The Fighter and the Fallen Woman (12 page)

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.

As he slowly lowered himself to his stool, trying to look like he was only a little tired and not about to gasp in agony, King glanced around the crowd. Roberto had kept looking into the throng, and King hoped there might be somebody who could help in some way.

His gaze fell on Lady and he realized she was his only chance.

He waited until she started looking around and he was able to catch her eye. He motioned her over with his head and tried to show her how much he needed her, praying she would come and not turn away again.

She looked at him with slitted eyes, as though trying to divine his thoughts, then leaned down to whisper something at Mr. Adams. He glanced over and said something back to Lady, nodding his head. She disengaged from his side and started to walk toward him. Slowly.

He would have never guessed the scared, vulnerable woman in his arms last night was the same person as the tough, brassy woman swaying toward him right now, and if he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have laughed. Roberto would never know what hit him.

“Do you need me to wash your weary brow?” she asked and King almost forgot about his injury because the lash in her voice was so much more painful. “I’d rather not. These are new gloves and getting them wet would stain the satin.”

“Lady, I’m sorry about this morning and I will make it up to you, but right now I need your help.” He wrapped his right arm around the other, keeping the left side of his body still. He was trying to make the motion look casual to anybody who was watching, but needed the support to sit up.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She gathered her skirts around her legs to hunch down beside him, no longer his adversary, but his champion. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No. I need to win this fight or I’m out of the tournament. My shoulder is nothing. Sometimes it pops out. After the fight, I can pop it back in and rest it, but for now I just need to win. If I fix it now, Roberto and all of the other fighters will know.”

He watched her digest that for a few seconds, her gaze darting to Roberto, then to Mr. Adams. She looked back at him and King felt better just for seeing the fight in her ocean-blue eyes. With Lady in his corner, he couldn’t lose.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“A diversion. Roberto kept looking into the crowd during the last round, and I don’t think it’s to draw me in. I think he can’t help it.”

“I noticed,” Lady said dryly. “Most of the time he was looking at me.” She gave a little laugh that was cut off short as her face lit up.

King nodded at her. “And if he happened to see something that would make him look out even more—”

“Or a little more closely,” Lady interrupted with a wicked smile.

“Or a little more closely,” King echoed, “I may have a chance to land a lucky punch when he’s more distracted.”

“A good punch you mean.” Lady patted his knee. She straightened and let her skirts drop to swirl around her ankles. Any other man would call the smile gracing her face sensuous, but to King it looked more devious than anything. “Don’t you worry. You’ll have your distraction. Now brace yourself.”

King had the amount of time it took him to think
What?
before Lady sucked in a huge gasp and slapped him like she should have been the one in the tournament. King was left with his chin over his good shoulder and a ringing in his ears. He heard some laughter through the bells, then Lady’s voice clearly denouncing him as a beast. By the time he gathered his wits and was able to right his head, she was flouncing off toward Mr. Adams, who must have seen the whole thing because he was starting over here with an angry hitch to his walk, Shade right behind. He felt the bottom of his stomach drop out and realized Roberto was now the least of his problems.

“Fighters, return to the ring,” the referee called and King wondered if anything else could go wrong. Mr. Adams had reached Lady, who was restraining him and whispering furiously in his ear. The whole crowd was watching them, and after a quick glance to his left, King noticed Roberto was, as well.

King watched Mr. Adams’s expressions as Lady explained the situation to him, and only somebody who knew what was actually going on would be able to see the anger turn to confusion turn to comprehension turn to glee, which was quickly covered by an actor’s anger. King fought back glee of his own as he realized Lady’s plot was in action and he had a good chance of part of his plan working. He looked back at Roberto, wondering if the Italian would be dense enough to buy this penny drama, and judging by the delight on his face, he was.

King took a deep sigh, trying to look as sad and worried as possible. He kept glancing back at Lady, who did a wonderful job looking put out. When the referee started the round, King almost believed his own sadness. He circled the ring, but made his bounce look sluggish. He moved to his left, leaving Lady in clear view over to his right, and Roberto locked on her like a needle pointing north. King feinted in to gauge the Italian’s reaction time and it was definitely slower than before. Either his head was still ringing, Lady was doing something very naughty or both. King moved back out of reach and kept moving in a circle around Roberto.

The Italian almost seemed reluctant to look away from Lady and King knew he was going to have one shot at this.

He slowed down so he was on the Italian’s immediate left, Lady almost directly in front of him. Roberto’s head was swiveling back and forth and King could hear a stream of angry Italian from the crowd.

