The Fighter and the Fallen Woman (7 page)

It was a gift from Mr. Adams, brought over last night after he returned her home from the fight. His mood had brightened considerably after Shade’s deadly win, and Lady wagered she wouldn’t be wearing these bruises on her arm if their conversation had occurred after Shade’s fight rather than before. Winning always put Mr. Adams in a good mood, but she couldn’t always direct their conversations, and if Shade, by some chance, would have lost, her bruises would probably be tripled in number. The necklace was both a celebration for his first round wins with King and Shade and an apology—he said as much when he returned with the necklace—and Lady cooed and simpered and tried to ignore the pain in her arm while Mr. Adams bent her over the rail of her brass bedstand and got the return on his gift.

The necklace, she figured about two hundred pounds’ worth, only confirmed her thoughts. If King, and now Shade, could keep winning, Mr. Adams would keep being generous, more generous than usual. The bad part was his generosity wasn’t the only thing growing during the tournament—his anger and his suspicion were, too. The broken ribs were one incident she’d been able to put behind her, but after last night, she was beginning to fear an injury she couldn’t heal from. These gifts might be enough to let her and Nessie run, get away from here before that happened. No more cuts or bruises, only security, freedom and peace.

That made her think of King. He’d protected her last night from Jonathan and, judging from the rage in his eyes afterward, he’d wanted to protect her from Mr. Adams.

Even though he was a fighter, something about him made her think he craved peace as much as she did. But if they did run, find safety, would he ever be able to be with her and not feel the spirits of other men in bed with them, especially Mr. Adams? If she ever told him she loved him, would he believe her or brush it off as a whore’s trick? It was so much to risk.

“Lady? Lady!” Nessie’s cries echoed down the hall and Lady answered, “I’m in the other room.” She never slept in here, so Nessie never looked for her in this bedroom after dawn. She’d barely had time to tell her of Mr. Adams’s behavior at the fights before he showed up again here and she knew Nessie was worried. If it involved Lady, where their next meal was coming from or pleasing Mr. Adams, Nessie worried. Worse, the more volatile Mr. Adams acted, the more Nessie worried about pleasing him.

“Oh, thank goodness.” She pushed the door open enough to stick her head in. “A fair fright you gave me. I fell asleep in the parlor, waiting for Mr. Adams to leave, and when I woke up, you weren’t in your room.”

“I’m sorry, Nessie. It was so late last night and I must have fallen asleep here.”

Nessie’s eyes went to the table. “Is that it, then?”

Lady sat up and nodded, her gaze also going to the necklace. She glanced up at Nessie in time to see her look at the marks on her arm.

“It’s beautiful.” Nessie quickly shifted her gaze so she was looking Lady in the eye. “More extravagant than anything he’s given you before, if I remember right.”

Lady nodded and slipped into a robe.

Nessie gathered up the bedding and headed downstairs. “I think that necklace shows how much Mr. Adams cares for you. If he wins the whole thing, I think he’d be willing to send you to Bath to take the water, indulge in some pampering. Now come downstairs. I have some tea and then you can soak in a nice hot bath.”

“For that, I’ll give you this necklace,” Lady said, following her.

* * *

After tea, a bath, rearranging the knickknacks in the parlor, reading the latest dime novel and helping Nessie peel potatoes for dinner, Lady threw her hands up and dropped into one of the ladder-back chairs in the kitchen.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Nessie. We’ve had a lovely day at home and I’m going daft.”

“Poor dear.” Nessie dried her hands and cupped Lady’s face. “You’re not used to all of this extra excitement with the tournament, are you?” She patted Lady’s cheek and stepped away to take off her apron. “Why don’t you come with me to the market? We’ll get something special for dinner to celebrate your lovely necklace. And I think a walk and some fresh air will do you good. It’s a rare day we get anything other than gray clouds and rain.”

After grabbing their wraps, Lady and Nessie headed to the market. Lady breathed deep of the briny fish, ripe produce, raw meat and underneath everything, fresh baked bread. And somehow, it all smelled good.

She stopped to admire some ribbons in a shop window and turned to point out some of the pale green ones to Nessie, but Nessie was looking across the street. Lady followed her gaze and saw King. He was leaning against a building with his arms crossed over his chest and had eyes for nobody but her.

“Nessie, I’m going to—”

“Be careful, Lady. He may be all big and strong, but he can’t take care of you like you deserve.”

