Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 7

  “If you see either of these men here, you will point them out to me.” He would meet with each of them in the gray light of dawn in Death Alley. It took all his will power to keep his rage out of his voice.

  “Why am I even sharing all this with you? I haven’t been able to talk about this to anyone else. Not anyone. Is it because you’re just a figment of my imagination or a ghost or whatever you are, and you’ll be gone after I have a good night’s sleep no matter how good you feel right now? Because I don’t want you to be gone. It feels good in your arms. For the first time in a very long time, I feel better.” Her words came between sobs.

  Liam didn’t plan to be gone. He planned to be right where he could hold her more, where he could protect her. He planned to listen to her play his piano. He planned to have her sit beside him at his table. He planned to make sure nothing or no one ever made her cry again. He, somehow, felt her pain, almost as if he shared it. It seemed to seep out of her and cut into his chest.

  He held her while she cried. And she cried until she was exhausted.

  Gerard had turned back his bed. With one hand still holding her close, he used his other to pull the covers back more before he eased her into the softness of his bed. The short waves of her hair curled on his pillow. Now, in the soft light, she did look like a dream, but he told himself she was more than just a dream. He sat down and pulled off his boots before he slipped beneath the covers with her and continued to hold her tight against him. She moved to fit up against him and did so perfectly. He so wanted his embrace to fight her monsters. He held her all night. He held her long after exhaustion took her.

  Chapter Four

  Sometime in the night, Clare woke. The room was lit only by a soft glow from the hearth. She tipped her head and looked up at Liam’s shadowed features. Was she still dreaming? Obviously.

  In the candle lit dining room and even in this subdued light, he was so hot. His dark, wavy hair seemed to call to her to touch it. It looked like it would be wild around his face if he didn’t keep it cropped and trimmed about his ears.

  Clare remembered the intense way he studied her at the dining room table. She remembered thinking she could drown in his sea-blue eyes. Right now, laying against the white of his pillow, his five o’clock shadow was more like a fifteen-hour shadow, but in no way made him look scruffy. Just strong and rugged. The growth gave his face a fuller appearance and yet made his cheekbones look higher, sharper. His lips were a little thin. Perhaps that was why he didn’t grow a full mustache, it might hide his lips. His nose was slightly crooked, and she bet he broke it once or twice.

  He was broad and muscular, looking more like a construction worker than a lawyer as he’d stated at dinner. All in all, he was like her dream man who walked right out of her fantasies and into her insanity.

  And right then, his firm chest was her pillow. He held her with one arm, his hand splayed across her back. She didn’t know how she got there or why he was holding her. She shouldn’t even know him, but some part of her seemed to recognize him and need him. She shouldn’t be there, in his arms, but nothing ever felt so…right. Nothing. Except her music. Her heart skipped just thinking about the way her fingers had felt playing his piano. And her music… How it had sounded in that room. Awesome.

  So she didn’t know the how or the why, but she did like the way being here made her feel. Free. Alive. At home.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He was asleep and didn’t reply. The only sound was a crackle as a log in the hearth rolled and moved. She closed her eyes.

  The perfect rhythm of his heartbeat lulled her back to sleep.

  ******

  Liam knew the moment Clare awakened.

  He felt the difference in her breathing at the same moment he heard Millie and Gerard’s footsteps on the stairs.

  There was a soft knock on the door, then they both entered and stepped to the foot of his bed. It was a bit unusual to see Millie enter his room. As a matter of fact, Liam didn’t think she’d ever even ventured up the stairs, and she looked uncomfortable. She was in charge of the kitchen. Gerard took care of his needs and his room. If Liam’s parents came to visit, his mother brought her own maid.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Gerard said softly, “but Millie and I found this just inside the front door.” He held up the travel bag Ben had held. It was made of a strange material with orange flowers printed on it. “There is also a stringed instrument in a case and another bag. We thought perhaps we had visitors and wanted to know how many we would be serving at breakfast. Oh, we do beg your pardon, sir…and miss.”

  Spooned up against him, Clare shifted and held the quilt against her.

  It was clear by the way both Millie and Gerard quickly looked down, and considering Gerard’s words, they could see Clare.

  “We had no idea, sir. You’ve never…”

  Liam knew what the man left unsaid. He had never had a woman spend the night. He had never had a woman in his bedroom or his bed. He let out a heavy breath. How could they see her? Was it because they’d handled her bag, her belongings? Or had she perhaps been in the house long enough to become a part of it? He wondered if Ben would have seen her if she hadn’t disappeared back into the dining room the previous night.

  Clare looked ready to bolt. “You can—”

  He knew what she was about to ask, too. You can see me?

  He interrupted. “You can prepare breakfast for just the two us. This is Miss Clare.” It occurred to him he didn’t know her last name. “You will treat her with the utmost respect at all times.”

  “Yes, sir,” they both murmured.

  “And you are to tell no one she is here, in fact, you are not to speak about her to anyone else. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m sorry you weren’t aware of her arrival, but it was quite late last night. You may leave her bag here and see to breakfast now.”

