The Fighter and the Fallen Woman

by Pamela Cayne

  “What do you care?” Jonathan asked in a cold voice. “You haven’t traded for her too, have you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Sebastian snapped. He glanced at Lady to see if she’d noticed what Jonathan said, accused him of, but she was looking a little frantic. “Poor dear, you’re shaking.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it around her shoulders. She gave him a thankful look and on the inside, Sebastian laughed. It was almost enough to ease the betrayal of King winning the fight instead of throwing it.

  Lady glanced into the throng and started waving frantically. “King! King!” Sebastian saw King caught up in a group of drunken young men, bent on taunting the police. He suddenly realized a way for his entire scheme to come together.

  He pushed Lady into Jonathan’s arms. “Take her back to her house. Mr. Adams is probably heading there now. I’ll get King and get him back to his place.”

  “No,” Lady shouted and tried to run for King, but Jonathan held fast. “I’ll get King. He can come with me.”

  “Lady.” Sebastian lowered his head to see her eye to eye. “It’ll take you too long to get to him, and get out safely. Plus the two of you would attract a lot of unnecessary attention. I trust Jonathan to get you home. I can get King out of here with the minimum fuss. Now, the longer you argue with me means it’s going to take longer to get him to safety.”

  “Go.” She stilled in Jonathan’s grip. “Go.”

  “Take care of her,” he said to Jonathan. The young man nodded, for once knowledgeable enough and somber enough to understand the situation and what needed to be done. And strangely enough, Sebastian knew Jonathan would get Lady home or die trying. The Aussie guided Lady to the rear door and they left, swept into the tide of escaping patrons.

  Sebastian turned and headed for King, calling his name. A particularly boisterous group stopped him and challenged him to a fight of their own. With a sigh about the hubris of youth, Sebastian reached under his vest for the small derringer he kept there. Before his fingers closed over the butt of the gun, King pushed his way into the group and shoved several of the other men out of the way.

  “Where’s Lady?” he asked, his body tensed for another fight.

  “She’s fine. Jonathan’s getting her out.”

  “Jonathan? Are you out of your bloody mind?” King grabbed Sebastian by the lapels and shook him hard enough his teeth crunched together.

  “She’ll be fine.” He released his hold on his gun and grabbed King by the arms. “He’ll kill anybody who tries to hurt her. And I think she’ll kill anybody who keeps her away from Mr. Adams,” he said with a sly chuckle. “Not with whatever pretty bauble he’s going to give her for winning this tournament on the line. Now, come with me. I’ve got a carriage nearby and can get us out.”

  King released Sebastian but the look in his eyes was not friendly. This moody fighter might not be worth the hassle, but deep down he knew they could both be something greater with the other. And as soon as he got Lady to come with him, tonight or several weeks later, so much the better. He could be persuaded to share her if King did well enough, keeping all three of them happy, but he could more clearly see keeping Lady naked and spread-eagled on the bed. Knowing she’d be at his ultimate disposal made Sebastian smile and, after all, he was the most important one to keep happy.

  “Trust me or not, I’m leaving. There’s room in the carriage, I have money for bribes and Lady is already gone. I know we’ll be working together in New York, and I want to make it worth your while to switch sides once you get there, so why would I cause you harm now?” Before Sebastian could finish his dramatic exit, an officer grabbed King by the arm.

  “‘Ere, you, yer coming with me,” he said and reached into his pocket for a pair of handcuffs.

  Sebastian needed King free and clear for his plan to succeed, so without a second thought, he reached for his derringer, and pointed it at the side of the officer’s head.

  “No!” King yelled and shoved his hand away. “No killing.”

  Sebastian tried not to roll his eyes as the officer turned to look at the new threat, the pistol already on a downward arc to slam against the officer’s temple, dropping him unconscious to the ground. He’d have to get that soft streak beaten out of King sooner rather than later.

