"It was the strangest thing," Camden was saying to me as we sat in the carriage on the ride home after a long evening of polite conversation and furtive glances. "I could have sworn I was in the middle of a sentence when I fell into unconsciousness but I can't, for the life of me, remember what I had been saying."

"I'm sure that's quite a normal response," I assured him. "You fell down so hard I was worried you had injured yourself."

"I'm quite alright, Gwendolyn," he told me with a smile, leaning forward on his seat and closing the chasm between us as he reached for my hands and gripped them in his own. "I assure you."

I fought the urge to rip our hands apart and simply offered a smile I hoped did not exhibit the derision I felt for him.

"I am pleased, however," Camden spoke again after a moment, lost in thought as he leaned away and released me. I restrained my relieved sigh and listened instead. "That he decided to hear me out when I awoke. Perhaps the man pitied me. But if pity is what it takes to get him to listen and to arrange for more protection for my family, so be it."

Mr. Campbell had been more willing to conduct his business with the Keene family when Camden awoke. Though I was rather sure it was more due to the fact that he wanted to end our dinner engagement and have us out of his home as quickly as possible than it was that he was genuinely considering helping them.

When we arrived back at his family manor, Camden led me straight to his father's study. Despite the late hour, I was not surprised to find George Keene hard at work on some documents behind his desk. He glanced up when Camden entered but did not give us his attention until he saw me follow him in as well. Then he looked away from his work.

Camden wasted no time in telling his father what he believed he had accomplished with Mr. Campbell, claiming that they could rely on the police's investigations into their dealings all but ceasing soon. He was proud that he had taken it upon himself to deal with such an important man and had come out, as he saw it, on top. George Keene did not match his son's eagerness. He looked from the boy to me and back again before breaking out into a smile. He stood from his desk and joined us in the center of the room, clapping his son on the back.

"Well done, Cam," he grunted in that rough voice of his. "I was beginning to worry that you didn't have what it took to run this business but you saw a problem and you devised a solution. It seems you've gotten yourself a rather fetching partner in crime here as well."

His gaze cast to me and I smiled at the compliment though I knew he was giving it to mask his true suspicion for why his son would have taken me along on such an important undertaking.

"I do, indeed," Camden answered, beaming with pride as he turned to look at me as well. With the combined stares of both men upon me, I felt suddenly uncomfortable and faked a yawn.

"My apologies," I gasped out, as if astonished by my own body's reaction. "It's very late."

"Of course," George Keene nodded, understanding. "Off to bed with you. Cam, a word?"

The son turned to give me a nod and I understood that to mean I was dismissed. So, with a curtsey and a smile, I turned to leave the office behind and head to my rooms above.

The following day I found myself at yet another Keene family ball. It was just like the newly rich to throw an obscene amount of parties in an effort to display their newly acquired wealth and the Keene's sure loved showing off. Cecily had a new dress made for the occasion and she was strutting about now in the sparkling midnight blue construction. Blinding diamonds glittered at her neck and dangled from her ears. I wondered absentmindedly, as she laughed far too hard at a joke a nearby gentleman had made, who they had been stolen from.

I chatted with her mother's friends in the back. Having determined they were the most likely source of information I would have at this event given their penchant for gossip, I had infiltrated their group upon first arrival and stood with them now, gazing out at the crowd and giggling along with their stories of scandal and ego. I kept an ear out for any passing conversations as well and heard from a pair of girls passing that Mr. Peterson's estate was falling into ruin as well as from another gentleman in the corner that Mrs. Waterford had requested a divorce.

The lives of the rich were more fragile than it seemed and in the past few days alone I had heard so many tales of marriages crumbling under the weight of financial burden, men who had everything including crippling addictions, and young couples who sought witch doctor treatment for their inability to conceive. These people were not the shining citizens they always appeared to be in the streets. They did not have it all together. They were quite literally falling apart. Because of their imperfections, my observation of them had a strange effect on me. It had me believing, for the first time, that while I was not one of them, I very much could be. I was flawed. I was broken. But I had far more awareness of it than they seemed to. Perhaps that was the difference between us.

"Miss Marlowe," someone spoke suddenly and I turned to see Mr. Campbell smiling down at me from my side. I blinked at him in surprise as he bowed slightly in greeting. "What a pleasure to see you again. I was so grateful you decided to come along to dinner with Camden yesterday. It's been a thrill to meet you."

I could practically feel the stares of the women behind me upon the back of my head as he spoke. But they were not the only ones watching me. I realized, with a start, that eyes from all around the room were settled, not on the strange conversation occurring between an unknown girl from the country and a member of Parliament, but on me. Just me.

I looked back to Mr. Campbell to find him smiling at me. That smile seemed to hold a message behind it but, what that message was, I could not say.

"Likewise," I finally answered him once I had my wits about me enough to remember that he had spoken. "I thank you very much for a wonderful dinner and a pleasant evening."

He gave me another small bow, that same eerie smile remaining upon his lips, and then turned away, heading off to another conversation with a gentleman nearby. I looked up again and met eyes with the man nearest me who was staring. I recognized him in an instant as Bradley Wharton. He had been on Chief Detective Ryland's list. So was the man I found watching me next. Gideon Herbert. In fact, every man whom I recognized in the hall, every gentleman I caught staring my way, was a name on that list.

Suddenly, my heart began beating very violently in my chest and I felt the room closing in on me, suffocating me underneath the weight of their combined gaze.

