Scandalous Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novella

by Christy Carlyle

  “Lizzy. May I speak with you?” He tried for formality in his tone, but he could not bring himself to call her Miss Ainsworth. He had spent weeks thinking of how he might convince her to relinquish that name and take his own.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Forgive my rudeness. Come in.” She stepped back and Ian moved past her into the entry hall. She lifted her hand toward the drawing room, the same room in which he’d first met her. It was difficult to walk past her and not stop and sweep her up in his arms as everything in him wished to do.

  She followed him into the snug room, wallpapered in dark damask and lit with dimmed gas lights and a waning fire.

  “I can take your coat. Jenny is with a sick aunt his evening.” He assumed she spoke of the housemaid, but he found it difficult to believe he’d been fortunate enough to find her on her own.

  “And your mother and sister?”

  “They are still at the Brownlow’s musicale. I was not feeling well and returned home early.”

  It disturbed him to hear that she was ill. “I’m sorry you’re unwell.”

  She smiled and an ache began to burn in his chest. “It was just my head. Sara did a good deal of singing.”

  He smiled and some of the chill between them seemed to melt. She moved toward him and he couldn’t help but admire the way the blue fabric of her gown shimmered with her every movement. Her gaze held him with such intensity he licked his lips, anticipating her kiss.

  She lifted her hands. “Your coat, Inspector Reed?”

  Damn his coat. He took her hands in his and pulled her the last few steps toward him into an embrace. She didn’t resist, and he relished the feel of her curves against him. He had dreamt too long of this moment to waste it.

  “Stop calling me Inspector Reed. Say my name, Lizzy.”

  She spoke the word without hesitation. “Ian.”

  He kissed her the moment his name passed her lips. She opened to him, inviting him in, as if they had never been apart since the night in his lodgings. All the fire of mutual need blazed back to life.

  “Well done.” She was breathless from their kiss, but he needed her answer. “Now say you’ll be my wife.”

  She leaned back and gazed up at him, then lifted her hands to the front of his coat. Emotion shone in her eyes and he saw a tear slide down her cheek.

  He chanted the answer he longed to hear in his head. Yes, yes, yes.

  Then she pushed, moving away from him, pulling out of his embrace. The burning ache for her, the fire that seemed to burn inside him whenever she was near, turned painful, a searing, stabbing pain that stole his breath.

  “You do not wish to marry me.”

  Her hand shook as she lifted it to cover her mouth. Then she met his gaze. “I do not know if I wish to marry anyone.”

  “Am I anyone to you?”

  “You are the only one. The only man I have touched. The only man I have ever wanted to kiss, to...”

  “Share carnal pleasure with?” The memory of her words, the hesitant and hopeful manner in which she’d uttered them, echoed in his mind as he spoke. He should have taken her then, given her everything she asked for, and kept her for his own.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why will you not consent to be my wife?” Even as he heard himself speaking the words in a voice that verged on petulant, he could not believe it. Marriage had always been a prospect far off in his future. Advancement must come first, success in his work and the financial security his own father had never been able to provide. Yet now all that mattered was Lizzy and his desire to have her by his side for a lifetime—of carnal pleasure and every other kind. One night would not be enough. A dozen furtive meetings would not suffice. He would have her as his wife. She was his only choice.

  “Would you let me continue my work in Whitechapel?”

  Not if I can help it. The words rang in his mind but he stilled his tongue. He knew that Lizzy’s charity work was important to her, perhaps the most important thing in her life. Yet he also knew, more than she, that Whitechapel was no place for a woman who believed the best of everyone she met. He tried for a reasonable approach.

  “Whitechapel is a dangerous place. More so now that there is a madman on the prowl.”

  “Father suspects the Ripper has stopped. Perhaps he is dead. There hasn’t been another...” Ian thought he saw Lizzy shiver as she imagined the horrors he had seen with his own eyes.

  “The Ripper?”