“Win for me, Roberto,
la mia grande forte stallone
,” Lady called over the crowd, a siren luring another poor victim to his doom. Roberto stood stock-still and stared at Lady, his jaw dropped open.

King had a fraction of an instant to appreciate Lady’s help before he stepped in and swung from his hips and shoulders, driving his right arm directly at Roberto’s slack jaw. He could feel his whole side burn and let out a bellow of raw pain, landing the punch. Roberto’s eyes slowly rolled back, then he dropped to the stone floor. The referee kneeled beside him and started counting. After he reached ten, he pointed to King and yelled, “Winner!” The crowd was now clapping and yelling loudly enough to shake dust loose from the rafters. As the referee pulled King’s arm up over his head, it shifted his whole body and King yelled again, this time to keep from blacking out. The crowd kept going and King could smell tea as the dust rained down on him.

* * *

Lady watched the referee jerk King’s arm up in victory and prayed the idiot hadn’t done any damage. Either of them. She watched, a tight knot in her stomach, as King retrieved his shirt and walked out of the fighting area, sticking close to the back wall. He kept wiping at his forehead with his shirt, but Lady knew it was because it would cause him too much pain to put it on rather than a profusion of sweat that caused him to keep it balled up in his fist. Suddenly he stopped in front of a doorway and with a quick breath, slammed his bad shoulder into the brick and popped it back into place. Even though she’d had a feeling he was going to do that, Lady flinched. King screamed, a bestial cry, and the crowd started roaring their approval with seemingly no idea to why he had truly done it.

As soon as the next fight started and the crowd’s attention turned, Mr. Adams leaned in to Lady and said, “Stay put for a minute, pet. I want to see how our boy is doing.”

Lady nodded, having expected it. As Mr. Adams left, waving for Shade to follow him, she schooled her features into the cold, bored prostitute and never let her gaze settle on any one person. She had perfected the look and it helped keep most men away. Thankfully, Roberto was still unconscious and wasn’t able to test her defenses.

“How ya doing, my sweet nancy?” came a voice behind her at the same time she felt a tug on the lace bow on her upper arm. She looked, surprised somebody would approach her with such obvious protection in the room.

It was Jonathan. She turned back and took a deep breath, hoping he would leave if she ignored him. He was probably more than a little touched in the head, but what could he do here?

“Hope I didn’t scare you the other night. You’re so pretty I just wanted to touch you, see if you were real or not. Meant no fright at all.”

Without King at her side, she couldn’t afford to tip Jonathan one way or the other, especially with Mr. Collins such a thorn in Mr. Adams’s side. She smiled blandly, even though Jonathan couldn’t see it, and murmured, “No harm done.”

“Good, good. Meant no fright, I did, not like Mr. King. Quite a fight with our Mr. King there, eh? Hope he heals up. I’d hate to fight him hurt and all.”

“Speaking of fights, don’t you have one to prepare for?” On top of the raw nerves she was still nursing a little tonight, the quick, disjointed way Jonathan was speaking made her even edgier. The sooner he was away from her, the better.

“True enough, you clever girl.” He gave her bow another tug. Lady wanted to pull it out of his hands, but she forced herself to be still. “I’m next, so I can be there in a thrice, I can. Are you worried about having enough time to wager on me? That’s sweet it is, sweet.” He tugged again and Lady felt the bow give.

She let her head drop to the side in annoyance and held her arm out to her side. “That’s a little loose for me. Do you mind?” It was a gamble letting him perform any kind of act on her person, but he seemed determined to anyway. This way he could get it out of his system and hopefully see it meant nothing to her.

“Not at all,” he said and she could feel the lace slither against her arm. Suddenly, he was spooned behind her, his face pressed into the back of her head as he whispered, “Is that what you said last night? When you were a bad girl?”

Lady’s pulse fluttered in her throat. How did he know about last night? What did he know? Was this going to be about blackmail or simply Jonathan’s twisted games? She pushed herself back into bored prostitute mode and turned her hips and shoulders enough to put a little space between them. She kept her face pointed at the crowd.

“I don’t know what you mean. I was at a lovely party last night. You may have heard about it, Mr. Collins was there. Now, if you don’t mind, could you please tighten my bow?” She waited and Jonathan said nothing.
He’s trying to make you nervous.
Treat him like a little boy trying to put a frog in your apron pocket.
“Please, Jonathan? Mr. Adams hates it when I look mussed.”

There was still no answer. Lady glanced behind her, but saw nothing. She pivoted, looking for Jonathan, but he was gone. She looked down at her arm and noticed the lace tie was missing.

