The Fighter and the Fallen Woman (3 page)

“Yeah?” King’s hand remained passive in her light grasp.

“He said when he gave you that and you didn’t scream, he knew you could make him a king.” She didn’t have to say who told her the story and King didn’t have to ask. She glanced up at King before lowering her gaze back to his scar. “Is it true?” she asked. Mr. Adams claimed to have done it, and it certainly sounded like something he would do, but it wouldn’t be the first time Lady had discovered more fable to his story than truth.

“Yes.”

Lady didn’t release him, couldn’t. Holding his hand, but the back of it rather than the palm, let her retain some measure of control, no matter how fragile the illusion. Unless he moved, King couldn’t touch her, so she could explore her secret desire to learn the feel of him. Part of her was screaming a warning, telling her to stop looking at him so much, touching him this softly, but the other part of her was like the drunk with the brandy. Just one more drink.

“And I heard why he calls you Lady,” he said softly.

“Because he thinks I’ll make him a gentleman?” She met his eyes and laughed, trying to keep the mockery out of her voice. Careful not to touch any other part of him, she set his hand back atop the other and stood up. She walked around his legs and stopped at his left hip, then gathered up her skirts again and started to sink to her knees.

“Wait,” King said and Lady froze halfway down and jerked her head up to look at him. He walked to an empty stool several steps away. As he leaned down to grab it, Lady wondered if he was doing what she thought he was doing, and slowly straightened up. He dropped it at her side and sat back down the way he had been before. “Now you won’t get your frock dirty.”

“Thank you,” Lady said automatically, unable to take her eyes off him. He’d certainly shown her kindness before, though nothing as ordinary as getting a chair for her. Perhaps he was reacting to the kiss, after all.

“I’m guessing Mr. Adams sent you over here,” King said, breaking into her flustered thoughts. “But I’m not sure why. I’ve been in fights before and he’s never sent somebody over to nurse my wounds.”

Lady lowered herself to the stool and took King’s left hand. He lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at her, but the look was nothing more than curious. Lady relaxed. She could deal with that.

“Mr. Adams likes to take care of his investments. You know that. Especially with so many wagers made on you. I’m here to make certain you get the care you need so you’re in top fighting form.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Mr. Adams studying the fight. He would be watching for Jonathan’s weaknesses, already planning a strategy to win that bet.

“You mean he likes to take care of his property.”

Lady returned her attention to King’s bruised and bloody knuckles. “So is this the biggest tournament you’ve ever been in?” she asked. Light drawing room conversation in a dark and dirty warehouse.

“I think it’s the biggest tournament ever, or at least that I’ve heard of, so I’d have to answer yes.” There was a trace of good humor to his tone, and she was relieved he let her change the conversation. “I met a fighter from Australia, here with his handler from America.”

“Mr. Collins?” Lady wondered if there were more men from across the ocean here. An ocean away sounded like a nice place to be.

“That’s right. The one talking to you and Mr. Adams earlier.”

She glanced over her shoulder again, this time at Jonathan. He seemed to be having fun in his fight. She looked back to King, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “You should be watching the fight. You’ll probably face Jonathan at some point, you know.”

“It’s only the first round. And judging by the way Mr. Adams is studying him, I won’t have to. He’ll tell me how to fight and I will.”

The way King watched her was unnerving Lady. She was finally starting to understand him—his scars, his name, his shackles—the same burdens Lady carried as one of Mr. Adams’s investments, but she didn’t like that he could possibly see into her as deeply.

Holding the towel loosely, she turned his hand palm up and looked at it. With the right, the burn was all she could see, but with this one she saw a webbing of lines that a gypsy could probably read like a book. Lady trailed one finger over those lines, wishing she could read them, as well. The way his hand flinched made her wonder if he was hurt, some tiny bone of his fist broken against Brutus’s head, but she couldn’t stop touching him. She let her finger lightly run up to an old scar at his wrist and wondered if he ever lay awake at night and felt like his soul was bruised too.

“What if you want to choose?” she asked, not daring to fall into his eyes again. That way she couldn’t do anything foolish like tell him to run, get away, before it was too late. Take her with him. “Since you’re the fighter, it seems like you should be telling him how you’ll fight.”

