Reckless Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novel (7 page)

For a moment Kate simply relished his presence. He had not spoken since the moment she’d accepted his terms. Was he appalled at how easily she conceded?

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it. The sway of the carriage, the heat of his body, his unique spicy scent—all of it lulled her. It was so appealing to blot out everything else—her lingering doubts about marriage to Mr. Thrumble, her anxiety for Rose, her regret over leaving her work at the clinic behind.

“When do I get my kiss?”

Kate opened her eyes and found him watching her, his head tilted and resting against the cab’s back wall.

He had freckles. She’d never noticed them before, but now the dusting of colored spots was clear across his pale nose and cheeks.

She’d made the wager, but apparently he already doubted she’d see it through.

“When you prove I’m useless as a detective, I suppose.”

That earned her a smile, wide and honest, hiding nothing and highlighting the twin dimples on each side of his full mouth.

Then he turned serious, lifting his head to meet her gaze eye to eye. “I promise we’ll find Rose. Rest assured.”

Kate believed him. Determination and drive radiated from him like the heat that warmed her through his overcoat.

She grinned and that seemed to satisfy him.

Then, after a moment of resting his head, he turned to her again.

“When we find Rose, whether you’ve proved helpful or not…” He turned away from her and faced forward, then turned his gaze toward her clasped hands settled in her lap. He lifted his hand as if he wished to touch her. But instead he bent his fingers into a fist and rested it on the door of the cab. “No matter what happens, Kate, I’ll still want that kiss.”

He had no right to touch her, and he certainly had no right to kiss her. But, mercy, Kate Guthrie tempted him without even trying. His drunkenness the night before had done nothing to dull the memory of her smooth skin and the sweet flavor of her kiss. The notion of refusing her silly wager, sending her on her way, and never seeing her again frustrated him nearly as much as having her near.

He’d sworn off women. Anne’s refusal to marry him had been heart wrenching, though hardly unexpected. He’d chosen police work; she’d wanted more. But it was learning the more she sought was in the arms of Edward Langdon, his longtime friend and law school classmate, that had broken him.

But God help him, right or wrong, vow be damned, Ben wanted to taste Kate Guthrie once more. He knew one kiss wouldn’t be enough, but he would take it.

She didn’t respond to his bold declaration. He didn’t expect her to. Yet she didn’t turn away from him either. She watched him, her gaze taking in every movement—his fisted hand, tense posture, even noticing when licked his lips. Did she know he could taste her lavender scent on the air around them? This close, the heat between them flushed her skin. This close, he had only to dip his head and he could taste her again.

The carriage swung around a corner and rocked to a stop.

“Where are we?”

Her voice was calm and steady, steadier than Ben could have managed, and the blush suffusing her cheeks was the only indication their proximity had affected her.

Ben cleared his throat, hoping he could speak with as much ease. “Cotton Street, near London Hospital. The last time Rose was brought into the station, she gave an address here.”

“You’ve arrested her before?”

Her expression was wide-eyed, and Ben relished the opportunity to catalog every fleck and sliver of color that comprised their gray shade.

“Several times. Rose is well known at Leman Street station.”

Ben paid the cabbie and then reached up to assist Kate down from the hansom. She allowed him to help her, and once her feet touched the ground, he held her far too long, enjoying the way his hands fit the curve of her waist.

“Just this way.”

He indicated the north end of the street and she started ahead of him. It took a good measure of restraint not to wrap an arm around her protectively and hold her near. But they weren’t newlyweds on a gambol along the Brighton coast, and she ususally made her way in Whitechapel without his protection.

She stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. Though he doubted she intended it, the gesture was seductive, and his body reacted as if to a siren’s call.

“Are you coming, Detective Quinn?”

He nodded sharply before joining her. They continued wordlessly to a ramshackle boarding house. Ben stepped in front of Kate and rapped on the door, wary of what they might find on the other side. Each moment they waited for a response ratcheted his anxiety. Allowing Kate to accompany him to such a place, no matter how pleasurable the potential reward, was a mistake.

“Wot?”

The door swung open the merest crack, creating such a narrow opening Ben couldn’t make out the man who’d spoken from inside.

“May I speak with you, sir?”

After a moment, the door creaked open a bit more, and a giant of a man filled the space. A hoary eyebrow arched to a peak over his left eye, the only one visible.

“Wot business ‘ave ye with me?”

“I am looking for a young woman named Rose. Does she live here?”

“Not ‘ere.” The man moved to close the door but Ben wedged his boot into the slim opening.

“Where might I find her?”

“Has she ever lived here?” Kate’s voice rang out over his own and Ben winced when the door opened wide. The old man’s gruff expression softened at the sight of her, and Ben stepped in front of her to block the man’s view.

“She’s a proper bit o’ frock.”

Ben lifted his shoulders and straightened his back but the man still towered over him. “She’s none of your concern.”

“Please, sir. If you know where we can find Rose—”

Ben swiveled around and shot Kate a withering stare, though it was difficult to look at her and think of anything other than how close he’d come to tumbling her in the carriage.

She stopped speaking but nudged her chin high and returned a defiant glare.

“Wot you want wif Rose? Wot she done?”

Ben spoke first and loudly, hoping Kate would take his cue to remain silent. “Nothing at all. I simply require a word with her.”

“Try ‘er sister. Lodges off the Whitechapel Road. Fieldgate Street.”

Ben was astonished to be given an address so near the clinic and suspected Mrs. Guthrie was too, but it wasn’t the time to discuss the matter. It was time to remove Kate from the man’s unsavory gaze.

“Thank you very much. Good day.”

