Scandalous Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novella (5 page)

Three
unanswered letters to Lizzy left Ian no choice. He made his way to the
Ainsworth residence on a foggy Thursday evening in October. He knew it was the
chief inspector’s habit to dine at his club on Thursdays, and he hoped, with
Ainsworth gone, he might somehow make it past the housekeeper who had turned
him away on the two other occasions he had attempted to call on Lizzy.

He
rang the bell twice before anyone answered. When the door swept open he was
stunned to see Lizzy on the other side. And she was quite a sight to see. A
rich blue dress hugged her curves and the bodice dipped low, revealing the full
rise of her breasts. His mouth watered as he recalled the taste of her skin.

“Detective
Inspector Reed.” He didn’t care for the formal address, but he loved hearing
the sound of her voice again.

“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 inside 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.”

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.

“The
sooner the better, Mrs. Ainsworth.”

Lizzy
watched as her mother and Ian shared a conspiratorial look of mutual amusement.

“Very
good. Lizzy, your father will be home soon. Perhaps it is best if he learns of
your betrothal tomorrow, when Inspector Reed is not here and you are
less...tousled.”

Mother
was right, though the notion of letting go of Ian’s hand was distinctly unappealing.
But she let him go, retrieved his jacket and overcoat, and watched as he
settled into both.

He
bid her mother good evening and rather than nod or wish him well as she usually
did, her mother stretched up and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

It
seemed only fair she should be accorded the same pleasure and drew close to him
as he stepped into the entry hall.

Leaning
in, she took a deep breath, savoring his scent, before she kissed his cheek.
She lingered there, at the curve of his ear and whispered. “There is one last
thing I must say to you before you go.”

He
smelled delicious and the heat of his skin was too enticing to resist another
kiss against the light stubble on his cheek before she continued.

“I
meant to say so before, but we were interrupted.”

Apparently
deciding they had stood too close for too long, Lizzy’s mother cleared her
throat, loudly enough to be heard through the drawing room door.

Before
they could be interrupted again, Lizzy said the words that had been in her heart
long before she had changed her mind about matrimony.

“I
love you, Ian Reed.”