Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Read online

  He left the mess covered with his napkin. He didn’t want to eat apple pie, either, even though it was his favorite, too. His stomach twisted with the need for answers. He forced down a bite then met Clare’s gaze. She again twirled hair around her finger. She also chewed on her bottom lip. His skin tingled with the need to be the one biting her lush mouth. She was indeed the most intriguing creature he’d ever met.

  “I dare say, Liam, this has been the most interesting dinner party,” Evelyn said.

  “I’m really sorry they didn’t leave before, Liam,” Clare said. “I could have eaten their pie.”

  Chapter Three

  Penelope reached for her wine glass and brushed against Clare’s arm before Clare could quickly pull away. Liam watched intently as Penelope scratched her hand and visibly shivered. He swallowed hard, forcing down a too-big bite of pie before actually biting his bottom lip to keep from asking them both if they felt the touch. It was obvious Penelope felt something. She scratched that spot for several seconds.

  Thank goodness no one else noticed. Their attention was taken by huge slices of apple pie on new China plates.

  “So, these are the dishes you purchased when you were on Long Island?” Evelyn stared down at the artistic flowers painted on her dessert place. “They are rather pretty.”

  She took a dainty bite of pie.

  From the end of the table, Clare said, “I can’t figure out if she really likes them or if she’s lying to you, Liam.”

  The others at the table added in their appreciation of his dishware.

  He mentally agreed with Clare. “Thank you.”

  When he looked back at Clare, he was taken back to see a difference in Penelope.

  Penelope wasn’t eating any of her pie. She didn’t say anything in regard to his choice of China. She wasn’t exactly frightened, but the look on her face was that of surprise or shock. She said nothing, but stared at the seat next her for a second too long before she met Liam’s gaze. She bit her bottom lip. Perhaps she did so to keep from speaking out.

  Could she see Clare? She had touched Clare and now…

  Yet, he’d seen and heard her since…

  He bumped into her. She had also touched his piano. Played it. Now she touched his dining table, sat his chair. She was in his house.

  If she touched each of them would they in turn be able to see her? Could Penelope see her completely, or was it just for a moment lasting as long as that quick touch?

  Clare noticed, too. “She can see me?” Then she directed her attention to Penelope. “You can see me?”

  Before Penelope had the chance to answer Clare, if she really could see the ghost beside her, Liam asked, “Isn’t apple pie your favorite, too, Penelope?” He didn’t want to pull Penelope into his supposed fever-induced delusion. If that’s what it was.

  For a moment, Penelope looked flustered. She looked at her pie. At him. At Clare, around the table, then back at him. Then she smiled broadly and absently tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “Yes!” When she realized she spoke loudly, she went on, softer. “Yes. I can…could eat apple pie every day!” She took a big bite as if to prove her point.

  Liam didn’t know if she was trying to convince everyone with that bite or if she needed to do something to keep from staring at Clare.

  “Come, now, Penelope,” Evelyn said. “You told me just two weeks ago peach was your favorite pie.”

  “My God, does she argue every point?” Clare asked regarding Evelyn.

  Liam hadn’t noticed that Evelyn did dispute others often.

  “Do you have to argue everything?” Jacob Carrington asked, leaving Liam to believe others noticed, too.

  Penelope ignored Clare. “I do love peach pie, too, but now that I’ve tasted Millie’s, I’d have to say apple is my new favorite.”

  Liam wished Penelope was sitting closer to him so he could reassure her. But if she’d been seated closer to him, she would never have touched Clare. She did seem to be calming her breathing, appearing back to normal. If the seating arrangement had been different, perhaps Evelyn might have touched Clare. And Evelyn would now be hysterical, screaming about seeing ghosts, raising a commotion, and frightening his servants. He needed to stop iffing and just move with what was happening, even if he had no idea as to the how or why of it.

