Whitechapel Wagers 02 - Wanton Wager

by Christy Carlyle

  The moment she sat, she felt the sharp edge of the box pressing against her thigh. It had just fit into the pocket of her skirt. She pulled it out and tugged at the green satin ribbon, careful not to let it fall. Vicky would be thrilled to have such a beautiful slip of fabric for her hair.

  Ada inched the lid from the box and gasped at the sight of the lovely broach inside. It was a simple design—an oval cabochon surrounded by smaller round cuts—but it was the type of gems that made the piece stunning. Opals, white moon-glow stones, glittered with fire in all the hues of a rainbow. Ada lifted the bauble gently and turned it this way and that, letting it catch the light at various angles so she might enjoy the sparks of green, red, orange, pink, and blue.

  “Is it magic?”

  Vicky’s whispered voice did not startle Ada. If anything she was surprised it had taken the girl so long to come find her after hearing the door open and close. Ever alert, Vicky did not miss much that occurred in their modest, close-quarters lodgings.

  “It does seem it. Would you like to see?”

  Ada held the gem out and Vicky approached with awe in her honey brown eyes.

  She took it and held it reverently in the cup of her hand, stroking the center cabochon with her small finger as if it might grant her a wish.

  “It is the prettiest jewel ever.” She spoke the words with an innocent sincerity that made Ada smile.

  “It just might be.”

  “He gave it to you, did he not? The man with the pleasant voice?”

  “Yes.” She told the truth before thinking better of it. Vicky would never meet Mr. Selsby, and Ada was certain she would never see him again.

  “Will you marry him then?”

  Vicky made it all seem so simple.

  “No.” Ada tried to keep any tone of sadness from her voice.

  “Why ever not? He has given you this precious jewel.”

  Vicky held the broach up like an offering, and it gleamed in the light of the oil lamp on the corner table. It was a splendid trinket, but Mr. Selsby had not purchased it with her in mind, nor had he given it to her to convey any special sentiment. He had no use for it, he’d said. Perhaps he merely considered it a form of charity she would accept, despite her denial to the contrary.

  In truth, Ada did not know if she would ever marry. Once her training was done at the hospital, she hoped to devote her life to nursing, if she proved competent at the work. As the hospital administration did not permit nurses to marry the decision would be out of her hands.

  “Ada?”

  “Yes, sweet.”

  Ada stroked the thick, glossy brown waves of Vicky’s hair. She took after their mother with her dark tresses and eyes the color of brandy.

  “If you will not marry him, should you return his gift?”

  She should. She absolutely should. The broach was of fine quality, the kind a man gave to a woman he admired, the kind a woman would cherish forever. It was wrong to keep it. Mr. Selsby should give it to a woman who could cherish it, and him.

  But she had no notion of where he lived. She did not want to know. Seeing him again, even to return the jewel, was unthinkable. Ada’s behavior had been unladylike, unseemly. Surely he never wished to see her again. Wasn’t his offer of the gem a symbol of that? He wanted her out of his carriage, out of his life, and disposing of his ill-intentioned gift put an end to their short, unusual acquaintance.

  “I cannot return it, love. I do not know where to find him.”

  Vicky had replaced the broach in its black box. She fiddled with it, turning and adjusting the jewel until it sat just so on the dark velvet inside. Her nimble fingers snagged on something at the edge of the box and she pulled it out.

  “Perhaps this will help.” Vicky grinned as she held out her discovery to Ada.

  It was a card, much like the one Ada had taken from Mr. Selsby’s hands the night before. This one looked old. The paper was foxed and discolored at the edges. There was no note scrawled in handwriting, only a printed name and address.

  Dr. William A. Selsby

  42 Moreton Terrace

  London

  Now she knew how to find him. But where would she find the courage to seek him out?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As she stood gazing at the clean white stucco and pillars framing the midnight blue door of number 42 Moreton Terrace, Ada wished she had simply put the box with the broach in the post and been done with the whole business of Mr. Selsby. Done with his dodgy intentions, his soulful grey eyes, and the searing kiss she would never forget. She lifted her hand to her mouth and could instantly recall the press of his mouth on hers, the taste of him.

