Gerard opened the bedroom door for the doctor. “I’ll show you out, sir.”
“Thank you, Gerard. It was a pleasure to meet you, Clare.”
He left Liam’s room. Liam waited until they heard the closing of the front door before he asked again, “Clare?”
“I’m right here,” she responded softly, her tone assuring.
“So you have some medical training?”
“I spent some time in a hospital after I got my head beat in.”
“I see.” Unfortunately, he did see. A white room…beeping machines. “You ran into me, knocked me down.”
“Kept you from getting trampled. Do you believe me now when I tell you someone is trying to kill you?”
“I can’t think about it now with my head throbbing. Who brought me here?”
“Some guy named Abernathy and some other men.”
“He owns the mercantile. He couldn’t see you, wondered who I was yelling at when I called to you.”
She leaned closer to him. He put his arm around her. He could lie next to Clare and be content forever.
“I know. I was afraid to get too close to you, didn’t know what would happen if I touched people. Or if they touched me and suddenly saw me when they couldn’t before. So, when I saw you were in good hands, I thought I should be here waiting for you when they brought you back. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. Sorry.”
He held her closer. “You can make it up to me by sticking around a little longer.” Or forever.
“Abernathy was amazed at how you flew through air,” she said, laughter in her voice.
He remembered the carriage barreling toward him. He wondered who owned it, he’d never seen it before.
“Do you know whose carriage it was?” she asked.
“No. I’ll have to ask Abernathy if he saw it or recognized it.”
They were quiet for a long moment. He just held her and listened to the logs crackling in the fireplace and rain pattering on the roof. “It’s raining.”
“Yes. It started just as they got you home.”
Again, he thought about her speed and strength as she collided with him in the street. The thought mingled with the remnants of his dream like batter that refused to mix. No doubt she’d landed as hard as he had. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”
“I got some skinned knees, maybe some bumps and bruises, but I didn’t need stitches like you did.”
She climbed on to the bed with him and fit herself against him. Liam sighed, feeling more contented in that moment than he had in his entire life. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“You’re welcome for saving your life,” she chirped sarcastically.
“You could have been hurt.”
“You would have been killed.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “But Clare—”
“Can we just enjoy this moment.”
He brushed his fingers along her spine and closed his eyes. “That sounds like a perfect idea.”
Liam didn’t know he’d fallen asleep until a soft knock woke him. The afternoon had given way to the night, and the room was dark except for the firelight. With Clare tucked close to him, her head on his chest, he didn’t move. He looked to the door to find Gerard silently stepping in.
“What is it, Gerard?” he asked softly, not wishing to disturb Clare.
If Gerard was surprised to find Clare sleeping in his master’s arms, he didn’t show it. “It’s Miss Evelyn and Mr. Oliver. They’re downstairs. They heard about your accident and they refuse to leave. They insist on seeing that you’re all right. Miss Evelyn has all but stomped up the stairs to see you for herself. I told them, several times, the doctor ordered you to rest and stay quiet, Master Liam, but they won’t have it. They say they need to see you.”
As gently as possible, Liam slipped out from beneath Clare, immediately feeling the loss of her warmth and nearness. His movements drew a sleepy sigh from her, but didn’t wake her. He moved to the other side of the bed, feeling as if his head weighed fifty pounds. “Gerard, please help me up.”
Gerard moved to the bed and did as asked. Once Liam was in an upright position, his head seemed to clear. To his surprise the motion didn’t cause pain. “That doesn’t feel too bad.” The skeptical look on Gerard’s face said the servant didn’t believe him.
He noticed there was mud caked on his pants. His colleagues had placed him on his bed fully clothed and Gerard or Clare had simply covered him. He took a deep breath and ignored the nausea that pulled at him.
As he carefully stepped down the stairs, with Gerard’s help, he looked out the window beside the front door. The rain had stopped and the street was still bustling with people who maneuvered to avoid huge water puddles, wagons, buggies, carriages, and horses in the late afternoon.
“They are waiting for you in the parlor. Do you want me to stay with you, sir?”
“No, Gerard, but thank you. Please see to dinner. Instruct Millie that I’d like something light.”
“Shall we prepare enough for four?”
“I don’t think Mr. Oliver and his sister will be staying.” Not if he had his way.
He sucked in a deep breath and worked past the pain in his head before making his way to the parlor. “Oliver. Evelyn.” His greeting seemed to echo off the walls, bounce through his aching head, and cause his ears to ring.
Both guests jumped at his greeting. Oliver had his hand around the wine decanter set on a small table across the room. He released it in an instant. “We’d heard you were injured, Liam, and we came to check on you. Are you all right?” Oliver asked.
“Yes, are you all right?” Evelyn repeated. Her cheeks seemed extraordinarily bright in color. “Is your head bleeding?”
The high pitch of her voice caused his head to ache more. He did his best to ignore it. It wasn’t easy. He tentatively reached up and felt his head through the cloth bandage Dr. Drake had wrapped about him. It was wet. Yes, there was some oozing, but he reacted as if it was nothing. They were here, standing in his parlor. He had to get them to leave. He thought of Clare sleeping upstairs. He needed to finish this quickly and get back to Clare.