  No, if anyone else needed to see Clare it was Penelope; strong, accepting Penelope who always saw things with an open mind and searched for the right answers. Penelope who was smart enough to catch on to Liam’s question without making a fool of herself or swooning and sending his dinner table into chaos. He sent her a slight nod and what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “I’m certain Millie will find it touching that you like her pie so much.” Liam stared at both Penelope and Clare as he spoke, hoping they both understood.

  They did, almost at the same time, he saw the recognition in their expression.

  “I touched your piano and you heard it. I ran into you and you could see me.” Clare turned to Penelope. “I touched your hand and now you can see me. Should I touch everyone here so they can see me?”

  “I love it, too. I hope Millie made more than one pie. I think I could eat a whole one all by myself,” Ben said at the same time.

  It gave Liam the opportunity to reply to Clare. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” He paused and looked at Ben. “It would probably give you a stomachache. It might cause quite the digestive uproar.”

  “You’re probably right,” both Clare and Ben said at the same time.

  Penelope still looked as if she might choke, but slowly ate her pie.

  As Oliver leaned forward for his wine glass, Clare moved out of the way, intent on staying out of reach. She took her hands off the table, seemed to shrink into her seat, remaining watchful.

  So the rest of the dinner went. Clare stayed out of touch. For the first time since his encounter with her, Liam thought she looked afraid, even terrified, perhaps. And why not? No one but him—and now Penelope—saw her. If she was, indeed, some sort of a ghost, were ghosts afraid? He told himself, again, she couldn’t be a ghost or a figment of his imagination. He’d been able to touch her. So what was she and how did she get here? From where exactly did she come?

  Penelope sat stiffly in her seat as if her life depended on it. And Liam felt as if he walked a tightrope, needing to keep his guests happy without shoeing them out the door impolitely. “I hear where the government is trying to pass more regulations on the slave trade,” Sam Hamilton said from the seat across the table from Clare.

  Leave it to Sam to bring up politics. Liam hated politics. He was tired of the idea that states should override Federal law. What good was Federal Law, if no one listened? After all, the forefathers who wrote the laws weren’t stupid. “One of these days, Samuel, you’ll learn to stop wasting your time fighting about things out of your realm, and fight for what’s really important, like how to make the city where you live better for everyone.”

  “I do so hate to talk politics,” Evelyn whined. “What are your plans for tomorrow, Liam? Perhaps we can walk or have luncheon.”

  “I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow, Evelyn. I have to begin my defense of the Brenners.”

  “All you ever do, Liam, is work. Always defending criminals.”

  “Every person charged with a crime has the right to defense, Evelyn, and it’s my job to provide it.”

  “She’s actually pouting, Liam. You should either date her or let her down easy.” Clare reached up and twirled her hair again.

  “I’d have to agree,” Penelope sighed.

  “Agree with what?” Evelyn asked.

  Penelope quickly saw her mistake in that no one other than Liam could see or hear Clare. “I hate the talk about politics, too,” she quickly put in.

  Clare looked at Penelope. “It doesn’t matter what year it is, politics are always exhausting.” Then she looked around the table. “And I certainly hope all the apple pie didn’t get eaten. I am so hung
ry.”

  Liam thought she looked as if she might bite her own bottom lip right off her lovely face.

  By the time Gerard handed out coats and wrappers, Liam was exhausted. He placed Penelope’s cloak around her shoulders and gave her arms a slight squeeze before she turned to him, and he met her gaze. He saw the way she shifted her gaze to Clare who he knew stood behind his right shoulder. He didn’t dare cast a glance her way for fear that Ben might see and think him truly paranoid. “Are you feeling all right, Penny?”

  “I think so, thank you, Liam.”

  “If you feel the need to talk about anything…about your father’s estate, stop in tomorrow so we can talk about it.”

  “I thought you were too busy preparing the defense for those thieves, the Brenners, Liam?” Evelyn piped.

  “I’m telling you,” Clare said, “you need to either dump her or kiss her, but quit riding the fence.” Clare moved away, back into the dining room.

