by Pamela Cayne
He turned back to her and slipped his hand around her waist, she taking her usual pose with her arm around his shoulders. It wasn’t until they faced the ring that Lady could see King in the fighters’ alley. With the crush of the crowd it was a miracle she could see him at all, but it was like somebody had drawn an invisible rope and pulled it until there was nobody standing between him and her. The carnival noise of the crowd, the overly sweet and sour smells, the undulating waves of black and gray—it all faded out as though underwater and she and King were left standing on the waves. For as much as everybody else was dimmed to her, she dared not make a wrong motion, an indiscreet show of affection, not even the barest curve of her lips. Inside, she was running over to him, holding him close and offering words of encouragement.
She turned back to the crowd, knowing he could still see her, and she let a full, rich smile finally appear. She beckoned to one of the betting men and opened the white lace bag hanging from a ribbon on her left wrist. She pulled out a stack of notes and gave them to him, clearly saying, “One hundred pounds on King. To win.” There were some gasps around her, but she also heard Mr. Adams’s low chuckle.
“Madam, are you certain?” the man asked, reluctant to take her bet. “The odds are running in Jonathan’s favor to win this fight, two-to-one. King is a long shot at five-to-one odds.”
“Without a doubt.” She handed her cash out to the man like he was going to kiss her hand. He took the stack of notes, made a notation on a little wooden disc and gave it to her. She slipped it into her bag and returned to her usual pose with Mr. Adams.
“You’re a cheeky minx,” he told her, reaching for the wallet in the inside pocket of his coat, “but you’re right. Five hundred pounds on King to win!”
The crowd oohed and some applauded. Lady took the opportunity to look at King, ostensibly to look over her pony. She wanted him to see how much she believed in him. Lady thought he looked sick, but it might be that was how he looked before a big fight. She desperately wanted to say something, make some kind of gesture, but she couldn’t. She turned away, betting on so much more than the fight.
* * *
Sebastian walked the crowd, completely uninterested in the consolation fight going on. Two men fighting to be winners. Two men who started off as losers. As dull as the steak and kidney pie served around here, especially without his padded chair and enthusiastic whore.
Now Lady, there was something exciting. He circled her by circling the crowd around her. In that dress she looked ethereal, like an angel who didn’t fall from heaven, but jumped out for a chance at a little more action. Would she be with him on the ship tonight? Since Jonathan was leaving here under Mr. Adams’s employ, it fell to Sebastian to follow her and see where she went. If he couldn’t convince her the old-fashioned way, he had no aversion to spilling her little secret about King. That would guarantee her enough misery she’d be on the ship in less than six weeks’ time, and be thankful for the escape. Herd them, corral them, brand them. When they outlived their usefulness, get rid of them for something better.
“Why, Mr. Adams, Lady, how lovely to see you,” he said, having finally come around so he ended on Lady’s left. He lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss to it, the scent of lemons so briskly different he almost gave a little shriek of pleasure.
“Mr. Collins.” She inclined her head and left her hand dead in his grasp.
“Collins,” Mr. Adams greeted flatly. “What, no chair tonight?”
“I decided against it for the championship bout.” Sebastian gazed around the warehouse. “It was certainly comfortable, but with such a crowd in here I was concerned about being crushed in the throng.”
“We couldn’t have that,” Lady muttered and Sebastian wanted to both giggle and slap her bloody. He felt a rush of heat to his cock and burned with an even greater desire to possess this dirty angel standing before him.
“Where’s your boy?” Adams asked and it was the cold water Sebastian needed to regain his head. “King can win by default, you know.”
“Oh, he’s here. He’ll come when the fight starts.”
“Then I hope he’s nearby.” Lady looked pointedly into the ring. One fellow was lying on the stone floor, bleeding out of his nose and ear, and the other fellow was standing over him, hands raised in the air.
