The Fighter and the Fallen Woman (16 page)

“He’s fine.” Adams smoothed his face into the one he wore at the fights—calm, confident, knowledgeable. “Sometimes that boy is so cagey, I honestly don’t know if he’s hurt or playing it so he can pace the fight on his terms.”

“Like I said,” Sebastian replied as their food and drinks came, “that boy has some power to him.”

Adams dug into his dinner with gusto. “Now that we’ve kissed and cuddled, what did you want? I do have other appointments this evening.”

“Yes, of course, of course.” Sebastian adopted a properly serious and humble mien. “I wanted to talk to you about after the tournament.”

“What about it?” Adams asked while chewing on a particularly stringy piece of meat.

“I’ve watched you, heard about your business dealings, and have found you to be a man whose thoughts are similar to my own.” Sebastian leaned forward and traced rings on the lip of his beer mug. “I would like to propose a partnership between us. Your Chinese...imports with my shipping and contacts in America.” He let his offer sink in for a moment before continuing.

“We can talk about this in a few days, after you’ve had a chance to think things over. And since I know you have the necessary piece of this puzzle and don’t need me as much as I need you, I’d like to offer a little incentive for your thoughts, a bonus, if you will.” Sebastian waited for a beat or two until he had Adams well and truly hooked.

“I’m giving you Jonathan.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Mr. Adams, Mr. King is here to see you,” Mrs. Binkley said.

Hannibal looked up from the most recent report on his porcelain sales and smiled at his housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Binkley. Would you give me a moment and show him in?”

She bobbed a little curtsy and left, and Hannibal compared the numbers in his manager’s report to those he’d ciphered the day before. Yes, there was definitely room for growth, and thanks to Collins throwing a few big building blocks his way, Hannibal decided to do it. He could add a score of new girls to the upper floors of his warehouse, girls who could copy Chinese paintings on the blank vases he bought cheap, and those toffs in America would never know they’d just paid ten pounds for a two-shilling vase. And when the girls couldn’t paint anymore, he’d send them to the Red Door, where the only work they’d have to do with their fingers was make a circle and pump.

“Mr. King, sir,” Mrs. Binkley announced before leaving King standing in the doorway.

“Come, come. Sit.” Hannibal gestured to one of the chairs before his desk. He poured two whiskeys and gave one to King, setting the other in front of the matching chair beside him. “Have a cigar.” He held a lacquered box in front of King until he took one of the pungent smokes.

Giving King time to adjust to his gifts, Hannibal also selected a cigar and lit it. He offered the flame to King and then settled into the chair beside him and enjoyed a few puffs. This was the beginning of a new, successful venture for him and he wanted to savor it. It was like when he went to the Red Door—sometimes he wanted to enjoy the sight of his girls dressed in their peek-a-boo underthings before he took one and tupped her. Anticipation had its own reward, he knew, taking a sip of whiskey and enjoying the taste of smoke on smoke. Later tonight he’d be at Lady’s, enjoying the sight of her in diamonds and sapphires, and damn certain he’d be enjoying that buildup. The idea of a perfect end to a perfect day made him laugh.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Adams?” King asked. Hannibal realized he was still chuckling a little bit, already picturing Lady in her jewels and nothing else.

“My dear boy, everything is grand.” He set down his whiskey and slapped King on the shoulder. “And a large part of that is due to you.”

“What did I do, Mr. Adams?”

“You used Lady to distract that bloke you were fighting. That was a stroke of pure genius. You took a bad situation, looked at what you had available to you and turned it to your favor. You scrapped and fought and profited from it and I admire that. I have to say, it reminds me of me just a bit.” He winked.

“Thank you, Mr. Adams.” King took a sip of his whiskey and set down his glass.

“And when you did that and I watched you defeat Roberto, I thought, that is the type of fellow I want working for me.”

“But I do work for you, Mr. Adams.”

“King.” Hannibal leaned forward until his elbows were braced on his knees, his cigar held between his clasped hands. “I want you to go to New York and help run the warehouse I’m going to be setting up there.”

“New York? When?”

“Probably right after the tournament, at most a week after. I’m still hammering out the details with Collins, but I want somebody there I can trust, somebody who can judge the situation and send me reports about it. You’ll be my eyes and ears in America, and I can think of nobody better suited for the job.”

Hannibal was getting as much enjoyment out of watching King’s face as a young boy on Christmas morning opening his presents. This was one of the few times when business and pleasure truly overlapped, and Hannibal was delighted he could help one of his most loyal people, elevating him to a position he never would have achieved without help from a powerful man such as he.