  “That’s what the newspapers are calling him. Because of the letters.”

  Someone had sent letters to a local man who then brought them to the attention of the police. In them the writer claimed responsibility for the murders and called himself Jack the Ripper. The name captured the imagination of a rabid press that had already turned the murderer into a phantasm-like ghoul.

  “Whether those letters are genuine or not, whether we solve these crimes or not, it doesn’t change the nature of the East End.” The spark in her eyes indicated she would defy anyone who tried to deny her the work that meant so much to her. “Is there no place else that requires a school teacher?”

  “Not with as great a need!”

  “Lizzy.” Though his tone begged her to consider his position, she turned away from him. “I know your work is important to you.”

  That small acknowledgement seemed to ease some of the tension in her posture. She turned back to him, an expectant look in her eyes. “Then why would you keep me from it?”

  He feared his next words might win or lose her. “I would not wish to keep you from it, but I would expect you to have a care for your safety. And I would wish to see you there and collect you myself. No more walking through Whitechapel alone at all hours of the morning or night.”

  She bent her head. Whether studying the floral design of the carpet or the tips of her slippers, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she was considering how best to ask him to leave. Then she lifted her head, tipped it to the side, and he watched as a broad, seductive grin spread across her full mouth.

  “You would truly allow it?”

  “I work in Whitechapel. How can I prevent you from doing the same? But it would ease my mind to deliver you safely each day and escort you home with me each night.” The notion of going home with Lizzy each evening sent a surge of pleasure through Ian’s body.

  “That is a reasonable request. And a reasonable compromise from a prospective husband.”

  “I quite like that prospect.” He moved toward her. Even the few paces across the Ainsworth’s drawing room was too much space between them.

  She took his meaning and closed the distance before he could take two steps. The scent of lavender enveloped him as her arms went round his neck, and he clasped her hard, leaving no space between them. He found the pulse of her heartbeat on the smooth skin of her neck and laved it with his tongue. She was delicious and he wanted to sample every bit of her.

  “When will your mother and sister return?” He spoke against her skin, nibbling at her neck before trailing kisses along her cheek between words.

  “I...oh!” He’d slipped his hand inside the bodice of her gown to cup her breast. “Within the hour.” Her voice was husky and breathless, sending a rush of desire through his body.

  “Plenty of time.”

  She opened her mouth as if she meant to retort, but Ian moved with her to the plush settee in front of the fire. He quickly shed his coat and suit jacket before sitting and pulling her down onto his lap. The silken layers of her dress settled around them.

  Lizzy kissed him and he cupped her head with one of his hands, feasting on her mouth like a starved man. He stroked her back with his other hand before sliding it down her hip, across the satin covering her thigh, to the hem of her voluminous gown. His fingers slid along her calf, up her stocking, and further. Finding and tugging at the ribbon of her drawers, he slipped inside and released a tiny growl of pleasure as he encountered springy curls and wet, warm flesh.

  Lizzy reared back and moaned when he pressed a finger insi
de of her tight, hot channel. She opened her mouth and he feared she might protest.

  “Don’t stop! Promise me you won’t stop this time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lizzy had never wanted anything so much in her life. When Ian Reed held her, touched her, the rest of the world fell away—her work, the dangers of Whitechapel, her friends’ expectations, and the belief that she would always be alone. His kisses made her feel precious and desired. The fire in his gaze told her he wanted her—only her—and that she alone could quench the need she saw there.

  Her work was well and good, even necessary, but this was wholeness. This was the bliss of banishing solitude.

  Nothing else mattered but this moment.

  Ian’s finger moved inside her and she adjusted her hips, aching to take him deeper. He slipped with ease in the wet heat and the ache inside her built to a shudder as he stroked her.

  “Please.” All sensation centered on the slide of his fingertips against her body and it was the one word she could manage.

  “Soon, love. Soon.” He tugged her bodice down as he spoke and bent his head to kiss the swell of breast above her corset.