Clenching her fists, Lady faced the crowd again and forced her face to relax. God save her from brawlers, pimps and thieves. She would rather be accosted on the street than have them try and play with her mind as well as her body.

Lady dimly registered the referee calling the fight and a flurry of wagers being collected. She felt a presence beside her and jumped. It was Mr. Adams.

“You’re wound tighter than a bowstring.” He pulled her against him as usual. “No worry. King’s going to be right as rain by the next fight. Just got the stuffing knocked out of him.”

Lady gave a girlish laugh and draped her arm around Mr. Adams. “I think that’s why the men run these things. They don’t get so overwrought.”

“That’s all right, pet. You may be the weaker sex, but you have your uses.” He gave a bawdy laugh, squeezing her hip. “Now, hush. Jonathan’s in the ring and I have to watch for any weaknesses. If he wins, he’s to fight Shade next.”

“Quiet as a church mouse,” Lady whispered and laid her finger over her pursed lips. It was the only thing saving her from screaming when she saw Jonathan enter the ring, her blue lace tie wrapped around his arm.

Chapter Thirteen

On the carriage ride back to Lady’s, Hannibal dissected the evening, finding its strengths and weaknesses. Shade and King had won, so that was good. However, King was injured and Shade was set to fight Jonathan next, so some strategy was needed on both fronts. Lady seemed to be in good spirits, certainly like her old self, so Hannibal marked that on the positive side of the evening. She still seemed a bit shaky, though, and he felt a twinge of guilt about it. After all, he was the one who shook her. Since it was Lady, though, he brushed aside the fact that she was the one who made him do that. It was hard to blame her for attracting the wrong attention. When you owned the best, others coveted it. That’s why Collins had been sniffing around so much. A whole house full of cunny, and he wanted Lady. Hannibal shook his head.

“Is everything all right?” Lady asked and Hannibal looked over to see her watching him, an expression of concern on her face. Bless her heart.

“I’m well, pet. Aren’t you a dear for asking.” He smiled and patted her on the knee. “I’m thinking about some business is all.” He decided to let Lady be tonight. She could rest, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t have a house full of girls aching to spread their legs for him.

“Don’t let it vex you too much,” she said and looked out the window. “I have great faith you can solve whatever problems you have. Or that they’ll solve themselves.”

One of a kind, his Lady was. Hannibal leaned back and planned a visit to Mr. Hammerschmidt’s. The jeweler had a lovely sapphire set that would match the blue of Lady’s eyes. After the past twenty-four hours, she deserved no less. Plus, at the next round of fights, she could wear it and make him look even better, if such a thing were possible.

The driver rapped twice to indicate they were approaching Lady’s. Just one more thing Hannibal needed to do.

“Pet, after you’re taken care of and tucked in, I’m going to send the carriage back for Mrs. Nesbitt.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“My knee is bothering me again. All that standing on those stones causes it to flare up. I’ll go home and rest it, but some of Mrs. Nesbitt’s liver and onions will make me feel better.” Hannibal rubbed his right knee as though it pained him. “There’s a way she makes it that Mrs. Binkley doesn’t and it sounds quite comforting right now.”

“My poor Mr. Adams. I hope you feel much better. You must be careful with it or it will get worse,” Lady chided as she gathered her cape around her. “I’ll tell Mrs. Nesbitt to be ready.”

“Thank you, pet. I’ll call tomorrow.”

Lady opened the door and stepped out. Sweet girl, she was thinking of him and his comfort so much she didn’t see Shade there with his arm outstretched. She looked back and gave Hannibal a naughty smile.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said and blew him a kiss.

Shade climbed into the carriage and Mr. Adams watched as Lady entered his house, her hips swinging in such a way to make a good man think evil thoughts. He wondered what a sapphire pendant that reached to her bum would cost him. After he got a full report from Mrs. Nesbitt, he’d evaluate his outlay at the jeweler’s.

Lady’s door closed and the carriage pulled away. Shade started speaking without even having to be prompted by Hannibal. He took a moment to appreciate owning the best.

“I think King is hurt more than he’s letting on. He’s acting like his shoulder was put out of place. He spoke to Lady briefly when she was placing a bet before my round, but nothing else other than when he called her over during his fight. After his fight, while you were speaking to him, Jonathan was saying something to Lady from behind her. She looked angry but it’s hard to tell. He took her arm bow and that upset her.”

“Was that the piece of frippery he was wearing in the ring?” Hannibal asked, the image just beyond his eyes.

Shade nodded and Hannibal put that in his To Be Evaluated list. He had a feeling he’d have more for that list after he spoke to Mrs. Nesbitt.

