“Hallucinations?” He thought he was the one having hallucinations, at least before Penelope saw her, too.
She took another three large swallows out of the decanter, sighed heavily, then looked down at her bowl for a long moment. “That’s obviously all this is. I mean, I can’t think of any other explanation. I suppose it could be jet lag, but that’s doubtful. Especially since you feel really real.”
Her words were beginning to slur. “Your wine is hitting hard and fast, too. Of course, I haven’t hardly drank in a long time…”
“Jet what?” While he loved the deep sound of her voice and he could have listened to her all night, he found it frustrating that many of her words made no sense.
“It doesn’t matter. I mean I easily fell into this whole delusion somehow. I’m sure after I finish eating and get some sleep, all this will just be gone. And tomorrow morning, I can unpack, meet the neighbors, get settled. I really have no idea how I came to be here with you or how you came to be here with me or how two buildings just appeared in the back yard. I suppose that really shouldn’t matter anyway. After all, I could sit and search for an answer and drive myself insane not being able to find one, right?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t think or want her insane. He did want her, though.
“Unless I’m already insane.”
She stared at him a long moment before she swallowed down more wine. “No. No, I’m not. I don’t care what the explanation is, I am not losing my mind. If I was going to lose my mind, it would have happened a year ago and it didn’t.”
He wanted to know what happened to her a year ago, but she didn’t give him the chance to ask. The wine was loosening her tongue and she went on.
“You are Liam Camden, right? The Liam Camden?”
“The only one I know of, yes.”
“The Liam Camden who built this house?”
Her question threw him for a moment. Although he supposed she could ask anyone in the city and they’d tell her he’d built his own house. “Yes, I built this house.”
“And if Liam Camden built this house in 1846, then this must be 1846.”
“It is 1847.”
She took another large swallow of wine from the decanter. “Not possible.” In a very un-ladylike fashion, she used the back of her hand to wipe away the wine that dribbled down her chin.
He would have liked to lick it away for her. He shook his head, working to clear it. As a respectable lawyer and a gentleman, he could never be so brazen as to lick anyone, especially a lady such as she, no matter where she said she came from. Her presence did something to him, made him a man built on fantasies, not reality.
In an equally un-ladylike fashion, she picked up her bowl and finished off her gumbo by slurping it as if she drank out of a large cup. Liam grinned, drawn to her fearless antics. She was obviously not one to follow rules or worry what others thought of her. She was refreshingly unpredictable. While he might not know her next move, he knew what her next move would never be. She was certainly never going to sit beside him and lie to him, telling him she liked his dishes or the gumbo he was serving in them.
No, this woman spoke her mind, whether she’d had too much wine or not.
He cleared his throat wishing he could clear his need to touch her. But everything about her seemed to call to him. “How so?”
She took another gulp of wine and laughed forcefully. “Oh, I’m a twenty-first century girl, not a nineteenth century girl.”
What? That certainly was not possible. She couldn’t be a ghost. Ghosts were of the past, not the future. How could anyone travel through time? She was right, it was not possible. Good Lord, she really was insane. An invisible knife sliced through his heart with the thought. He wanted her. He wanted to keep her. He couldn’t keep her if she was mad. Perhaps she had even escaped from an asylum somewhere. Dr. Drake was known to secretly care for those with mental illness. Perhaps she’d managed to escape and sneak into his house…
No, he refused the idea. Besides, it didn’t explain how no one else was able to see her. Except Penelope.
There had to be another explanation. She gripped the decanter again.
He put his hand on hers and stopped her from drinking. He needed more answers, no matter how little sense they made. He didn’t need her drunk. Or drunker than she already was.
Her heat and softness melted through him. Respectable businessman or not, his heart skipped in his chest with the touch. “Maybe you’re right, that all you need is some rest and this will make better sense in the morning light.” A gentleman would do the upright thing and send her to be cared for by a woman. A gentleman would not be alone with her like this. But the entire situation was extraordinary. What if he called Millie back and Millie couldn’t see Clare even if they touched. Millie would think his fever was back, with something close to delirium.
No, however Clare came to be here, she’d come to him, to his house. He was not about to pass her off to someone else. He told himself he shouldn’t want her as he did. After all, she was not a stray animal he could keep as a pet.
But she’d landed in his house. He owed it to her and to himself to find answers.
She sighed loudly and rested her head in her hand, placing her elbow on the table before her. “Oh, that is some potent poison. Whoa…I thought if I kept my foot on the floor, the room wasn’t supposed to spin so much.”
Liam turned down the lamps.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn off the lights.”
“Come with me. Let me help you.”
He shouldn’t touch her, but he found her unsteady when she tried to stand. Holding her close, he turned down the lamps on the walls as he led her to the darkened stairs.
“It’s dark here. I don’t like the dark.”
“Don’t fret. I know the way.”
“I’m afraid of the dark.”
“I would never have guessed a woman like yourself is afraid of anything.”
“Well, there might be monsters in the dark. There always are. You’ll protect me from them, won’t you?” She sounded serious.
