Free Reckless Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novel by Christy Carlyle Page A

despite the murky congestion of Whitechapel, of fresh air.
    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.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    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