The Fighter and the Fallen Woman (4 page)

He grabbed a glass, determined to wash away the taste of Lady’s lips under his. Down that road only lay pain, misery, suffering and heartbreak, possibly worse depending on Mr. Adams. He poured the last of his whiskey into the glass and with each splash, counted what he had.

Money, power and prestige from doing what came naturally to him—fighting.

Rent-free rooms in a whorehouse where he could have almost any of the girls he wanted for free.

A good, uncomplicated life that most men in this part of London would kill for.

Nope. He swallowed the blessings of his life. A kiss from a whore, even if that kiss made him feel more a man than he ever had before, was nothing to throw that all away for. Nothing at all.

* * *

As soon as Mr. Adams was dressed, Lady slid out of bed and pulled on a peacock-blue silk robe with flowers and hummingbirds embroidered at the hem and sleeves. It had been a gift from Mr. Adams after a particularly profitable shipment of his vases from China. Ever since then, Lady wore it for his visits.

“Let me walk you out, Mr. Adams.” She straightened his collar and gave his tie an extra tug.

“Aw, my girl can’t get enough of me, is that it?” He grinned. His cheer was holding and Lady was thankful. He was easier to control in this kind of mood.

“I just want to make sure you’re taken care of,” she said in a purr as she left the bedroom in a lazy walk. The touching was over and she was walking him out the door, so if it took a little swing in her step to hasten his departure, she could do that.

She gathered her robe so Mr. Adams wouldn’t step on it and led him downstairs to the front door. She opened it and leaned against it, casting a coy smile at her owner. “I’ll see you soon, won’t I?”

“Soon enough, pet. Soon enough.” He stepped outside. Shade emerged from the shadows to stand behind his master as Mr. Adams turned back to face her. “I want you to know how good it makes me feel to have you caring for King. My best girl helping my best fighter, just like any proper family, eh? Makes me so happy, it does. Maybe you could go check on him tomorrow, make sure he’s healthy and ready to fight. Here, this is for a doctor or medicine if you need it.” He slipped a few bills into her hand. “And speaking of medicine, I had Mrs. Henderson send him one of the girls tonight. Let me know if that’s the tonic he needs. I’ve always got more.” He laughed at his joke and Lady chuckled as she was meant to.

“Anything for you, Mr. Adams.” She winked and closed the door slowly. The instant the door clicked shut, she closed her eyes and leaned against it, listening as Mr. Adams and Shade left in his small coach. Her protector walked a fine line between jovial and deadly, and even after all of these years, Lady could have difficulty spotting the difference. Mr. Adams had been laughing up until the instant he threw her to the floor and kicked her so hard he broke two of her ribs. His idea of her nursing King was as delicate and dangerous as carrying a full punchbowl of blasting oil across a freshly waxed floor.

The sound of the coach long gone, Lady finally felt safe for the night. She locked the door and called, “Nessie!”

“I’m right behind you, love. Heard the old man leave, I did.”

Lady opened her eyes and saw her one friend, her one ally in the world. Nessie was Mrs. Mary Nesbitt, a whore who had been promoted to assistant madam at the Red Door when an angry swell cut her face and disfigured her. She didn’t have much skill managing the girls, but she could run a house like Napoleon, so after Mr. Adams had beaten Lady’s first housekeeper to death, he brought Nessie over as housekeeper, maid, cook and spy. But the plan backfired. Mr. Adams hadn’t known that Nessie was actually the one to bring Lady into the Red Door. She’d found Lady barely surviving on the street at age fourteen and kept her hidden in the kitchen scrubbing pans and learning basic healing skills until Mrs. Henderson found her and put her to work on her back. Even then, Nessie was the one who taught her how to not only become one of the best, but to not let the profession take more than she was willing to give. It served Lady well, both at the Red Door and after Mr. Adams had discovered her and made her his mistress. Now, twelve years later, she and Nessie were closer than if they shared the same blood, but they still had to let Mr. Adams think he had a spy in the house or suffer the alternative. Mrs. Nesbitt’s occasional reports were never difficult because nothing ever happened. Lady prayed she could say the same when the fights were over.

