It was the type of feeling he’d foolishly believed he would never encounter again. He’d been so utterly wrong.
CHAPTER 14
I am sorry you had to witness that,” Sebastian said before picking up his glass of water and drinking it deeply.
Lydia watched the muscles in his throat contract as he gulped. She found it easier to concentrate on that instead of the conversation that had just taken place.
With a shaking hand, she picked up her glass and drank deeply too. However, instead of feeling refreshing, she rather thought the water tasted stale. She’d never been one for spirits, but she couldn’t deny that a glass of sherry sounded like it might be helpful.
Because as everything that she’d just heard sank in, Lydia realized the gentleman sitting across from her was not the man he’d led her to believe.
Sebastian was staring at her intently. “Are you all right?”
Blunt questions called for honest answers. “No, I don’t believe I am.”
He said nothing as two waiters carefully removed their bowls of soup before placing plates of fish in front of them. The chef had left both the fish heads and tails intact. Only the middle had been prepared for consumption.
After meeting the fish’s vacant eye, Lydia further lost her appetite. She was fairly sure she’d never seen anything that looked so repugnant. “I think I would like to leave now.”
He carefully placed his fork on the side of his plate. “You haven’t touched your meal.”
“I find I am no longer hungry.”
“I see.” He pressed his lips together. “We need to talk about what just happened.”
“I am not ready to listen. I need to go.”
“Stay anyway.”
“Mr. Marks, I think not.”
“We’re back to Mr. Marks now?”
“Yes. I . . . I need some time to reflect on what I just heard.”
The lines around his mouth deepened. It was obvious he was trying his best to not only explain himself, but temper his voice. “You don’t need time. You need to hear what I have to say.”
Aware that several pairs of eyes in the room were still intently watching them, she picked up her fork and carefully flaked off a miniscule portion. “Who are you, really?”
“I am who you know me to be.”
“I’d prefer that you stop speaking in ridiculous riddles. Tell me what that man was talking about. What in the world is a ‘grotto’?”
“It is an artificial structure or recess built to resemble a cave.”
Her temper flared. “I know what a grotto is. I want to know why you have one. And why he wants to visit.”
“The Grotto is the name of my club.” His chin lifted. “Actually, it is called the Silver Grotto.”
“The Silver Grotto,” she repeated, more confused than ever. “What kind of club is this?”
“It is a gathering place for gentlemen.” After a pause, he averted his eyes, looking just beyond her. “Men frequent the Grotto when they are in search of spirits. And gambling.”
She was shocked. “Isn’t gambling illegal?”
“Supposedly.”
“Supposedly isn’t an answer. Either it is or it isn’t.”
“A lot of powerful men come to the nether regions of my club to gamble, Miss Bancroft. The police who patrol the area have long looked the other way.”
“They do? That doesn’t seem right.”
He shrugged. “Even Irish cops can use a bit of financial incentive now and again.”
She wondered what that meant. She was finding his short answers insufficient. Only his obvious unease—and the sense that he would be disappointed if she left—was preventing her from getting up and exiting the dining room.
“What did that man mean about Jason? Does he frequent your club?”
“Yes.” The word sounded as if it had been forced out between his teeth.
She pushed harder. “And he lost money there?”
His expression became harder. “He did.”
His reticence was frustrating. But even more disturbing, to her at least, was the way she was reacting to the news. Instead of focusing on the revelations about Jason, or even her curiosity about why Mr. Marks was running a gentlemen’s club in the first place, Lydia kept dwelling on her own hurts and insecurities.
How had she so misread Sebastian Marks’ character? She’d believed he was her friend.
She’d even imagined that perhaps one day he would be able to overlook her spectacles, red hair, freckles, and bookish nature and see something of value in her.
No, she’d wanted more than that, she firmly reprimanded herself. She’d secretly wanted him to fall in love with her. Yes, even to desire her.
To her great embarrassment, she’d sometimes even dreamed that one day he’d want to marry her.
Until the first day he strode into the reading room, she hadn’t believed such fanciful notions existed. She certainly had never imagined she could have a romance of her own.
Now she wished she’d never let those dreams take flight.
“You look upset,” he stated. “I apologize if you feel as if I’ve betrayed you.”
“ ‘As if I’ve betrayed you’? As if?” she sputtered. Pressing her hands together in her lap, she leaned toward him. “Mr. Marks, you misrepresented your entire identity to me.”
“I did not. You never specifically asked me what I did.”
“You are splitting hairs.”
“No, I am stating the facts. You may not accuse me of lying to you about occupations and habits you had no knowledge of.”
“I didn’t think I needed to ask you,” she protested. “I thought you were a gentleman. I thought you lived here, at the Hartman.”
“I didn’t lie. I do live here.”
“And Bridget? What is she to you?” she recklessly asked. “Is she one of your . . . your women?”
His dark eyes turned icy. “Be careful, Miss Bancroft. You are about to harm a very decent woman’s character. And she has been nothing but kind to you.”
