The Fighter and the Fallen Woman

by Pamela Cayne

  “Why, Mr. Collins, I cannot understand what you mean. Given our relationship, why would you expect Mr. Adams to leave me alone?”

  “Because you’re not the most important thing in his life.”

  Lady laughed, true laughter, not a sound to simply be polite. Her eyes happened to fall on King when she asked, “And given my profession, do you honestly think any man would list me as the most important thing in his life?”

  “You would be in mine.” His look was one of smoldering promise. Lady had seen it before and knew the flame was mostly smoke.

  “Come now, Mr. Collins. I thought we were friends, and friends don’t lie to each other.” The smoldering look lasted for another second, then he laughed with the joy of a child.

  “You see, Lady? This is why I want you so badly. You’re smart and you make me laugh. Is that such a bad thing to begin a relationship on?”

  “Besides the fact you’d be paying me, and paying me quite handsomely, for just sex?”

  “Damnation, Lady. I’ll give you a house, in your name and your name only. The money is details, simple logistics, you know this. You’re of the caliber that you can choose who you want to be with because it will make you happy, not because of money.” Mr. Collins waved his hand in the air as though brushing away an annoying fly.

  “Exactly, and I choose to be with Mr. Adams.”

  “I wonder, though, if you truly still choose to be with him.” Mr. Collins was suddenly serious. The direction of his thinking was unexpected and, because it was, it worried her. She turned so she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Mr. Collins, lifted her head and looked away as he continued, “Because I don’t think a man who hurts you, either mentally or physically, is going to be a man you choose to be with.”

  “Where do you get such ideas, Mr. Collins?” Lady laughed like she’d heard a wondrous story, but kept her head turned away so he couldn’t see any hint of truth in her expression.

  “From your own, beautiful, angelic face.”

  Her laughter died but she managed to keep a ghost of a smile. She looked out over the crowd, careful not to look at King this time, and stayed silent.

  “And don’t think your fighter is going to make you happy. It may be nice to bed someone who doesn’t come up to your chin or need to shave his back, but he can have his choice of women who care about being with him and not have it be a death sentence.” He took one step behind her and one step closer, so his head was almost over her shoulder. “See his choice now.”

  Because she couldn’t slap Collins and shut him up, Lady looked over at King with no mincing. She didn’t know what kind of game Mr. Collins was playing—

  King was standing beside Jenny. They were laughing. Well, she was laughing and he was smiling, but still...

  She jerked her head to the side, her eyes falling on the other edge of the crowd. She was staring into a field of black wool and gray pinstripe when a lighter blur forced her to focus. It was Jonathan, his naked torso the pale shape that had caught her eye. He was waving at her, a huge smile on his face. When she realized what was happening, she waved back with a small, practiced smile of her own. He posed like a strongman from the circus with his face in a comical expression of concentration, arms flexed to show off his muscles. Her emotions were in such a turmoil that Lady had to either laugh or cry, so watching Jonathan’s antics, she laughed and the release helped clear her head. She waved a betting man over and looked back at Jonathan to make sure he was still watching. Certain he was, she pulled a pound from her upthrust cleavage, kissed it and gave it to the betting man, then pointed at Jonathan. The man walked off and Jonathan bowed elegantly, one foot pointed out and one arm sweeping an imaginary plumed hat in front of him.

  “You’ve charmed him,” Mr. Collins said in a low voice. “Some who knew him before may even say you tamed him.”

  “Nonsense, Mr. Collins.” Lady turned back to the middle of the crowd where there were no knowing eyes. “When he’s not being dangerous, he’s merely a flirt.”

  “I hate to be contradictory, Lady, but I must. You see, I know what it looks like because you’ve charmed me.” He was now standing at her side again, both of them looking out into the sea of people.

  “But not tamed?” Lady glanced at him and raised her eyebrow.

  “Not yet, but I daresay the time will come all too soon.” He lifted her hand and kissed it in a very proper way. Releasing it, he straightened and started to back away from her. “I wonder, though, how it would feel for you having somebody at your mercy for once, instead of the other way around.” After a considering look, he turned and made his way toward Jonathan.

  Lady let her shoulders droop a little. Perhaps now she could get the moment of peace she desperately needed before Mr. Adams returned.

  “What the hell was that all about?” King asked from behind her.

  Lady closed her eyes, the voice that had whispered such beautiful words to her last night now tight and harsh. She opened her eyes and faced King. Please. Give me something to hold on to tonight, something to believe in.

  “You’ll have to be much more specific, I’m afraid.” She tried to look and sound as even as possible. No emotions, nothing to hide.

  “That little exchange with Jonathan? Are you trying to encourage him?” After a second, his look of anger turned to one of shock, then Lady watched his face tighten as she could see his thoughts turn from disbelief to accusation. “Are you trying to encourage him?”

  “Is that what you think?” All pretense of being emotionless was gone. Now she was simply sad. She didn’t even have the heart to ask about Jenny. One of them had to believe in the other or they were nothing.

  “I don’t know.” He scrubbed his face with one hand. “All I know is you waved at him, then while he showed off for you, you made a bet on him.” Like you did on me sliced between them like a fresh cut.

