“To be defended is a right in this country, not a cause. And it’s my duty to provide that right. I promise I shan’t be long. I will talk to my clients, stop by my office and get some notes and paperwork, and I’ll bring it home. Promise me you’ll try and behave. Promise me you’ll…”
“Be here when you get home?”
“That would be nice,” he said, smiling. His bright eyes glimmering with something Clare couldn’t help but reciprocate. “We could share a nice luncheon or early supper.”
“Considering I have no idea how I got here or how I’m supposed to get back, I’m afraid I can’t promise. I might take a nap and wake up somewhere else.”
There was laughter in his eyes. “I suppose then, since I may die soon and you may disappear, we should make the most of whatever time we have together.”
“Don’t joke about it,” she whispered, her heart fluttering in her chest.
“I told you. I speak the truth. And if the fever taught me anything it was that I should enjoy every moment. Which is what I plan to do.” He stood, still holding her hand. He pulled her up to stand before him.
Before she could exhale, his firm mouth was on hers.
His kiss was warmer than his touch. The touch of his lips on hers was kerosene tossed on the the spark that lived inside her. The fire it ignited awakened every sense and sent her heart pounding. His earlier kiss left her lips tingling, this one consumed her and left her burning for more. The world faded away. There was only Liam. His hands, pressed to either side of her face and holding her to him, completed her as nothing else ever could. Not her music, not anything.
Damn, but the man could kiss. And his whiskers tickled.
Surely, she’d been brought to this house, to this man, in this time, for a reason. Perhaps she wasn’t there to escape her own tragic past. Maybe she was there to save Liam from his future.
Could she change her past, his future?
That single thought banged against her head, even as Liam Camden’s touch made her heart do the same in her chest.
Chapter Eight
Clare saw him to the door. She stood waiting patiently, a soft smile on her lips, as he put on his coat. It lightened his heart. For the first time in his life, he understood his mother seeing his father off at the door whenever he left, whether it be for the day, or a week. With the front door open, Liam pulled her close, kissed her goodbye.
He’d kissed his share of women, but none had ever tasted so sweet and few had set a fire in his soul as she did.
“I do hope to see you in a short while, my lovely.”
Her soft smile grew. “I hope so, too.”
Trapped in her gaze, he pulled himself from her to head out into the rainy day. Already the street was busy with wagons and carriages, people moving and walking, unloading supplies. There were ladies carrying baskets, servants heading to the market to gather the makings of the day’s meals. It was the typical chaotic day in what he considered his harbor city. But he felt anything but typical.
He felt exhilarated.
The most beautiful woman he’d ever known waited at home for him. The touch of her lips made him feel like a new man. As he walked toward the City Jail, he thought of her words, her idea that someone had tried to poison him.
He supposed he could have a number of enemies, people who thought he should have defended them better, but a duel or simply shooting him on the street seemed a more acceptable way to attack him. Poison, as far as he was concerned, was a hit or miss plan. Anyone could add a bit of arsenic to his wine or his dinner, but what if he chose to not partake?
What if the unknown assailant put poison in his cooked cabbage? He wouldn’t have eaten it, given he hated cooked cabbage.
Yet, his thoughts turned darker. What if she was right? What if someone truly tried to kill him and his illness was more than that? What if that same someone tried again? Could he survive a second time?
He reached the City Jail and one of the guards led him to the cell shared by Jack Brenner and his wife. Mrs. Brenner had red, puffy eyes and a swollen face, as if she’d spent the night crying. Mr. Brenner looked ready to fight.
Obviously, neither of them had slept as well as he had. He didn’t know about their hotel, but he intended to get them out of jail while he studied the circumstances, made his case, gathered evidence and witnesses, and prepared his defense.
He spent most of the morning listening to them, asking questions.
It wasn’t easy. He couldn’t stop thinking about Clare…
After he got what he thought he needed, he headed to his office to fill out the appropriate papers for Judge Reighnhart, who Liam hoped would be lenient enough to allow this young couple, who had only been married less than two years, to remain on house arrest in the time leading up the trial. At the very least, he hoped to get Mrs. Brenner out of jail.
He knew the judge was at lunch—because he was exceptionally prompt and always took lunch at the same time, but Liam’s assistant promised to deliver the papers so Liam didn’t have to wait. If Liam was lucky, and right then thinking of Clare, he felt damned lucky indeed, he would have both of the Brenners out of jail before supper.
He stepped back onto the boardwalk, having every intention of heading home to share a late lunch with Clare, hopefully to share another kiss or two. He looked to his right. Death Alley opened like a huge cave with only the entrance lit by the cold sunshine. The rest was hidden in the shadows. This was why he had been able to lease his office for such a low price. No one else wanted to be this close to the place. It was said evil lurked in the stones of the street. Liam wasn’t certain about the evil, but there was a coldness. A misty fog snaked about the stones.
It wasn’t hard to believe the placed was haunted; countless men had died there. Liam didn’t know how many duels had been fought between the walls of his office building and the next.
He looked across the street…
…and saw her.
Clare.
She wore her blue canvas trousers, her boots, and a dark blue knitted shirt.