  “I am busy. And Evelyn, as you recall, my father and Penny’s father were partners. It is only right that I make time for her now as I feel there may be a problem.” He fought the urge to push Evelyn out the door. Funny, but he hadn’t before noticed how irritating she really was until Clare pried open his eyes with her direct perceptiveness. He knew he was too busy for Evelyn, no matter what he was doing. And he was certain whatever he was doing, it would involve Clare.

  “That would be very kind of you, Liam. I’ll let you know if I need to meet with you. I think Ben can help me, too. Since he’s seeing me home tonight.”

  Penelope again threw a quick glance to where Clare had disappeared back into the dining room. He also noticed she avoided Evelyn, who pressed her lips together like a child ready to throw a tantrum. Oliver must have noticed, too, for he took Evelyn’s arm and led her out into the dark cool of the night. Penelope followed them and Ben brought up the rear. Before he went out the door, he paused.

  “Is this something new?” He held up what was evidently something that belonged to Clare. A traveling bag of some sort made from flowered, heavy material.

  Liam had never seen it before. The others hadn’t noticed it.

  “Just a little something I found.” He took it from Ben.

  “On that note, I have to admit I agree with Evelyn. This has been one of the strangest dinners you’ve ever had.”

  Liam smiled. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I think we have some things to talk about.” Ben scratched his hand where he’d held the strap of the strange bag.

  Liam held his smile until he closed the door and leaned against it. Then he let out a loud, heavy breath and felt like a two hundred pound weight had just been tossed off his back. He set the bag on the floor. “Gerard, you may retire.”

  “But sir? The dishes, the mess.”

  “Leave it for morning.”

  “I stoked the fire in your room, sir, but what about the lamps?”

  “I’ll make sure they are all turned down. Thank you. You and Millie may go to your quarters.”

  He waited until they were gone, didn’t venture back into the dining room, until he heard the back door close, which signaled their exit to the small quarters behind the house near the stable. Then he took another deep breath and returned to the dining room to find Clare finishing off Evelyn’s wine and pie. He met her gaze. “Maybe now I can get some answers.”

  “Let me finish eating this first. I plan to eat all the left over crusts. This is delicious. Then we get our answers. But right now, I’m really hungry. I wanted to eat whatever it was you were serving, but I was afraid to touch anything or anyone’s plate. I can see why your friend, Ben wanted to eat an entire pie.”

  Hell, what was he thinking? Her throaty, deep, breathy voice seemed to seep in and touch his soul. He’d spent the entire dinner wanting nothing more than to touch her, feel again that she was real and solid, see if she felt as soft as she looked. He’d wanted her seated next to him, not Evelyn. And he’d allowed her to sit there away from him—hungry.

  “Yes, but first there’s something I must do.”

  “What?”

  He reached out and took her hand. She was warm, softer than he imagined. Her small hand fit into his as if it was made to do so.

  Yes, she was real.

  He reached up and caressed her cheek with the knuckles of his other hand. Touching her, feeling her warmth, set tiny sparks of fire inside him. He felt the catch of her breath at his touch. She bit her bottom lip again, but now hesitantly as he slid his thumb across it. He was hungry, too. For her. He’d never felt so much need for a woman. And he wasn’t even certain what she was or how she came to be in his house. Suddenly, he didn’t care. He could see her, feel her, and smell the heavenly scent of something flowery mixed with sweet woman. He moved his hand away from her face and fingered her curls of her hair.

  Obviously he’d lost his mind. Completely. No, that couldn’t be it, unless he and Penelope had lost their minds together.

  But even that possibility, or the fact he had absolutely no idea how Clare had come here, didn’t stop him from wanting her.

  Her stomach growled. Loudly.

  And although he wanted nothing more than to go on touching her, feeling every inch of her, the sound reminded him of her actual need for food. “Come with me.”

  With her hand tucked in his, he led her to the kitchen.

