Scandalous Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novella (2 page)

“Would you call me Lizzy?”

He smiled that smile, disarming and lovely, boyish and yet
seductive. No man should be allowed such a smile.

He approached and handed her a cup of tea.

She sucked in her breath and held it until he was seated across
the short expanse of the room from her.

“Lizzy.” He said her name and then paused, as if he had said more
and she should take his meaning clearly. “What possessed you to come out at
such an hour?
And to Whitechapel?
Alone? It is
dangerous at the best of times, but now… No woman is safe in Whitechapel now. ”

If the voice had not been Ian Reed’s low, rich tone, Lizzy might
have thought she was listening to her father speak. There was a more than a
hint of chastisement behind his words, and lately she had heard little but
warnings from her father about her activities in Whitechapel. Though he worked
in the East End himself, he had saved to purchase their family a spacious home
far outside its boundaries. Almost daily Papa urged her to find charitable work
closer to town.

“I’m here to see you, of course.” She saw a flicker of amusement
on his face after she’d spoken, but it slipped away so quickly she could
convince herself she’d imagined it. It seemed he never allowed himself mirth
for long. He opened his lovely mouth as if to question her, but she took a deep
breath and continued. “I have something to ask of you, Inspector Reed. Ian.”

She could no longer meet his eyes and studied her hands, folded
tightly in her lap, as she forced the rest of the words out. “And something to
offer.”

He didn’t speak, but he made a sound, a slight murmur, as if talking
to himself under his breath. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “And what is it
you ask and offer, Lizzy Ainsworth?”

His name on her lips set her already rapid heartbeat skittering.
Lizzy shot up from her chair. Body roiling with emotion, she could not sit,
could not contain the nervous energy coursing through her.

Ian stood too, as a gentleman should.

She hoped he wasn’t too much of a gentleman.

He stood patiently and watched her. She could always sense when
his eyes were on her.

Every time she began to speak the words, her tongue grew thick in
her mouth. She swallowed and then swallowed again. The words wouldn’t come,
though her body hummed with unspoken desires. If only he were a mind reader,
like those tricksters with their crystal balls and tea leaves.

He moved closer and it took all her strength not to reach out to
him, touch him as she’d longed to do since the night they’d met.

“You seem distressed and you’ve come to me. How can I help?” He
reached out then. Lizzy felt his hand, warm and heavy on her arm.

“I...” The words were there, waiting to burst from her, but once
they were out, she could never take them back.

“What is it?” His fingers closed around her arm and he drew
closer. She was enveloped in the scent of him—shaving soap and a unique musk
all his own—and dizzy at his nearness.

“I shall never marry.”

The words stunned him. She could tell by the look on his face and
the way his body recoiled, almost as if she’d struck him.

She closed the distance between them again, emboldened now that she
had begun. “I will never have a husband to love me. To share...” The words
stuck again.

“Lizzy.” She heard pity in his tone. The last thing she wanted was
his pity.

She held her hand up to him. “No, please. I must finish.” She
hadn’t meant to touch him, but her palm grazed his shirt front. Boldly, she let
her hand rest against his chest.

He looked down at it, seeming to study her fingers. She hadn’t
worn gloves.
Another sign of her impropriety.

“I won’t have a husband to share carnal pleasure.” Lizzy saw him
swallow hard, watched the movement across his throat, and the impulse to kiss
him there, to taste his skin, overwhelmed her.

He reached up and placed his hand over hers where it lay against his
chest. His hand was warm and strong. It nearly enveloped her own.

She could feel his heartbeat now, racing, thumping a wild tattoo
against her palm.

“I want to share those pleasures with you.” There. The words were
out now. She could not take them back. She could only wait for his reaction.

Ian blinked hard and then blinked again. Surely this was some
lusty dream.

Lizzy Ainsworth stood in front of him—brown hair pinned tight
against her head and her dark blue gown buttoned so high he feared she might
choke. Yet his brain struggled with the words coming out of her lush mouth.

His body had no problem with them, of course. Lizzy was on his
mind far too often. The very proper daughter of his superior intrigued him
beyond reason. Any mystery snagged his interest, and the conundrum of why a
well-bred miss would choose to spend her days in Whitechapel drudge work played
on his mind ceaselessly. She was
his own
puzzle to
solve.

And carnal pleasures?
They
had shared them aplenty in his fevered dreams. The notion of finding out what
lay beneath the tight, buttoned down restraint of her plain dresses, of pulling
down her hair and letting it fall around him, of learning the thoughts
reflected in that intelligent, searching gaze of hers—those were the desires
that consumed his days and nights.

She stood gazing up at him now, closer than they’d ever been to
each other, and he studied the green and gold flecks in her honey-brown eyes.

His mind still couldn’t make sense of it. Elizabeth Ainsworth in
his dingy flat, her hand on his chest, asking him to ruin her.

He latched onto the phrase she’d spoken. “Carnal pleasures?”

He sounded stupid, like a green boy who had no notion of what went
on between a man and a woman. But he knew. And he yearned to show her everything
he knew. If he had any talents as a lover, he wanted to use them to make Lizzy
Ainsworth cry out his name as she writhed beneath him.

But, dream or not, it was impossible. He couldn’t bed her any more
than he could court her. Not yet. Perhaps after he’d risen in the police force,
achieved the status and financial security her father had. Achieving such a
rank, proving his father wrong and making his mother proud—
God, rest her
—was
all Ian had ever wanted. He had listened to his father tell him he was nothing
for enough years to make becoming something a priority. It was the desire the
fueled him, pushed him to work longer hours, to ask for more work, to say yes
whenever a task arose, and it had gotten him an inspector’s rank long before
others of his own age and experience could even smell the title.

