The Fighter and the Fallen Woman (24 page)

“Tomorrow night,” he vowed.

“Tomorrow night.”

* * *

The championship bout was less than an hour away and Lady was both calm and nervous. Calm because a few hours after that, it’d all be over and she’d be free of Mr. Adams, free of the life she had led for nearly half of her years. The nerves came from anticipating the next few hours and knowing how much was at stake. Including the woman standing beside her. Almost thirty-six hours of trying to explain to her, convince her, beg her, and Nessie still hadn’t answered.

Lady faced the pier glass in the foyer and tied the black satin ties of her cloak into a secure bow, then draped the heavy velvet so it overlapped in the front. “Only a few more hours.” She didn’t look at Nessie as she spoke.

“I know. I saw your little bird all packed up, along with your bag in the parlor.”

“Then you saw the other bag too.”

“Saw that too.” Nessie grabbed a small sable brush. “Though I don’t know why.”

“It’s for you. I still want you to come with me. Be free of this,” she said while Nessie was brushing the nap of the velvet like she was grooming a cat.

“I just don’t know if I can.” Nessie picked a bit of fluff from the fur edging. Lady couldn’t believe their everyday primping of her during such a serious talk, but she’d tried and tried having this conversation directly and it hadn’t worked. If this seemingly casual conversation could break through Nessie’s shell where the practiced ones could not, she’d stand here all day and be brushed. “It’s all I know.”

Lady turned and faced Nessie. She took her friend’s worn, rough hands in hers and squeezed. “But it’s not all you have.”

“I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise you.” Nessie pulled her hands free and fussed with Lady’s cloak. The part making Lady nervous was how Nessie wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Nessie, is there anything—”

“You’re sure?” she asked, not letting Lady finish her question. “You’re absolutely sure you can’t stay with Mr. Adams, that you need to leave with King?”

“I’m sure that I need to leave,” Lady said firmly. She didn’t move, didn’t force Nessie to look at her or grab her hands to still their nervous fluttering. “I don’t want to hurt anymore and King makes me forget that I ever was. He makes me happy, Nessie.”

Nessie finally stilled and met Lady’s eyes with her cloudy green ones. The tears pooling made them glow like jade. “That’s all I want too.”

Lady pulled Nessie to her in a quick, fierce hug. “Think about it. And if you can’t, we can take you somewhere safe, away from Mr. Adams’s wrath when he discovers me gone. Know you have enough to do whatever you choose to do without me. That bag I packed for you has a little something in it for you to get your happy ending too.”

Nessie pulled free and started to say something to Lady but couldn’t do more than open her mouth before there was a knock on the door.

“It’s time.” Lady smiled ruefully. She opened the door and looked at Shade, Mr. Adams’s carriage visible in the street behind him. “It’s time.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lady kept her cloak securely fastened until they were well into the warehouse. The crowd was full tonight for both the final bout of the consolation tournament and for King and Jonathan’s match. There was a buzz in the air, worries that a few zealous and incorruptible authorities were waiting until this final match to make a bust, hoping to get a goodly number of important people. It would certainly solve their problem of how to keep Mr. Adams away from her, but it was by no means a guarantee. The authorities could break in anytime, and then they’d have to deal with that scenario. Mr. Adams carried bribe money in one pocket and a knife in the other, so he was certain not to be nicked and, as always, he had his carriage right outside the door, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Shade would get Mr. Adams to the carriage and safely away at the cost of anybody who stood in his way. Lady knew, as much as she was sure Mr. Adams would protest, Shade would make certain she would be one of the discarded. It would be uncomfortable being arrested, being pawed, if not worse, by the officers, but it was a thousand times better than the alternative. King would get her out, and then they’d be gone.

After taking a small walk around the outer edge of the crowd, Mr. Adams led them to their customary spot near the edge of the fighting ring. At that point, Lady pulled on the bow of her cloak and turned her back to Mr. Adams. He pulled the black velvet off her and she smiled at the stillness she sensed behind her.

Her dress was made of white lace, almost virginal if viewed from the front with its long sleeves and high neckline. However, upon closer inspection, there seemed to be no lining to the close-fitting dress, nor undergarments. The blush color peeking through the lace appeared to be skin, and without the strategically placed lace roses, darker colors would certainly be visible. The back of the dress, however, was a different matter.

From shoulder blade to shoulder blade, from the base of her neck to the pinkie’s width of cleavage showing below her waist, Lady’s back was bare save a crisscrossing of thin satin cording. It started at her bottom and worked its way up to lace through the band of her neckline, securing it closed with a bow. With her hair pulled up into a sleek knot, held by two jeweled picks, and paste earrings that looked like large teardrop diamonds, there was nothing to take away from the image of all her skin, either coyly appearing through the lace or boldly beckoning from the back.

“Can I fuck you now?” Mr. Adams asked in a quiet voice and Lady knew this was another of his stunted compliments. She looked at him over her shoulder and admitted to a mean joy in his greedy eyes and slack mouth. He was staring at her back as if he heard two voices, one telling him to indeed fuck her now and the other telling him how nice it would be to wait, to have all these men watch as he fucked her after the fight.
Enjoy the sight while it lasts
,
Mr.
Adams.
It’ll be gone quicker than you think.

“Now, Mr. Adams.” She waited until he made eye contact. “You could, but think of how much fun it will be later, after you’ve won the tournament and the owner’s purse. Every man here will want to take you out to celebrate, buy you drinks, but we’ll be right there—” she pointed to the center of the fighter’s ring, “—having our own celebration, then back for dinner at my house where you’ll be eating caviar off my nipples. How’s that for a perfect evening?”

He glanced down to her back and lower to where the lacing started, and she watched as the voice telling him to fuck her now almost won. Then one side of his mouth quirked up and he gave one harsh laugh, almost like a cough. He met her eyes and it was like he was acknowledging that she was right. He waved to one of the young boys he’d hired to be runners for the crowd and gave him her cloak and a shilling. “Go put this in the carriage right outside the door. Shade there will make sure you get the right one,” he said and pointed to his guard.

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 Jonathan 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.