  It was a lovely kiss, and it might be the only one of her life.

  She was a pub owner’s daughter from Whitechapel, an aspiring nurse who would turn her back on marriage and motherhood for the chance to help those in need. She was a woman with four decent dresses to her name, more than many of her friends possessed, yet women like Lady Harriet Ashdowne would find the notion of so few garments laughable, if not horrifying. Did such a lady ever wear the same gown twice?

  Ah, why worry about her betters? She must do the deed and be done with it. How satisfying it would be to put a close to the whole matter of Mr. Selsby.

  And the broach. The prettiest jewel ever, according to Vicky, whose experience of gems was as limited as Ada’s. Yet it was lovely. Ada had taken one last peek at it, and it had sparked colorful fire at her, as if enticing her to keep it.

  She forced her feet to take the final steps toward Mr. Selsby’s door and lifted the polished brass knocker.

  Moments later she heard a voice from the other side, though she could not make out what was said. The feminine lilt of the voice was clear. Good God, did Mr. Selsby have a wife? The thought made Ada’s heart thrum in her chest and her legs go weak, as if they were made of mince jelly rather than flesh and bone.

  The box was heavy in her hand and her instinct was to leave it, to drop it on his doorstep and flee before the woman on the other side could open the door.

  But it was too late. The door swung open and a woman, a tentative smile on her pretty oval face, stood looking at her expectantly.

  “Beg your pardon, madam, but this belongs to Mr. William Selsby.”

  Ada thrust the black box toward the woman, praying she would take it swiftly and ask no questions.

  Instead, she merely turned her pale eyes toward the box and then gazed back at Ada, seeming to search her face for answers to questions she had yet to ask.

  “Won’t you come inside, Miss…?”

  No, she did not wish to come inside, but it was impolite to do anything else.

  “Ada Hamilton.”

  “Miss Hamilton, please.” She gestured for Ada to enter and took two steps aside so that she might do so.

  Lifting her skirt a fraction, Ada stepped over the threshold, holding her breath, fearing she might see Mr. Selsby around the next corner ensconced with a passel of children.

  “I am Mrs. Guthrie. Mr. Selsby is my brother. I was just about to take some tea. Won’t you stop and join me?”

  She was scrupulously polite, just like her brother. And now that Ada took a moment to truly look at the woman, the resemblance was clear in her high cheekbones, pale eyes—though hers were more blue than grey—and the gold-tipped honey brown of her hair.

  There was just a moment of hesitation before Ada capitulated. Resisting Mrs. Guthrie’s kind eyes and gentle smile proved impossible.

  “I would like that, Mrs. Guthrie. Thank you.”

  Ada was led to a charming drawing room filled with furniture that appeared more comfortable than stylish, vibrant art in gilded frames, and potted plants adding a touch of green to a table here and a corner there.

  “Let me just check on the tea. I won’t be a moment.”

  Left alone, Ada seized the opportunity to study the room more closely. With tall bookcases lining the walls on either side of a marble-fronted fireplace, the room seemed as much study
as drawing room. She browsed the titles on the spines and was shocked to find dozens of books on medical topics. One title, Medicine and the Human Mind, intrigued her and she had just slipped it from its place on the shelf when the drawing room door whooshed open.

  “Am I too late for tea?”

  Ada did not turn at first. No need, really. That smooth, steady voice was as familiar to her now as if she had known the man for years.

  “Miss Hamilton.”

  She felt a fool standing with her back to him, but the desire to see his face again was as powerful as the fear. If she saw him again, could she accept that it was for the last time?

  Finally, she turned and they locked gazes.

  “Mr. Selsby.”