“Keep watching,” he told Shade, accepting the other man’s quick nod as his due. “And I may take you out of the tournament.”

“But, Mr. Adams, I can beat Jonathan.”

“I know you can, boy. You could beat any of them, but that’s not why I entered you in the tournament. If you fight Jonathan, you’ll win, and my wager with Collins will be off since his man won’t be in the final.”

“I could lose to him if you’d like. Make it look good, too.”

For the second time tonight, Hannibal felt blessed by the people in his life and how they cared for him. He was getting set to tell Shade no when his fighter spoke again. “Especially if you were to bet on Jonathan.”

“A fixed fight,” Hannibal said out loud. It would not only get Shade out of the tournament, it would build Jonathan up with a false sense of worth. And it would give him a chance to test Shade’s loyalty and willingness. And if he got to clear a tidy profit, minus a small handling fee for the mask he got to place the bet, so much the better.

“Are you sure you can?” Hannibal made his voice gruff. He didn’t want to give Shade too much credit for thinking up this idea. His dog would start thinking he’d have an equal say or something else outrageous.

“You’ll be watching for it and you won’t even know.” Shade’s promise was a hiss in the dark. Hannibal clapped him on the back and calculated what kind of odds he was going to beat.

* * *

King stood in the darkened doorway across the street and down three buildings from Lady’s house. He’d managed to catch a ride on a coal wagon, the pain from bumping over the cobblestones second only to the pain he’d had of waking up with Lady that morning and knowing he couldn’t do anything to protect or avenge her. Or the pain he’d caused her by throwing her decision to come to him for help back in her face. He had been furious at Mr. Adams, at what he’d done, done so often that Lady was practically cold to it, that it had made him lash out. She had trusted him and he’d acted like a bully.

Like Mr. Adams.

Bloody hell, that hit home, and even now caused him to feel worse than a thousand Robertos. He needed to stop acting like a total arse and be who she needed him to be—something he hadn’t been in a long time. A real man.

The lights in the front of the house were out, but the kitchen looked to be occupied. There was some dim lighting on the upper level, but King couldn’t tell whether Lady was up there or not. Or whether she was alone.

A carriage rumbled down the street and stopped in front of the house. King recognized it as Mr. Adams’s and drifted back farther into the doorway. Instead of Mr. Adams getting out, like King was expecting, Mrs. Nesbitt came out of the house and got in the carriage.

King waited for five minutes after the carriage left, but there was no other movement in the house, nor did the carriage return. So this was another visit to Mr. Adams. Given the events of last night, King dreaded the secrets the old woman might be spilling, but he wasn’t sure if there was anything he could do. He felt more anguish that Lady would be hurt by Nessie’s betrayal than at any sense of his own future, however short that may be.

He left his hiding place and started down the sidewalk toward Lady’s, turning the corner and searching the windows on the side of the house for signs of life. There was motion in what must be the kitchen or the scullery and he started walking toward the back door. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He only knew he had to see her, talk to her.

He knocked softly but there was no answer. He knocked again and softly called, “Lady, it’s King.”

She opened the door, the siren of earlier tonight replaced by a kitten in a fuzzy pink robe and damp hair starting to curl. The strongest thing he’d ever done in his life was not take her in his arms at that moment.

“You took quite the chance, opening the door when you weren’t sure it was me,” King said, a little scared that she had been alone.

“I know three things,” she said. “Nessie’s true birthday, how to make gingerbread, and the sound of your voice. Now come in. I just made some willow bark tea, and I suspect you could use some as much as me.”

Her casual declaration did more to ease his pain than any tea, and he stepped into the warm, homey kitchen. “How are you feeling?” he asked, torn between wanting to see her as she answered and not wanting to make her uncomfortable by watching her. He settled for gesturing at the teapot, but then his shoulder blazed into a sharp pain and he gasped, pulling his arm back to his side.

“Oh, King. Your shoulder.” She rushed over to him. “Let me see.”

“It’s okay.” He pulled away, then walked across the kitchen. “It’s a bit sore, but I’m fine.”

“Then you won’t mind me taking a look. Please?”

That
please
was going to be the death of him. Resigned, he turned back to her and unbuttoned his shirt.

Lady came to his side, her light scent of tea and lemons teasing him as she slid his shirt off. She made little noises, clicks of her tongue as she looked at the bruising around his left shoulder. She trailed one finger down his back toward his armpit, and though it hurt, the feel of her fingertip on his skin eased a deeper pain. When she came around to his front again, he reached up with his right hand and stroked his thumb across her cheek, letting his fingers curl under her jaw. She stopped, then looked at him with big blue eyes.