King rolled his wrist and grabbed the towel in his hand, using it to pull her closer as he leaned forward, stopping them inches from each other but not speaking until Lady met his eyes. They looked haunted, but that tempered strength so unique to him was there too. “You know as well as I do, Lady—with Mr. Adams, we never get to choose,” he said in a low voice. “Or are you telling me that cruel little bastard lets you tell him how to fuck?”

Chapter Three

Hannibal Adams, born George Leslie Tuttle, watched the fight with only half of his attention. With the other half he watched Lady tend to King, and with the third half he watched the people around him. All of those halves were the key to his success—he gave more effort than the people around him. That was how he got to be one of the wealthiest and most powerful businessmen of East London and that was why he’d renamed himself. George Tuttle wasn’t powerful. He didn’t command respect. Hannibal Adams was. Hannibal Adams did. Hannibal for the man who took what he wanted, conquering the Alps, and Adam for the first man, the perfect man, the man without whom there would be no other men.

Yes, Hannibal Adams was a man to be reckoned with.

Just then, King stood up so abruptly it drew all of Hannibal’s halves into a whole. He watched as King stalked off, rubbing his hands over his face and head again and again.

“Well, well, well,” Hannibal said to himself. “It looks like King still has his blood up. I know how to take care of that.” Without even looking to see if the other man was watching, he beckoned Shade over with one hand. He took one deep, sweet puff of his cigar and by the exhale Shade was at his side.

“Shade, go to the Red Door. Tell Mrs. Henderson to send one of the girls to see to our King tonight. Tell her to make the girl...active.” Hannibal smiled. He knew how to take care of his property. He grabbed Shade’s arm before he could walk away. “But not too active. I want King to burn off some energy, not be drained of it.”

He returned his attention to the activities of the room. Lady hadn’t moved from her perch, and he took advantage of the view, from the slope of her neck to the lush fruits of her bottom. His cock stirred and he smiled, thinking of later tonight when he’d be fucking that lush bottom. As though she could feel his gaze, she looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. She had taken his grin for a command and rose to come to his side. Oh, yes, things were going delightfully well in Hannibal Adams’s world.

“Aren’t you worried?”

Hannibal turned his head only as far as necessary to see the American standing beside him. Bloody hell, did the man think they were long-lost brothers? He stuck his cigar between his teeth and turned back to the fight. “Worried about what?”

“About how you’re pushing such a beautiful creature toward such a manly one,” Mr. Collins said and waved a prissy hand toward Lady. “And given her profession and all...”

“When you tell a dog to sit, it sits,” Hannibal said, getting irritated with the American again. Give him a crooked harbormaster any day. They took their bribe and shut their mouth. “That is, if you’ve trained your dog well. And let me assure you, Collins,” he said, then bared his teeth in a wide smile, “I’ve got my dogs trained very well. They wouldn’t dare do anything they weren’t told to do. The bitch before Lady is now in a cheap grave because she was disloyal, and everybody who works for me knows I’ve got plenty more lots where that one is.”

“It’s amazing what you can do with a whip and a meaty bone.” Collins laughed.

“Well, I see I’m right in time for the sparkling conversation,” Lady said as she slid into Hannibal’s side, her arm draping over his shoulder. She sounded a little sharper than usual, and where that might usually irritate Hannibal, it didn’t tonight. She could flay Collins alive with the sharp side of her tongue if she wanted and he’d just stand back and laugh.

“Lady, whenever you’re around everything appears more sparkling,” Collins said. He plucked her hand from her side and gently kissed the back, his eyes on hers the entire time.

Hannibal saw this. Did he need to direct somebody one way or another? He was used to it with Lady, her angel’s face and duchess’s manner causing men to court her as such, but he wasn’t sure with Collins. He decided to wait it out, but would watch the American a little more carefully. Cheap graves accommodated Yank mongrels as well as British mutts.

Collins released her hand and straightened, facing the fight as he did so. “I was set to tell Mr. Adams how Jonathan is strategizing the fight.”

“And how is that?” Lady asked.

“My way.” The American’s tone was as flat as his facial expression. Hannibal took a puff of his cigar and blew the smoke into the Yank’s face.

“Jonathan,” Collins called. The fighter stopped in the middle of the bout and looked at his handler, earning a blow to the stomach for his change in attention. It didn’t affect him more than a slight push would have. Collins simply nodded and Jonathan turned his attention back to his opponent. With a right-left-right combination of punches to the face, he dropped the man to the ground in less than five seconds.