Lady broke eye contact with King to watch Nessie head toward the market, her basket held tightly at her side. How was she to tell her friend she feared more bruises, worse injuries, even terrible retaliation for interest from the American and the Aussie that she had no hand in cultivating? Nessie believed Mr. Adams was good as far as protectors went, but for a profession where the bigger the gift, the better the life, Lady was having more and more doubts. When she was with King, his one genuine, tender touch was worth more than any ruby necklace.

She turned back to King. She’d never been afraid of how he watched her. Every other man looked at her like he wanted her naked or bleeding, but King always looked at her like he wanted to hold her close with one arm, keep the world at bay with the other. It was a secure place, warm, and she wanted more of it.

She crossed the street, let him see a little bit of the pleasure she felt in finding him here and simply said, “Hello.”

“Hello.” The deep undertone of his voice sluiced through her body like a current of something hot and sweet and she let him see a little bit of that too. She smiled and pointed down the road with her head. “Walk me to the market?”

As they strolled, Lady clasped her hands in front of her, her handbag bumping against her knees. She looked around at the sights, careful to maintain a shaft of daylight between herself and King. Mr. Adams didn’t frequent this area of the East End, but she never knew who he had watching in his absence.

“Are you...do you feel...are you all right?” King asked. Lady wondered how such a simple question could have him so unsure.

“Yes, thank you. I’m well. And you?”

Lady took several more steps before realizing King had stopped. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, one foot pointed out, his head cocked. She retraced her steps and stopped just shy of his outthrust foot. The man looked positively uncomfortable—like he was wearing a coat two sizes too small and it was starting to shrink further.

“King, are you—”

“Your arm. Did he hurt you?”

A chill infected Lady, her sense of security gone with her warmth.

Chapter Seven

Lady had a second or two where the previous evening rushed back at her. As she relived that moment—the pain from how Mr. Adams grabbed her, the fear he was going to do worse, the shame that King had seen it—she reached up and lightly rubbed her arm, and the bruise sent out a painful ripple.

“I saw,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know what was said between you two, but I saw how he hurt you. I just wanted to know if you were all right.”

“Quite honestly, I hadn’t thought of it for a bit.” Lady gave a tremulous smile. “Forgotten all about it.” She tried to laugh, but the tears that had started to sting her eyes caused her voice to warble. Turning away from King so he couldn’t see, Lady started to walk quickly toward the market with her head down.

There was a harsh curse behind her and she hoped it was King. If he brought up her pain, it was only fair he share in part of it. She kept walking and dug into her bag for a handkerchief. As she wiped the moisture from beneath her eyes, she suddenly saw a pair of boots toe-to-toe with hers and stopped. She looked up into King’s brown-and-gold eyes and quickly lowered her head again before she could see anything in them but the color. She stuffed her handkerchief back into her bag and wondered what to do.

While she was thinking, she watched King slowly reach out and slip two fingers into the curl of her hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. She felt the warmth and rasp of his skin, saw the two-day-old scrapes on the back of his hand, and yet it still seemed like it was happening to somebody else. He’d held her hand before, but not like this. Those times were helpful, this was...sweet.

“Would you tell me if he hurts you again?”

The question, asked so quietly, stunned Lady more than him holding her hand. Where King had protected her from Jonathan last night, she knew he didn’t have a prayer at stopping Mr. Adams if he hurt her again. A vision of Shade killing a man with one blow played through her head, but this time it was King who fell. King who would never rise again. But she couldn’t tell him that.

She nodded, once, then managed to do it twice more quickly, still looking at their loosely clasped hands.

He released her and stepped away. “I’m guessing Mrs. Nesbitt is wondering where you are,” he said loudly and turned so he stood beside Lady. “Let me escort you to her.”

Lady started to walk in time with King, her eyes still downcast. With each step, she raised her head a little more, felt a little more of the sun on her face and experienced something missing for a long time.

Hope.

* * *

Today was certainly a day of firsts for King.

First, he had asked about Lady’s arm, even though he had told himself he wasn’t going to. There was nothing he could do about the past, so why bring it up? But he did. He had to. He had to know if she was well.

Then he had asked her to let him know if Mr. Adams hurt her again, another first. This was dealing with the future, not the past, and he was as much as picking sides in a battle too one-sided for them to win.

He had to, though. Lady had a survival streak in her and he didn’t like the thought of somebody trying to smother it. When she’d looked at him last night, the skin of her arm matching the angry red of her dress while drying her tears with Mr. Adams’s handkerchief, the despair in her eyes almost dropped him to his knees.

Another first.

Now he was at the market with a couple of whores, one older, one younger, and he found himself smiling. The older was looking at him like he would steal the gold from her teeth, but the way the younger was looking at him made it all worthwhile.

