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

this way.”
    He indicated the north end of the street and she started ahead of him. It took a good measure of restraint not to wrap an arm around her protectively and hold her near. But they weren’t newlyweds on a gambol along the Brighton coast, and she ususally made her way in Whitechapel without his protection.
    She stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. Though he doubted she intended it, the gesture was seductive, and his body reacted as if to a siren’s call.
    “Are you coming, Detective Quinn?”
    He nodded sharply before joining her. They continued wordlessly to a ramshackle boarding house. Ben stepped in front of Kate and rapped on the door, wary of what they might find on the other side. Each moment they waited for a response ratcheted his anxiety. Allowing Kate to accompany him to such a place, no matter how pleasurable the potential reward, was a mistake.
    “Wot?”
    The door swung open the merest crack, creating such a narrow opening Ben couldn’t make out the man who’d spoken from inside.
    “May I speak with you, sir?”
    After a moment, the door creaked open a bit more, and a giant of a man filled the space. A hoary eyebrow arched to a peak over his left eye, the only one visible.
    “Wot business ‘ave ye with me?”
    “I am looking for a young woman named Rose. Does she live here?”
    “Not ‘ere.” The man moved to close the door but Ben wedged his boot into the slim opening.
    “Where might I find her?”
    “Has she ever lived here?” Kate’s voice rang out over his own and Ben winced when the door opened wide. The old man’s gruff expression softened at the sight of her, and Ben stepped in front of her to block the man’s view.
    “She’s a proper bit o’ frock.”
    Ben lifted his shoulders and straightened his back but the man still towered over him. “She’s none of your concern.”
    “Please, sir. If you know where we can find Rose—”
    Ben swiveled around and shot Kate a withering stare, though it was difficult to look at her and think of anything other than how close he’d come to tumbling her in the carriage.
    She stopped speaking but nudged her chin high and returned a defiant glare.
    “Wot you want wif Rose? Wot she done?”
    Ben spoke first and loudly, hoping Kate would take his cue to remain silent. “Nothing at all. I simply require a word with her.”
    “Try ‘er sister. Lodges off the Whitechapel Road. Fieldgate Street.”
    Ben was astonished to be given an address so near the clinic and suspected Mrs. Guthrie was too, but it wasn’t the time to discuss the matter. It was time to remove Kate from the man’s unsavory gaze.
    “Thank you very much. Good day.”
    Ben turned and bustled Kate away from the doorstep as quickly as he could. She resisted only a moment before letting him lead her down the street. He reached for her hand and hoped she’d allow him the pleasure of holding hers. She refused to take his hand but laid hers on his arm, as a woman might do to allow a gentleman to escort her on a promenade around the park. He sensed a tremor in her touch before she clasped him tightly. It was Ben’s only indication that her steady, unflappable demeanor might mask a measure of fear.
    He was grateful for her fear. She should fear the unsavory aspects of Whitechapel, just as she should fear his intentions. A suspended detective estranged from his own family—he had nothing to offer Kate Guthrie. And if Miss Cole was correct about Kate’s circumstances, she would soon leave her Whitechapel days behind and marry. His jaw clenched at the thought. She’d marry some climber like his Langdon, no doubt. A man who could give her the kind of wealth and status a detective sergeant could never offer.
    He had to forget her. Or at the very least stifle his unreasonable attraction to her. Hadn’t he learned his lesson about women who’d given their hearts to another?
    ****
    The heat and comfort Kate drew from holding onto Detective Quinn didn’t distract her