  “Get his bobby stick.” Sebastian knelt beside the man and started to unbutton the man’s coat, then saw King just standing there watching him. “His stick, his stick,” he repeated and gestured for the man’s belt. King pulled the bobby stick free and Sebastian pulled off the officer’s coat and swung it over his shoulders. As he buttoned it, he said, “Now, put your hands behind you like they’ve already been cuffed. And whatever you do, don’t say or do anything that a prisoner wouldn’t.”

  He grabbed King’s thumbs in one fist, immobilizing his hands, and held the bobby stick against his neck. With a push, he started them for the door the officers had rushed in through. “All right, all right, let’s get this bloke out, then. ‘E’s got a date with a cell tonight, ‘e does.”

  They made it outside and past the bulk of the officers. As soon as they were away from the lawmen, Sebastian shrugged off the coat and dropped the bobby stick soundlessly on it. He ran for the carriage two blocks away, King pacing him step for step.

  They jumped into the carriage and Sebastian gave the driver King’s direction. As soon as they were clear of the warehouse, he reached into his vest for his flask.

  “That was, by far, the worst English accent I’ve ever heard,” King said. After a second of silence, he gave a short laugh, almost a cough. Then he started laughing again, and Sebastian had to laugh too.

  “Oh, if you think that’s bad, you should hear my Irish,” he said.

  They both laughed, longer and harder than they should have. Sebastian was feeling success run through his veins like champagne and it made him giddy, giddy enough for such gaiety. After a moment, both men trailed into silence, their chuckles disappearing into the rumble of the carriage wheels on stone streets. Sebastian handed King the flask and the fighter took it gratefully.

  “You’re all right, you know that? You don’t even seem mad that I didn’t throw the fight.” King took a drink from the flask. He made a sour face. “What is this shit?”

  “I’m not worried, King. I have the feeling I’ll get my money back another way, a better way.” Sebastian felt the hot rush of success run through him. “And sorry about the taste. It’s American bourbon. A little bit different from your own and an acquired taste, I’m afraid. Besides, men without shirts can’t be choosers.”

  King looked down at his bare chest and started to laugh again. He took a deep pull from the flask and swallowed the end of it with a small moan of contentment. “Aye, you’re right. Sorry bloke I am. No shirt, couldn’t get us out of that mess, and now I’m feeling like I have no strength left,” he said, his words slurring as his head lolled to the side.

  “Don’t worry, King. You’re mine now, and I take care of what’s mine. You rest, and when you wake up, everything’s going to be better, so much better.” Sebastian leaned forward and slipped the flask from King’s fingers. He screwed the top back on and resettled it in the pocket of his vest. “You’ll have me and I’ll have Lady, and we’ll leave this godforsaken island long behind us,” he said in a low, soothing voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When the carriage pulled up in front of her home and Lady saw nobody waiting, she felt a huge relief, like the shadow of the executioner had passed her by. Somehow, they’d beaten Mr. Adams and Shade here, and Lady wasn’t going to fritter that time away.

  “Jonathan, thank you for the safe escort home.” She opened the carriage door. “I wish you the best of luck and perhaps we’ll see each other again sometime in the future. Good night.”

  She stepped down to the street to the sound of Jonathan’s laughter. Part of her
wanted to turn back and ask him what was so funny, but getting inside was more important. Plus, she wanted to remember Jonathan this way—kind, chivalrous, laughing. She pulled her key out of her purse, but before she could use it, Nessie opened the door.

  “Is everything all right?” Lady asked as Nessie pulled her in and shut the door after her, throwing both locks. “Mr. Adams isn’t here, is he?”

  “No, haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. I just knew you’d be itching to get going.”

  “You know me so well.” Lady gave a nervous laugh. She dropped Mr. Collins’s coat in the entry and dashed upstairs, taking off her jewelry as she went. Nessie followed, and as they entered Lady’s bedroom, she asked, “So, are you coming?”

  Without answering, Nessie untied Lady’s dress and with three tugs, it was off her like water sluicing down a roof. She held up an informal black dress that buttoned up the front, making Lady look like anything from a widow to a merchant’s wife. It was the perfect blend of respectable and plain, and the best Lady could do to blend in. As she stepped out of the white dress and took the black one from Nessie, the lump in her stomach was growing bigger and heavier.