“God, Nessie, I know the earnings from this tournament are going to be huge, but I don’t know if I can make it much longer.” Lady started playing with the sash of her robe, running the tasseled ends through her fingers with angry little flicks. She had been keeping as much as she could buried deep, but after her interaction with King tonight, she felt raw and exposed, questions long since buried rearing up again. “Maybe it’s time to find a new protector, do something different. All I know is it’s getting harder and harder to wake up each morning and face another day.” She took Nessie’s hands and held them between both of hers like she was praying. “So, what do you think? Is it time to find a little cottage on the coast?”

“Oh, Lady, I know what it’s like to be weary.” Nessie pulled one of her hands free and gently patted Lady’s cheek. “Hold on and it’ll pass. Trust me. Mr. Adams is a good enough man, and a fine protector. You just need a little quiet time, maybe after the tournament is over and things settle down. If things go well, you could ask Mr. Adams for a few weeks in a cottage up north.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Lady said to nobody in particular as she started upstairs. “Our quilt spread across our laps, piecing it together while the fire crackled and our tea cooled.” She stopped halfway between floors, the vision strong enough to quell her thoughts about King, her enmity for Mr. Adams. “Nessie, would you—”

“Aye, love, I’ll put the kettle on now.”

Lady made her way upstairs and after a quick sponge bath, slipped into her heavy cotton night rail and faded pink muslin robe. She braided her hair into one thick plait and went back downstairs to the parlor. Papered in an unobtrusive green, gold and burgundy tea rose pattern on a background of cream, the room was neither opulent nor garish. Below the lace-curtained window was a green damask sofa, and the fireplace on the opposite wall had an oak mantel that matched the sofa’s delicate legs. It was a parlor, and decorated purely as such, but to Lady the room was more about the memories made here than the porcelain statues filling the curio cabinet in the corner.

She and Nessie had spent many hours in this room, sewing quilts out of old dresses and sheets. The first had been from boredom while they were snowed in for almost two weeks, and after that, they found it a pleasant way to pass time. Every now and then, Lady even lost herself in the fantasy that she was a regular lady presiding over her own house, quilting while her husband was at work and her children were at school. But it never lasted longer than the length of thread she was sewing before it snapped, just like the thread.

While she was getting the thimbles from the sewing basket, Lady’s mind bounced back to King and her task for tomorrow. She could still feel the touch of King’s lips, even after Mr. Adams. She needed to repair the crack in her armor, smooth it over so he couldn’t see inside, so that touch of warmth could no longer seep under her skin.

Yes, she could do that. She had to.

“Ooh, what’s with the long face?” Nessie had two cups and a teapot on a lacquered tray. “Don’t be telling me the thread has snarled again.”

“No, no—it’s fine.” Lady smiled brightly and started laying out spools with their needles. “Woolgathering, I suppose.”

“Well, tell the sheep to leave you alone. Or drown them with this.” Nessie handed Lady a teacup and filled it from the pot. She got settled with a cup for herself and took a sip. “By the by, I meant to ask you if Mr. Adams got a new man?”

“Hmm, no, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“When I was sweeping out the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, I noticed a man standing out back, across the alleyway. He was watching the house real close. Reminded me of how Shade first stood out there, but this fellow wasn’t like Shade.”

Lady set her teacup down. A rising panic was threatening to bring her tea back up. Mr. Adams hadn’t said anything, but he wouldn’t necessarily. Was he trying to set her up, making her tend to King while somebody new watched her home? “What does he look like? And why doesn’t he seem like Shade?”

“He’s a regular-sized bloke, maybe a bit smaller, but his hair looks white, sticking up all over. And usually Mr. Adams’s men look all dour and grumpy. This one’s standing there smiling like he’s just been made a duke.”

“White hair? Does he have a real sharp face?”

“Yes, that sounds like him. So, Mr. Adams got somebody new?”

“No, that’s not Mr. Adams’s man. That’s Jonathan.” In addition to Mr. Adams and King to worry about, she now had Mr. Collins making a bold move, bolder possibly than what she could control. It made going to King’s tomorrow suddenly seem much easier than it had a few minutes ago.