“Well? What do you say?” he asked.

King smiled, a little hesitantly, but Hannibal knew the poor lad was overwhelmed. “Yes, Mr. Adams, of course.”

“Excellent, excellent.” He lifted his glass in a toast. He’d thought there might be a little more gratitude there, but one could only expect so much from a street fighter, after all. “To new beginnings.”

* * *

Lady sat at her kidney-shaped dressing table and idly imagined sweeping all of the lotions, perfumes, makeup and hairpins onto the floor. That she considered it so dispassionately scared her a little, but not enough to break through her shell of indifference.

She stood and slid out of her robe, letting it drop to the floor. With a heavy sigh, she started to rub scented lotion, both a gift and an expectation from Mr. Adams, up her legs, down her arms, across her breasts and belly and a little around her neck. She powdered herself with the same heavy floral scent and slipped into her chemise, drawers and stockings, lacing on her black leather boots before hooking herself into a corset. Since Nessie had already done her hair, all she needed was the dress and her jewels, and she’d be ready for Mr. Adams’s visit.

She wondered if she’d finally reached the stage all whores talked about, the one where laudanum was the only way to get through a gentleman’s visit. The only problem was, Lady already felt dead inside, so how would drugging herself senseless help?

She picked up her robe and slipped it back on, then sat on the little rocking chair in front of the window and looked out to the clouds and haze hanging over the city. She rocked and thought of nothing, letting the gray soothe her, but she couldn’t entirely relax. Her nerves were being tested by the screeching of the floorboards under her chair. Good heavens, they were so shrill they almost sounded like a woman screaming—

“Nessie,” Lady yelled, then ran downstairs as fast as she could. As she reached the landing and spun down the hall, she came face-to-face with King. He had his body curled around a large package in his left hand, but Nessie was right behind him, beating on him with a wooden spoon and yelling for him to get out.

“Would you please tell Mrs. Nesbitt to stop yelling and put her spoon down?” King sounded bored, but Nessie would eventually push this too far if they weren’t careful. The last thing Lady needed now was King and Nessie screaming at each other as Mr. Adams arrived.

“Nessie, stop. It’s all right.” Lady walked around King and laid her hand on top of Nessie’s, fisted over the spoon.

“No, it’s not all right,” she yelled back. “His majesty here had to barge in and head for your rooms even after I told him you had an appointment and were not to be disturbed.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t let me in.” King’s voice rose to a shout as he turned around and glared at the older woman. “And I know Mr. Adams isn’t here yet. Do you think me nickey enough to barge in on him here?”

Nessie only gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was that and more. Lady relished Nessie’s protective nature, but this was carrying things a little too far, especially since she had told her friend how King helped after Mrs. Henderson’s party—not everything, but enough that she should know King was on their side.

“Nessie, I’ll take care of this. Finish what you were doing in the kitchen and let me know when it’s ten of eight.” Lady put her hands on Nessie’s shoulders. “Please?”

“For you. But if I hear one noise, one whimper from her—” she brandished her spoon at King like a weapon, “—you’ll be sorry.”

Lady watched her stalk back toward the kitchen and as soon as the door closed, grabbed King’s shirt and dragged him into the parlor. As soon as he was in the room she slid the pocket doors closed behind her.

“What? What is so blasted important that you have to do this? Don’t you realize what danger you put me in, put yourself in? I surely doubt you’re here on Mr. Adams’s request.” Lady could feel her heart pounding, her breath racing.

“What’s that stench?” he asked, his nose wrinkled.

“What stench?” Lady sniffed. “This room was just cleaned.”

“Smells like the rubbish of a florist shop. Too many flowers gone too sweet after—”

“Perfume,” she answered, her nerves calming in the face of this fresh irritation. “And something you need not worry about. Now tell me what you want before I let Nessie at you.”

“Fine. I’m here for this.” He held out the package toward her. It was the size of a bed pillow and covered with a drape of fabric. King held it out by a metal ring the size of her fist, and she took it hesitantly, surprised at how light it was.

“What is it?” she asked, letting him know with her voice that she had some misgivings about whatever it was she was holding.

“Open it and see.”

Lady glanced at King, but could see no indication of emotion. She set the package on the table between them and slowly pulled off the cover.

It was a cage of bamboo and inside was the little brown bird, still not flying, but fluttering happily without its bandage.