“I disagree. She had to have known that I thought you were simply a rich man. She knew I thought you were upstanding. I can’t believe you put someone in my home with instructions to lie to me and my mother.”
He had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lydia. You are being increasingly dramatic. Please, why don’t you show me where I’ve stabbed you in the heart?”
His words were so hurtful, his attitude so blasé, it was taking Lydia everything she had to keep her composure. Any concerns she had about his feelings fell to the wayside. “Do you have anything to add before I leave?”
Sebastian stared at her for what felt like a solid ten minutes, though it was most likely only a few seconds. “Yes,” he said around an exhale. “Please know that I am sorry. I never meant for things between us to become so convoluted. If you want to know the truth, I liked knowing there was at least one person in the world who thought I was decent.”
Each word he spoke seemed pulled from the recesses of his heart. Each word was filled with emotion—and a terrible thread of disappointment.
It made her regret her harsh words. “Sebastian—”
He ignored her. “Lydia, I needed this relationship with you. I liked how you thought I was reputable. Worthy.”
Her lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”
He still was staring straight ahead. “After we got to know each other better, I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want the other parts of my life to sully you. And now it seems as if everything I’ve tried so hard to keep to one side has bubbled over into your life. I hope, in time, you will find a way to forgive me.”
His expression was so full of regret, his tone so sincere, it burst her bubble of pain. “Sebastian, I am sorry if you thought I needed to be cosseted, but I don’t. I’d much rather know the real you than a make-believe version. Who are you, really?”
“I am not a gentleman.” He frowned. “I am far from that. I grew up poor
, just outside the slums and tenements near the docks.” He lowered his voice. “My mother did not know who my father was.”
She didn’t understand. “How can that be?”
“She . . . she sold herself to men. For money.” Still not meeting her gaze, he lowered his voice to something very close to a whisper. “She continued to do that until she died.”
Lydia knew she was naïve. She knew she hadn’t experienced too many things. But she read a lot. And she was observant too. Somehow, he’d reworked himself from being the poor son of a prostitute to a well-read gentleman of considerable wealth. “Mr. Marks, Sebastian, you are so polished and debonair. How did you become the way you are? What was it like for you, growing up?”
“Lydia, I am sorry, but I cannot speak to you about that.”
“I think you owe me the truth.”
“Trust me. It is better if you don’t know the truth. It is not pretty, particularly interesting, or the least bit heartwarming.”
She set her fork down on her plate, her food half-eaten. She was surprised. She hadn’t realized she’d been eating while he’d been laying his heart on the table.
When the white-jacketed waiter appeared at her side, she motioned for him to remove her plate.
“I wish you would eat more.”
“I can’t at the moment.”
“Please try for me.”
His words, his caring tone, could very easily melt her resolve. But then where would she be? “My eating habits are none of your concern,” she said. But when she noticed a look of hurt flash in his eyes, she realized she could no more hurt him intentionally than it seemed he could face her with the truth.
“Sebastian, I know you said you wanted me to see a different side of you, but why were you not honest with me from the start? After all, I am nobody special. I’m no one you would have needed to impress.”
“I thought differently.”
“But I am only a librarian. I promise I wouldn’t have cared who you were when you visited. If you wanted books, I would have still lent them to you. It’s my job to provide books to the citizens of Chicago, not pass judgments on behavior or morality.”
“Truth?”
“Of course.”
“I do value you. I like how smart you are. I value that very much. Lydia, I really did want there to be one person in the world who thought I was everything I longed to be. I didn’t want to lose that.”
She knew what he meant. She, too, had always dreamed of being something more than herself. Something like the women in her books, with their many admirers and incomparable beauty. And even though she knew her dreams were never going to come true, she could understand someone wanting that.
It seemed even a rich and powerful and exceptionally handsome man like Sebastian Marks had dreams too.
She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.
But she did know she believed Jason and Galvin were gamblers and angry, vindictive men because they lost and owed money. If Jason had been beaten, however—though she did not like to think of anyone being hurt—she did not believe Sebastian had anything to do with it.
Perhaps whoever Jason was convinced had been following him had also beaten him.
She didn’t know. There was so much she didn’t know.
“How can I make this up to you, Lydia? I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
“You can take me to your Grotto.”
His eyes widened. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I am asking to know the place that helped you become the man you are. I am asking to see the place where Jason became a desperate man.”
“It is no place for ladies.”
“We both know I’m not much of a lady.”
“You are.”
“That Mr. Galvin thought I was your mistress.”
“His words were meant to hurt me, not you.”
“Mr. Marks, take me there tonight, or I will go home, tell Bridget to leave my house, and ask you never to enter my reading room again.” Of course, the moment she heard her threat, she felt her skin flush. What kind of threat was that, really?
“You will go hungry—or at least lose everything you have.”