  Gerard set the bag on the floor. Each servant gave him a nod, gave Clare a glance, then headed back out the door and down the stairs.

  Beside him, Clare collapsed into his pillows. He thought he felt her heart beat. “They could see me,” she murmured, and he felt her words tremble through his chest.

  “It appears so.”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You’re still here.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I think there’s a tiny army in my head chopping away at my brain.” Then, “Oh, my God, I’m in my underwear!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I took off my clothes.”

  “You did.”

  “No. No. No. I thought everything was just a dream. I mean, how else can you explain any of this? This cannot be real. This cannot be happening.” She attempted to jump out of the bed.

  Liam grabbed her and stopped her, holding her curves against him. She had to feel how much he wanted her. Hell, he’d just spent the night holding her close, listening to her breathe, drawing in the lovely scent of her all night, in the dark, between episodes of dozing. Her skin was something between the finest silk and softest velvet.

  He was no saint. He’d spent his share of time at Miss Sue Ellen’s letting off his frustrations with one of her girls. Up to now, Prissy had always been his favorite. It was always a simple business transaction. He paid his money. He got Prissy for the allotted time. Buster banged on the bedroom door when his time was up. He went home usually very satisfied.

  Now, after simply holding Clare in his arms all night, feeling her pressed against the entire length of him, he was pretty certain no other woman was going to satisfy him again. Ever. After one night, Clare had shown him he wanted more, so much more. And all he’d done was hold her as she slept.

  “Let go of me!”

  “No. Calm down.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said.

  “I understand you’re here and I’m here. I don’t care how you got here or why others can’t see y
ou. I can see you, that’s what matters. And I want you here. With me.”

  That stopped her. She stared at him with disbelief in her eyes and shock in her expression. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know my own feelings. I know my own mind. I know my own desires. I know I’ve spent the past decade traveling the world needing and searching for something I was missing. I know I’ve given my all energy helping this city grow, providing gas lighting to every household. I look at you, and I know my search is over. From the moment I heard you playing the piano, I wanted to hear more. From the moment I heard your voice, I wanted to know you more. Every time I’ve touched you, all I wanted to do was touch you more.”

  Liam was blunt, but he knew no other way to be. It was what made him the businessman he was. He got things done. He said what needed to be said. It was how he’d managed to get so much done in the city in such a short time.

  “I don’t believe you. How can you be so certain when you’ve only known me a few hours?”

  “How long have you known Doug Hall? Did you know him as well as you thought?”

  He knew it was a low blow, but he had to make her see his reasoning. Less than two weeks ago, he’d been caught in the grips of a horrid fever, one that almost took his life. It taught him to appreciate each day. One never knew when death might come knocking. Hell, death probably didn’t even knock, it barged right in through the front door and swept through the house like wild fire. And while it was true he was still recovering, still not feeling as strong as he did before, his mind, his thoughts were as clear as ever.

  In the early light of dawn, he saw the color drain from her face. “How dare you?”

  “How dare I what? Be honest with you? Would you rather I lie or withhold the truth, tell you the plates are pretty when I don’t think they are? I assure you I will not. I also assure you I will not pretend to be something I’m not. I will not pretend to care for you then betray you when I’m drunk. I am honest, always. In my business and in my home. I have never before had a woman in this bed. But, Clare… I can honestly tell you I don’t know if I can sleep in this bed alone again. Last night, Ben asked why I even purchased a piano and had it shipped all the way here when I couldn’t play a note. More the question; why did I build such a house and fill it with the finest furnishings and dishes when I haven’t pursued Evelyn any more than when I first met her? It seems I’ve been trying to fill my house with things, things to make it feel like home, when what my home, my life needed was you. It is almost as if I’ve been getting the house, my life, ready for your arrival.”

  She stared at him and held the quilt pressed to her breasts, covering that strange bit of lace she wore. He pushed back the memory of his hand being there, touching that—lace and warm flesh beneath—when he’d first awaken from his doze, holding her in his arms.

  She laughed. “But I don’t think any of this is real. I mean, how could it be? No, what I think is, thanks to Jackson banging my head on the floor, I’ve finally stepped down the final flight of stairs into insanity. There’s no logical explanation.”

  She looked almost on the verge of hysteria. “No, you’re not insane. Let go of that ridiculous idea.” At least he hoped it was a ridiculous idea. “Come and eat breakfast with me. Play my piano again. We’ll take this slow, one moment at a time. We’ll talk, ask questions, give answers, get to know one another. Unless, of course, you’d rather stay in my bed all day.” Heat slammed into him, accompanied by a desire so deep he nearly reached for her. He swallowed. “I’m open to that.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I give you my word that I won’t hurt you. But I want you to answer something for me.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “What?”

  “Tell me how real this feels.” He gave in and did what he wanted to do all night. He leaned down and kissed her.

  Her lips were exquisite, perfect. He felt her heart racing in unison with his, felt her attempt to pull away from him. He held her with just enough strength to let her know she wasn’t getting away so easily. Then her mouth molded to his and she kissed him back, and his heart exploded in his chest.