“The bandage helped.” He held his finger up to the cage and tried to coax the bird closer. “And she told me—”

“She told you,” Lady said dryly, and tried not to fall into the twinkle in King’s eye.

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at her, but when he looked back at the bird, Lady could see his grin start. “She said she wanted some proper female companionship, not a big clumsy oaf like me, so I told her I knew of a proper female who would care for her and be her friend.”

“Oh, King.” She sat on the edge of the sofa. “If she wants a proper female, she shouldn’t be with me.” She looked at the little bird with enough pity for both of them.

He circled the table and knelt at Lady’s feet. “Oh, yes. Yes, she should.”

She couldn’t bear the pain of seeing herself in King’s eyes, so she stood quickly and crossed the room. “You gave me the bird. Thank you. It’s a lovely gift. Now what else was it you risked Mr. Adams’s wrath to be here for?” She dropped her sleeve and turned around.

“I came to apologize. And to get your advice, but mainly to apologize. Again.” He was sitting at the opposite end of the sofa from where she had been, and clasping his hands together between his knees. There was something about him that looked upset, almost victimized, and Lady felt a chill on her neck. For King to look beaten meant too many kinds of trouble, and several of them doubtless involved her.

“Lady, I’m sorry for what I said to you yesterday. It was wrong and I had no intention of hurting you.”

She didn’t move for a moment, looking into King’s eyes and gauging the truth there. She didn’t know if he planned it or not, but the way he was sitting, looking up at her with his brown-and-gold-flecked eyes like a lost mongrel puppy, he was simply too pathetic for words.

But hurt her he had, and no gift, no simpering look was going to change that.

“So why did you?” she asked quietly, sitting back down where she had been.

“I’m not sure.” He lowered his head and started picking at a ragged nail. “All I know is I found something I want but know I can’t have it.”

Lady closed her eyes. Was it only two minutes ago she’d been thinking of taking laudanum to dull her feelings? Now she felt everything, but it cut her with a jagged edge, a razor-sharp knowledge that he was in the same boat as she. She gave a harsh laugh and rubbed her fingers underneath her eyes, whisking away any hint of moisture.

“Apology accepted. Dare I ask what kind of advice you need?” She forced herself to look at King, a hard businesswoman to the core, and he raised his head to meet her gaze. In the silence, Lady could almost hear the sound of a lid being placed on their last few sentences, nails driven in to hold it firmly in place.

“I seem to be in an untenable situation.” He stood and walked over to the fireplace. “Yesterday I accepted Mr. Collins’s offer to throw the fight and today Mr. Adams offered me a position in America in charge of his new warehouse.”

She looked down, as though she could see the cards King had been dealt somewhere in front of her, trying to decide how deadly this information could be if it ever got back to Mr. Adams. She reshuffled the deck and realized it was going to be deadly no matter what. “So you throw the fight and earn Mr. Adams’s wrath, thus ruining your chances in America, or you embrace the warehouse position, in which case you’d have to tell Mr. Collins you’ve changed your mind.”

“And risk his wrath,” King finished. “If he’s capable of such a thing or not, I don’t know. I barely know him.”

“Trust me—he’s a wrath type. Plan for that event.”

“I agree, but I’m curious why you think so.” King sat, facing Lady with an arm braced on the sofa’s back behind her.

“First, he’s as rich as Mr. Adams. Men who aren’t born into wealth or privilege can only get it by clawing it out of other men. You can’t do that and be weak or passive.

“Second, Jonathan. Bringing a convicted felon back from Australia just to be a fighter makes no sense unless you needed something so special that only one man has it. Jonathan has it.”

“He can kill.”

“No.” Lady held up a finger. “He enjoys the kill. There’s a difference.

“The third is simply that I know men, and this one’s got a streak as cruel and violent as Mr. Adams does, perhaps more so, but he does a better job of keeping it in control. Mr. Adams would kill you quickly out of rage or some irrational fit, but if Mr. Collins decided to kill you, it would be cold and logical and worse than any torture ever committed before.” In trying to convince King of Mr. Collins’s core of evil, she realized she could never take Mr. Collins up on his offer or she would end up worse than now.

She couldn’t find the stomach to say more, and King was silent too. The air, though, felt like it was humming. As she stared at King, she remembered being held in his arms, being kissed by a man she felt passion for, and God help her, she wanted to feel that again.

Some motion or a glance must have betrayed her, because King leaned forward, gently cupped her jaw in his hands, pulled her forward and kissed her.