She had a shawl-type garment wrapped about her neck. The coat she wore wasn’t very heavy and was short, stopping just at her hips, which looked amazingly curvy in the trousers. She stood against the bricks of the newspaper office and watched him, no one appearing to notice her or her odd fashion at all.
Why did no one else see her? Hell, he didn’t care. He only cared about reaching her, touching her, finding out why she was out here and not at home waiting for him.
He stepped off the boardwalk, caught in her gaze, needing to be close to her as much as he needed his next breath. “Clare, what are you doing out here?”
Jack Abernathy, who owned and operated the mercantile, was also across the street, sweeping the boardwalk right in front of Clare. “Who are you yelling at, Camden?”
Liam never saw the carriage bearing down on him. But he clearly saw the look of alarm on Clare’s lovely face. “Look out!” she shouted. The woman who walked past her at the same moment walked right on by as if Clare wasn’t there and hadn’t screamed at the top of her lungs.
Abernathy didn’t react to Clare’s scream, either, but yelled something else, too. Liam didn’t catch what it was.
Liam turned. Abernathy’s call was lost in the thudding of the horses hooves, the dark carriage charging toward him. There was a flash of movement. Something hard barreled into his chest. Then he hit the ground.
The wind was knocked out of him.
There was a loud smacking sound. He had only a split second to realize it was his head hitting the boardwalk.
Then there was only darkness.
Liam wasn’t certain if seconds passed or hours. When he opened his eyes, things were out of focus. There was motion with bodies and shouted words from voices he couldn’t seem to piece together.
Beyond it all, he saw the entrance to Death Alley. Clare stood there, watching him, looking angry, fierce, and afraid, all at once. He felt hands lift him and knew he was
being carried.
“Clare…Clare…” He tried to call out to her, but couldn’t manage beyond a whisper.
“Who’s Clare?” Jack Abernathy asked.
The last thing Liam saw was Clare. She turned and disappeared down Death Alley.
He wanted to shout to her not to go there, but he couldn’t fight the darkness.
Chapter Nine
Liam woke and recognized the place by its bright lights, white walls, and its strangely sharp smell that burned his nose. The brightness hurt his eyes. He’d been here weeks before, when his fever took him. But there was more this time; more noise, more movement around him. His head pounded. He heard voices, but for what felt like long minutes, the words were only that—words he couldn’t comprehend, a series of jumbled voices that vibrated through his brain like a drum. He felt disjointed, as if his body wasn’t his own. He thought perhaps he floated, as if that might be possible. The last time he experienced anything even close to this sensation was the first, and only, time he got rip roaring drunk when Ben turned eighteen and they’d celebrated together. He’d spent the next day tossing up his guts and wishing he was dead. So, he never drank old man Flannigan’s clear whiskey again, and he was careful about the amount of wine he tossed down the gullet.
He blinked, tried to clear his head, tried to make sense of what he saw, tried to put the words into perspective, see where he was. He was standing in the corner of the bright, white room. There was a bed. Someone was on the bed. More people gathered around the bed. A woman and three men, two young and one older. And another man wearing a white coat standing a distance away. The woman wept. Openly. Loudly. The older man stood with his arm around her. Strange numbers blinked in different colors on odd machines that made beeping noises in a rhythm. Beep…Beep…Beep…
“Technically brain dead…”
“Need to let her go…”
“Let her be in peace…”
“I can’t let her go. She’s my baby.”
“And she’s my sister.” These words were spoken by one of the two younger men, and each syllable was heavy with anger.
Liam forced a swallow and took in the body on the bed. It was a woman. There were wires stuck to her, and a strange thick tube sticking out of her mouth. There were some white cloths around her head, but her face was beautiful and perfect. He knew the hair beneath the bandages would be dark and wavy and cut short. For a long moment, he worked to breathe.
“Clare…” His throat felt thick, it was hard to say her name, hard to get air to pass through his vocal cords. Yes, now he remembered. He’d been here before. Yes, he’d seen Clare here before. His voice sounded faint, as if he had not strength with which to speak. “What’s wrong with her?”
No one heard him.
The woman who wept held Clare’s lifeless hand. The woman and the man beside her had to be Clare’s parents. Tears fell silent and unheeded down the man’s cheeks. “It’s time, my love.”
The woman wept louder, but nodded. “Why did he do this to her? Doug was her friend. They’ve known each other for years.”
“I hope that dick rots in hell. I hope when he hanged himself in his cell, he hurt. A lot,” the angry brother ground out.
“Not now, Nick.”
The other young man leaned over Clare, kissed her cheek. “I’ll love you forever, little sister.”
His words tore at Liam’s heart. The agony he felt in the small space hung in the air like dense fog.
The older man reached out and squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “That was very nice, Justin.” He looked at the other young man, the angry one. “Is there anything you’d like to say to her? Goodbye, perhaps?”
Nick shook his head. “Goodbye is too final. I’m not saying it.” He looked down at Clare. “I love you, too, Clare.”
Then he turned and left, his frustration heard in his loud steps. The rest of them watched him go.