  Time passed while they scrutinized each other. Ada had no notion how long. The sun seemed to rise higher in the morning sky, for a shaft of gilding light filled the room, illuminating dust motes and lightening the grey of his eyes.

  Then Mrs. Guthrie broke the spell, entering the drawing room door followed by a tall, buxom woman bearing a tea tray so wide her arms nearly stretched the width of the doorframe to hold it.

  “Just there, Sally. Thank you.” Mrs. Guthrie indicated a low table covered with an embroidered cloth. “Good of you to join us, Will. Miss Hamilton and I were just about to take tea.”

  Ada could not divine the look that passed between brother and sister, but Mrs. Guthrie seemed to be searching his face as intently as she had examined Ada’s moments before.

  When they were all seated around the table, Mrs. Guthrie performed the ritual of pouring tea—milk for her, milk and sugar for him, plain for Ada—and they all sat in awkward silence, taking the first tentative sips of the deliciously hot brew.

  “I see you have found one of Will’s medical texts.”

  The book she had removed from the shelf lay in her lap, though Ada was so startled by Mr. Selsby’s appearance at the door she hardly remembered taking it from the bookcase.

  It was Mr. Selsby’s? There was only one reason a man would require so many books on medicine.

  “Are you a doctor, Mr. Selsby?”

  “He was going to be. Still could be if he put his mind and energies to it. Papa was a doctor, you see, and his dearest wish was for Will to follow in his footsteps.”

  “That was always my intention. But—“

  “But when he entered the army, he did not go as a doctor. He wanted to fight, you see. He wanted to be a soldier.”

  “I was not yet a doctor when I entered the army. I was…”

  “A young fool?”

  “Quite.”

  There was no enmity between the two, just a good-natured kind of jesting. They grinned at each other over their teacups, but Ada sensed the moment Will turned his gaze back on her.

  “You are interested in medicine yourself, Miss Hamilton?” Mrs. Guthrie’s drew Ada’s attention away from Mr. Selsby, whose nearness was beginning to turn her thoughts to mush.

  “I am a probationary nurse at the Samaritan.”

  “Well done, Miss Hamilton. A nurse. I am not sure I have the constitution for such a vocation, but I do volunteer at the Bethlem Orphanage. Truth be told, I have long wished to volunteer at the Samaritan, but my brother fears me venturing into the East End on my own. And now Whitechapel is plagued with those unspeakable crimes. So much misery there.”

  Ada could not help but look directly at Mr. Selsby upon that pronouncement. Whitechapel was too dangerous for his sister, it seemed, but not for the women whose company he wished to procure with flowers and baubles. For a woman he kissed in his carriage.

  She held his gaze a moment as she spoke before turning her attention to his sister. “I live in Whitechapel, Mrs. Guthrie. I am afraid some of us cannot avoid the misery, though I am glad to see a bit of it alleviated at the hospital.”

  “Of course you are. What good work you must do, and where it is most needed. My mother served as a kind of nurse in my father’s practice, and I have long thought Will would need such assistance when he finally starts his own practice. Would you ever consider such a post, Miss Hamilton?”

  “Kate.” Will’s tone was chastising, but Mrs. Guthrie’s expression was seemingly guileless.

  Ada’s cheeks began to warm and she feared they’d gone as red as her hair. Mrs. Guthrie was matchmaking, and neither she nor Mr. Selsby could mistake her intent. But why ever would the woman wish to match her brother with a nurse in training from Whitechapel? Their home, their clothes, Mr. Selsby’s profession—everything about them indicated both could do much better in marriage than to consider anyone from the miserable East End.

  “Do we need more biscuits? Let me just go see.” Mrs. Guthrie turned an angelic grin on Ada and then her brother in turn before exiting the room.

  “I am sorry about my sist—“

  “Forgive me for intrud—“

  On a short acquaintance, they seemed to have developed a terrible habit of speaking at precisely the same moment.

  “We seem to apologize to each other a good deal.” It was the baldest truth, but Ada wondered if she was being impolite to speak it.