“Why, Lady, are you looking forward to seeing Jonathan fight? Going to lay a little wager on him perhaps, or were you saving your laying for King?” Sebastian rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, trying to look innocent, but knowing anybody with one ounce of brains could sense his mischief. She obviously understood his taunt and her eyes swung at him. Oh, she was cool. The rest of her head and body remained unruffled, but if her gaze could wound, there’d be a second man bleeding on the ground.
“As a matter of fact, I did lay on King.” The challenge in her voice almost made him swoon. She pointedly pulled her hand away from his. She was divine. “One hundred pounds’ worth.”
“That’s my girl,” Mr. Adams said perfunctorily, giving her hip a squeeze while he watched the beaten man being carried out of the ring. Obviously the man was more inspired by the bloodlust than the magnificent creature on his arm, and Sebastian had only pity for him.
“Would you tie your favor to his lance as well, like they did in times of old?” Sebastian’s voice was quiet now and he pictured her in the stands of a joust, men willing to kill each other for a chance to earn her kiss.
She looked at him and he could tell she was trying to decide if he meant that in a bawdy way or not. After a quick glance at Mr. Adams, she said in a low voice, “You should know as much as anybody, Mr. Collins, my favor has a price. I don’t give it away.”
“Not even for love?”
She flinched and Sebastian felt sorry for her. There was nothing sadder than a whore who fell in love. Before he could say anything else or she flayed him alive, she started clapping and her face lit up. He could see the edge of strain to it, but let her have the illusion. He turned toward the ring and saw King and Jonathan on either side of the referee, and started clapping himself.
“Know this,” he said just loud enough for her and her alone to hear over the crowd. “I can meet any price you quote, be it money, jewels, a house or more. You could ask me to rip out my heart and hand it to you on a silver platter and I would. If I were fighting in this tournament, I would even tell you whether I agreed to go against our common master and throw a fight. Take the sure money.” He never looked away from the fighters being introduced and saw out of the corner of his eye that she didn’t either. He was tickled to see her flinch, and knew his gamble telling her about King throwing the fight had just paid off.
When the fighters went to opposite ends of the ring and the crowd stilled, a few making a frenzy of late bets, Sebastian turned and faced Lady and Mr. Adams. He gave a small bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to Jonathan before the fight begins. Best of luck to you, Mr. Adams. No matter how the fight ends, I look forward to our successful business together.” He said nothing to Lady, only looked at her and tried to show her with his eyes he meant everything he’d said. When she looked away, he left.
Jonathan, on the other hand, greeted him with a joyous abandon. It was part of what scared him about the Australian—he could be as carefree as a child at play, then kill somebody without a second’s hesitation. As soon as his knife was clean or the body stopped twitching, he’d be back to playing. Sebastian had tried for five years, and he had finally admitted there was no controlling that monster. As much as he would miss Jonathan’s unique abilities, handy as they were when needed, it would be for the best to leave him an ocean behind.
“Any instructions?” he asked Sebastian, bouncing from foot to foot.
Sebastian looked at King and silently promised to make up this forced loss to him. When he had Adams’s man in America, he would shape him into what Jona
than should have been—his right hand.
“None. You’re the fighter, so I’m going to let you fight. I’ve got a thousand pounds on you to win, so be sure I get two thousand back.” He clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.
“Don’t worry,” Jonathan said with his cocky grin. “You’re going to get everything you deserve tonight and more. I guarantee it.”
* * *
Lady wanted to shake her head at the fools these men were. She acted like King throwing the fight was news to her, but realized they hadn’t really discussed his decision with everything that had been happening.
Part of her knew King had as much right to throw the fight as she did asking him to win. It was his health on the line, injuries that he would suffer—and fighting Jonathan, injuries there would be. And thanks to Jonathan, even if King was fighting to win, there was a good possibility he could lose regardless. She also acknowledged that if King threw the fight, Mr. Adams would not be in a mood to celebrate and King might have more strength to help them escape. It was as crafty a plan as hers, but she was going to have to wait and see how it played out. There was no time to talk to King, no way to do it without garnering too much suspicion.