His dream of Clare on the bed in the white room, the colorful, loud machines connected to her, and the man in the white coat shutting them off like turning down a gas lamp continued to slither through his mind like a hungry snake. The memory of it lingered like a bad taste he couldn’t wash down. And the idea he couldn’t stop it from happening and save Clare left him cold. The last thing he wanted to do was give any time or energy to Evelyn or Oliver.
What happened when that machine stopped?
He needed to get back to her, wrap her in his arms, protect her from the phantom of death that seemed to linger about them both.
Chapter Ten
Clare woke to find herself alone in Liam’s bed. She sat up so quickly, it left her dizzy for several seconds. Her heart pounded as she took in the room. What had she dreamed as she’d slept in Liam’s arms? There was a hint of bright lights and her brother, Justin, telling her he loved her. Was that a dream? Or had everything with Liam been the dream? She took a deep breath and tried to make sense of everything that had occurred over the last two days. The dinner? The carriage? Was she back in her own present? Would the kitchen again look like vintage fifties?
She hoped, with all hope, Liam was no dream, but how else could she explain she’d discovered a door that opened to 1847? She stared at the dying fire in the hearth. Then her gaze fell on Liam’s coat, which she had slipped off him before his friends had placed him on the bed. No, this was no dream. This was real. His coat was here.
Liam was here.
She was here with him.
The bed was still warm where he’d lain. Relief washed over her. She didn’t care what year it was. Now that she’d felt Liam’s embrace, his warmth, his touch, his kiss, heard his voice, she knew where she belonged. She could even deal with the lack of modern plumbing.
Shifting in the yards of material
that made up her skirts, Clare slid off the bed. She fought down a shiver and crossed the room quickly, opening the door without making a sound. At the top of the stairs, she paused to listen to the heated discussion drifting up from the parlor below.
“All these months you’ve led me to believe we would be together. How dare you change your mind.”
Clare recognized Evelyn’s voice.
“I never promised anything. If I’m guilty of anything it’s that I didn’t tell you any of this sooner,” Liam replied. He sounded amazingly calm. No doubt Evelyn’s high pitched voice made Liam’s head hurt. It made Clare’s ears ring, and she didn’t even have a head injury.
“What do you think this city will think of you? What do you think will happen to your reputation when people find out how you’ve treated me?”
“I don’t care.”
It was at that point Clare took a step down, intending to intercede and admit for the first time she agreed with Evelyn. Liam needed to care about his reputation. He owned a business in this city. He needed a good reputation for his livelihood. His next words stopped her in her tracks.
“I’d rather have an honest reputation. I’d rather everyone knew I did the right thing. To marry you when I don’t have feelings for you would be wrong.”
“How will your business survive when everyone discovers what a mad man you’ve become?” Evelyn countered. “Sweet heavens, Liam, I hear you were calling out to your ghost in the streets. I fear that fever burned up your brain. You should probably be in an asylum.”
Clare held her breath. In the thick tension that filled the air, she could feel Liam’s impatience and anger.
And still, as he spoke, he was nothing but a gentleman. “I assure you, Evelyn, my brain is fine. I am fine. But I do not love you. I harbor no feelings for you other than the respect and friendship I hold for everyone else who shared my dinner table last night. We will not be engaged. We will not be married.”
“You bastard!”
“Evelyn! Get a hold of yourself!” That was Oliver.
“You’ve done nothing but lead me to believe we would marry,” the woman practically shrieked.
Clare thought Evelyn sounded like a hissing cat.
“I’m sorry. It isn’t true.”
Clare heard the sharp sound of a slap. Evelyn obviously slapped Liam, although Clare wished it were the other way around. Swallowing through a tight throat, she took another step down. Would her presence make things worse?
Or better?
Before she could choose, she heard Liam speak again. “Get out of my house. Right. Now.”
He hadn’t raised his voice, but there was no mistaking the authority behind his words.
There was the sound of footsteps, then the sound of glass shattering. Then Liam’s voice. “Oliver, I’ll expect payment for that vase. Thank you. And I’ll advise you to make certain your sister doesn’t touch another piece of my property.”
“Come on, Evelyn,” Oliver said.
Evelyn let out something that sounded like a cross between a growl, a huff, and the whine of a wounded animal. Then her footsteps, and Oliver’s, continued as she marched toward the front door. From the top of the stairs, Clare saw them. Oliver, holding Evelyn’s arm with one strong hand, as he marched her out of the house. Evelyn turned and looked up at the last moment, but Clare was certain, given her lack of reaction, she didn’t see Clare on the stairs before Liam slammed the door shut behind them.
He turned and leaned against the door, then looked up and met her gaze.
Clare didn’t hesitate to run down the stairs to him.
She took in the bandage on his head. His wound was bleeding again. “Damn it, Liam, you should’ve stayed in bed.”
“The last thing I wanted was for them to see you,” he ground out, pain evident in his voice.
“I don’t care if they see me. It would solve a lot of your problems and maybe you wouldn’t have had that argument with Evelyn,” she countered.