  She was made to kiss him. Her lips were soft and delicious. Her kiss reached right in and touched his soul, lighting it like kindling to a candle wick, immolating his very being.

  She wasn’t a ghost, nor an apparition conjured by his fever. Not with a kiss like hers. She was a dream, but she was a real dream. His dream. One he meant to keep.

  Not wanting to push her too hard too fast, he pulled away. The sounds of her panting breaths touched him in the still room. She lay still next to him, her eyes closed.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

  For a long moment, he thought she might deny him and not answer. “I haven’t been kissed in a long time, and…”

  “And what?” Never been kissed like that? Never made to feel like that?

  “Nothing,” she muttered unconvincingly.

  “I promised you honesty, Clare. And I would expect the same from you.”

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

  “You also said slow.” Her words were little more than whispers.

  “Yes, I did.” He slipped out of bed and stepped on her strange clothes, the edge of one boot, and the small bag she’d had draped across her.

  He sighed and looked down; the buttons on his shirt had come undone. Did she know she’d rested her head on his chest as she slept? Did she know she’d splayed her hand against his skin? Not only did he plan to remind her when the moment was right, but he damned well planned to have her do it again.

  He stood next to the bed and looked down at her. Her cheeks were rosy from sleep and her lips were red from his kiss. He licked his own lips and tasted her upon them. He placed his palm on the post of the bed to keep from leaning down and kissing her more, to keep from touching her. “In case you hadn’t noticed it, there’s a water closet downstairs off the kitchen. I assure you this is the latest model, state of the art. So, my lovely, I shall leave you alone to gather yourself and dress.”

  He would have rather assisted her, but he needed to draw a line somewhere. He had gotten where he was—had built his business, had become a respected man of the city—by having a trusted reputation and playing by the rules.

  At the door, he turned back to her. “By the way, I must ask…what is your last name?”

  “Newman.”

  He offered her a grin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clare Newman.” Without another sound, he left her, closing the door softly behind him.

  But he stood outside of it for a long moment, breathing, listening, willing his heart to slow, and fighting the urge to reenter the bedroom and keep her in his bed.

  Chapter Five

  Clare let out a sigh and sank further onto the bed.

  She had no idea how any of this had happened, but she was here. She could fight it or she could roll with it. Until that night with Doug, she’d always learned to roll with things.

  But Liam Camden? 1847?

  This wasn’t just rolling, this was accepting the impossible. If she let it, her situation could take her over the edge of sanity.

  No. She couldn’t allow it.

  She may have lost against Doug’s friend, Jackson, holding her down, but she’d never given up. She’d never stopped fighting. She could endure this. She could see this through. It was just like learning a hard piece of music—one note at a time, one line at a time, one page at a time.

  And as for Liam Camden, well, he certainly made the acceptance easier. He’d held her. He hadn’t judged her. He was a knight in shining armor, slaying the dragon. Never mind that he smelled good and felt good. Never mind his heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear as she’d rested her head on his chest. Or that his large hands were gentle…

  “Don’t get too attached,” she said out loud. “You’re liable to wake up or simply go downstairs to find he’s gone and it’s the twenty-first century again, and the candles you l
it on the dining room table are melted all over it.” Her heart stumbled a bit at the idea.

  The truth was she liked him. She liked the way he looked at her. She liked his honesty. She liked the way others responded to him. She wasn’t sure she liked nineteenth-century Charleston, but she didn’t need to feel guarded around him. And that was damned refreshing.

  She tossed back the covers and got out of bed slowly. The hammer in her head was still banging, but not so hard. She quickly slipped into her jeans and a fresh sweater from her backpack. Barefooted, she crept to the door and opened it just enough to peek out. She didn’t know why she half expected him to be there, but she was oddly disappointed when he wasn’t. The hall was empty, as were the stairs.

  There were three other doors up here. Three bedrooms?

  She could look, could explore. After all, it was her house.

  One room was empty. The second held an array of furniture—a desk, four chairs, two small tables. The third was a bedroom. It looked used. She hadn’t thought to ask him about a wife or a girlfriend. Evelyn, from his dinner party, had pretty much answered those questions. But this bedroom had a feminine touch. There were two armoires. One held men’s clothes. Liam’s extras?

  The second was filled with gowns, beautiful gowns in rich blues, brilliant rust and orange colors, two were green, and there was a dark blue plaid.

  “How lovely.” She fingered the fine material of one. Then she grinned, feeling as adventurous as when she’d decided to leave Michigan and come here. “I think I’ll just borrow one of these. After all, they’re in my house. Obviously, they belong to me.”

  Since it was breakfast, she chose a less formal gown; the rust and orange plaid with a rounded scoop neck with lace edging. She unzipped her jeans and slid out of them, donning the dress as best she could without help.

  A few minutes later, she snuck down to the kitchen where Millie stood at the stove and Gerard was stacking corn cakes onto a plate. “Excuse me, Millie, could you help me?”