“I’m sorry about this morning, what a bastard I was. I only—”

“Shh.” She placed a finger over his lips and he felt it in every cell of his body. Her lips tipped into a small smile. “I was a bit of a bitch myself. Forgiven and forgotten, for both of us?”

He nodded, even though he wanted to argue about the harsh label she’d used for herself. She left, and he listened to her footsteps go upstairs, into one of the rooms, then come back down. She returned to the kitchen with a roll of cloth she was unwinding. “Your shoulder is going to have to be immobilized if you need it to heal quickly, and I mean tight. If the binding is too loose, it doesn’t give you any support.” She reached for his arm with one hand, the cloth in the other.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He slapped lightly at her hands and prayed she knew he was teasing. “How do you know I want it wrapped?”

“Trust me. You do. Let me wrap it, and if it doesn’t feel better immediately, I’ll restore it to its current state. Agreed?” Lady smiled and he made the mistake of meeting her eyes. He was positive no sapphire had ever shone as brightly.

“Immediately.” He pointed what he thought was a quite strict finger at her.

“Quick as a bunny rabbit.” She made a small
x
over her heart. King tried to keep a stern look on his face.

Lady took his wrist, then stopped and looked up at him. “You’re not going to start slapping me again, are you?”

He looked away quickly, playfully sticking his nose in the air and hoping she didn’t see in his eyes how she affected him. “Not if you don’t take advantage of my virtue, madam.”

With a giggle, Lady finished arranging his arm and King recited the rules to nine-card brag in his head. If he wasn’t careful, she’d see how she affected his body, as well.

“Now, to get this on properly. Take this edge here and hold it tight.” She started the binding on his right side and set his left hand on top of it. If he could have stood there until doomsday, her hand on top of his, the tip of her pinkie finger brushing against his side, he would have died a content man. Yes, he’d touched her plenty last night, but this was a touch willingly given and that meant more to him than winning the tournament.

She walked around him once, pulling the linen tight as she went and firmly securing his arm to his side. It was uncomfortable, but the pain in his arm eased a little. With each turn, it was harder for him to take a deep breath, but the pain lessened and lessened until it was merely a small twinge when she finished. “There, isn’t that better?”

King took a few steps, moved his right arm in small circles and leaned against the counter. “It is. It’s difficult not to want to take a deep breath now that I know I can’t, but it beats the constant pain.”

Lady nodded. “It helps if you don’t think about breathing. Your body adjusts to shallower breaths if you allow it to. And it’s much better than having broken ribs...” She glanced up at him, the way they met between them like a third person in the kitchen. He hated to see the light die from her eyes, tried to show her he understood and didn’t hold it—any of it—against her, but she looked away first.

“I promised you some tea, but it’s all gone cold.” She rushed over and emptied the teapot, then added fresh leaves from a nearby tin. “It’ll be ready in a moment.” She moved the kettle to a different place on the stove.

King let her take the conversation somewhere safer rather than tell her she never had to hide any part of her from him. “Tea sounds good. Will Mrs. Nesbitt be joining us?”

“No, she’s on an errand and I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

“Nothing urgent, I hope.”

Lady looked over her shoulder at him, her expression pleasant but unreadable, and shook her head. King only smiled and tried to look harmless.

“So when’s the next fight?” She looked at his binding.

“In three days. I don’t know what kind of shape I’m going to be in by then.”

“Do you know who your opponent is?”

“Mac. He’s tough but I think he’s hurt too. I think most of the fighters are feeling the effects of the tournament by now.”

Lady picked up a towel and started twirling the corner of it on her index finger. She was looking at her hands fiddling with the fabric, but King had a feeling that was not what she was seeing.

“Jonathan and Shade fight in the next round,” she said, her tone too bland for how she was acting.

“And whoever wins that bout is probably going to make it to the championship round. If it’s Shade, then I suspect you’ll be happy.”

“Why is that?” She used the towel to lift the kettle and fill the teapot with hot water.

King watched her hands perform the simple task, unable to look at her face as he answered, “Because then Mr. Adams will be happy. He’ll be generous with you, perhaps even enough to get you that little cottage.” He was scared to say
get us a cottage for three
or anything that would sound too presumptuous or bold on his part. Yes, she’d mentioned the bigger cottage to him, but it was by no means an invitation. She might have changed her mind and wanted to take the offer back. And after the way he’d bullied her this morning, he wanted to make sure she felt safe, in command. He’d started to want that cottage badly, want that future with Lady, but he would respect her decisions. If she gave him another opening, though, he was going to take it. She was too special not to.