie?”

  “Belt-deep in whores? Goodness, now that makes me feel so much better.”

  “You’re twisting my words. I’m trying to say you’re who I—”

  She stood up, shoving her way past his bad arm, and faced him, letting the chill smother the last bits of warmth she’d had. “To business. How is your arm?”

  “Fine.” His voice sounded as dead as hers. “I should be able to take off the wrap tomorrow.”

  “Will you be able to fight in the next round?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. I’ll tell Mr. Adams. If you need something for the pain, go to the apothecary.” She picked up her cloak and purse from the floor, not even remembering how they got there, and headed for the door.

  “And if you need something to make you feel all soft and warm, don’t come to me.”

  Lady stopped and bowed her head for a moment. A tear was threatening but she forced it not to fall. Lifting her head, she reached for the doorknob and heard King say, “Lady, wait. I didn’t mean—” but she walked out before she heard what he said.

  * * *

  Sebastian Collins was enjoying the Four Crowns Inn he and Jonathan were staying at during the fights. Like the tournament, it was full of rough men, loose women and a complete lack of morals. Adams had a brilliant idea, but it wasn’t limited by location. After all, New York had a fair share of brawlers and whores.

  “Mr. Collins, how do you want me to bail up Shade?” Jonathan asked a few moments after their dinner was delivered.

  Sebastian looked across the table at his man. Finding Jonathan in that Australian jail was one of the best things that had
ever happened to him, and Jonathan knew it too. Clothed, fed, housed, paid—all to do what he’d almost been hanged for. Beat men to death.

  “I think the first question we ask is whether Adams lets his man fight.” Sebastian pushed a forkful of roast into his boiled potatoes and gravy. “After all, Shade was a last-minute entry. I don’t know if it was ever planned for him to get into a serious fight.” He ate, thinking while he chewed. Jonathan simply waited, cutting his boiled carrots into meticulous, identical pieces.

  “If he does,” Sebastian said, his fork held in the air like a baton, “then you are to win. Try to keep the maiming to a minimum, but I want you in the title match with King.”

  Jonathan smiled and stabbed two pieces of carrot with his knife. He slid the blade between his teeth and pulled the carrots off, then chewed them with his mouth open, smiling all the while.

  “Now, what else have you found out?” Sebastian took another bite of his dinner and washed it down with a few swallows of pale ale.

  “Lady flies between her house and King’s more than you’d think. And he was over at her house last night after the fight, but I don’t know if he tupped her—didn’t seem to be there long enough. Of course, he may just be fast.” Jonathan laughed and stabbed two more pieces of carrot. “And Adams was at her place today and brought a little leather case with him.”

  “Jewels,” Sebastian murmured. He pictured how they’d look against her creamy skin. Diamonds, pearls, rubies—it didn’t matter. Anything would look like drops of rich, sweet candy on her.

  “He wasn’t carrying it when he left, and he wasn’t there long enough to tup her, either, unless—”

  “Yes, yes, he may be fast too,” Sebastian finished, setting his cutlery aside and leaning back in the booth. Sometimes Jonathan’s prurient humor left him cold. But, if his next appointments turned out as he hoped, that might be a thing of the past.

  Jonathan giggled. “Aye, he seems like it too. A fat little rabbit, that’s Adams.”

  “Did anything else happen today?” Sebastian sighed and took another swallow of his ale, then signaled for another.

  “As soon as Adams left, the Ladybird flew to King’s. I couldn’t hear what it was, but she stood in his doorway and yelled at him, gave him a proper blow, then poked him with her little girly finger, poke, poke, poke. He shut the door and after a quarter hour, she left.”

  “Hmm. Whatever could have caused that?” The serving girl set Sebastian’s ale down and he thanked her, but his gaze fell on the man standing in the doorway watching him.

  It was King.

  “Well, maybe I’m about to find out,” he said. Jonathan looked over his shoulder to where his master was looking and grinned. Without being asked, he got up and stood by the table.

  “How far?”

  “As far away as you can get without losing sight of us. I want King to know you’re not listening.”

  Jonathan nodded and headed to a far corner of the pub. Sebastian waited for a count of four, then motioned King over with a wave of his hand. He watched the fighter approach and though King was holding his arm stiffly, admired his unique combination of ferocity and grace. The barmaid following him seemed inclined to appreciate other aspects.

  “Whatcha want, guv?” she asked as King seated himself opposite Sebastian.

  “Bring my friend here the dinner special, a pint of the ale and a glass of your best whiskey, and bring me a glass of the whiskey too.” He slipped a crown in her cleavage, then gave her a little pat as she left.

  “Guess I’m having dinner.” King leaned back and crossed his hands across his stomach.

  “I’m afraid I must insist. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you refreshments?” He smiled and waved his hand as though to indicate the whole pub was there for his enjoyment. “And I’m hoping it will turn out to be a celebratory meal.”

  The barmaid returned with the drinks and the plate of food. King dug into his food and swallowed the first bite. As he forked another, he said, “Consider this the celebration, then. I’ll throw the fight.”

  “Marvelous, marvelous.” He’d added another link attach to his chain, and Sebastian was thrilled. He pulled out the leather wallet he’d slipped into his special vest pocket earlier tonight and was happy to push it across the table to King. He raised his whiskey. “To a successful partnership.”