After the women completed their shopping, Mrs. Nesbitt shoved the full basket at him and King reflected that he’d received softer blows to his gut from Brutus the other night. He grabbed it and quickly fell in step with Lady, Mrs. Nesbitt falling several paces behind.

“That’s enough to last you two several days.” King poked at the vegetables but avoided touching the goose wrapped in butcher paper.

“Nessie was determined to celebrate today and I can’t refuse her.”

“What’s the special occasion?”

“She had a reason, I suspect.” Lady looked at him thoughtfully. “Why? Do we need a reason to celebrate?”

King walked slowly and gave it serious thought, thought about the precarious situation both women were in, and felt something heavy settle on his shoulders. “No, I guess you don’t.”

Lady matched her pace to King’s, both of them strolling along the shops. King was fine with the silence, but he could tell Lady was still weighing something in her mind. Her brow was furrowed and twice she glanced back at Mrs. Nesbitt. King was trying not to watch her outright because he knew she’d stop, and he was a little amused at her obvious consternation. If she started biting her lip he wouldn’t be surprised.

At that image, a blaze of heat raced down King’s chest and gut to settle lower. He forced himself to think of hits to the face, blows to his middle, getting into the ring with Nessie—anything to clear his mind from such an arousing thought, but the more he told himself not to think of Lady tangled in his sheets, her hands on his shoulders as he tasted her... He shook his leg to readjust the apparent state of his thoughts and shifted the basket from his left hand to his right to cover the evidence.

“Are you all right, King?”

“Fine. Just an old injury.” She looked down at his leg as though she could discern the old ache, and King frantically cast about for something to get her attention away from that area.

“How long have you known Mrs. Nesbitt?”

“Twelve years now.” She fell quiet for a few steps. He’d caused her more distress when his aim was to brighten her mood. “I don’t know what I’d do without her,” she said.

“You’d survive.”

“Why do you say that?” She was looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

“I may not be smart or good with people, but I do know survival. You’ve got it.” He shrugged his shoulders. His answer either satisfied her or she chose to let it go, because she turned forward again and her face smoothed into a gentle blankness. But something was still troubling her. He didn’t know what, but that expression she was wearing was a mask as sure as he and Jonathan would eventually face each other—in the ring or out of it.

“Do you know what I think about sometimes?” she finally asked.

“No, but I’d like to.” More than his next breath.

After a few silent steps, Lady continued, “I think about a home. One on a bluff overlooking the water, with nobody around for miles.”

King looked at her, and he could tell she was seeing this place rather than the dingy street stretching out ahead of them. “Not even Mrs. Nesbitt?”

“Well, her, of course. I couldn’t leave her to this fate.” Then, in the same, offhand tone, Lady knocked the wind from him better than any fighter he’d ever faced. “And there’d be room for one more.”

She wasn’t talking about happy places thought of during dark times, close-your-eyes-and-dream type of places, she was talking about actually running. She was talking about running with him. King had an urge to stop and grab Lady’s hand, make her look at him when she said something as explosive as those seven little words, but he forced himself to keep walking and forced his rushing thoughts to freeze.

“That’s a big house,” he finally managed to say into the booming silence. He felt like an idiot, but it was all he could manage right now.

“It may be a big house, it may also be a nearby one. It may be nice to have some company nearby, that’s all I meant.”

He was balanced on one foot on the side of a rocking boat in a thunderstorm, and the goal was not to get wet. He stopped and faced Lady, thinking of a way to phrase the question in some way other than
Are you saying what I think you’re saying?
Before he could force any words out, Mrs. Nesbitt pushed between them and grabbed Lady’s arm.

“Thank you for the escort, King. You were quite a help to these old bones,” Nessie said. They were at the back door to Lady’s house. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have quite a bit of work to do. Cooking, cleaning—women’s things, you know, and we wouldn’t dream of making you be part of any of it. And I suspect you’ll need to prepare for your next fight, and there’s no way we could help with such an important task, so we’ll free you from your duty and bid you good day. Come, Lady, we have feathers to pluck.”

Sleeker than water down a window, Mrs. Nesbitt ushered Lady inside with no chance for anybody to say a word otherwise. Fighting back a laugh in no way caused by mirth, he took a moment to run his hands over his face and clear his thoughts. When that didn’t work, he checked the sky to see if pigs were flying above him or if there was some other sign the world had started turning sideways. As he looked up, he saw Lady waving to him from a window on the second story. She pointed to the side and he thought he read her lips as saying “Door.”