Chapter Four

She had to go visit King today. However, after a night spent twitching out of her skin at the thought of Jonathan watching her house, and her eyes stinging from the rawness of staring at the ceiling all night, replaying every second of being with King over and over, she could plead illness and not go. She could stay safe in her bed, tucked under that first blue and yellow quilt she and Nessie had stitched, and read dime novels. The midday sun could fall to dusk and she wouldn’t have to worry about possibly seeing Jonathan on her trek or definitely seeing King in his rooms, all alone and nothing between them but the memory of one sweet kiss. Until another night passed the same as the one before and the next day broke with Lady doing nothing. Then she’d have to go or tell Mr. Adams why not. She had to go today.

An hour later she was dressed and restored by a cup of tea heavily laced with sugar and cream. As befitted her station as mistress of one of the most powerful men of the East End, Lady wore her new sateen dress of lush red roses on a fawn-colored background, complete with Irish lace collar and cuffs, and a straw bonnet with a fat red rose on one side. If she didn’t dress well, the stern madam of the Red Door was sure to tell Mr. Adams. Once Mr. Adams had taken Lady, one of Mrs. Henderson’s most popular girls and highest earners, out of the house, the madam made sure to keep an extra eye on her on behalf of their master.

Lady flicked open her parasol of the same Irish lace and set off with Nessie for Canon Street Road and the Red Door Brothel. She could hire a hack, but instead started walking at a leisurely pace, telling herself it wasn’t nerves she felt, only excitement about being able to take a stroll on such a lovely day.

“What do you plan to do with King?” Nessie asked after a few blocks of silence. Lady had told her about the events of the prior evening when they were quilting. She’d left out her talk with King and how much the kiss affected her, but Nessie knew everything else, including the way Mr. Adams was having Lady care for and report on his fighter. Not only had Nessie been in the business for years, she knew Mr. Adams, and Lady relied on her opinions.

“Make certain he doesn’t need true medical care, I suppose. I hope King has gotten over whatever made him so upset because I just can’t...”

“It sounded like King was at odds, himself. You can use that to keep him in line, should you need,” Nessie suggested. She gave one nod, as sharp as her comments. Whores past their prime tended to get very focused on how to survive, everybody else be damned. “If it gets King more set on winning or Mr. Adams more set on giving you presents, it’s all for the best, right?”

“First we’ll see if he lets us in,” Lady said as they approached the large red door and knocked. It was always locked before entertaining hours. “Then we’ll see what his mood is. Until then, I’ll be the picture of helpful and caring.”

Nessie nodded, the answer apparently sitting well with her. Lady took a deep breath and put on the air of hauteur expected of her as Mr. Adams’s mistress. When the Red Door’s burly doorman opened the door, Lady sailed past him, Nessie in her wake.

“You’re new, so I’m only going to say this once. I’m Lady and I’ve been asked by Mr. Adams to see to King.” She headed for the room set back in the corner, where Mr. Adams had installed King.

She knocked at King’s door and stepped back, wrapping her fingers in the ribbons of her red velvet bag to cover their slight trembling. After a moment of no answer, she stepped forward and knocked again, this time a little louder.

“What is it? What? What do you want?” King’s voice grew in volume and Lady took another step back as he opened the door. She didn’t know who froze first, but whatever had happened between them last night now locked them together in invisible shackles.

He stood in the door in dark brown pants, but wore neither shoes nor shirt. Faint bruises bloomed against his ribs and his left eye was slightly swollen, marked by a dark purple crescent underneath. Old habits let her size him up as quickly as she did any man, but new to her was quelling the dusty jolt of awareness that sizzled in her belly when she saw his solid chest, giving way to a lean, flat waist. Not a new vision, especially after last night, but seeing him in his home, nobody around save Nessie, it was different. Everything after that kiss was different, even looking into his eyes.

