“Preservatives?”
“Let me explain…”
Chapter Twelve
Clare stood at the music room window, looking out, as Liam slept on the sofa behind her.
So this was 1847.
For the first time in two days, she was allowed to really think about it when she wasn’t starving or half drunk or overwhelmed with fatigue or caught in the enticing web woven by Liam. She stared out at the buggies and wagons and horses and clothes worn by the people moving by, outside on the street. She’d been so caught in rushing to follow and watch over Liam the day before, she hadn’t allowed herself time to study her surroundings. In fact, she’d been so focused on following him, when she needed to run home to Camden Place, she’d lost her way and had to retrace her steps almost two blocks.
After sleeping next to him, she now felt as if she belonged here with him. While she’d love to call her mom and tell her all about him, she no longer cared about the how or why she was here. She had no desire to leave, and even if she did, there was nowhere familiar she could go, anyway. She couldn’t go back to an airport that didn’t yet exist. Her home in Michigan, her family, as well as the university where she’d received her Masters degree in music, didn’t yet exist. And Liam’s friends were right, the state wasn’t exactly civilized. So, to step out his door alone would be like stepping into a snake pit, especially if some people could see her and others couldn’t. Remembering how no one could see her yesterday, she had no doubt anyone who could physically touch her would think she needed to be burned at the stake. Keeping Liam safe the day before was the only thing that got her beyond her fear of being out in such an unfamiliar place.
Dr. Drake walked by, his bag in his hand. He waved up to her.
He could see her. Was he able to see her because she’d donned a gown after her dress fitting with Miss Weatherby or because he’d seen her and touched her yesterday? Hell, she really could lose he mind if she kept up the questions. Besides, it didn’t matter. She waved back.
Then there was Liam Camden. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing him sleeping comfortably on the sofa next to the fire. She didn’t care if he was a ghost from her past. He was warm, solid, smelled good, tasted perfect. It didn’t matter he was a virtual stranger. He sure as hell didn’t feel like it. She’d shared her darkest secret with him. He’d kissed her clear into next week. He’d slayed the dragons of her nightmares for two nights in a row. And for the first time in a year, she’d slept, actually slept. Without the help of drugs and without a nightmare, she’d slept. It didn’t get more real than that.
Damn, did the man know how to kiss. Hell, she didn’t think she could even dream up such a kiss.
And he hadn’t looked at her with pity in his eyes, not once since finding out what Doug had done to her. No, the look in his eyes had been more like daggers, as if he wanted to kill Doug. Perhaps he did. She understood men of this era were much more chivalrous than most of those in the twenty-first century.
Through some strange, unexplainable way, she’d managed to cross the barriers of time and connect with Liam Camden. And she was glad.
Even if she found herself tossed back into the twenty-first century, her life would forever be changed for meeting him. She would live the rest of her life never again meeting a man who touched her heart as Liam did.
The past two days had been a whirlwind—the dinner party, drinking the wine, having breakfast with Liam, meeting Ben, saving Liam, caring for his wounded head. Oh, and she couldn’t forget the kissing.
No matter how crazy this seemed, his kiss was…
Heart stopping.
Grounding.
So very real when everything else seemed so fantastical.
Clare looked over at him, sleeping peacefully, and considered joining him and snuggling up next to him.
Gerard knocked softly on the door, drawing her attention. “Yes, Gerard?”
“Mr. Benford is here askin’ about Master Liam, said he just heard about Master Liam’s accident yesterday.”
She looked back at Liam. Before she could say, “We’ll let him sleep. If you could make some tea, I’ll talk to Ben in the dining room,” Ben stepped in behind Gerard and took in the room and studied Liam.
“Well, he looks no worse for wear.”
At least he was considerate enough to keep his voice down and not wake Liam. There was a twinkle in his eyes and a half grin of amusement. Clare had no doubt these two men were quite the hell raisers in their past. She smiled.
Clare moved closer to him so they didn’t have talk across the room. It was going to take a while for her to get used the swishing sound of her skirts as she moved. And although she’d allowed Miss Weatherby to measure her for five dresses, she didn’t plan to burn her jeans any time soon. She was glad she’d thought to don a gown after the dress fitting. She wouldn’t have wanted to explain her jeans to Ben.
“Hello, Ben. It’s nice to see you again. And he has four stitches in his head. He refused to rest today, even while I was being measured for new dresses. I settled for playing the piano while he sat and listened. When I finally noticed he was napping, I stopped for a while.” She led Ben into the dining room.
“How is he, really? He’s all right?” Ben asked after they were seated in the dining room, across from one another, leaving Liam’s chair at the head of the table vacant.
“There’s been no more bleeding, and the wound on his head is healing with no signs of infection. He’s suffered no blurred vision or nausea.”
“I mean beyond that. He hasn’t been himself since he returned from Long Island. I’m thinking you have a lot to do with that. And what was that on his forehead, covering his wound?”
Gerard chose that moment to come in with a tray covered with cups, saucers, a tea pot, and a plate of cookies. Clare waited until he was finished serving to reply. “Thank you, Gerard.”