  She took his head in her hands, sliding her fingers into his thick, dark curls. Lifting his head from her breast, her gaze sought his eyes. Love. She read it there in his dark gaze as clearly as she felt it swelling her own heart.

  His perfect lips trembled as she watched his face. His slid another finger inside her and the stretch made her moan. She felt raw, exposed to sensation, to pleasure she’d never known. An intense pressure built as she moved against him. His touch urged her further, pushing her over the edge.

  “I love you, Lizzy Ainsworth.”

  Spoken low and almost against her skin, his words sent her spiraling, spinning into a pleasure so overwhelming she clung to him, fisting the material of his shirt in her hands. She tugged at him, willing him to come with her, and called out his name.

  For a moment she soared, shaking with the effects of bliss like she had never known. Then she was aware of Ian kissing her face—soft, brief kisses—as he stroked her back. His fingers no longer filled her and she felt an ache of yearning to be connected to him again.

  “That was extraordinary.” She was surprised at the rasp in her voice as she spoke. How long had she called his name? “I confess I had no notion it would be so...” Extraordinary was the only word that echoed in her head. Her mind was mush.

  He laughed, a low rumble that reverberated inside her.

  “Extraordinary indeed, and there’s quite a bit more.”

  “Then don’t stop. You promised not to stop this time.”

  He had not actually promised anything, but she saw the same hunger in his eyes that she felt humming through her own body.

  “Your mother and sister will return soon.”

  “Nonsense. They will be asking Sara to sing another encore.”

  There were too many layers of clothing between them. Lizzy reached down, eager to touch him as she had the first night they kissed.

  He bit his lower lip as her hand roamed.

  Watching him, she couldn’t resist having a taste of his lips herself and bent her head so she could press her mouth to his. Just as she touched him, wrapping her fingers around him through his wool trousers, a sound stunned her senses and caused the hairs on her neck to tingle.

  A scream tore through the pleasurable moment, eclipsing the sounds of crackling fire and heavy breathing. Lizzy sat upright, lifted her hands to her ears to stop the pain the shrill sound inflicted, and turned toward the source.

  Sara stood in the drawing room doorway, her mouth a perfect circle, just as it was when she was warbled an aria with all her might. Then she hurtled forward, off balance, and Lizzy’s mother appeared behind her.

  “What in the...” Her mother’s voice died as she entered the room.

  Lizzy read shock on her mother’s face, but all she could feel was relieved that Sara had stopped screaming.

  Ian shifted beneath her, rearranging her dress, which had slid up to expose her legs. He eased forward gently.

  Yes, it was probably best to get off of his lap, however much she did not wish to be separated from the reassuring warmth he exuded.

  “Elizabeth Mariah Ainsworth, you will explain.”

  Lizzy took a moment to compose herself. Not her dress, which was irreparably creased and disarrayed. Not her hair, which had slipped pins, a few strands tickling her neck and hanging down aside her face. She loved feeling disheveled by Ian Reed.

  It was her tongue she needed to manage. Her immediate impulse was to snap at her mother and sister, to bid them leave her and her betrothed—he was, wasn’t he?—to what they had started. But such a response was impossible, as scandalous as it was rude. No lady with a speck of propriety would behave as she had and expect anything but condemnation for it.

  “Mother, I am sorry.” Lizzy’s sensed her brow creasing as she spoke. She wasn’t actually sorry for any of it, except for being interrupted again. But her mother was due respect. For giving her and Sara the shock of their lives, she was regretful.

  “Mrs. Ainsworth, I have asked Lizzy to marry me.” Ian’s voice seemed a balm to the tension.

  Lizzy’s mother turned to him, almost as if she had just realized he was in the room.

  “Have you indeed, Inspector? It is good to see you, young man, but I am not certain I am ready to hear from you yet. I would like my daughter to explain herself first.”

  Ian seemed to take the set down well, even shooting a brief smirk in Lizzy’s direction.