Ben turned and bustled Kate away from the doorstep as quickly as he could. She resisted only a moment before letting him lead her down the street. He reached for her hand and hoped she’d allow him the pleasure of holding hers. She refused to take his hand but laid hers on his arm, as a woman might do to allow a gentleman to escort her on a promenade around the park. He sensed a tremor in her touch before she clasped him tightly. It was Ben’s only indication that her steady, unflappable demeanor might mask a measure of fear.

He was grateful for her fear. She should fear the unsavory aspects of Whitechapel, just as she should fear his intentions. A suspended detective estranged from his own family—he had nothing to offer Kate Guthrie. And if Miss Cole was correct about Kate’s circumstances, she would soon leave her Whitechapel days behind and marry. His jaw clenched at the thought. She’d marry some climber like his Langdon, no doubt. A man who could give her the kind of wealth and status a detective sergeant could never offer.

He had to forget her. Or at the very least stifle his unreasonable attraction to her. Hadn’t he learned his lesson about women who’d given their hearts to another?

****

The heat and comfort Kate drew from holding onto Detective Quinn didn’t distract her from the fact she was due back at Moreton Terrace within the hour. If she didn’t start her journey soon, she’d be late. And explaining her whereabouts to Will and Ada—who knew her, loved her, and trusted her—was worlds apart from facing Mr. Thrumble.

He suspected her of something unseemly, and he would certainly consider her charity work in Whitechapel inappropriate. She’d always known he would. But he’d been a patient friend to her over the years, taking her initial rejection of his marriage proposal in stride and continuing to visit. He’d offered her friendship and insisted on nothing more—until two months ago. He’d indicated he wished for more and would offer a second proposal.

He deserved an answer, and she owed him the courtesy of being on time.

As they approached the London Hospital, Kate lifted her hand from Detective Quinn’s arm.

“I must return home within the hour. I’m afraid I have an appointment.”

Her tongue felt thick as she spoke the words and Kate feared the detective would detect the quaver in her voice. Returning home, even to settle matters with Solomon Thrumble, seemed a dull prospect compared to finding Rose.

She looked up at him and felt a surge of desire—to continue on their hunt, to assist him. To win their wager.

“I-I’m sorry I cannot stay. I would prefer—”

“Of course I understand.” His full mouth curved in a wry grin. “This detecting business isn’t nearly as appealing on close inspection, is it?”

He looked relieved. Kate was stumbling over her words, fighting her desire to stay with him, and the blasted man looked relieved. And he didn’t even attempt to hide it.

“You seem quite pleased at the prospect of being rid of me.”

Detective Quinn had lifted his hand to hail a carriage but stopped when Kate spoke. She couldn’t decode the meaning in his expression as he turned back to her, but the intensity of his gaze unsettled her. She suspected it was the look he used on criminals to spark a confession. Her own secrets were heavy, and his blue stare pressed her to reveal them all.

He drew closer and Kate resisted the urge to step forward and meet him, close enough to be heard if she whispered. Close enough to touch him.

“Not at all, Mrs. Guthrie.”

It was odd to hear him speak her name so formally. He’d called her Kate in the carriage, and he’d spoken with a husky familiarity that made her ache. She preferred it when he called her Kate.

“After all, this will no doubt be the last time we meet.” He spoke the words matter-of-factly. No emotion. Nothing like regret.

The last time. Was it possible she would never see Detective Quinn again? The prospect seemed strange, unpalatable, and yet it was true. He would have no need of her, if he ever had.

“But what about Rose?”

“I’ll send word as soon as I find her.”

He would send word. The matter was settled as easily as that. He would not come himself. There was no need.

Kate turned away from him and swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not give in to sentiment and foolishness. Maudlin, Andrew had called her. It had never served her well.

The streets were busy and pedestrians passed between them, many of them queuing to enter the London Hospital’s main admittance hall. Kate turned back toward the tall, dark detective and watched as he waved and caught the eye of a cabman down the road. As the horse trotted toward them, Detective Quinn lifted his arm, directing her near the curb.

“You’ll send word about Rose? 42 Moreton Terrace.”

Eyes wide, mouth agape, Detective Quinn stilled a moment before responding.

“Moreton Terrace.”

“Do you know it?”

The image of Benjamin Quinn walking the lanes of Pimlico was far too appealing.

“I know a family who lives quite near.”

“Perhaps I know them.”

Kate had become remiss about visiting neighbors and friends over the years. Caring for Will had not only occupied her time but relieved her of social duties she was glad to overlook. If Detective Quinn knew a family in Pimlico, it was silly to think she might be familiar with them too. Yet the notion of a connection between them was too intriguing to ignore.
Mercy.
How ridiculously eager she was to grasp at any thread to further their strange acquaintance.

“Yes, perhaps you do.” He wasn’t giving anything away. And he didn’t reach for her this time, merely held out his hand. She placed her palm against his and he lifted, steadying her as she stepped into the hansom cab.

He called her address up to the driver, never taking his eyes from her.

“Fare well, Mrs. Guthrie.”

A mad, reckless impulse made her grasp the hand he’d rested against the door of the cab.

Her throat burned, all of her unspoken desires scorching her for keeping quiet.

His gaze shifted to her mouth, as if he knew what she left unsaid.

“Please, don’t forget to let me know about Rose.”

Detective Quinn surprised her, much as he had from the moment she’d met him. Bending his head, he placed a kiss on the top of her hand. He lingered a moment and the heat of his breath singed her skin through her gloves.

Then he stepped back and rapped on the side of the cab, signaling to the driver to depart.

As the driver turned the cab to join the line of carriages making their way down the Whitechapel Road, the detective continued to watch her.

His gaze was full of hunger, craving—a look she wouldn’t soon forget.