The fact that he focused on her circumstances instead of her feelings broke her heart. Did he really think his disappearance from her life would be easy for her to recover from? “I would make do. What do you say, Mr. Marks? Are you feeling brave enough to show me your club tonight?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Bancroft.”
“Does that mean you will?”
Time became suspended between them again as waiters arrived with the meat course. “First, you must eat.”
Now that she’d gotten her way and was feeling the novel excitement of being just an hour or so away from somewhere a little dangerous and forbidden, her appetite was back.
Picking up her fork, she said, “I will clean my plate, Mr. Marks. Suddenly I’ve found I’m almost ravenous.”
“Suddenly I’m finding that you are incorrigible.”
When she popped a piece of steak in her mouth, he stood up. “Please excuse me for one moment.”
Seeing that Mr. Hunt was lurking over by the dining room’s entrance, she nodded. “Of course, Sebastian.”
“Absolutely incorrigible,” he muttered under his breath as he strode over to the man who was staring at him with a solemn expression.
Sebastian greeted Vincent Hunt, then led him to a quiet spot down the hallway. “Glad you’re here, Hunt,” he blurted. “Something has come up. I need you—”
But instead of looking attentive, Hunt looked pained. “Sir, I am sorry to interrupt, but there has been a new development. Another gambler was stabbed last night.”
“So? People are dying like flies these days.”
“This one was a foreigner, someone well-known in Belgium. The police are combing the area for suspects, and for some reason they seem focused on the Grotto.”
Sebastian barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “Perhaps because we are the finest establishment, one well-off foreigners know. They’ll either find nothing or commandeer some poor sod no one will miss even as he is hanging from the gallows. The fact is, we have more important things to focus on.”
Hunt stilled. “What is it, sir?”
“I need you to go to Miss Bancroft’s home, summon Bridget, and bring her here. Immediately.”
To his surprise, Hunt’s posture changed. If Sebastian didn’t know better, he could have sworn that Hunt looked a bit disappointed with the request.
“Is Bridget returning to work for you at the hotel?” he asked.
“No. The two of you are going to accompany me and Miss Bancroft to the Silver Grotto tonight.”
Hunt stared at him incredulously. “Sir?”
“Do you now require explanation to do as I bid?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Now, go get Bridget and bring her here. Immediately.”
Staring directly in front of him, Hunt nodded. “Yes, sir.” He then turned and walked away, his gait stiff and indignant.
Obviously his assistant did not approve of Sebastian’s treatment of Bridget. It was interesting. Worth noting.
But as he crossed back into the dining room, where Lydia was sitting, looking more lost than ever, Sebastian realized he was going to have to wait to have that conversation with Vincent as well.
Currently, there was only one person on his mind, and that was a lady with auburn hair, perfectly proportioned lips, and a better vocabulary than the average man.
The lady who had not even asked if he was responsible for Avondale’s beating.
“Forgive me for leaving you,” he said as he returned to his chair.
“Is something wrong?”
“Perhaps.” Everything was wrong. “You remember Hunt. He went to get Bridget so you will have a chaperone this evening.”
For the first time since that idiot Galvin arrived, Lydia smiled.
“So
you really are going to let me go see your club tonight. Go to the Silver Grotto.”
“I suppose I am.” Suddenly, he hated the name. Whereas it used to amuse him and make him think of all things dark and otherworldly, the thought of viewing it through her eyes made it seem rather sordid.
Her pretty eyes shone. “I’m so glad.”
“I can imagine. You got your way.” Where was his little mouse?
“You know that’s not the only reason I want to see it, Sebastian. I am eager to learn more about you.”
“You may regret that goal. But if you do, pray, don’t remind me. After all, you didn’t give me much choice in the matter.” Still feeling rather put upon, he added, “Rather none at all.”
But instead of looking appropriately chastised, a smile played on her lips. “I think I would like some coffee now, Mr. Marks. I need to be at my best because it’s going to be a busy night.”
“Of course.” He gestured to the waiter to bring coffee for the both of them and a chocolate soufflé for Lydia. The soufflé would occupy her until Hunt returned with Bridget.
And she did enjoy her sweets.
She pressed her hand to his arm then. “Please don’t worry, Sebastian. I know my visit will be slightly inappropriate, but everything is going to be all right.”
“You sound so certain.”
“I am, because you will be with me.” Her voice suddenly sounded musical. Light and sweet.
The selfish survivor in him knew he should bask in the sweetness of the comment. After all, when she knew the whole truth about him, she wasn’t going to be thinking anything other than the need to stay away from him.
Far, far away.
In the meantime, he needed to keep her inquisitive mind at bay and her beautiful figure in one piece.
Right in the middle of Camp Creek Alley. Most likely until the wee hours of the morning.
It was going to be a very, very long night. He was also sure he was going to regret every moment of it.
CHAPTER 15
Hearing a brisk knock at the door of the Bancrofts’ townhouse was unusual. Hearing it after dark, at almost nine o’clock at night, was unheard of.
Whispers in the Reading Room Page 12