His work meant everything to him. And it was the reason he
couldn’t spread Lizzy’s long legs and bury himself in whatever heaven he’d find
there. Ned Ainsworth would never promote him and he’d have his head—and
probably chop off his cock as well—if he dared to touch one of his dignified
daughters.

Heaven help him, he touched her. He couldn’t resist. Lifting his
hand, Ian cupped her smooth cheek. God, she was soft. And warm. And willing.
Her mouth opened slightly and he took it. He tried to be gentle and failed
miserably. Her lips were full and so damn sweet.
Sweet and
wet.
He tasted her with his tongue, plunging in deep, his mouth moving
over hers, pressing into her, claiming her in the only way he could.

It was hard to pull away.
As hard as the
evidence of his desire for her between his legs.
But even if she’d gone
momentarily mad, he had to be sane and return her to Ainsworth unspoiled. His
livelihood depended on it.

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment before
withdrawing, trying to catch his breath. She made a tiny whimpering sound as
they separated, and it nearly unhinged him. The ache in his groin was nothing
compared to the burning sensation in his chest at the notion he’d disappointed
her, the notion that he had squandered the most extraordinary opportunity he’d
ever been given. He began to doubt anything Detective Chief Inspector Ainsworth
offered him in terms of success and advancement could truly compare to the
pleasure of claiming Lizzy.

She began to plead. “Please, Ian. I can assist you with my father.
Speak well of you. Promote your interests wherever I can. Especially with
Sara.”

“Sara? Who is Sara?” It dawned on him as soon as the question was
out of his mouth and reason began to return to his lust-glazed brain.

“She’s my sister, of course. She’s very steerable. I’m certain I
could convince her to accept your proposal.” Her voice had taken on a frantic,
excited tone, like a pickpocket attempting to talk his way out of an arrest.

Ian laughed. He couldn’t stop the bitter chortle from bubbling up.

“Let me see if I understand you, Miss Ainsworth.” As soon as she
heard his tone, she looked as miserable as he felt. “You came here to lay with
me so I can marry your sister?”

Lizzy’s brown eyes went wide and she started to back away toward
the door. Her lips, still red and swollen from his kiss, trembled as she spoke.
“Forgive me. It was a mistake.” She turned to grasp the door latch and stopped.
“Please don’t tell my father.”

Ian crossed the room in two long strides and planted his hand on
the door above her head. He leaned into her back and nuzzled her neck,
frustrated to find more bloody blue dress than soft, warm skin. “Take your hair
down, Lizzy.”

Ian feared the dream was over as much as he knew he should end it.

Then she turned her head, and he kissed the corner of her mouth.
Gently this time.
Tenderly. Seducing her.

He felt her body sag back against his just before she lifted her
hand. Soft fingers skidded across his face as she reached for a pin in her
hair. He continued to kiss her—pressing his lips against her check, trailing
them along her jawline—as she removed each hairpin. Sinuous curls tickled his
face as she freed strand after strand.

When her hair was unbound and tumbled down around her shoulders in
glossy waves, he pulled away just enough for her to turn and face him, her back
against the door.

What a beauty she was, with her thick dark curls and creamy smooth
skin. The flush in her cheeks and fire in her eyes made his body twitch with
anticipation. He had never wanted a woman like he wanted this prim school
teacher.

Ian wrapped his hand around the back of Lizzy’s neck, sinking his
fingers into her hair, and pulled her toward him for a kiss. She came
willingly, opening to him eagerly. He took his time, tasting her with light
kisses, running his tongue across her lips, nipping at each in turn before he
thrust his tongue into her mouth and savored her fully.

He reached to slip the first fastening at the neck of her dress.
Her smaller, more nimble fingers met his and they raced to unfasten the buttons
that ran from her chin to her waist.
All twenty-seven of the
blasted things.

As each devilish fastener released, more and more of Lizzy’s warm
flesh was exposed. He wanted to taste every inch of it. But he had to go slow.
Though she had asked for this, he didn’t miss the way her gaze shifted away
from him now, as if she could not quite look him in the eye.

Her chemise was thin and gauzy, hiding nothing from his view. Ian
untied the single ribbon closure and slid the material aside. He stroked the
back of his fingers across the mounds of her breasts, pushed high by her
corset.

“Look at me, Lizzy.” Their gazes locked and she bit her lip as he
touched her. The sight made Ian bold. He tugged at the edge of her corset,
pulling it just low enough to expose her nipples.
Hell with going slow.
He dipped his head and took one hardened tip into his mouth.

“Ian.” She captured his head in her hands and pulled him against
her, forcing him to take more of her body into his mouth. Sliding her fingers
into his hair, her nails scraped his scalp, shooting sensation from the top of
his head straight to his already throbbing groin. The need to be inside her, to
give her what she’d come here seeking, blotted out everything else. Even the
warning voice inside his head had quieted. Mostly.

He released one swollen pink nipple and moved his mouth to the
other. He licked and nipped at it lightly, just scraping his teeth along the
edge. Ian felt Lizzy’s whole body quivering and he was heady with the
realization that he gave her pleasure. Pleasure she had never known with any
other man.

He released the delicate bud of her nipple and raised his head to
meet her eyes. He read desire in her gaze, as fierce as his own. No fear. No
regret.
Just need, as raw as his own.

Ian cupped Lizzy’s cheek with the palm of his hand. “I want you,
Lizzy.” Not her silly sister or any other. This passionate, simple beauty, this
schoolmistress with a predilection for East End slums, this woman who set him
on fire—he had to make her his own.

He heard her voice, husky and low, over the heated blood
thundering in his ears.

“Then take me. Please.”