  “I’ve watched over you this far.” Nessie balled up the white lace dress and stuffed it in a drawer. “I suppose I can’t stop now, can I?”

  When Lady realized what Nessie had said, she gave a cry and pulled her friend into her arms. “Oh, Nessie! You’ve made me so happy and I promise you everything is going to turn out.”

  “Well, I’m going to hold you to that, but let’s get going. Now that I’ve decided, I’m nervous to be waiting around here, knowing Mr. Adams could show up.”

  “I think Shade is going to try and keep him away, so we should be able to escape before he visits. We’ll be giving up on the celebration jewels, but I won’t have to endure another moment in his company.” She unpinned the notes from her garter and handed them to Nessie. “And thanks to King, add another five hundred pounds to our escape. Maybe we don’t need the jewels as badly as I thought.”

  Nessie pulled Lady into her arms. “We’re really leaving, aren’t we?”

  “Aye, love, we are.” Lady was smiling and laid her hand against Nessie’s cheek. “We’re going to get away from all of this darkness and pain and live a happy, simple life.” She let go of Nessie and slipped into a soft linen chemise and drawers, then pulled the black dress on, taking pleasure in the simple feel of the fabric and the way she was covered neck to toes. “We agreed that King would come over here, but that was before the cops broke up the fight and Mr. Collins got King out. I don’t trust Mr. Collins, so I need to go to King’s and see if he’s there or not. I’ll be back in a trice, and if Mr. Adams comes, put him in my entertaining bedroom and sneak out the kitchen with the bags. I’ll meet you back at the corner of the fence. If I miss him in passing, King may join you there, so don’t be surprised.”

  “Young Master Christopher is outside the kitchen. I asked him to wait there in case we needed anything. He can go to King’s.” Nessie stood in the doorway, clutching the pound notes like a posy.

  “No, I need to go. We may need to make plans as we go.” Lady was buttoning up the dress.

  Nessie nodded and scurried downstairs. Lady kicked off her white satin shoes and slipped into the sturdy black leather ones she wore when not entertaining. She dashed downstairs after Nessie and slipped into the cloak the little woman was holding.

  “If I’m any longer than an hour, go ahead and I’ll meet you at the Charing Cross Lodging House.”

  “At least go with Master Christopher. I’d feel better if you had somebody with you.” Nessie pulled one side of her dress up to her thigh. From the folds of a petticoat, she pulled out a small pistol and gave it to Lady.

  “And you should have this. For protection,” Nessie said with a tremulous smile. “It’s only got one shot to it, so if you need to use it, make that one bullet matter.”

  “Mrs. Nesbitt,” Lady chided, tucking the pistol into the garter where the money had been. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Nessie led Lady to the back door where a young lad was waiting for them. “Master Christopher, guard my Lady well. Now Godspeed.” She gave her a quick hug.

  Lady held her tightly. They were so close now, please let them finish this journey safely. “Godspeed,” she whispered and dashed away with Christopher.

  The lad got them to King’s in less than fifteen minutes. He was able to look ahead and warn her when to hold back and when she should dash forward. Without him, Lady would still be hugging the shadows and listening for trailing footsteps.

  Outside King’s door, Lady gave Christopher five pounds and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, my brave knight. Now go, and be safe.”

  The lad made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grunt and ran into the night. Lady watched his progress for a few steps, but when her eyes fell on a carriage a block down, nerves over being alone on the street started to curl through her belly. She let herself in to King’s apartment, thankful it wasn’t locked, and shut the door firmly yet quietly behind her.

  The small kitchen and bathroom area were dark, and judging by the low, flickering light ahead, the only source to dispel the shadows was the fire. As Lady walked into the bedroom, she could see King in bed, and even in the dimness, she could see the pounding he took tonight. His back had one large bruise and a gash showed behind his ear like a macabre grin. Feeling a wash of sympathetic pain, Lady approached the bed. She hated to wake him, but they needed to leave. As soon as they were away from London, they could take a few days and Lady could nurse him to her heart’s content. She’d give him sponge baths, and rub liniment into his bruises, and treat his knuckles with...