He dashed around front and in less than a minute, Lady opened the front door like a young girl sneaking out to visit her beau, and gently closed it behind her, but didn’t latch it. She carried a large, bright blanket in her arms and thrust it at him. “Your rooms could use a little color,” she said with a bashful grin, then snuck back inside.

King stared at the door. He was so far beyond confused that he was starting to simply accept the events of the past several minutes. It was certainly easier than trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened. But if he was going to think about all of this, he needed peace and quiet, and there was no way he was going to get it this close to Lady, so he headed home. He lifted the blanket to his face and breathed deeply. He smelled tea and soap and the faintest hint of lemon, and suddenly, nothing seemed as impossible as it had before.

He laughed and shook his head. That woman had him tied in more knots than the rigging on a sailing ship. He liked it.

* * *

The next day, Lady was feeling particularly good. Her impulsive decision to give King the quilt felt right. Ever since he’d steadied her feet and whispered of willow bark, she’d trusted him. It went against everything she knew, everything Nessie taught her, and Lady should be in Bedlam for such a thought, but deep in her gut, she knew he wouldn’t cause her harm. The quilt was her way of saying thank you and, to no small degree, that he could trust her too. It meant other things, good things, and the idea of him sleeping under it was part of what put her in such an agreeable mood.

The other was Nessie. They had cooked and laughed and talked and celebrated, enjoying their feast well into the night. It was almost like it was back when Mr. Adams had brought Mrs. Nesbitt over to be Lady’s housekeeper, and they would laugh and talk into the night. But ever since Lady had started feeling angry over Mr. Adams’s increasing abuse, it had become obvious Nessie either didn’t understand or didn’t want to hear it, so laughter had become scarce around their house. Giving King the quilt, laughing with Nessie, it all felt good, though she guessed trouble between Nessie and King was yet to come. Nessie was very protective of their friendship, and having King around would cause quite a bit of friction, to say nothing of how Nessie viewed Mr. Adams as a good protector and would see King as a threat to that relationship, as well.

She needed to talk to Nessie about leaving, either with King or without him, but first she needed to get through to her dearest friend. Mr. Adams was like a stray dog you fed. He was getting a taste for using his fists and before long, that would be his answer to everything. If she couldn’t make Nessie see that, understand that pleasing him meant losing themselves—or their very lives—then she had a very difficult decision ahead of her. She would give herself until the end of the tournament to convince Nessie. That might not be when they ran, but if Lady couldn’t get through to Nessie by then, she never would.

Now Lady sat at the little table in their cozy kitchen, mending her frayed hems while Nessie made a stew from the leftover goose and crusty bread for tonight’s meal. No fights meant a blissful, quiet night. Christopher, the young boy who helped out, had been by earlier to fill the wood box, sweep and empty the basins and slop buckets, and received two fresh pastries for his efforts. When he appeared at the back door again, Nessie automatically went for more of the treats.

“Still hungry, eh, lad? I suspect you’ve got an empty leg down there, the way you can put away food.”

Christopher laughed and made a face. “Nah, I’s got a letter from Mr. Adams.”

Nessie smiled but Lady felt a hard pit develop in her stomach. A note was nothing unusual, but anything involving Mr. Adams now caused her a flare of panic before anything else. She took deep breaths as Nessie closed the door and handed her the note. Lady looked at it as though she could determine its contents from the outside. A little voice in her head said not to open it, pretend it had never arrived, but that would only make everything worse, so Lady broke the wax seal. She skimmed the contents and felt her spirits slump.

“What does he want?” Nessie went back to kneading the bread, still watching Lady’s face.

“Mr. Adams is having a party tonight at the Red Door for the gentlemen in town for the tournament. He wants me there to help out.”

“Help out?” Nessie raised an eyebrow.

“No, not that kind of help.” Lady stood, clutching her half-mended dress to her. “More like hostessing. Like he had me do for that party he threw for the ship’s officers, the ones who brought back his cargo three weeks early.”

“What do you need?”

She went and pressed a kiss to Nessie’s cheek. “Nothing, now. I’ll go upstairs and pick out a dress. The party doesn’t start until eight o’clock, so I don’t have to start getting ready until six.” She glanced down at the dough, flecks of rosemary speckling its surface, and sighed. “Looks like our dinner is off.”

“Nonsense.” Nessie steered her toward the stairs. “It’ll be lighter and earlier is all. Now you go, find something that makes you feel good and lie down for a bit. You’ll need your rest for tonight.”

Lady had started up the stairs when Nessie called after her, “Don’t forget the necklace. Mr. Adams is going to want to show both of you off.”