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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