  “Indeed.”

  “I only came to return your broach.”

  He sat forward and Ada feared he might touch her. She ached for him to touch her.

  “You do not like it.”

  “It is stunning. Simply the loveliest jewel I have ever seen.”

  He ducked his head and she could see that he was smiling.

  “Then you should most definitely have it.” He looked up at her, his expression serious. “For you are the loveliest woman I have ever seen.”

  Ada stood. Every impulse urged her to flee. His compliments were too much, the ardent look in his eyes too potent, and her skin turned feverish the closer he drew near.

  She walked to the bookshelf and replaced his book where she had found it, letting her finger trail down the embossed lettering on the spine.

  “Has there been any word of your sister?”

  Her sister. Beth. For the space of half an hour she had not even thought of her. That is what Mr. Selsby and his too-fine world did to her. The comfortable atmosphere of Moreton Terrace made her momentarily forget the grime and poverty, the need and misery of Whitechapel. The pub had provided her family with a decent living, but she knew her neighbors and those who relied on the Samaritan Hospital struggled in ways she could only imagine. And those women who were victims of the Whitechapel madman. The Mr. Selsbys and Mrs. Guthries of the world read about their torment and it would color their view of the East End forever. And she would be painted with the same brush.

  “No, nothing, and the matter is none of your concern, Mr. Selsby. Please thank your sister for the tea and hospitality. I must be on my way.”

  Ada made for the drawing room door, but Will stood quickly, discarding his cane, and reached for her. His hand closed gently yet firmly around her wrist. Sensation surged like an electric current from the spot where he touched her through every inch of her body, searing her, nearly buckling her knees.

  “Ada.”

  It was the first time he had said her name, and he spoke it as a kind of plea.

  She closed her eyes and felt him draw near, his legs pressed against her skirts, his chest brushing her arm, the heat of his breath caressing the skin of her neck.

  “You do not know me, Mr. Selsby.”

  “I sorely wish to, Miss Hamilton.”

  She turned her head toward him and their lips were just inches apart. Brazen. Oh, how she wanted to be brazen. To kiss him and touch him, and let the pleasure of it push away every proper thought and nagging worry.

  But she couldn’t forget who she was, who he was. She could not forget that her sister was nowhere to be found.

  “You offered to help me.”

  He glanced at her mouth before answering.

  “Anything.”

  “Would you speak to Lord Ashdowne about my sister? He must know something regarding her whereabouts.”

  He
took a step back, as if the matter of her sister should cool the ardor between them. But Ada’s body still thrummed with an ache she feared only he could satisfy. She still wanted to kiss him.

  Instead, she bit her bottom lip and reached inside the pocket of her skirt. The box with the broach felt heavier somehow.

  “And please take this back. You should give it to a woman who can cherish it. And you.”

  He did not reach for the box, nor did he touch her again.

  But she still had to go. She set the box on the arm of a chair and strode toward the door. Her footsteps sounded so loud in the quiet of the room.

  Don’t look back. She could not. She did not.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Will was rooted to the spot where she left him. A twinge of pain in his leg coaxed him to sit down, but he could not move. She had gone and taken the air, the light, all the comfort of the room with her.

  There was so much he wished to say to her. Questions to ask. So much to learn about her. A swell of joy had nearly toppled him when he had rushed into the drawing room and found her there perusing his medical books. She looked so splendidly right in his space, in his home.

  Kate’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Is Miss Hamilton away so soon?”

  Will finally moved, glancing back at his sister and the plate of biscuits in her hand.

  “Which county did you visit in order to fetch those biscuits? Yorkshire?”

  “I wasn’t gone so long.”

  Will watched his sister resume her chair and take a nibble from one of the fresh biscuits. She had been gone just long enough, and he suspected she might have spent part of the time hovering in the hallway hoping to hear what passed between him and Miss Hamilton. Which, unfortunately, was not nearly enough.