As the referee declared Jonathan the victor and the fallen man was dragged out of the arena, Hannibal wondered if either of his men could be that perfect a fighting machine. King seemed too independent, but Shade might be trained in time. If he could get even one of them half as ruthless, he would be unstoppable. He slid his hand down to Lady’s delicious ass and squeezed. Maybe he would still fuck her here. At least in the carriage. He was too hot and too hard now to wait much longer.

“Now, Mr. Adams, I hate to go on when you obviously have other, more pressing matters to attend to, but I’d like to raise the stakes,” Collins said in that poncy way of his.

He looked at Collins and raised his eyebrow.

“In addition to the ten thousand pounds, I offer Jonathan against your King. Winner takes both fighters. Are you interested?”

Hannibal felt a leap of excitement, but forced himself to hold it down. “Why should I get all weak in the knees for your boy, there? He’s not much taller than I am.”

“Height does not a fighter make, Mr. Adams. You can ask the three stockmen Jonathan faced in an outback bar. Oh, wait a minute—you can’t. They’re dead.”

He studied Collins and tried to read truth or lies in his face while he considered the wager. At worst, he lost the blunt and King. But at best—oh, at bloody best—he could be the new owner of that little knife of a fighting machine. It was too good a chance to pass up.

“You’ve got yourself a bet.” Hannibal stuck his cigar in his mouth and offered his hand. As Collins shook on the bet, Hannibal almost grunted with satisfaction. Things were lining up even better now. Feeling a little more charitable with his adversary, he reached into his pocket for a card case. “Do you fancy some companionship while you’re here?” He watched as the American’s eyes flickered to Lady and knew now that this fish could be landed any time.

“Truthfully, I have been a bit lonely since arriving in your fair city.”

Hannibal slid an ivory card out of the case and passed it to Collins. “Go to the Red Door Brothel—don’t worry, any hack will get you there—and give this to the madam, Mrs. Henderson. She’ll make sure you’re not lonely.”

Hannibal turned away from Collins. After watching his fighter demolish his way through the first round, taking a bet for ten thousand pounds and another superior bruiser, and winning quite a few pounds on the bouts tonight, he was feeling like the king of the world.

“Come on, pet.” He pulled Lady toward the door. “I’m going to make sure you’re not lonely for quite a while.”

* * *

After the fight, King returned to his rooms in the rear of the Red Door. When he’d managed to convince Mr. Adams that Shade should have the bigger, more opulent rooms King had been occupying in Mr. Adams’s home and he’d take these smaller rooms in the Red Door to provide extra protection during especially busy nights, he’d gained a small freedom but a rich one. Too many times had Mr. Adams stormed into King’s rooms and announced they were going on a collection run or to the Red Door or, worst of all, to Lady’s, and the small daydream King had been having about that very woman would be shattered, King’s calm with it.

Images of Lady flickering through the back of his mind like a moving picture book, he checked on the ragged, bandaged brown bird in a box near the fire and saw it had eaten the worm King found in the street earlier this evening. “Good girl,” he murmured and lightly stroked the bird’s head. As he sat cross-legged in front of the fire and started building a small cage using bamboo canes he’d nicked at the warehouse tonight, he let the images of Lady build and break free. He could still feel her holding his hand, tracing that scar over and over again. Having her touch him like that was worth the pain of getting it, and he wondered if he’d feel the same about the pain to come because of that kiss. He’d been a brawler from damn near birth. He could handle the pain, but could she? Would she want to? He’d shielded her as much as he could from Mr. Adams’s attacks and moods, but their owner was capable of so much more pain and cruelty. She’d be smart to keep Mr. Adams happy and he’d be smart to stop thinking of Lady so much. There were other girls out there, blonde and blue-eyed, and it would be better for both of them if he picked one of those girls instead, regardless of that moment before Lady kissed him and he could see the question in her eyes.

Do you feel the same way I do?
Knowing the darkness
,
knowing who I am and what I’ve done
,
do you?

And he did. He’d known killers who were the benefactors of orphans and titled men who tortured barn cats, so as far as he was concerned, the measure of a man was more than the circumstances of birth or the basic power each person held. Mr. Adams was proof of that lesson, as was Lady. She’d never been anything but nice to him, never appeared to hold his profession against him, so how could he judge her for the way she earned a living? He made use of his body as she did hers, so who was the real whore and who was the real fighter?

