Reckless Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novel (15 page)

“We should get you home.” Ben said the words on a sigh against Kate’s hair. She lay with her back to him and turned her face, trying to catch his gaze.

“Must we?” Kate turned over, stretching out on her back, reaching up to stroke her hand along his cheek.

“Your brother—”

“Knows I am safe and sound, thanks to your message. I’m a widow. I do as I please.” Kate tested the words as much as spoke them. She’d never said anything quite so bold, never thrown off convention with as much ease.

“Is that so?” Ben smiled, but there was no ridicule in his expression. Kate imagined she saw a flash of pride, a glimmer of admiration, and she loved him for it.

She loved him. There it was, terrifying and true, and not a great surprise at all.

Detective that he was, he noticed every nuance of her expression, watched her as if he was collecting clues.

“What is it?”

“I…” Right there. The words were just there in her heart, eager to burst from her mouth, but fear clutched at her too. His expectant look turned worried, and then he reached for her.

“Kate.”

No one said her name like Benjamin Quinn said it.

“I love you.”

The stark expression of a moment before didn’t ease with her words. He tensed, opening his mouth as if to speak but uttered no sound. He looked shocked or horrified, Kate wasn’t certain which.

She waited, an ache blooming in her chest and her throat burning as if the words had scorched her. She moved, trying to turn away from her, but he reached a hand out and grasped her arm to stop her.

“Kate, look at me.”

The simple request took more than an ounce of will to comply.

When she turned toward him, she only glimpsed his steady blue gaze a moment before his mouth was on hers—crushing, searing, so powerful she released a moan and felt a tear slip from the corner of her eye.

When he’d plundered and tasted and dazed her with the stroke of his tongue, he pulled back. “I love you, Kate. You must know that I love you.”

Kate reached up and traced the line of freckles across his cheek. He nipped at her finger before soothing it with a kiss.

“You do know, don’t you?”

The earnest tone in his voice sparked a fluttering in her chest. She smiled and tapped her index finger on her lip as if giving the matter a great deal of thought. “Hmm. What evidence do you have?”

Ben slid his leg between hers before moving, lifting his body, and settling between her thighs again. He nudged her finger from her mouth and replaced it with a too-brief kiss.

“You’re ever in my thoughts, your scent follows me wherever I go, and I find more pleasure”—he moved against her as he spoke, fitting their bodies together—“in your company than anyone I’ve ever known.”

He pressed into her in one smooth stroke, and Kate moaned. Leaning to kiss the shell of her ear, Ben whispered against her skin.

“Convinced?”

Kate lifted her arms to wrap them around his shoulders, carding her fingers through the waves of his hair. She lifted her hips, urging him to finish what he’d started.

“Perhaps you should prove it to me. You are a detective, after all.”

December 14th, 1888

Squinting against the light, Kate turned away from the buttery glow, but her body protested with every motion. From head to toe, she ached, but she grinned against the pillow when her sleep-fogged mind cleared. Jack Sharp might have given her a bruise or two, but Benjamin Quinn had made her body sore in the ways she could not regret. And he was the only man there in her mind—no haunting visions of Andrew, no memories of Rose’s violent beau, just one passionate, enticing detective.

She sat up in bed, scrubbing at her eyes, and found Ben kneeling by the fireplace, feeding it coals to warm the room. Torso bare, he was clad in only his black trousers. She enjoyed studying the contrast of firelight on his belly and soft morning light on the curves and shadows of his muscled back before he turned to her.

“Did I wake you?”

“I suspect it was the sun.” Kate squinted at the ray of sunlight bursting through the frost-covered windowpane.

He grinned when he stood and turned toward her, hands resting on his hips.

“I must look dreadful.” Kate reached up to untangle her hair and found that the strands damp from her bath the night before had dried into haphazard ringlets.

“That’s not what I was thinking.”

She was afraid to ask but arched an eyebrow, encouraging an explanation.

Ben dipped his head before meeting her gaze. “I was thinking you’re beautiful. And I…” He ducked his head again, then looked up. “I was thinking I can’t wait until the first morning I wake beside you as your husband.”