  In the bed with King, curled into the curve of his body, was a woman. A blonde. She stirred as Lady blocked the light from the fire, opened her eyes and rolled her head up to look at the cause of the darkness.

  It was Jenny. Jenny, whose hair Lady picked off King’s shirt the first day she was over here tending him. Jenny, who made him smile at the fights. Now Jenny was in his bed. As the young whore smiled like a cat getting King’s cream, Lady’s throat closed up with the burn of tears behind her eyes. Dammit, when would she learn? Men could not be trusted, especially men who knew a woman was a whore. They’d talk pretty words and make you believe you were special, that it didn’t matter what you had done to survive, but when it came down to it, one cunt was as good as another. She’d believed in King, but he obviously hadn’t believed in her. In them.

  No more. Lady spun on her heel and walked away from the bed. She ignored Jenny’s satisfied chuckle and the sound of what she assumed was the little bitch snuggling back into King’s body. If the bastard was too cowardly to even face her, pretending instead to sleep, he could have Jenny. And Jenny could have him. Let her laugh when she was in this position next week.

  Lady was almost at the door when she noticed a small bundle on the table. She flicked open the leather flap with one finger and saw a stack of pound notes inside. King’s winnings. Without a second thought, she tied the bundle closed, tucked it down the front of her dress and ignored the gasp of outrage behind her. It was a little above her fee for a fuck or two, but she considered the rest as a bonus for a job well done.

  Lady left, anger and resentment overriding any caution to be quiet. Several steps into the street and past the dubious security of King’s rooms, Lady heard a footstep rasp across the stones. She froze and looked up the street, and the carriage that had been down the block was now half again as close. Cursing herself for losing track of her surroundings, she slowly started pulling her dress up high enough to reach Nessie’s little derringer.

  “Lady, Lady. As touched as I am you’d already be lifting your skirts for me, that’s not necessary.” Lady dropped her skirt as she recognized the voice, and turned to face Mr. Collins. “I think we should take it slow,
don’t you? After all, we hardly know each other.”

  Lady returned his genteel smile, years of practice subtly directing men taking over. She let Mr. Collins take one of her hands in both of his and gave a coy smile as he pressed a kiss to her bare wrist.

  “Mr. Collins—”

  “Please, my dear, call me Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian.” Lady bowed her head as though they’d only now been introduced. “My goodness, you surprised me here. I thought you’d be well away by now.”

  “As soon as I got King safely home and left him with the instructions and means to get to me in New York when he was well enough to travel, I simply had to wait in the hopes of seeing you again.” He pulled her hand to his chest, jerking her a step closer to him. “Tell me, oh, please tell me, that you’ve reconsidered coming with me. Furs, jewels, a home in your name, all of that and more I would give you.”

  “Mr. Collins—”

  “Tut tut tut.” He held her hand up to his mouth.

  “Sebastian,” she amended and tried to smile. “You do me great honor, but I’m afraid my home is in London. Mr. Adams takes good care of me and I am content, so where I thank you most kindly, I must sadly decline.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer.” He gave her the sweetest of smiles, one that gave Lady chills. He held her hand in a grip barely this side of bruising. He quickly motioned to the carriage, then grabbed Lady’s arm above the elbow so he held one side of her tightly to him. “You’ll be much happier in New York. Your parties will be legendary, and the fact you’re a courtesan? Even more spice for the wagging tongues.”

  Lady started to struggle in earnest, but trying to pull away from him was like trying to break a steel band. She tried to reach her gun, hoping her flailing would cover her movements, but Sebastian knocked her hand away from her skirts. He was dragging her to the carriage, talking with a convert’s fervor about how they’d rule New York. Lady tried to cry out, her screams of distress fighting for air with her exertions from struggling, but in this kind of neighborhood, especially this late at night, nobody would do anything to help. Women shouting and crying at night were almost as frequent as the gulls crying overhead during the day.