Somebody knocked and King flinched, cutting himself on the bamboo. As he looked at the drop of blood on his thumb, he smiled ruefully. Probably wasn’t the last time he was going to bleed for this particular ladybird.

He sucked the blood off his thumb and looked up. Whoever wanted to see him wasn’t at the door leading to the street, but rather at the door connecting his rooms to the whorehouse. That meant his visitor was one of the girls or Mrs. Henderson. Shade avoided going into the house if he could, and only did so if he was guarding Mr. Adams. And King knew Mr. Adams would be at Lady’s right now, doing to her what other men were doing to other women upstairs.

The knock came again and King sighed. Of all the nights he didn’t want company, tonight was highest on that list. He needed space, quiet...time to get her out of his head. He set the bamboo on the floor, covered the bird with an old ripped blanket and got up. Since his entire suite consisted of a front room with the fireplace and his chair, a small table, a bed, a trunk and pegs for his clothes, and a small alcove that served as a kitchen, it only took King a few steps to get to the door. He grabbed a shirt and put it on but didn’t button it, knowing he would still be overdressed for whoever his visitor was. He opened the door to one of the new girls, a blonde who reminded him of Lady the way a piece of gravel reminded him of a diamond. He didn’t say anything, only leaned on the door and watched her.

“‘Ello, Mr. King. Mrs. Henderson said I should come over and tells you what a fine job Mr. Adams said you did tonight.” She was smiling like somebody had told her she could have a penny candy.

“Thank you, Jenny, but I’m tired,” King said, knowing he should take his benefactor up on his offer, but not having the heart to do so. He’d find his blue-eyed blonde another day.

Jenny’s face fell a little and she glanced over at Mrs. Henderson, a gray-haired matron who looked like a rolled-up rug in a stiff black dress. She could have been in the queen’s drawing room except for her profession and the two-shot pistol she kept strapped to her thigh. Jenny looked back at King and took a swaying step toward him. She still had an anticipatory smile, but the joyful innocence was gone, replaced by something studied and false.

“Are you sure, Mr. King? I can help you relax, I can. Maybe you needs me to rub your shoulders a bit. Wouldn’t that feel nice?”

King was weighing how to disengage Jenny with Mrs. Henderson taking such a keen interest in them when he caught sight of a newcomer over Jenny’s head. It was Mr. Collins, and King would bet a night of Jenny’s charms the American didn’t come here of his own accord. Suddenly it was getting too crowded with too many eyes.

“Sure, Jenny, I’d like that.” King pulled the girl in while watching Mrs. Henderson’s gaze dart from him to Mr. Collins and back again. As he shut the door, King saw Mr. Collins being led into the parlor by two of the girls and with luck, he hadn’t seen King back in the corner, framed by a door nobody was supposed to notice.

As soon as he shut the door, Jenny pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, Mr. King,” she said and rubbed her hands up and down his stomach and chest, “I’m so glad you said yes.”

King unwrapped Jenny’s arms. He took her by the hand, then led her over to sit on the bed. “Jenny, I know you can make me feel good, and any other time I would take you up on it like that,” he said and snapped his fingers, causing her to jump, “but I did have a hard fight tonight and don’t feel quite right yet. Why don’t you just lie down and rest for a bit? I’ll tell Mrs. Henderson how good you were and nobody needs to know what really happened except for you and me. Would that be okay, Jenny?” He eased her back so she was lying down and watched the battle going on behind her eyes. “Thirty minutes of quiet and you could rest with nobody bothering you.” He pulled a crown out of his pocket to slip into her hand.

She nodded, but her expression was still wary. She finally closed her eyes and tucked her hands beneath the pillow, her frown slowly sliding away.

“Good girl,” King whispered and stroked her head. He went back to his chair in front of the fire and couldn’t stop his thoughts from turning back to Lady as she’d nursed him after the fight. He’d hated being so harsh with her, but the brush of her fingers across his palm seemed especially bitter as she asked if they shouldn’t have choices with Mr. Adams.

But there was nothing else he could have said, like there was no way he could have touched her like he’d truly wanted. Looking back, he probably should have stayed silent, let her wash him up, then sent her back to Mr. Adams with a polite thank-you, but he couldn’t. He could have no more treated her as blandly as he did Jenny as he could have stopped his hands from bleeding. There was something about Lady that was under his skin as sure as the blood that was trying to seep out.