“Husband?” Kate spoke the word slowly, drawing out the two syllables, hating the flavor of it on her tongue. It was a word she associated with only one man, a man who had taken her notions of love and marriage and twisted them into pain, torment, an existence so unbearable she couldn’t muster a tear of remorse or grief for his unexpected death in the prime of his life and just two days shy of their second anniversary. “I don’t want a husband.”

She meant Andrew, of course. She could not, would not, ever endure that kind of life again. But her words were out now, without the explanation she intended.

“I see.”

Ben went pale, so pale that his freckles stood out, making him look young and vulnerable. Kate wanted to go to him, hold him and explain, but he’d already turned away from her. He shoved an arm into his shirt and then the other, so violently she heard the fabric rip at the seams. He didn’t bother buttoning his vest, but he yanked and swiped at his neck cloth. He managed a knot, then pulled it out in frustration.

“Ben, I didn’t mean—”

“You should get dressed. I’ll go down and arrange a cab to take you home.”

The pain in his voice was wrong. Kate never meant to hurt him, never meant to shatter the tenderness that had grown between them. She pushed the covers back and got out of bed to approach him, but he raised his hand to stop her.

“Please, Kate. Put some clothes on.”

She didn’t listen, didn’t give him what he asked. Instead she approached him and took the hand he held out to her. She pressed his large palm to her chest, just above her breasts, and hoped he could feel, not just the hectic beat of her heart, but her love for him. If the poets were right and love dwelt in the heart, Kate’s was overflowing with emotion for Benjamin Quinn. Surely he could feel that, knew that, after their lovemaking and declarations.

He leaned into her, pressing his forehead to hers. “If you’re trying to drive me mad, you’ve made a good start.”

“Only mad with passion, with love.”

He reared back and cupped her chin between his fingers, titling her head up so their gazes clashed.

“You love me?”

The hope flaring in his eyes made Kate grin.

“Of course I do, but I—”

The moment she said the word
but
he stopped touching her, and Kate wanted to take the word back. He had to know she loved him. The rest—untangling her fears about marriage—could come later.

“I know. You’ve no interest in marrying me. But you care for me. You’ll always care for me.” He stepped away from her and jerked his untied neck cloth from around his neck. He turned and threw the fabric on the fire before stalking to the door. Kate wondered if it was the same necktie she’d helped him remove the night they’d met. Pain bloomed in her chest like a splinter stuck deep in her heart. Did he wish to discard her as thoroughly as he’d thrown away the slip of fabric?

“Ben, wait.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat burned with all she wished to say. She’d known such pleasure, such contentment just moments before, but her limbs turned leaden, weighed down with sadness and regret. So much joy couldn’t turn sour so quickly.

“No. I know those words by heart. I’ve heard them before. Don’t ask me to tread this path again. Not with you.”

He opened the door, then stopped to glance back at her. Pain, stark and raw, was etched in the firm line of his mouth, his blank, lifeless gaze, and the defeated slump of his shoulders. “I’ll have the innkeeper call you a cab. Goodbye, Kate.”

One week later - December 21st, 1888

“I can only offer my sincerest thanks, my lord. Though words seem insufficient. I truly believe these donations will change lives.”

Kate took the cheque from the aristocrat’s fingers and then attempted a curtsy, though her out-of-practice legs protested. When she straightened, Lord Davenport unfurled the frown he’d apparently formed while watching her. Was her curtsy truly so distasteful?

He waved away her thanks with the flick of his wrist. “Nonsense, Mrs. Guthrie. We only hope this donation will prove sufficient. Will it do for a year of running your settlement house, do you think?”

“At least, my lord. Thank you.”

Lord Davenport tipped his head and offered a rather pained smile, as if he found no pleasure in being thanked for his benevolence.

“It’s all down to my wife, Annabel, as you know.” His whole demeanor brightened as he said her name, and the love he felt for his wife was as clear as the cloudless December sky. “Who knew she was as good at raising money as she is at spending it?”

Kate smiled and the earl offered a grin in return.

“Is the countess at home this morning? I should like to thank her for her efforts and generosity.”

The earl moved toward the beautifully carved marble fireplace that dominated the drawing room before replying.

“She is at home and has promised to join us. A family matter has detained her. Shall I ring for tea?”

Before Kate could consider the question or offer a response, Lord Davenport tugged on an embroidered bell pull to the left the fireplace.