  After a brief glance at the contents of the wallet, King slid it beneath his shirt, tucking it into the waist of his pants. He returned the toast and each man took a drink. Sebastian felt the cheap whiskey burn down his throat and welcomed the harsh pain.

  “So,” he drawled as King took another bite. “Any plans for your newfound wealth? A fine horse, a new wardrobe, perhaps a sparkling gift for a special girl?”

  “If I don’t make the fight look good enough, I suspect it’ll be used to get me out of the country and set up a new life.” He smiled ruefully and Sebastian’s estimation of this fighter went up a notch. He certainly knew what he was up against when he said yes.

  “So why are you doing this?” Suddenly, Sebastian had to know. Most men were motivated by money. They’d tell you it was the fine horse or the women, but money was at the root of it. If King wasn’t doing this because of greed, Sebastian’s chain was at risk and all it took was one weak link.

  King took another bite, chewed and looked thoughtful. Sebastian tried to read his face, but it could have showed everything or nothing—it was all in the reader. His sense of unease grew.

  “You want to know? No fancy answers, no cock-and-waddle about a better life?”

  Sebastian nodded and found himself leaning forward, not wanting to miss a word. King set his knife and fork on his plate and pushed it aside. He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, mirroring Sebastian from less than two feet apart.

  “Last night, I got hurt pretty bad.” King patted his arm. “Sure, I’ve been beaten plenty, but this one was different. I’ll be able to fight, make it to the final round, but some of the young dogs out there are faster and stronger even if I weren’t hurt, and they’re also willing to do what I am not.” His eyes cut to Jonathan and then he looked back at Sebastian. “Last night, when it was dark and I was fighting to take a breath, I found myself wondering what it would be like to have a little house in a little village somewhere, perhaps make some furniture, perhaps do a little farming, not wake up in pain most mornings. That’s why I’m doing this.” He picked up his ale and leaned back in the booth, eyes still locked on Sebastian’s.

  Sebastian sat back slowly and pulled his whiskey glass with him, his fingers idly turning it in slow circles. This was a complex man sitting across from him and he bore watching. He had the potential to be somebody important, perhaps more than just a bruiser who threw a fight.

  “Well, that and a sparkling gift or two,” King added, then grinned in such a naughty yet charming fashion that the barmaid wandered over.

  “You two foine gents need anything more? I’ve got some lovely specials that ain’t on the menu.” She trailed one finger down Sebastian’s shoulder while her eyes stayed on King.

  “Well, a little something special sounds quite appealing.” Sebastian put his arm around the barmaid’s hips. “King, would I be a terrible host if I called this meeting to an end? I’m suddenly in the mood to celebrate.”

  King grinned, then threw back the rest of his whiskey. “Quite all right. In fact, I may do something of the same.” He stood up and reached into his pocket. Sebastian waved his free hand at him and said, “No, no, dear boy. It’s on me. Now go and have some fun. Just don’t hurt your shoulder any further.”

  “It’s not my shoulder I’m thinking of using, mate.” King winked and left.

  “Now, guv’nor, your room or in the alley?”

  Sebastian slipped the barmaid a five-pound note. “If anybody asks, we were togeth
er for at least an hour and I was a stallion.”

  “Stallion,” she repeated softly, looking at the currency reverently before hurriedly stuffing it deep into her cleavage. She picked up the spare dishes and hurried off, no doubt to better hide her prize. Good, he could use the few extra minutes.

  He beckoned Jonathan over and took a sip of his whiskey while his boy crossed the room. Lots to think about, lots to do.

  “I need you to follow King tonight, see who he ends up with,” he said before Jonathan could even sit down. “If he is playing with Lady behind Adams’s back, we’re going to be in a very good place indeed.”

  “Right.” Jonathan nodded. Sebastian would miss that blind devotion. “Anything else?”

  “If everything is quiet over at King’s, or he’s with somebody else, go by Lady’s and see what’s happening there. It should be nothing, but I’ve been wrong before with her.”

  Jonathan left but Sebastian was already deep in thought and barely noticed. He had crafted meticulous plans before the tournament, but they’d changed the first night and he had been recrafting them ever since. His next step was particularly bold.

  Some motion or sound caught his attention and he looked up. Adams was heading toward him while his man Shade stood by the door. Sebastian stood up and greeted the squat man like they were old friends.

  “My dear Mr. Adams, you received my meeting request. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this,” he said with a big smile, throwing his arms wide in welcome before heartily shaking his hand. “Please, please, sit. What would you like?” He beckoned the barmaid over. “My treat, of course. It’s the least I can do.”

  “In that case, I’ll have a steak and kidney pie and a pint.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Make that two.” Sebastian slid into the booth and guessed by the look on his face that Adams was skeptical, confused or gassy, possibly all three. Excellent. His grin got bigger.

  “What a spectacular tournament you’re hosting, Mr. Adams. If it gets any bigger or any more exciting, they’re going to start calling you the Emperor of the East End. The fight with King last night? Marvelous, simply marvelous.” Sebastian sat back and clapped his hands in front of him. He wanted to poke at Adams and see what happened. “That boy has some power to him. I only hope he’s in top form for the next round. It looked like he was favoring his left side some.”