Whispers in the Reading Room (15 page)

“I could pay you back if you’d let me play the tables.”

“That strategy has not proven to be successful.”

Galvin’s voice turned louder and filled with loathing. “You certainly seem to have an answer for everything.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“No, you twist things to your benefit.” Galvin waved a hand. “As if you have that right. As if you were my equal. I can’t believe I’m reduced to speaking to you out in the open like this.”

“Reduced?” Sebastian arched a brow. He certainly knew he was no gentleman. But he drew the line at being talked down to. He was
no longer a scamp scrounging for pennies, and he didn’t take kindly to any man treating him that way again.

“Even having to talk to you in a public place, you sit here acting like some king. Ruling lives.
Ruining them
.” He glared with disdain. “It’s all an act, of course. We both know you are nothing.”

Lydia was clenching her napkin in her hands. The other diners weren’t even pretending to do anything but eavesdrop.

“I think not.” Anxious to get Galvin away from their table, away from the curious eyes and ears in the room, away from Lydia, Sebastian said, “I will make an exception for you. Come to the club at eleven tonight. We will talk then.”

Galvin’s usually attractive features darkened with pure loathing. “As if I would ever trust you now. What do you plan to do to me in the back rooms of your club, Marks?” he asked, raising his voice. “Have me beaten up?”

Hearing Lydia’s stifled gasp, Sebastian decided to accept that their friendship was most likely at an end. His only recourse was to deflect Galvin’s lies and innuendos.

He got to his feet. “I’m afraid you have confused me with someone else,” he bit out. Though, of course, Galvin hadn’t. There had been many times in his past when only his fists gave him power.

However, for someone like Galvin, threats and loss of social standing were what mattered the most.

“I have you confused with no one. I saw Jason Avondale two nights ago, Marks. I saw what you did to him.”

Sebastian heard Lydia gasp.

“I have no idea to what you are referring.”

“The man was beaten black-and-blue. It was obvious that you had pulled in some markers to ensure that.”

“This discussion is over.”

Galvin turned to Lydia, his expression filled with arrogance. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Miss Bancroft.”

When she froze, he smiled. “Yes, I know who you are. Jason’s friends all know you threw him aside for the most notorious club owner in Chicago.”

Sebastian didn’t dare look at Lydia again. He didn’t dare speak. He simply stood there, hands fisted, hoping to summon enough control to refrain from grabbing Galvin by the shoulders and escorting him out of the hotel. Actually, at the moment he was even considering the benefits of using his fists to force his submission.

Only when he regained control did he speak.

“Your accusations bore me. I suggest you leave before I make sure you are escorted off the premises by force.”

“What about tonight?”

“I feel we have nothing left to say to each other. This conversation is finished.”

“But—”

“Flannery, please help Mr. Galvin leave the premises.”

“Very well, sir,” the burly hotel employee said as he approached Galvin. His expression was impassive, but Sebastian knew the man’s build and obvious strength spoke volumes for him.

“You are going to regret this, Marks,” Galvin stated.

Sebastian said nothing. Because there was nothing to say. He very much regretted what had just happened.

And when he finally forced himself to turn to Lydia and saw her wide, pale-blue eyes gaze at him in an awful turn of hurt and amazement, Sebastian Marks felt the kind of despair he used to know when he was in his tenement and hoping that his mother would return alone.

It was the type of feeling he’d foolishly believed he would never encounter again. He’d been so utterly wrong.

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.