  “You know that’s what I have to do.”

  “No, that’s what you have to do with Mr. Adams. I may not like it, but I understand it. Why you’re talking with Mr. Collins, flirting with Jonathan, that’s what I don’t know.”

  “I am doing it because I have to.” Her jaw clenched and her hands fisted. When she realized the picture she must represent, she smoothed her hair and brushed at her dress, the actions soothing her by their familiar banality and giving her a few seconds to comport herself.

  “Have you ever thought of what could happen in the next three days?” she asked. “Mr. Adams could give another party, he could sell me to Mr. Collins, Jonathan could tell somebody else where he found me last night—oh, yes, it was Jonathan outside your door last night who got me home before you and Shade showed up—and those are just the few things I can think of immediately. I have to watch all sides, be prepared for anything, and that means keeping everybody close and making them think they’re special.”

  She finished speaking the words even as her head was shouting a warning. She hoped he knew she wasn’t talking about him, that he understood, but the flatness of his face told her everything. She felt like somebody had kicked her in the stomach, and she wondered if there was even a way out of this right now.

  “King, you know I don’t mean you. You are special—”

  “You said Jonathan could tell somebody else.” He took one step backward, letting his eyes roam over the crowd. “I’m guessing that means he already told somebody.”

  “Mr. Collins. He made some hints earlier.” Lady let her face, her tone, go as flat as King’s and she took a step backward too.

  “We can cover that if we need to.”

  “Yes, though I’d prefer not to if a little flirting with Jonathan will hold that at bay.”

  King only nodded tersely in response and suddenly she wanted to scream. She was tired of being frightened by Mr. Adams’s mood swings, she was tired of Mr. Collins’s relentless overtures a
nd she was tired of King’s refusal to understand her situation and how damn precarious it was. She took a hard step toward him and finally got a response. Without moving any other part of his body, he swung his head toward her, a look of disbelief on his face. “Step back. Mr. Adams is heading this way,” he whispered harshly.

  Lady tilted her head slightly to one side and studied King through the murk of confusion and anger in her head. Suddenly her confusion, King’s reactions, this whole situation made her want to laugh. There was a healthy dose of hysteria behind it, but it caused her some ease to know she could go through this with humor instead of pain. It made for a nice change of pace, she thought with a giggle she held inside. She took another step toward King, this time slow and with a bit of a sway, and delighted in the shock he was trying hard not to show.

  “Now, my dear man,” she said quietly, “I can’t stop you from thinking these completely wrong thoughts about Mr. Collins and Jonathan, but I can tell you without measure, may God curse me to a life of a thousand Mr. Adamses, that you are not like them and I do not treat you as such. Am I clear?”

  Just then, Mr. Adams stepped beside Lady and put his arm around her waist. From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking back and forth at her and King as if watching a tennis match. King looked like he was choking on the ball.

  “Am I clear?” she repeated distinctly, sliding her arm around Mr. Adams’s shoulders as she spoke.

  King allowed the smallest corner of a smile out and Lady beamed in return.

  “I’m guessing that means yes, but I’ll be buggered if I have any idea what he’s agreed to.” Mr. Adams’s manner and words were jocular but his tone a little disgruntled.

  Lady pressed her curves against Mr. Adams. She turned her head toward him but kept her eyes on King. “Somebody, and since I am a lady, I won’t mention any names, but somebody was hinting that they could have won their last match without the divine assistance of some magnificent creature in the crowd. It appeared to fall upon my humble shoulders to clear up that error and let that person know how completely and utterly wrong they were. In all things.”

  Mr. Adams started to chuckle, the sound interspersed with taunts of “Oh-ho-ho,” and a scolding finger shook at King. “And you admit that you were wrong?”

  “Mr. Adams, I have learned to never disagree with Lady when she is right.” King bowed at the waist and Lady had the urge to swat him on the head, just to be sure the lesson sank in. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for my fight.”

  “Oh, no,” Mr. Adams cried out. “We missed it last time, but we can’t risk it again. Lady, give him a little kiss for luck, then we’ll find the betting man and you can make a wager on him.”

  Lady looked at King and she was willing to lay another wager that her face had the same stunned look his did. Where the hesitation on King’s face might be easily explained, hers would not and she glanced at Mr. Adams to see if he noticed. Thankfully, he was looking into the crowd for the man who took the bets and missed her instant of panic. Praying she could take advantage of his inattention, Lady stepped forward and briefly kissed King on the cheek, so quickly done she had already stepped back to Mr. Adams’s side before he even registered the buss. She forced a gay laugh and it brought Mr. Adams’s attention back to her.

  “Well, I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain. Now I need to put my bet down and we’ll have traveled the same road, which means King is a sure win.” She pulled a five-pound note out of her neckline, her eyes locked on King’s.

  “Well, you might call that a good-luck kiss, but I sure don’t,” King said and stepped forward. He grabbed Lady’s face in his hands and kissed her deeply for the space of two or three years. She felt herself falling into him and the warmth of his kiss, but was tethered to reality by the stubby, sweaty arm grasping her firmly by the waist. To save them from the growing suspicion of the man who owned them both, she set her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

  “I hope your luck in the fight is better than your luck with the ladies,” she said archly and wiped a finger beneath her lip as though flicking something nasty off.