He indicated a settee and Kate sat as daintily as she thought a visit with an earl demanded.

Lord Davenport sat too, crossing his long legs and settling the tails of his morning jacket around him.

“Tell me, Mrs. Guthrie, have you secured a property for your settlement house?”

The earl lifted a gold watch from his vest pocket as he spoke and flicked it open to glance at the face as he waited for her to answer. The duty of entertaining without his wife was clearly not one he relished.

“I am very near to doing so, my lord. I’m in negotiations with the property owner and have made a fair offer.”

He lifted a blond eyebrow and his chiseled features formed into a dubious frown. “Is property so hard to come by in Whitechapel?”

“Surprisingly so, my lord. The gentleman who owns the property I have my eye on had considered turning his building into common lodging rooms. He believes it might fetch him a good income, yet he’s equally eager to sell the property and move out of Whitechapel.”

The earl nodded, as if that notion made perfect sense. “Yes, I can understand why. Do you think it’s a place you should be moving into, Mrs. Guthrie?”

Kate found the question shocking, considering the man had just given her a check to fund a project in the district, but she knew the reputation of the East End. She knew there was good reason for it too. The bruises on her cheek, arm, and leg from Jack Sharp’s attack had taken days to fade.

But she couldn’t think of Whitechapel as simply a place of danger inhabited by violent men. She had met one man there who had shown her nothing but respect and kindness, and given her a night of sublime pleasure. She couldn’t regret a single moment she’d spent in Whitechapel because it had all led her on this path—deciding to pursue her plans for a settlement house. It had led to her meeting and falling in love with Benjamin Quinn.

The ticking of an ornate grandfather clock in the corner grew loud in her ears, and Kate realized the earl was staring at her, waiting for her answer.

“Yes, my lord. There is great need in Whitechapel, and I believe it’s where such a settlement can offer the most benefit.” She knew the words were proper, expected, but the people she’d met and experiences she’d had in Whitechapel came to mind. “I have met the most hardworking people in the East End, my lord. Good people.”

He nodded before sitting back and taking her in head to toe, assessing her. “You speak quite passionately on the matter. I can see why Annabel wished to support you.”

His comments seemed effusive after his otherwise cool manner, and Kate felt the heat of a blush suffusing her face.

He didn’t seem to notice. All of his attention was on the drawing room doorway.

“Ah, here she comes.”

Kate couldn’t hear anyone’s footsteps or any sound that indicated the countess approached, but the earl stood and tugged down sharply at his vest before reaching up to nudge his necktie into a tighter knot at his throat.

When the door opened, no one appeared for several moments, though a thin, elegant little dog stepped through, only to turn back as if waiting on someone. That’s when Kate heard the voices—a man and a woman in heated disagreement.

“Bel, don’t be ridiculous.”

“You call me ridiculous, and yet you fear one small woman.”

Kate swallowed, and then swallowed again. The woman’s voice sounded very like the countess, and the man’s voice was unmistakable.
Ben.

The earl craned his neck, as if he could see them beyond the doorway.

Kate looked around, seeking escape. Two large windows looked out onto Belgravia, but the only door was the one in front of her. The one that Benjamin Quinn walked through, looking more appealing, and more irritated, than she’d ever seen him.

“Kate.” He spoke her name on an exhale, as if the sight of her had taken the wind from his sails. “Mrs. Guthrie.” He spoke her married name more formally, replacing his shock with a mask of cool detachment.

But he didn’t look at his sister with cool detachment. The glare he shot her was sharp enough to wound. Kate’s mouth dropped open when Annabel merely smirked.

Then she approached Kate, Ben and her husband seemingly forgotten. “My dear Mrs. Guthrie, I see you have the cheque. It’s just a start. I’m sure your wonderful cause will continue to garner support.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Kate considered curtsying again, but Annabel reached out and embraced her.

Before the countess released her, she whispered in Kate’s ear. “He loves you. If you can bear it, I think you should marry him.”

Annabel stepped away and offered Kate an innocent smile, as if she hadn’t said a word. Then she ruined it by winking before turning to her husband. “Charles, do come and help me in the conservatory.”

Lord Davenport offered his wife the same frown he’d given Kate’s curtsy. “The conservatory?”

