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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