“Miss.” Gerard moved out of the room without a sound.
Clare poured Ben a cup of tea. “I suppose I do have a lot to do with it.” She almost lied and said she didn’t. But she knew without a doubt he stopped straddling the fence with Evelyn because of her. “That covering on his wound is a certain kind of bandage I had.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Clare kept her feet tucked under her skirts under the table, too, because she was willing to bet he’d never seen anything like her running shoes, either.
“You aren’t really from Michigan, are you?”
“I really am. But did you come by to check on Liam or ask me more questions?”
“I’m just worried about him.” Ben leaned his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together as he studied her. “I never really thought he had romantic feelings for Evelyn, but he’s a smart enough man to know with her, it would have been a good match, a good combination of businesses. Yet he moved slower than a snail. Then he meets you and he’s jumping in with both feet before he even sticks a toe in to test the water. It’s not like him. He’s always been cautious enough to weigh every option.”
“Maybe he wasn’t looking for a good business combination when it came to his future.”
“I think that’s what’s so strange about all this. I think he was looking for a combination until he met you. Now—yesterday, when I saw him with you, I thought he was at ease, comfortable. Except for his games, he’s always been so serious, always had work on his mind, always thinking about his next dollar, always inventing something to pump water or put out more light than a gas lamp.
“Evelyn comes from old money. Her father has clients up and down the entire coast. It would have opened many doors for Liam. I think, until he met you, that was good enough for him. But now I understand, after talking to Oliver, that he’s broken it off completely.”
Clare took a sip of tea. “That was pretty well how it sounded to me.”
“The strange thing was, Oliver said you weren’t here this morning when he came by at breakfast. He said there was a half-eaten plate at
the place beside Liam, but you were nowhere to be seen. Did you, by chance, see Oliver when he was here this morning?”
“Of course I did. But he didn’t see me. I had excused myself just before he arrived. And I didn’t intrude in the conversation with Liam.”
“He’s under the assumption Liam is not thinking on the right plane.”
“What do you think?” She had to ask.
To her surprise, Ben unclasped his hands, leaned closer, and took each of her hands in his. “I’m going to be very frank with you. I certainly can see why Liam would be interested in you. You’re lovely to look at, and you speak with knowledge, and you can play his piano. I looked for reasons to not like you. I’ve been part of this exclusive group of friends for some time, and you…”
“Intruded?”
“Yes. But I couldn’t find one single reason for Liam not to be with you. You’re kind and attentive to him. Much more than Evelyn ever would be. And…I think I’m glad to see my friend with you. I’m glad to see him happy. I wish I’d find someone who makes me want to play games and smile.”
“I’ll bet Penelope would.”
“Well said, Benford. And I agree with Clare. I think Penelope would, too.” Liam spoke from the doorway, startling them both. Ben let go her hands in an instant.
“Liam, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
Liam moved behind Clare and placed both hands on her shoulders before she could leave her chair. Reaching up with one hand to cover his was second nature. “Thanks to Clare’s tender care, my head no longer aches.”
“I’m glad. And I’m glad for you, too. I am sorry about one thing, however.”
“What is it, Ben,” Liam asked.
“That I didn’t meet her before you did!”
Liam laughed. Clare couldn’t help but smile.
“I hope you’re planning to stay and have lunch with us,” Clare invited.
Ben gave her a big smile. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m just sorry I missed you breaking the news to Evelyn last night.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t miss her breaking one of my mother’s favorite vases.”
“Oh, my,” said Ben. “I’ll bet the look on her face was worth seeing, though. She isn’t used to not getting what she wants.”
Liam reached down and took one of Clare’s hands. “I’m just glad it’s over so I can move on. By the way, Ben, have you heard from Penelope? I had thought she’d stop in before now.”
“I saw her earlier. Her aunt is very ill; near death from what I understand.”
“Please give her our best and ask her to call upon us if she needs us.” Liam gave Clare’s hand a squeeze before taking his seat at the head of the table.
“I will,” Ben promised.
They were interrupted by the shrill sound of a whistle.
“What was that?” Clare asked.
“One of the City Guard’s whistles,” Liam explained as he moved to the window and raised it before calling out, “Dresden, what’s going on out there?”
Ben got up from the table and joined him.
Clare stood and watched them. She didn’t need to draw closer to the window. She could see well from where she stood. She wasn’t used to people getting so involved and wasn’t certain what she should do. She saw several men out in the street looking into a wagon. One of them left the group and approached Liam’s window. It was apparent he didn’t want to yell from the street.
“Mr. Camden, it appears the Midnight Killer has struck again. Emily Foster was found dead in Death Alley. We’re taking her to the morgue now.”
“Sweet heavens,” Liam muttered.
Emily Foster? Where had she heard that name before? The answer seemed at the tip of her memory, and she couldn’t quite grasp it. Had she met Emily Foster when she first arrived in Charleston? Clare stared out the window at the wagon where she knew a dead woman lay. The driver set the horses moving slowly and the wagon moved up the street toward where the morgue must be. She didn’t know the city well. Any maps she’d studied had been twenty-first century.
