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Authors: Shelley Gray
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words.
But because he couldn’t, he kept his silence. He was a lot of things now. A lot of things he’d never dreamed he’d be or had ever wanted to become. But he still wasn’t a liar.
At least, not most of the time.
CHAPTER 7
CHICAGO TIMES-COURIER
January 16, 1894
Reported by Benson Gage
It seems the police have been called down to Camp Creek Alley not once but twice in the last week. The bodies of two more men were discovered outside one of the most notorious clubs. It should be noted that at the time of this publication’s printing, neither body has been identified. There have also been no leads.
It seems a man can be stabbed within the bowels of Camp Creek Alley without the crime being seen or properly investigated.
L ydia couldn’t help but gape as she watched Mr. Marks approach the circulation desk from across the room, two days after the disastrous tea. When his gaze flickered to hers, she quickly closed her mouth and took care to keep her own expression as calm and serene as possible. A mask, for sure.
Standing by her side, her assistant, Priscilla, didn’t even attempt to act indifferent. “He’s approaching! He’s going to speak to us.”
“Priscilla, decorum.”
Immediately Priscilla buttoned her lips. Her silence lasted a full three seconds before she chattered on again. “Oh. I mean, yes, of course, Miss Bancroft.”
Lydia felt her cheeks heat just as Mr. Marks stopped in front of her. Staring directly ahead only gave her a close look at his chest. It was a very fine one.
But not at all what she should be looking at.
Inch by inch she raised her chin. As she studied him, Lydia was struck yet again by how intriguing his eyes were. Dark navy blue, so dark and magnetic they seemed almost black. And framed by thick lashes. Only the faint scar near the corner of his left eye marred their beauty.
Mentally, she shook herself. Men did not have beautiful eyes. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marks.”
“Miss Bancroft.” His gaze settled on her lips before drifting upward again.
She shifted awkwardly. “May I be of assistance to you in some way?”
He bowed slightly. “You may. I have recently discovered that I am in need of a library card.”
She almost told him that what she’d warned would come to pass had happened. The Wrecker had been checked out on Monday. She’d forgotten to tell Priscilla why it was in the cabinet. When Priscilla found it, she not only put it back on its shelf but let another patron have it.
But there was something in his bearing that made her keep her distance. “This is Miss Johnstone. She will be happy to help you with that.”
“I think not.”
“Pardon?”
“I want your assistance. No one else’s.”
Well, this was completely irregular. While Priscilla made little distressed sounds, Lydia nodded. The truth was that she actually did want to be the one who helped him.
Pulling out a form and a pen, she leaned toward him. “First of all, I will need some information from you.”
“I have no desire to talk to you from the other side of a counter. How about we do this over coffee or tea?”
She was tempted.
But duty prevailed. “I’m sorry, I cannot leave at the moment.”
“Pity.” He searched the room. “At least sit with me. I would rather not give my personal information out in such a public way.”
There were currently seven people in her lending library. Two ladies at a desk, one gentleman reading periodicals, another gentleman perusing a collection of works by Dickens, and the three of them.
All of that meant, of course, there really was no need for the two of them to go anywhere in private.
But she couldn’t have denied his wishes even if she wanted to. “Shall we go to where you were sitting the last time you visited?”
His voice warmed. “You remember where I was sitting, Miss Bancroft?”
Unfortunately, she remembered too much about him. “It’s a habit of mine. I’m, uh, particularly good at remembering people and
But because he couldn’t, he kept his silence. He was a lot of things now. A lot of things he’d never dreamed he’d be or had ever wanted to become. But he still wasn’t a liar.
At least, not most of the time.
CHAPTER 7
CHICAGO TIMES-COURIER
January 16, 1894
Reported by Benson Gage
It seems the police have been called down to Camp Creek Alley not once but twice in the last week. The bodies of two more men were discovered outside one of the most notorious clubs. It should be noted that at the time of this publication’s printing, neither body has been identified. There have also been no leads.
It seems a man can be stabbed within the bowels of Camp Creek Alley without the crime being seen or properly investigated.
L ydia couldn’t help but gape as she watched Mr. Marks approach the circulation desk from across the room, two days after the disastrous tea. When his gaze flickered to hers, she quickly closed her mouth and took care to keep her own expression as calm and serene as possible. A mask, for sure.
Standing by her side, her assistant, Priscilla, didn’t even attempt to act indifferent. “He’s approaching! He’s going to speak to us.”
“Priscilla, decorum.”
Immediately Priscilla buttoned her lips. Her silence lasted a full three seconds before she chattered on again. “Oh. I mean, yes, of course, Miss Bancroft.”
Lydia felt her cheeks heat just as Mr. Marks stopped in front of her. Staring directly ahead only gave her a close look at his chest. It was a very fine one.
But not at all what she should be looking at.
Inch by inch she raised her chin. As she studied him, Lydia was struck yet again by how intriguing his eyes were. Dark navy blue, so dark and magnetic they seemed almost black. And framed by thick lashes. Only the faint scar near the corner of his left eye marred their beauty.
Mentally, she shook herself. Men did not have beautiful eyes. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marks.”
“Miss Bancroft.” His gaze settled on her lips before drifting upward again.
She shifted awkwardly. “May I be of assistance to you in some way?”
He bowed slightly. “You may. I have recently discovered that I am in need of a library card.”
She almost told him that what she’d warned would come to pass had happened. The Wrecker had been checked out on Monday. She’d forgotten to tell Priscilla why it was in the cabinet. When Priscilla found it, she not only put it back on its shelf but let another patron have it.
But there was something in his bearing that made her keep her distance. “This is Miss Johnstone. She will be happy to help you with that.”
“I think not.”
“Pardon?”
“I want your assistance. No one else’s.”
Well, this was completely irregular. While Priscilla made little distressed sounds, Lydia nodded. The truth was that she actually did want to be the one who helped him.
Pulling out a form and a pen, she leaned toward him. “First of all, I will need some information from you.”
“I have no desire to talk to you from the other side of a counter. How about we do this over coffee or tea?”
She was tempted.
But duty prevailed. “I’m sorry, I cannot leave at the moment.”
“Pity.” He searched the room. “At least sit with me. I would rather not give my personal information out in such a public way.”
There were currently seven people in her lending library. Two ladies at a desk, one gentleman reading periodicals, another gentleman perusing a collection of works by Dickens, and the three of them.
All of that meant, of course, there really was no need for the two of them to go anywhere in private.
But she couldn’t have denied his wishes even if she wanted to. “Shall we go to where you were sitting the last time you visited?”
His voice warmed. “You remember where I was sitting, Miss Bancroft?”
Unfortunately, she remembered too much about him. “It’s a habit of mine. I’m, uh, particularly good at remembering people and
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