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

news with what some might call “morbid curiosity.” Andrew certainly would have. But Will had never judged her, with regard to her preferred reading material or any other choice she’d made in life. He deserved the truth. Guilt at so many months of subterfuge made the back of her neck itch.
    Kate opened her mouth to confess it—her trips to Whitechapel, her time spent with those whose need was deeper and uglier than anyone living on Moreton Terrace could imagine. Except perhaps for Ada, who'd grown up in the East End.
    A soft rapping at the door cut through the tension between them. Ada’s face appeared around the doorframe, her forehead puckered in concern.
    “Good morning, Kate. Were you expecting Mr. Thrumble this early?”
    “Not at all. We’d agreed to a luncheon later in the afternoon.”
    Ada glanced at her husband and stepped fully into the room, closing the door at her back. “He’s downstairs now. And he seems quite anxious.”
    A fastidious man, Solomon made a point of being prompt. His appearance at Moreton Terrace so early, so many hours before their intended luncheon, didn’t bode well.
    “He seems distressed. Angry, if I’m honest.”
    Curiosity and concern for Mr. Thrumble vied with Kate’s desire to return to Whitechapel.
    “Perhaps I should speak to him.” Will’s voice held a tinge of worry, and Kate offered him a small, gentle smile for his willingness to storm into the fray for her. He’d always wished to be her protector.
    “He asked for Kate, but perhaps it would be best if you speak to him. Find out what has riled him so. He would tell me nothing.” Ada, usually hard to ruffle, appeared distressed.
    “No, Will. Let me see to him.”
    Kate was out of the door before either Ada or Will could stop her. Facing Mr. Thrumble didn’t worry her. He’d proved himself the steadiest and most sensible of men. She imagined whatever had excited him would be easily resolved and he’d agree to return later.
    Heavy footfalls sounded against the carpet of the sitting room floor—soft then loud—and Kate thought their unexpected guest must be pacing.
    “Kate!”
    Kate had never seen Solomon Thrumble so animated. Disheveled black hair and a fiery blush that mottled his pale skin were so unlike the image he usually presented that Kate imagined she was meeting his less meticulous twin. She shivered at the sense of unease that sounded like a warning bell in her mind. Men who changed their nature so easily could not to be trusted.
    “Mr. Thrumble.”
    He came to her, reaching to take her hands. Kate allowed him the familiarity, though he was usually scrupulous about adhering propriety’s rules.
    After a moment he looked down at their joined hands and released her, stepping back as if she’d burned him.
    “Forgive me, Mrs. Guthrie. I heard some distressing news and wanted to speak with you immediately.”
    “Of course, shall we sit?” Kate indicated a chair, but Mr. Thrumble shook his head.
    “You know Mrs. Norton, of course? She lives just across the way.”
    Mrs. Margaret Norton, an aged widow and one of their long-standing neighbors, had always been a bit of a gossip and ineffectual matchmaker. She was the last person Kate expected Solomon to mention.
    “Yes, of course. She and my mother were quite close, but we’ve seen little of her of late. Is she unwell?”
    “No, not at all. Fit as a fiddle. And quite a keen observer of all that goes on beyond her front window.”
    Mr. Thrumble fell silent and looked at Kate with an expectant arch of his eyebrows.
    “I see.” But she didn’t. Not at all.
    He huffed a sigh and closed his eyes a moment before he spoke again.
    “She saw you return to Moreton Terrace at an ungodly hour last night. Well past dark, Mrs. Guthrie.”
    “Ah.” Mrs. Norton was far more observant than Kate had ever given her credit for, and apparently the woman stayed up late.
    “Have I no right to beg an explanation? To some it might