Her gaze took in a man across the street. He wore a dark suit and stared at Clare with an intense look that left her cold. She might not remember where she’d heard the name Emily Foster, but she remembered him. He was the man on the plane, the man who had stared at her. He looked at Clare for another few seconds before he looked away, his gaze following the wagon that held the Midnight Killer’s latest victim.
Clare watched it, too. As the wagon moved away, she caught sight of the dead woman’s feet in the back of the wagon. They swayed with the motion. A shiver ran through her. She knew what it felt like to be lying somewhere, exposed and cold. Bile burned her throat.
“Someone should cover her up. Someone should put a blanket over her or something.”
“Clare?”
“It’s wet out there. And everyone’s staring at her. They should cover her up. I know what it’s like…”
The wagon moved out of sight. Clare looked back across the street. The man wearing the dark suit was nowhere to be seen.
“Clare?” Liam’s voice sounded so far away.
A sudden sharp pain erupted in her head, just like it had when Jackson hit her in the face. Wham! Blinding, instant pain. She heard a distant moan, but couldn’t see through the haze the pain brought. It was hard to breathe. Her chest was tight. Pain raked through her entire body.
It was happening again. Doug. Jackson. She felt their hands. Hands hit her. Hands were on her throat. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t fight. She felt them pressing her to the floor. But it wasn’t the floor beneath her back. It was uneven stones of the street, the street where she’d followed Liam the day before. No, it was the stones of the alley next to his office. Death Alley. She could see them, but they were nothing more than shadows, two shadows. The shadows of death. Cold. She was so cold. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Her heart felt as if it stumbled in her chest. Terror was like a coiled, cold snake in her belly, squeezing her, making it impossible to draw breath.
No, it wasn’t Doug and Jackson. But it was two people. Two shadows. She could almost see who they were. But the pain in her head was a hammer beating on the inside of her skull and she couldn’t focus beyond it. One of them laughed. It was shrill sound that was quickly lost to the night breeze. The pain in her gut was white hot, like someone just stuck her with a knife.
Then she felt warmth on her face.
The pain in her body was gone like a flash of lightning.
She opened her eyes to find Liam standing before her. He held both his hands on either side of her face. It was the heat of his palms she felt. Her headache began to fade. She fought to catch her breath and panted as if she’d just run a race.
“There are two of them,” she whispered. “Two killers, partners. People trust them. People know them. That’s why no one suspects them. She wasn’t afraid, not at first, not until they knocked her down or maybe they stabbed her, and she felt the cold stones beneath her back.”
“Clare you’re just overwrought—”
“No, it’s not just that. I…” She what? Remembered, relived what happened to her? No, what she just felt, what she saw was more vivid that any of her nightmares. Was she somehow able to put herself in that dead woman’s place? And she felt what that woman had felt? Or saw what that woman saw just before her life left her body? Perhaps Clare could bridge that gap because she’d endured something just as horrifying. Perhaps she could cross that plane because she’d already crossed one to get here.
“I think I’m going to throw up.” She sucked in a deep breath, trying to curb the nausea, but it didn’t help. She turned and dashed in the direction of the water closet, almost tripping on her skirts that didn’t move quite as fast as she did.
She tossed up the cookie and half a cup of tea she’d just downed while talking with Ben. Her throat burned and her stomach felt as if someone really had stuck a knife in her gut. Her eyes watered and the world swam around her, l
eaving her dizzy. She leaned against the wall near the commode in order to stay on her feet as she fought for breath after breath.
Then because she had no strength left, she gave into the sobs that overcame her.
“Clare?”
She felt Liam’s hands. His touch was strong and warm and all but sent a zing of electricity straight to her soul. He turned her to face him. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t need to. She would recognize his touch in total darkness.
Then she was lost in his embrace, the only place she felt safe.
Chapter Thirteen
Liam had no idea what just happened. He supposed he shouldn’t try to analyze it. When it came to Clare Newman, he couldn’t evaluate anything. He couldn’t answer a single question of how or why. So right then, he just held her.
He let her warmth seep into him and her musky scent flow over his senses. In his arms, she felt so small and fragile. Her tears pierced him, leaving his soul feeling raw and angry.
“What the hell is happening to me?” Her words were broken by sobs. “Why am I seeing these things? Just when I was grateful for being able to sleep at night without nightmares. Now I have to live them while I’m awake. I could feel the street stones under my back.”
As with everything, he had no answers for her. “I don’t know. Just let me hold you.”
“Please, don’t let me go.”
“I won’t, Clare. I promise. Never.” He held her tighter.
“It was dark, but not quite dark, darker in the place where they killed her. They killed her last night and she just wasn’t found until today. They dragged her into the alley where no one goes and killed her there. One is tall, the other not so tall.”
“Did you really see this?” he had to ask. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer. The night she’d arrived, there was the question of her being a witch or mad. If she could see visions…
He was afraid to consider it.
“Yes, when I saw that dead woman’s feet swaying with the motion of the wagon.”
Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 13