“Yes, of course,” he promised. He didn’t expect there were any monsters in his house. But then he would never have expected to find her in his house, either. So right then he vowed to protect her. He did, indeed, want nothing more than to keep her close to his side and under his protection.
Then she stumbled on the stair. He held her, kept her from falling and pressed her against his side until they reached the next floor. The entire length of her was against him. He knew the way he touched her was improper, but he told himself he was keeping her safe, he was fulfilling the vow he’d just made to her. She was in his home, it was his duty to keep her safe. The sweet scent of her touched him, and seemed to fill him. Her heat did, too. He knew he might never have the answers to all his questions regarding her. But right now, right here, she felt too real, too perfect in his arms, pressed against his side. And he wanted to keep her there.
His bedroom was lit and warmed by several lamps Gerard had turned up and by the fire in the hearth.
She looked around the room. Before his eyes, she seemed to soak it in like a sponge. “What a lovely bedroom.”
“It’s functional.”
Liam left her near the foot post of the canopied bed but felt empty without her close to him. Absently, he stoked the fire. It definitely didn’t need it, but he needed to put some space between himself and her before…
Before what?
Before he discovered he wouldn’t be able to let her go?
Before he gave in and kissed her?
Good heavens, he’d never been so called to anyone as he was to her. He felt as if he just left half his heart across the room.
“It’s really 1847?”
“Yes.” Of course it was. “What do you think it is?”
“I can’t even begin to speculate how I got here, a hundred and sixty… or seventy…damn, I can’t subtract—to
o much wine—years into the past. I mean it’s not possible. It simply isn’t. People don’t go back in time. This is all just a bit crazy, don’t you think?”
A hundred and sixty or seventy years? Crazy was an understatement.
No, it wasn’t possible.
None of it changed the fact she was here.
He turned back to find her caressing the quilt on his bed. The way she swept her hand across the cover where he’d slept eighteen hours ago sent his heart skidding. She could caress him that way. He forced a swallow. It was painful. He needed to stop this. To keep his distance from her, he sat down in the chair near the hearth, not that he needed any heat. He didn’t. Not only did her being in his house not make any sense, but he didn’t understand this reaction to her. He’d never reacted like this to any woman. He barely knew her. Her ways and words were strange. Yet, she somehow belonged in his house, belonged in this place—with him. Close.
“Nice bed.” She sat down on the edge and bounced up and down a few times. “Very nice, but, oh, I shouldn’t move up and down like that. It makes the room move. I haven’t drunk wine like that in like…forever. I used to drink it. I drank a lot of stuff in college. And it’s never hit me this hard and fast, either.” She ran her hand over the quilt again. “You know, the great thing about having you just be like a fantasy? I mean that’s what you must be. I was pretty sure you were a result of low blood sugar, but now I’ve eaten and got all that sugar from your wine, and you’re still here. So I guess it can’t be that.”
She didn’t give him the chance to reply to her question. Not that it mattered. He damned well knew he was not a figment of her imagination any more than she was a figment of his.
“We could practice safe sex right here on this bed.”
“Safe sex?” What would make sex dangerous? She appeared to have no weapons. Her words no longer shocked him, just left him wondering.
Of course the entire situation left him wondering.
Why could no one else see or hear her, besides Penelope? If he had never bumped into her in the foyer would he not see her, either? Would she be moving things about in his house without him seeing her?
She was here. With him. He discovered nothing else mattered. He liked having her. He planned to spend the next hour or two finding out more about her. And she wanted to have sex with him? Oh, God… Now that was a dream come true.
The laugh she let out trembled and it took the wind out of his sails. She didn’t sound like a woman who wanted sex. He gripped the arms of the chair to keep from going to her. “I can’t believe I even thought about sex, even joking. I mean I don’t ever plan to have sex. With anyone.”
She spoke her word anyone deeper and with so much emphasis, he felt he needed to swim through it. He couldn’t believe what she was talking about sex as casually as she might talk about the furniture in his house, even though she was rambling. She sounded close to hysterical. He knew he should stop her. He should just put her under the quilt on his bed and let her sleep. But if this was the only way he could get a few answers then so be it, especially since her words cut into him. Because he certainly hoped to have sex with her. In fact, he wished for it right now, but a deep, inner voice told him it would be taking unfair advantage, and that was something he didn’t do. “Why not?” He had to force the two words out through his tight throat.
“Why not? Why not?” Her voice rose an octave. “Because of Doug. That’s why not.”
“Doug?” He never even considered there might be a man in her life.
“Oh, my head.” She put her hand to her head. “I can’t believe how your wine hit me like a Mack truck. I feel like I’m still on the plane, with all that turbulence. And that was just so weird how then I was in the alley down the street. I hardly remember walking here. But I had to have, right? Or maybe the cabbie dropped me off there. The wine has made everything so fuzzy. Not that it matters. The important thing is, I made it here to your house—I mean my house. And I needed to play your piano—I mean my piano. Although I’m pretty sure I got here by cab. No I walked from the alley. But I was in a cab at some time. I think the cabbie was a fat, Italian guy. I know I’m rambling, but I can’t seem to stop. It was your piano that made me think things were different, strange. I mean I had just looked in the dining room and lit the candles, and there had been nothing, no one in there, and of course the kitchen was different, too. And there was that weird misty guy with the knife.”