  “Mother, I...” Before she could get any further with an explanation she did not yet fathom herself, her mother stopped her with a lifted hand.

  “Wait, please.” Her mother was scrupulously polite even in the most awkward of circumstances. “Sara, dear, I think it is long past time for you to retire for the evening.” She smiled at Lizzy’s sister, but her tone turned the words into a command rather than a request.

  “Mama, please. You cannot send me to bed now.”

  “Now is the perfect time. Please, Sara. I can only accommodate one rebellious daughter this evening.”

  Sara made a little huffing noise before turning on her heel and exiting the drawing room.

  “Hardly rebellious, Mother.” Lizzy could not help but defend herself. Hadn’t she only disappointed her parents by refusing to consider marriage? And now marriage seemed the most appealing prospect she could imagine.

  Mrs. Ainsworth took three steps toward the fire and sat delicately in the armchair before it. She lifted her hand, indicating the settee, implying Lizzy and Ian should seat themselves too.

  Ian sat first and Lizzy positioned herself beside him. She found it difficult not to reach out and touch him, even as she made sure to put a ridiculously respectable distance between their bodies.

  “How has this all come about, Elizabeth?”

  Lizzy studied her hands as they lay in her lap and fidgeted with the folds in her dress.

  “Come now, Daughter. I will have all of it. Better I know it now than your father suss it out later.”

  “Father already knows.” He knew of her feelings for Ian, if nothing else.

  “So he would not have been in the least surprised to happen upon your encounter with Inspector Reed this evening?”

  Lizzy could not meet her mother’s gaze. “Yes, of course he would.”

  “Inspector Reed mentioned marriage. Have you had a change of heart on that account, Lizzy?”

  A change of heart exactly. Lizzy had never expected to give her heart to anyone, and now nothing less would do.

  “Yes, utterly and completely.”

  Ian smiled. She didn’t look at him but saw the flash of white out of the corner of her eye.

  Her mother sat for a moment, silent, and it looked to Lizzy as if she was almost as shocked by her turnabout regarding marriage as she had been to find her draped across a man’s lap.

  “Well.” Mrs. Ainsworth spoke the
word as if it tied the whole matter up with a bow. She settled back in her chair and looked about as if hoping Jenny might appear with a steaming cup of tea.

  Lizzy was on the point of offering to make tea for all of them when her mother spoke again.

  “I suppose we must speak to your father. You, in particular, Inspector Reed.”

  Ian cleared his throat and wiped his palms on his trousers before speaking. He had not seemed nearly as nervous when speaking to her father.

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Ainsworth. As it happens, I have already spoken to Detective Chief Inspector Ainsworth on this matter.”

  Lizzy closed her eyes and sighed. An image of her father, red-faced and irate, came to mind and she heard his words echo in her mind. He had said he would never consent to her marriage to Ian, though that was before Lizzy was certain she would have consented to marriage herself.

  Ian’s resonant voice sounded next to her.

  “He consented.”

  “What?”

  “He did?”

  Lizzy and her mother spoke nearly in unison.

  Ian turned to Lizzy. “After you left the office, we continued to discuss the matter. And he changed his mind.” He reached out and took her hand. “He said he hoped you might change your mind too.”

  Despite the watchful gaze of her mother, Lizzy leaned closer to Ian. His dark gaze mesmerized and drew her. She still wanted to finish what they had started and smiled at the realization that they would have a lifetime to do so.

  “I have.”

  “Have you? I don’t recall hearing a yes.”

  “Then ask me again.”

  He moved away from her, not releasing her hand but rising slightly, only to kneel down in front of her.

  “Will you, Lizzy? Will you marry me?”

  “I will.”

  He leaned to kiss her hand, but Lizzy caught his chin and pressed her mouth to his.

  “And I would suggest soon.”

  Her mother’s quip caused Ian to pull away from the kiss. But as he resumed his seat next to Lizzy, he kept hold of her hand.