  “I hope so too.” He walked off, his whistling cutting through Mr. Adams’s laughter.

  * * *

  After the fights ended, Mr. Adams returned Lady home, then went off to celebrate King’s victory and title match against Jonathan. Even though he claimed to be equally burdened by their celibacy, Lady knew he was no more chaste than she. She’d bet her pretty new earrings that he would probably finish the evening at the Red Door, and the price of being left alone tonight was worth the price of the jewels.

  Lady enjoyed a leisurely toilette of changing into her nightgown and wrapper and brushing out her hair, then joining Nessie for their customary cup of tea. By ignoring their fight and focusing on their friendship, she was able to tell Nessie about the evening—who was there, who won the fights, the bets Lady made and won—everything but the conversations she had with Mr. Adams, Mr. Collins and King. If it was a matter of which man to pick for the best arrangement, she would have no problem relating the conversations and asking Nessie’s opinion, but it wasn’t. It was more than Lady’s pocketbook and body involved. This time it was her heart.

  So after Nessie went up to bed, fueled by the nip of brandy in the Earl Grey, Lady pulled a chair up to the balcony in the front bedroom and watched the city sleep and wake up again, all while idly twirling the sapphire-and-diamond bracelet she wore tonight. She thought about her future, her life and what would be worth risking it all for. She used to think she didn’t want what she couldn’t have, but she was beginning to believe that she could have what she wanted, and no price was too steep for that reward.

  One minute after the sun struck the steeple of the small church in the distant graveyard she figured it out, and she felt as bright and new as the morning light flooding the city. Satisfied she’d made the right decision, she returned to her bedroom, uncovered the little bird’s cage and slept deeply and dreamlessly for seven hours.

  After she woke up, rested and peaceful, she shared a light supper with Nessie, then enjoyed a bath. She piled her hair up in steam-curled ringlets, put on a ruby-red walking dress and slipped out after Nessie went to sleep. She was so happy she wanted to giggle and so scared she almost threw up.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  King sat in front of the fire, a glass of beer in his hand. He hadn’t even bothered to put on a shirt. After he’d won the fight last night, mercifully without anything more than minor bumps and bruises, he’d returned to his rooms for a hot bath and prepared for a late-night visit from Lady. When the sun rose and there had been no word from her, King started to wonder. He couldn’t go to her house and demand an answer as to why she was there and not with him, regardless of how desperately he wanted to know. If he forced Lady, he’d be no better than Mr. Adams, and he couldn’t do that, not to her. If it was her choice not to be with him, he’d rather have her happy and where she wanted to be, rather than with him and unhappy.

  He finally slept after the sun rose and didn’t wake until well after three. He got dinner from the main kitchen and ate alone in front of his fire, listening to the sounds of the house become louder and livelier as the day progressed. As the food lumped in his gut like thick globs of mud, King realized the happily-ever-after he’d preached to Lady might not come true after all. He needed to plan for after the tournament, a new plan that might not involve Lady. He’d gotten as far as wondering if pain could stretch to America when there was a knock on the alley door.

  He jumped out of his chair and then froze. If it was Lady, now, almost twenty-four hours later, what did that mean?

  He took a deep breath and went to the door with a feeling he hadn’t had in so long he almost didn’t recognize it.

  He was nervous.

  He opened the door and there she was, framed like a fine piece of
art in a dark red dress, an angel kicked out of hell. The nerves he’d just discovered were threatening to escape through his mouth, choking him on their escape. He couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.

  “My favorite color is blue,” she said with a tremulous smile. “I absolutely hate mushrooms, and would love to learn how to play the piano someday.”

  King cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He kissed her like he’d never sat up all night waiting for her to come and like he hadn’t woken up hoping her absence had been a bad dream. She was here. She hadn’t chosen money or power, she’d chosen him.

  Without letting go or stopping the kiss, he slowly stepped backward, making her walk forward with him. She laid her hands over his and as they walked, she laughed into his mouth.

  He stopped kissing her but left his hands on her face because he couldn’t not touch some part of her right now. Without breaking eye contact, he kicked the door shut. “Now, miss, suppose you tell me what’s so funny?”

  “Oh, King, it feels so good—touching you, being with you, being back here.”

  “If it feels so good, why did it take you so long to come back?” King wasn’t sure why he asked or even if he should have, but the words forced themselves out before his tongue could hold them back. When her face fell from laughter to sadness, he quickly said, “But the important thing is you’re back,” and kissed her briefly to apologize for his churlish question.

  “I needed some time,” she said softly. King had trouble understanding why, but he could tell it was important to her and he respected that. After spending the past twenty-four hours telling himself that nothing would matter as long as she was with him, he wasn’t going to start tearing apart the reason for her delay. She was here. She chose him.

  He took her hand and led her to his big chair in front of the fireplace, the one he’d practically been living in for the past day. He sat down, then pulled her to sit on his lap, his arms around her waist and hers around his shoulders. His head rested quite naturally in the curve of her neck, letting him hear the beat of her heart, feel it against his cheek.