Then the fight started and there was nothing she could do except watch and pray. For the first three rounds, nine agonizing minutes in which she watched King slowly be ground down but not give up, she told herself that he wasn’t going to throw the fight. But now, with the fourth round underway, Lady didn’t know which fighter would win. King was fighting well, but Jonathan appeared distracted. He kept darting looks into the crowd, like there was a fly near his head, but he didn’t seem to be necessarily looking for anybody. Once, only once, his gaze landed on her and he locked eyes with her for the amount of time it took King to brace himself and land a solid blow. Lady flinched when Jonathan’s head snapped around, and she would have sworn in that fraction of a second before the blow landed, Jonathan’s eyes carried a sadness that almost made Lady reach out to him. In truth, it was almost a mercy that King had punched him and broken their eye contact.
The two men circled each other and it was like the whole world took a breath—unspoken promises were made and salutes of respect were exchanged. Then it started.
Jonathan came forward with a blow that glanced off King’s jaw, and that seemed to open the floodgates. Punches landed with thick, wet smacks, and blood flew to spatter those in the first few rows. The crowd was roaring like a beast out of control but grunts of pain could still be heard from the combatants if one was listening. Lady stood frozen beside Mr. Adams and he was so captivated by the fight, he seemed not to notice how tense she was. She’d already bitten her lip to blood, now she was clenching her teeth. She was so close to dropping to her knees and screaming until either it stopped or she did.
In a flurry that left Lady reeling, King managed to stagger Jonathan with three hard blows to the head, then double him over with a powerful blow to the gut. He pulled his left fist up to the level of his head and, at the peak of the motion, held it there just long enough for the crowd to suck in a gasp. For Lady, time stood still and she would swear she could see each expression, count each tooth in each open mouth, but she wouldn’t look away from King. She blinked and almost missed the drive of King’s fist into Jonathan’s temple, knocking the man flat to the ground and out cold. The crowd started screaming so loudly the referee couldn’t be heard. The only thing marking the count was the pulse of his fingers counting out the numbers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When the referee held up all ten fingers, the crowd rushed King, hoisting him up on their shoulders. Lady briefly wondered what had happened to Jonathan but looking up and seeing King smiling drained her of any thought other than a prayer of thanks.
One of the runners darted close to them and Mr. Adams grabbed him by the sleeve. “Bring the money man over here now and I’ll give you five pounds,” he shouted above the crowd. Lady could barely hear him over the roar, but she knew the boy did because his eyes lit up like he’d been run through with electricity. He nodded and took off through the mass of cheering people. Other fights had broken out and the crowd’s bloodlust was only growing. If Mr. Adams wanted to collect on her promise, they’d be trampled instead of watched. As soon as they received their winnings, they needed to leave. She heard King’s voice in her head—We’re going to do whatever we have to do—and held tightly to Mr. Adams, her pride bowing to pure survival.
The boy returned, pulling the money man with him. Two big, strong lads followed closely, guards if she remembered Mr. Adams’s planning correctly. Their group didn’t stop until they were touching both Mr. Adams and Lady.
“Do you have my winnings?” Mr. Adams shouted.
“Our winnings,” Lady shouted, knowing she and King needed every shilling to escape.
The money man reached underneath his tray and after some fumbling, pulled out a stack of notes. He must have had Mr. Adams’s winnings ready. That or it was what he was going to steal away with. Twenty-five hundred pounds would be a prosperous take for anybody.
“As for you, Lady, I’m afraid I don’t have enough to cover your bet.” He slowly stepped away from her. “I can give you fifty pounds now, and deliver the rest tomorrow.”
It was all a lie. He had her winnings. This was too big of a fight not to have that kind of money somewhere on hand. Time was running short and the crowd was running hot. She needed to get her wager and they needed to get out of here. She reached up for one of the jeweled picks in her hair and in one swift motion, drew it out and touched the tip of the hidden blade to the base of the money man’s neck. “I’d prefer you deliver the full amount tonight.”