"You went to dinner with Mr. Campbell, Gwendolyn?" Mrs. Keene was asking sweetly from behind me but I hardly heard her. I was noticing even more eyes upon me now and my mind was racing to determine the reason why. "Was Mrs. Campbell there?"

"What?" I asked, caught off guard as I blinked back at her. "Oh, no. She wasn't. Excuse me."

I fled the ballroom then, heading toward the only door I knew to be an exit, hoping some fresh air would bring a hint of clarity to the situation. I pushed my way through the crowd, keeping my head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone else, and threw open the doors when I reached them. I stepped outside onto the balcony and took a breath the moment I felt the cool air on my skin. I let the doors close behind me and I braced myself against the railing of the balcony, closing my eyes and taking deep, calming breaths.

They were on the list. All of them. Every single man who had been staring at me inside of the ballroom was on the list I had shown to Mr. Campbell just the night before. Why had they been staring? What had he told them? Perhaps I should not have threatened him. I may have gone too far and made an enemy. But he needed to know how important it was that I was not revealed for what I truly was. Though perhaps I already was.

"Gwendolyn?" a familiar voice called from behind me. I jumped and turned to see Camden standing in the doorway, holding his hands out ahead of him to steady me. "My apologies. I did not intend to frighten you."

With a hand on my chest, I took a breath.

"No," I answered. "It's quite alright. I suppose I was just lost in thought and did not hear you approach."

He nodded and we stood there in silence until it became uncomfortable.

"I should return-" I started but he interrupted me.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said. I nodded and settled in for the conversation, crossing my hands in front of me and waiting for him to continue. "Last night, well, I haven't exactly gone off on my own to do something like that before."

I watched him, waiting.

"In truth, I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing," he confessed. "I was concerned for my family and wanted to do whatever I could to ensure their safety."

I nodded. I could understand that, at least.

"Despite the fact that the danger they are in is their own doing," he muttered. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before he continued. "I'm terribly sorry that you've had to witness my father's true nature. And the violence of my brothers. It's... well, there are no excuses for their actions. And now my father is speaking of my taking over his business someday and I- well, I didn't want you to think that I was the same as them."

"But-" I started but he cut me off again.

"I know it looks like I am," he told me. "I put quite a bit of effort into appearing... content with everything. I've long since stopped trying to appeal to their morals, trying to find the good side of them that I know is in there somewhere, shrouded by greed and anger. With you at my side last night, I felt confident for the first time in a long time. I felt as though I could accomplish anything. And I wanted... well, I wanted to..."

He trailed off. I cocked my head to the side but said nothing.

"I wanted to tell you that I want you by my side. Always. But I would never force you to be a part of... this. Not when even I don't want to be. They're my family and I love them. I always will. But I cannot abide by what they do," he told me. Then he took a step forward and grasped my hands in his own. Gazing into my eyes, he made the strangest declaration. "We could run."

"Run?" I gasped, genuinely shocked by his offer.

"When my father alluded to us last night, when he said we could rule his empire side by side, I wanted you to know that isn't what I want. I don't want this empire. But I do want you."

His gaze was so earnest, his grip on my hands so tight, so meaningful, that I almost felt sorry for him. Was he telling me the truth? Was he really just a boy raised in a criminal empire who had only ever wanted out?

"Camden, I..." I started, unsure of how I was planning to finish.

"You don't have to answer me now," he said. "I know it's quite a decision and I will not rush you. I have lived the past twenty six years in this household. I can wait a few weeks longer. But please... think about it. We could be happy, you and I. I truly believe it."

With that, he leaned in and gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek before turning around and reentering the party behind us. The noise from the ballroom had a marked effect in bringing me back to reality despite my head spinning from the events of the evening thus far. Shaking it off, I stepped back into the ballroom as well and did my duty in locating Cecily. I endured at her side for the remainder of the evening, though I found myself casting glances at the various men around the room watching me, Camden included.

When the night was coming to a close and even the remaining guests were beginning to yawn, I excused myself for the evening and climbed the stairs to the only solace I had in this house, my rooms. But when I opened the door, I found that they were not as secluded as I had hoped. There, in the middle of my borrowed bed, was a manilla folder. I stared at it for a moment before turning and glancing back down the hall to ensure I had not been followed. There was nothing behind me but darkness. So I slid into the room, closing the door tightly, and approached the folder with shaking hands.

As I opened it, a note fell out. I reached down to grab it and noticed the untidy scrawl of a signature at the bottom.  Richard Campbell. Without a moment of hesitation, I began rifling through the contents of the folder he had left me and was stunned by what I found. Correspondences. Letters from the Keene family to Mr. Campbell, instructing him to commit fraud, requesting the use of his powerful connections, even one or two references to bribery pertaining to his role in the country's legislation. I felt my lips part further and further in surprise as I sifted through the evidence in front of me. A mountain of it. I felt my hope soaring at the prospect. Perhaps my friends could return sooner than I'd hoped.

When I reached the end, the very last letter, the name signed at the bottom did not belong to George or Michael or William. It was Camden's. My shoulders slumped as I thought about what he told me on the balcony this evening. I read the letter carefully, looking for any indication that he felt any differently from what he told me tonight. But there was none. The letter was a simple inquiry on the protection of his family, something that he had himself told me he was concerned with, something that anyone would be concerned with. But this letter, stacked alongside the more nefarious letters of his father and his brothers as it was, made him appear just as culpable.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I extricated it from the file and tore it promptly in half.