The older man nodded to the man across the bed, a man who wore a white coat. On one of the machines, a strange ball filled with air and grew bigger, then deflated. Liam couldn’t help but notice Clare’s chest rose and fall with the same rhythm. That machine was making her breathe. He had no idea how it worked or how he knew its purpose. He just did. The man wearing the white coat reached out and turned a switch and the ball stopped inflating.
“No, don’t,” Liam said, but no one could hear him. They didn’t know he was there. “Please, don’t!” If she died here in this place, this world, would she still be with him in his?
Now he understood how frustrated Clare must have felt when no one at his dinner party acknowledged her.
“Please!” he screamed, his throat burning with the effort, and clogging with his unshed tears.
They still paid him no heed. He reached out and touched Clare’s father’s arm, thinking perhaps if he touched them as Clare had touched him, they would be able to see them. Perhaps he could stop them.
The man shivered. “My God, where did that chill come from?”
Liam instantly awoke, shuddering and on edge, expecting to find himself at the far end of Death Alley. Instead, and much to his relief, he was in his own bed.
Gerard stood over him. Clare sat on the bed next to him. Both wore worried expressions.
“Clare…” She was again dressed in his mother’s gown. His relief at seeing her was as powerful as the force with which Clare had knocked him off his feet earlier. His breath came out in a whoosh.
She wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t dead. But she soon would be.
Her predicting his death wasn’t lost on him, either. He wanted to focus on these tragic foretellings, see if there was some way they were connected, but he couldn’t seem to gather his thoughts. His head hurt too much.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I was concerned you had something worse than a concussion.” The voice belonged to a man that still spoke to him in his dreams, a voice he’d come to know during his fever.
“Dr. Drake,” Liam said. His throat felt as if cotton had been stuffed down it. He grasped Clare’s hand with all his strength, feeling grounded by her touch, easily getting lost in her relieved smile. Maybe if he held onto her, he could keep her here, keep her from dying in that strange other place. “My head…” He touched his head with his fingers, felt the cloth bandage as well as the pain his touch brought. Had it been Dr. Drake who wore the white coat in that other place? Was he the one that turned off the machine helping Clare breathe?
No, it hadn’t been Dr. Drake. It had been someone who looked like him, Liam. But…what did that mean? How was all of this connected? How was he able to see Clare, dying on a table in a room filled with machines and people he’d never seen before?
More questions, more pain. His head was ready to riot.
Dr. Drake leaned over Clare, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure your head hurts and will continue to hurt for a while. You suffered quite a hit when you landed on the boardwalk. Of course, I understand witnesses saw you fly through the air, too.”
“I don’t remember,” he lied. He remembered Clare crashing into him, pushing him out of the path of that carriage that seemed intent on running him down. He would have been trampled if she hadn’t.
He remembered the cold terror when he looked up from the boardwalk and saw Clare running into the mouth of Death Alley.
“I hadn’t heard you had a lady friend, Liam,” Dr. Drake said. “I always thought you and Ev... Never mind. It’s a pleasure to meet your Clare. She was waiting here when you were carried home, and she hasn’t left your side. Where have you been keeping her hidden?”
Liam smiled sheepishly. “I just wasn’t ready to share her yet.”
Clare smiled down at him conspiratorially.
“I can see why not.” The doctor gave Clare’s shoulder a squeeze.
Clare must have raced him home and arrived with enough time to, once again, dress in his mother’s gown.
Despite his headache, his heart was light. She was all right. She was in his room,
in his house, holding his hand. She hadn’t slipped away from him, she hadn’t been swallowed by Death Alley. She hadn’t died on a cold table in a cold room as his dream had portended. But that’s all it was, just a dream. He refused to give voice to the encroaching fear…the fear that told him the events of that other place hadn’t happened yet.
He stared at Clare, working to push the lingering terror aside. He couldn’t lose her.
“Thank you, dear Clare.”
Was her being in his house, in his life, a means to her saving him? Had she truly been transported from the future to warn him? To save his life? Or was he destined to somehow save hers?
She’d been with him less than a day, yet she’d managed to reach in, pull on his heartstrings, and tie him into a knot. He couldn’t let her go. Ever.
Evelyn, all the other women he’d ever met, were nothing to him. But Clare…
He had never before believed in love at first sight, and with Clare it more like love at first sound, considering he felt it from the first haunting note she played on his piano.
“How long have I been here?” he asked, hoping to distract himself from thoughts of love.
Dr. Drake closed his bag and buckled the latch. “A little less than an hour.” He turned toward Gerard. “Well, Gerard, I have other patients to see. I know I can count on you and Clare to keep him quiet, make him rest for at least two days, and if he suffers any confusion or problems with his vision, please send for me right away.” To Liam, he continued, “I had to put in four stitches, and Clare was quite the competent assistant. She insists she had no medical training, but I’m not convinced. I mean it when I tell you, Liam, to stay quiet for a while so it doesn’t bleed again.”
“Thank you, Dr. Drake.” Clare looked up at the doctor, but kept her grip on Liam’s hand.
“Yes, thank you, Doctor.” Liam tried to raise his head, but after two throbs, he gave up and settled against the pillow.
“You’re welcome.”
Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 10