“There was a man with a knife in my house?”
“Yes, but he vanished. Literally.” She went on before he could question her further. “Then I saw the piano, and I was just…called to play. I had to touch it, to hear it. I thought that was so weird given I haven’t been able to play one in over a year. I couldn’t. I couldn’t make my fingers play, much less touch the keys.”
Liam stared at her, listened to her words, and tried to make sense of them. All he really heard was her pain, and it seemed to slice through him. His heart pounded so hard he was surprised she couldn’t hear it. But then, she was a bit hysterical and inebriated. And with good reason, if her words about jumping through time were anywhere near the truth.
“You play beautifully. Why couldn’t you play for a year?” he asked. In the soft light, he saw her cheeks suddenly glistened with tears.
Sweet heavens. Every tear was a spear piercing his heart. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know what made her cry. Her words didn’t make sense, and yet her tears tore at his soul.
She laughed again, but the laugh was forced and trembled. “All I’ve ever known and loved was music. From the time I was four and had my first music lesson, I knew it was my life. I had dreams of playing in a symphony, of writing my own music, of producing it. And I was well on my way. I met Doug Hall, and we were like two peas in a pod when it came to playing duets.”
Liam stared at her, feeling as if someone just cut his throat and he couldn’t get any air to his lungs. Doug Hall?
“Do you have any idea how much money we made traveling the circuit, playing dueling pianos? I wrote it, we played it. We played to sell-out crowds. Then I wrote a film score and got the offer of a life time. It was even more than what I wanted. But Doug…”
Film score? She didn’t give him the chance to ask.
Her words were still filled with pain. Her pain sliced clear through to his soul. Her tears were falling faster, and each one was a burning ember touched to his soul. She was laughing and crying at the same time. She was drunk on the wine. Liam had the feeling she was scared, too. He wanted to know about Doug Hall, but at the same time, he didn’t. He wanted her pain to stop, but he had the feeling that even if she stopped talking, rambling, right now, the pain would just go on eating her from the inside out. It was obvious to him she’d kept it inside herself for a long time, considering how quickly and easily it was pouring out of her. “Clare,” he said calmly.
“Doug was with his friend, Jackson. That dick.”
“Dick?” The question popped out before Liam could stop it.
“You know? That appendage men have between their legs. Their dick. That’s what Jackson is. That’s what both of them are. Dicks. They were drunk or high or maybe Doug was just mad or jealous of my contract. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. All I know is Jackson held me down so Doug could use that dick to…to… God, why did he hurt me like that? I mean what’s wrong with me?”
A man forced himself on her, and she thought there was something wrong with her? “Nothing,” Liam said, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She rattled on. And as she spoke, she pulled the small pouched bag that crossed over one shoulder off and dropped it to the floor. Next she slipped the red ‘sweater’ she wore over her head to reveal the strangest, lacy corset he’d ever seen.
“He tore open my blouse and made fun of me, said my tits were as flat as a boy. Do you think they’re flat?”
Shadows danced over her perfect skin in the lamplight. Liam tried not to look at her, but oh, it was impossible not to. At the same time, h
e tried to breathe and stay in some sort of control. That, too, wasn’t possible. Through the lace, her nipples pointed at him. He easily saw the darkened areola. His dick, as she called it, was suddenly awake and needing her.
“Be honest,” she demanded.
He licked his dry lips. “They’re beautiful.”
She either ignored him or didn’t hear him as she went on. “I fought them. I did. I kicked and scratched. I bit Doug on the hand. I screamed.”
To his horror, she unfastened the strange fastener that held her breeches. Then before he could stop her, she kicked out of the boots she wore, slid those odd pants over her curvy hips and down her legs. She wore under drawers that were as strange as the corset. Pink lace. Sexier than any of the filmy things the girls down at Miss Sue Ellen’s wore.
Liam could no longer stay in the chair. But his legs were weak when he stood.
“They tore off my panties and stuffed them in my mouth to keep me from screaming. Jackson wanted to, too, but he was too drugged up and couldn’t, you know, get it up, make it work. So he started hitting me. The last thing I remember is Doug telling Jackson he could fuck me, but he couldn’t slam my head against the floor.”
Oh, God…
Liam had no idea how she’d endured such horror. He couldn’t even listen to it. His arms ached with the need to strangle such men who would prey on those weaker than them. His chest hurt with the knowledge she’d been forced to endure such a horrid act. He pulled her into his arms, held her against his chest, wanting nothing more than to ease her pain, bring her comfort. She cried against him, the side of her face pressed to his chest. Each uncontrolled sob tore another shred off his heart. “Stop. Just stop. Let me hold you. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She felt so wonderfully warm, perfect. Soft. She fit against him as if she was made to fit against him. Yes, she was naked but for those wispy lacy things he’d never seen before, and he did his best to ignore her bare skin. She needed his comfort. She needed his embrace. He wished more than anything that when he held her, he could heal her pain, stop her tears. They were tearing him apart. Which is what he wanted to do to the men who’d hurt her; tear them apart with his bare hands.
Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 6