The yearning was new, raw. He was looking at her like an orphaned child looked at a couple with a warm, cozy home. Lady couldn’t stop herself from reaching up toward his face. She was just going to touch his cheek, see if she could take the edge off that brutal pain, but as she raised her hand, he took a step back and blinked hard several times. When she made eye contact again, the only thing left in his gaze was irritation. Lady forced her hand up to fuss with her hair, then let it fall back to her side and take up the ribbons of her bag again.

“Lady,” King said in a slow drawl. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Or should I say, to whom?”

Lady pressed her lips together. “Mr. Adams asked that I come by to minister to your wounds. He wants his man to be in top fighting form.” The last three words were delivered with a sharp edge and she waved her hand in the air to emphasize her point, hoping that would cover for her tender impulse of earlier. It was easier to be angry with King than to treat him like something happened between them last night. Repair the crack, smooth it over.

King appeared to weigh her words for several long seconds, and Lady waited. When she felt like he had pushed her enough, she turned to Nessie and said, “Let’s go, Mrs. Nesbitt. King is a big, strong man and obviously doesn’t need my care. It simply means I get an afternoon to go shopping.” She had taken two steps when King stopped her.

“Wait,” he said, and Lady stopped but didn’t turn to face him. This was his dance to call, but she didn’t have to make it easy. “Won’t you please come in?”

Lady turned, the short train of her dress sweeping the floor in a graceful arc of cabbage roses. King was standing to the side of his door, indicating with his outstretched arm that she should enter. He was looking somewhere past her right hip, but Lady didn’t step forward until he raised his eyes and looked at her.

“Please,” he said. The irritation was gone, banished or hidden. She wanted to tell him she understood what he was going through, torn between the pain of daily life and the secret dreams of somebody so near yet so far, but she could no more do that than kiss him again. She wanted to tell him how much he’d helped that one night Mr. Adams had passed out, earning Lady a few nights’ rest at the risk of their deception being discovered. She wanted to tell him she would die if he didn’t hold her, let her bury her face against his neck and feel safe, but that was the opposite of rebuilding her armor and smoothing it over. No matter how much she wanted it.

“Thank you, King.” Lady adjusted the lace at the neck of her dress. “I’d be delighted. Nessie, why don’t you wait here?” Lady indicated a bench set into an alcove near King’s door. Being alone with King could be bad, but having Nessie possibly see King’s true effect on her would be worse.

Lady entered King’s rooms and as she stopped in front of the fireplace to look around the gray and colorless room, she could see him putting on a shirt from the corner of her eye.

Somehow that flustered her worse than seeing his bare torso. His bed three feet away, that slight spice scent she associated with him, even his bare feet, they all caused something to flutter in her belly and the demand that he hold her grew stronger. Doing the only thing she could think of to save them both, Lady drew on the person she’d been last night, haughty and bold. She faced him as he finished buttoning it up, stopping three buttons short of his neck. She raised her eyebrow at him, challenging him to fasten a few more for propriety’s sake, but King didn’t make a move to alter his dress in any way. Fine. If he wanted to play the tough man, she could play the whore. In slow, exaggerated movements, she looked away from him and sat on his bed, deliberately ignoring the proper chair in the middle of the room. She crossed her legs and turned her upper body toward him, the motion causing her to brace her weight on her right arm held behind her. She started to drape her left wrist over her knee, but something caught her eye. She reached over and plucked a long, blond hair off his pillow and held it to the side. “Well, well, well,” she said with a coy smile. “It looks like I’m not the only visitor you’ve been entertaining.”

“Lady, what do you want?” He crossed his arms.

She let the strand of hair go and watched its descent before rubbing her fingers together like she was rubbing dirt off them. She crossed her arms on her legs and leaned on them. “I told you, King. Mr. Adams wanted me to come over and make certain you had everything you needed to be healthy for the tournament. You can ask Mrs. Henderson about my skill in nursing, if you’d like, but if you need more care, and I mean medical care, not that kind—” she pointed to the hair on the floor, “—then I am to secure you a doctor.” As unfair as it was, she was upset about that hair. She’d been thinking of that kiss since it happened, and he came home and fucked one of the girls? Even though nothing could happen between them, it hurt knowing how quickly he’d moved on.