“Yes, there is much to be done. Come help me, won’t you?” Annabel arched her dark brows and tilted her head toward the doorway.

The earl finally took the hint and clasped his wife’s hand around his forearm, as if preparing to take her on a stroll through Hyde Park. The little whippet pranced on its dainty paws as if a walk was imminent, not to mention the best idea of the day so far.

When the earl and countess and her dog had left the room, closing the door behind them, Kate turned to Ben. He’d gone to stand before the fireplace, his back to her. For a moment she thought of Solomon Thrumble standing in the very same manner in her own sitting room the day she’d refused his proposal. The irony might have made her giggle if this wasn’t the most important moment of the rest of her life.

She’d avoided marriage for nearly ten years, and she’d always believed it was because Andrew had ruined her. He’d certainly changed her feelings about marriage, damaged her spirit. For so long she’d been robbed of the hope of ever finding a man who would treat her with kindness and care. When loved ones urged her to remarry, that was the reason she gave herself for her disinterest.

Now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps she’d remained unmarried for ten years because she’d not yet met Detective Sergeant Benjamin Quinn. He was the only man she could imagine as her husband. He would refashion the word. He would be what she had always dreamed a husband would be—loving, caring, protective, and kind.

Kate opened her mouth to speak but her throat was dry as dust. It didn’t matter. She had to tell him. “I’ve missed you.”

She could see him inhale, the lift and lowering of his broad shoulders. He turned his head, giving her a glimpse of his handsome profile but not pivoting enough to look at her.

“Did you miss me?” She knew he did, knew he loved her, but she needed to hear him say it.

He turned to face her and took two steps. “Every moment of every day.”

“You knew where to find me.”

“And you knew where to find me.”

That made her grin. Stubbornness was not in short supply in the Selsby family, and it seemed Ben Quinn would bring more of the same.

He didn’t return her grin, just watched her through hooded eyes that gave nothing away.

“You’ve heard about my plans?”

“Annabel speaks of little else.”

“You approve?”

She took a step toward him, then another.

He nodded. “The concept is a good one, but it will be challenging to pull off. I suspect you can do it, if anyone can.”

Kate took another step. “You don’t mind me spending so much time Whitechapel?”

She saw him swallow before answering. “I could never mind knowing you’re nearby.”

He watched her approach, his body stiffening, tensing as she closed the distance between them. When she stood with him toe to toe, their boots nearly touching, he tipped his head and gazed down at her.

“We shouldn’t be so far apart.” Something flashed in his eyes when she said the words, and Kate’s heart came to life again. Did he take her meaning? Did he know she didn’t mean the space across the Davenport’s cavernous drawing room, but the distance between their bodies, their hearts, their lives?

He reached a hand up to her face, tracing the faded bruise.

Kate turned her face and placed a kiss at the center of his palm.

Her kiss seemed to unlock him, breaking the tension in his body, and he lifted his other hand to her neck, sinking his fingers into the hair and pulling her in for a kiss.

The kiss started slow, gentle, tentative, but Kate would have none of it. She reached up and grasped his lapels, urging him nearer and stood up on her tiptoes to get closer.

They tugged and pulled at each other’s clothing, each other’s hair, and the kiss turned frenzied, as if they were tasting each other again for the first time—not just sating a week’s worth of need, but a lifetime’s worth.

When they pulled apart, too breathless to speak, their locked gazes did the speaking for them. He did understand her meaning. He did love her.

“Never again?” He spoke the words through gasps for breath.

No, they would never be apart again. She shook her head, too dizzy to speak.

He drew her in, tucking her against his chest, and she laid her head over his heart. His heartbeat galloped, the pace matching her own racing pulse.

He whispered against the top of her head, peppering kisses against her hair as he spoke. “I want to marry you, Kate. I promise you a marriage so different from your first that we can call it something else, if that suits you.”

Kate smiled against his vest and savored the comfort of being in the circle of his strong arms. After a moment, when his heartbeat had steadied and she’d caught her breath, she pulled back to look into his eyes.

“I want to call it marriage. And as soon as possible, if that suits
you
. Because there is nothing in this world I want more than to call you my husband.”

Ben didn’t answer with words, but he lifted Kate off of her feet and clasped her in a hug so fierce that it would have taken an effort to determine where he ended and she began.