  Millie had followed his instructions. Supper remnants and dirty dishes were left scattered about. There was still soup in the tureen, left near the stove, keeping it warm. There was one lone, small piece of pie left in a tin.

  He held her hand, and when she stopped at the kitchen door, he was forced to stop, too. “What is it?”

  She pulled her hand from his. “When I stepped in here…before, when I first arrived, the kitchen looked dated, but functional, like perhaps 1950 or 1960. But this…this is…not possible.” She reached out and pinched herself hard on the arm. “Ouch!” Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them again, she met his gaze. “I refuse to believe I dreamt this up. And I’m certain that pinch I just gave myself would have awakened me. I also don’t believe I suffer from some delusion. No matter how hungry I am.”

  She moved to the back door and pulled it open. “And those weren’t here, either.” She pointed to the stable and the little shanty where Millie and Gerard slept. “Neither was that partial wrought iron fence and gate at the end of the yard.”

  Liam stepped close to her. The cool night air felt good on his face. Malcolm Blackburn arrived home on his horse, coming by way of the alley between his home and Liam’s. Upon his horse, he was much higher than the stone wall Liam had had erected about his property. He waved as he rode by before he was hidden by Gerard’s quarters where Liam knew he entered his own stable.

  “Tell me how this happened.”

  He heard fear in her voice, and he didn’t like the sound of it.

  He looked at her in the soft lamp light of the kitchen. Fear, uncertainty, and confusion were etched into her expression, as well. He stepped close to her, taking in the inviting scent of her sweet yet flowery perfume. He forced her to release the doorknob as he pushed the door closed, shutting out the night. Now that he was alone with her, he noticed she kept her distance, as she moved a few steps away. He pulled out a nearby chair. “I don’t know. Perhaps we shall find out together. But let us take care of first things first. Here, sit here.” He would have much rather taken her back to the dining room where the chairs were more comfortable. But someone might see her through the windows leading out into the street. Or worse, people might see him sitting alone at his dining room table, talking to himself.

  She sat down as he emptied what was left of gumbo into a bowl and placed it closer to her, along with a spoon. His fingertips brushed hers. Again, he was taken in by how warm she was. She was there, not a figment of his imagination. He hoped she felt how real his touch was, too.

  He sat down opposite her. “Let’s try and figure
it out together. Start by telling me where you came from? And don’t just tell me Michigan.”

  “But I did come from Michigan. My uncle died, he left me this house. I needed…to get away from Michigan. So I came here, planning to make a fresh start, maybe open a coffee shop or a tea shop.”

  “Why did you need to get out of Michigan? Were the savages chasing you?”

  She looked at him and blinked several times. He was certain she stopped breathing and the color drained from her face. “Just two.”

  Her words were nothing more than a whisper. But in the stillness, he heard them clearly. He didn’t like the evident way her face paled at the words. Perhaps he needed to use other round-about ways to get his answers. If he was anything it was a fine reader of people, and it was what made him a successful lawyer. “How’s the gumbo?”

  “Delicious.” She picked up the nearby decanter of wine, which was three-quarters filled. “Wine?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I?”

  “Of course.” He moved to a nearby shelf to get her a glass, but before he could return with it, he turned to see her drinking large gulps right out of the decanter. He counted to six before she stopped and put the decanter down. She licked her lips. “Oh, that’s smooth.”

  “Thank you, I guess.”

  “Did you make it?”

  “Yes. You have a very nice northern accent.”

  “And you, sir, have a very nice southern accent.”

  She took three bites of her gumbo, saying nothing, obviously thinking. And took an equal number of swallows of wine. He let her eat. After a few moments, half her bowl of gumbo was gone. Half the wine was gone, too.

  “Perhaps you should not drink so much so quickly.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?” He was almost afraid to ask.

  “I don’t need to drive anywhere for a while, so I can drink all I want. And your wine is very good. Besides, I’m obviously having hallucinations without drinking, so what could a little wine hurt?”