King continued to play the statue, his face set in a scowl. Lady’s usual tactics for getting a man to talk were definitely not going to work here, so more conversation it was, lest Mr. Adams be disappointed that she didn’t have more to report. “Fine. Let’s start with you telling me of your injuries from last night. I’ll assess the care you need and we proceed from there. Hasn’t anybody ever nursed you before?”

“Only once.”

“And how’d that turn out?”

“Not too bad, I suppose. Of course, she’s come back to finish the job, so I may be wrong in my judgment.”

“Yes, let’s pray you survive.” That kind of sass usually earned her a slap, but Lady refused to let King think she was one of these simpering women who let a man, especially one who wasn’t paying, say or do anything he liked to her. If he kept acting like this, she wasn’t going to have a problem banishing him from her thoughts.

She stood up and pointed at the bed. “Sit down, please.”

King looked at her, mistrust evident in his gaze, but finally sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees.

“Tell me where you’re hurt,” Lady said, stepping between his knees and studying him.

“You were there. You watched the fight and looked at me after.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m aware of every injury. It would help me tremendously if you could list them for me.”

King sighed deeply and leaned his head back so he was looking at the ceiling. “Lower back, ribs, temple, jaw.”

Lady waited for a few seconds, but when he lowered his head to look at her again, she knew he was through. “What about your hands?”

“What about them?” He looked at them, turning them over so he could see both sides.

“They’re injured.”

King looked closer at his scraped and swollen knuckles. “I suppose you’re right. They always seem to be in this state, so I guess I don’t think about them as injuries anymore.”

“If you don’t see them as injuries, perhaps you should get into a different line of work, King.” Lady’s impudent little grin died as she met his eyes and saw his unspoken response of
Maybe you should too.

She lowered her gaze and lifted one of his hands. As she traced a finger over his ragged flesh, she wondered if that was what she looked like on the inside, torn and raw. It was how she felt. Did King feel as torn and raw down deep or was that another part of him always injured, always ignored?

“That tickles,” King said in a soft voice.

She looked at him and felt confusion on her face, but it was happening too fast for her to school her features into anything else. He glanced at their hands and Lady looked down. Her fingers were still stroking his. She immediately stopped and released his hand, reaching deep for something to cover her misstep.

“Sorry,” she said with a sly, one-sided smile. “Habit of the trade. Now, let’s check that nasty bump on your temple.” She pushed his head to one side, firmly enough there was no question of her intentions, and looked at his injury. Having endured this same type of wound before, Lady knew she wouldn’t need to call for a doctor today. The care for it would be simple—some willow bark for any pain, though King was already well aware of that treatment. She took a deep breath and kept telling herself,
I’m just a nurse
,
I’m just a nurse
, as she examined the cut and the swollen area around his eye.

Suddenly, King took her wrist and held her still as he slowly turned his head back until they were face-to-face, only the width of her hand between them. Lady’s heart started to pound. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and she watched as King looked at her parted lips and then met her eyes again.

The urge to throw her arms around his neck, cradle his head against her breasts, made her hands tremble. Her pulse jumped as he stroked her wrist with his thumb. He was thinking the same thing as she—now that they were here, their time together approved and justified, who was to say what kind of nursing went on behind these closed doors? Desire started to flare between them, but instead of stirring Lady, it terrified her. She’d been a whore for so long, did she even truly know what desire was? Even without Mr. Adams in the picture, could she and King be something? The fantasy of him was one matter, but the reality of it was quite another.

“Your wounds aren’t serious, but there is a salve that might help them heal faster, plus soothe any sting that remains—that is, if big, strong fighters admit their scrapes sting.” She forced a light laugh as she stepped away. “There’s an apothecary toward Charles Street that should have it.”

“If you think it will help.” King stood, hands clasped behind his back.

“It will. You’ll do fine without it, but why live in pain if you don’t have to? I’ll make sure you know of the salve so next time you won’t need me to hold your hand like a schoolboy. I’ll gather Nessie and meet you in the front.” Lady gathered her bag and headed for the door.