“What if they had come upstairs and not seen you? What would Gerard have thought?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. Let me help you,” she implored, wrapping his arm around her shoulder so she could tuck herself into his side.
“I can stand by myself. I don’t need you to help me.”
“Yeah, it feels like it.” She led him to one of the three simple, wooden chairs that were placed about the walls of the foyer. “Here sit on this chair and let me look at your head.”
He sat with a grunt of pain. “Clare—”
“Don’t argue. You won’t win.”
“I don’t need to win. It’s all right. It’s all right, now,” he assured her.
She sighed and unwound the bandage from his head. “What are you talking about?”
“All I wanted to do was get them out of my house, get her out of my house, so I could get back to you. Now that I’m next to you, everything feels right again. Do you know that nothing has ever felt so right as when you’re in my arms, when you’re close to me? Hell, even when I can just see you?”
“Well, I have to agree. You feel pretty right to me, too. But I’ll feel better when you’re wound isn’t bleeding.”
Gerard appeared.
“Sir?”
Liam waved him away. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got everything I need. Whatever Millie has prepared for supper will suffice. Miss Clare and I can serve ourselves. You and Millie are excused to your quarters for the day.”
“But, sir?”
“I’m fine. But please light the stove in the bathing room and fill the pots first, then please go.”
After a long moment of hesitation, Gerard left by way of the kitchen. Clare heard his murmured voice, followed by an equally murmured reply from Millie. Within minutes, the back door opened then closed.
“Do you think that was a good idea, dismissing them like that? What if you can’t make it up to your bed?” Clare wadded the bandage and pressed it to Liam’s head, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.
“I have no doubt you’re capable of doing whatever is necessary.”
Sitting, Liam was a tad bit shorter than she. He looked up at her, took in the beautiful angle of her lovely features. “I like being alone with you. I like that you’re all mine. I don’t care if my head bleeds slowly forever if I can sit here and just look at you.”
She dabbed his wound. He ignored the pain. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”
“Not hopeless, hopeful.” He listened to her breathe. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. He thought about that dream place where a machine breathed for her, and he forced down the lump of fear the memory of the room conjured. He tried to push the thought from his mind, but he wasn’t quick enough. Even across the plane separating that place from this one, the sharp scent still burned his nose.
Liam blinked, his eyes catching on the loveliest sight. He was almost eye level with her enticing breasts. He tried to ignore their rise and fall as she examined his head.
“I didn’t tell you, but I touched people after I knocked you down. One guy shoved another to get to you. The other guy landed on me and said he felt something weird. They still couldn’t see me or at least didn’t seem to. But then perhaps they were caught up in helping you. One of them said something about being too close to Death Alley and they needed to leave. It gave me a bad feeling.”
“I saw you run down the alley—Death Alley. And yes, it’s named that appropriately. A great many duels have been fought there, and a lot of men have died there.” He sat still and did his best not to flinch as she used the cleanest part of the bandage to wipe away the blood on his head.
“Death Alley. That’s what’s it’s called. I recognized it. I’m pretty sure I walked here from there, although I don’t know why the cabbie would drop me off there like that.” She dabbed more at his head. “It’s just oozing through the stitches. You didn’t rip through any of them. Here. Let me get something.”
She was gone before he could stop her, raci
ng up the stairs. She returned a moment later with that strange flowered pack over her shoulder. On the floor near his feet, she dumped out some garments he didn’t readily recognize. She pulled out a small, red box, with the words FIRST AID on it.
He felt the stickiness of the ointment she smeared across the gash on his head. “What is that?”
“Just antibiotic ointment. It will help keep it from getting infected.”
“You have a smudge of dirt on your face,” he pointed out.
“I probably got it when I knocked you out of the way. I wonder if Dr. Drake noticed it.”
“If he did, he was a gentleman enough not to comment on it. I know I should be a gentleman, but with you, Clare, I don’t want to be a gentleman. I don’t know how you got here or why. And I’m terrified you might be whisked away again at a moment’s notice.
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything else. Ever. And as a gentleman I shouldn’t ask. But I have to. I need to. Would you stand under the waterfall in the bathing room with me, so we can wash that smudge off your face?”
“You really should be in bed, resting.”
“After we get under the shower together, I’ll rest much better.” He didn’t think he had the strength to do more than shower. He wasn’t even certain how long his legs would have strength to keep him standing, but he needed to be with her, close to her, touching her. For now, that would have to be enough. He stumbled as he stood, but he led her to the bathing room.
She looked at his waterfall, at the pump, and the stove. “Is it all ready to go? Because despite the nap we took together, I’m tired, too, and hungry, and I’ve been cold ever since I left your room. And the last thing I need is to stand here naked, waiting.”
He would love for her to do that. They could do it together. He checked the water. It was heated. He pumped the handle of the pump to send the water into the overhead tub. “It is now. But the water won’t stay hot forever.”
He pulled off his coat and hung it on the nearby hook on the wall. His fingers were stiff and he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Suddenly, she was before him, helping him. Once she was finished, he hung the shirt beside the coat. As he did so, she pulled the nearby wooden chair close.
Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 11