For the first time since before the fight started, she felt the full weight of Mr. Adams’s attention. From the corner of her eye, she saw him still and turn from the money in his hand to her. While the money man did nothing, she could see Mr. Adams smile.
“Of course, of course, Lady. Deepest apologies. The fight has thrown me a-flitter. One hundred pounds, coming right up.” He started to dig in his tray and Lady pushed the blade with enough force to cause a trickle of blood to slide down his neck. The man froze.
“It was a one-hundred-pound bet on King, which makes my winnings five hundred pounds. If you’d like, I can get out my wager chip, but I’m afraid I’d need to leave this—” she pushed the blade deeper, “—somewhere in order to free my hands.”
Mr. Adams chuckled and tucked the notes into his jacket pocket. “You’d best pay attention to the lady,” he said. “I’ve seen her do worse. Bloody hell, she’s done worse to me and I pay the whore.” He burst into laughter and Lady wanted to drive the blade into his neck just to shut him up.
“F-fi-five hundred pounds, right away.” The money man reached under the tray again and pulled out another, smaller, sheaf of notes. Lady plucked it from his hand and was able to leaf through it enough with her left hand to know it was all there. She removed the blade and slipped it back into her hair. Mr. Adams nodded and the money man dashed away, his guards with him. The boy stayed.
“Oh, that’s right.” Mr. Adams reached into his jacket for a five-pound note. The boy clutched it in his fist and ran into the crowd. Lady took the opportunity to pin her winnings to a garter on her thigh, lowering her dress in time to see Mr. Adams watching her with a rampant hunger.
“Bugger the crowd,” he growled. “I’ve got to fuck you now.” He pulled her dress up with one hand and with the other, roughly grabbed her crotch, and there was no way King was going to get to her in time. She was going to be raped right here, right now. She slowly ran her hand up his arm, her face a mask of violent excitement, and she pushed his face into her breasts as she reached up for the jeweled blade in her hair. No more. Whatever she had to do...
A woman’s scream rent the noise of the crowd as several whistles started blowing. Lady knew the cops were here even before
she could see their navy helmets bobbing through the crowd.
“Time to go, sir,” Shade yelled and grabbed Mr. Adams by the arm. He kept his other arm straight down at his side and Lady knew the knife he carried there made hers look like a canapé pick. She stilled, not knowing if she’d be taken, left or killed as dead weight. It was a relief when he turned, pulling Mr. Adams behind him and leaving her to be swallowed up by the crowd. Lady watched with a growing sense of relief as Mr. Adams turned around, his face frantic until he saw her. He pounded on Shade’s shoulder, pointing back at Lady, but Shade kept pulling and they were absorbed into the mass of people, more crazed now that the officers were here.
But they weren’t close enough to her yet to arrest her. Lady looked for one of the back exits. She’d have to escape onto the docks as the streets would be crowded with both escaping patrons and officers alike. She again cursed this dress, knowing she’d stand out like the moon on a cloudless night, and started running for the door.
Sebastian watched Lady run through the warehouse like a shooting star across the heavens. A quick glance in the opposite direction showed Shade getting Mr. Adams out with little care to what would happen to that delectable peach. Seeing an opportunity taking place in front of him, he knew he had to play.
He started toward Lady and then he saw Jonathan grab her from behind. Still forcing his way through the crowd, he laughed at the fight she put up and felt a stirring in his blood at the thought of having her, spirited or otherwise. He got to them at the same time Jonathan turned her in his arms so she could see who was holding her captive. The confusion on Lady’s face was obvious, but the tenderness on Jonathan’s was painful to see, despite his bruises, swellings and bloody visage.
“Jonathan! Lady! Thank God I’ve found you. We need to get out of here,” Sebastian said, grabbing Lady’s arm right below where Jonathan held her.
