Dead Handsome

by Laura Strickland

  “Collwys. I assume this is a legal meeting. Am I not to be included in matters that affect my future?”

  His blue gaze returned to Clara in a look so intense she could barely bring herself to meet it. What did she see in his eyes? And what did she feel streaming off him like heat from a kettle? Distress, agony, disappointment—betrayal. How dare he feel betrayed when he had abandoned her?

  She said stiffly, “Had I thought you needed to be in attendance, I would have called you.”

  He grimaced. “But she is allowed to be in your presence”—he nodded at Cassie—“as she craves.”

  That set Clara back on her heels. She understood Cassie felt a need created by the bond forged when Clara revived her. She had not paused to consider Liam might feel the same. Did that explain why the sex between them was so consuming? Did it explain also why he claimed to love her?

  Nothing but a byproduct of the power that had called him back to life. It had nothing to do with her at all.

  She knew by the disappointment that flooded her heart she’d retained a few shreds of hope that his feelings might be genuine. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Sit in, by all means, if you choose.”

  Liam took a seat opposite her and Cassie.

  Theodore cleared his throat. “What happened to you, Mr. McMahon, if I might ask?”

  “A run-in with a couple of mechanical servants. I got the worse of it.”

  “Not Mr. Van Hamelin’s mechanical servants, I hope. It would not be wise for you to be seen in the vicinity of his home.”

  “Not his, no.”

  “Let’s get to business, please,” Clara requested.

  “Yes. Mr. McMahon, I was just telling Clara it would be unwise to hurry a dissolution of your marriage. Mr. Van Hamelin retains a posse of lawyers, most far more ruthless than I, who will jump on any suggestion your union was contrived and haul the matter into court. I would not be at all surprised if Mr. Van Hamelin has at least one judge in his pocket.”

  Liam shot another look at Clara. Was that triumph she saw in his eyes?

  “Very prudent thinking,” he said. “No need to rush things on my account. I am content to stay put.”

  “And you, Clara?” Theodore queried.

  She gave a grudging nod.

  Clara had difficulty following the details as Theodore proceeded to lay out the rest of the legalese. Liam’s presence distracted her, as did the way he kept looking at her with unhappy longing, each glance as tactile as a touch. Cassie’s warm breath on her neck only served to emphasize the distance between them.

  At last she said, “So if all goes well, we can expect the transference of the deed and the first settlement of funds within the month?”

  “If all goes well,” Theodore emphasized. “But we can afford no mistakes.” He looked at Liam. “No more run-ins with mechanical servants.”

  “That’s been made more than clear to me,” Liam growled.

  Theodore gathered up his papers and returned them to his attaché case. “I’ll place the application for deed transfer before the court today and be in touch as soon as there’s any news.”

  Clara nodded. Like any true master of the house, Liam got up to see Theodore to the door. She heard them speaking in low voices before Theodore went out, but she couldn’t catch the words.

  Liam returned and once more shut the parlor door behind him. “Put the child down, Clara.”

  “She needs—”

  “She’s sleeping and won’t mind.” Without waiting for her to comply, he lifted Cassie from Clara’s arms and set her carefully where Theodore had been sitting. Then he drew Clara to her feet by her hands, and fast into his arms.

  “Don’t do this to me, Clara,” he said, his voice rumbling through his chest and into her ear. “Please don’t.”

  Clara melted. Despite all her doubts, her annoyance with him, and her conviction that his feelings for her weren’t genuine, she crumbled like wet plaster. She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and just absorbed the feel of him, while the tight knot inside her loosened.

  “Whatever you may think of me, and however you might condemn me, I’m your husband. And you heard what Collwys said—we need to stay married a while and make it convincing.” His words became a whisper, a croon. “I can’t think of anything more convincing than you here in my arms.”

  “I’m sorry I ever got you involved in this.”

  “I’m not. And if you’ll forgive me saying, that’s a damned hurtful thing to say, like telling me you’re sorry I’m alive.”

  “I did not mean that.”

  “That you’re sorry I ever kissed you.” His lips stole to her temple.

  “No.”

  “Made love to you.” They traveled down her cheek in the direction of her mouth.

  Clara ached with want. She longed to raise her lips to his. More, she yearned for the feel of him hard between her legs and the wild abandon that took hold of her when they moved together. But one of them had to remain rational and sane.

  “It’s just that this is such an emotional tangle,” she began.

  His mouth swallowed the rest of her words as his lips captured hers. Pleasure seared, sharp as pain, and reached right to Clara’s soul, claiming her once again.

  Please don’t, she screamed in her mind, but it was too late because his tongue was in her mouth, searching deeply, and all at once she wanted this more than anything. Foolish, precipitous, unquestionably unwise, but she’d take him right here on the parlor rug if he asked.

  He broke the kiss and said into her ear, brokenly, “One night apart from you was more than I could stand. Come upstairs with me. Now.”

  Clara’s senses reeled. Already she could feel the weight and heft of him pressed against her. His hands slid up her back, stroking, and then around front to palm her breasts. She knew what he wanted. By God, she wanted it as well.

  “Not a good idea,” she managed to say.

  “Why?”

  “We’re already much too—involved. And eventually there will have to be a parting of the ways.”

  He froze and then let go of her abruptly. The look in his eyes when Clara met them made her heart hurt.

  “So you’ll hold to that, will you? Dismiss me the way your grandfather dismissed Dax?”

  Bitterly, his lips twisted. “Perhaps you’re more like the old man than you think.”

  And he slammed from the parlor, not to return.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “What do you think of him, miss? We’ve pounded out most of the dents, mended that arm, and made those repairs to his boiler. He’s almost good as new.”

  Fred sounded proud of his work, and so he should, Clara thought, regarding Dax with amazement. The unit looked so fine she might not have recognized him as the same one that had struggled home with Liam.

  “You’ve done a wonderful job, boys,” she praised sincerely.

  “More efficient now,” Dax contributed, “no longer leak steam.”

  “He actually helped us,” Woodrow put in. “Guided us a bit once we got to his inner workings.”

  The four of them stood in the entryway where they’d met. Three whole days had passed since Clara’s encounter with Liam in the parlor. Estranged from him, she’d found the days difficult and the nights endless.

  He had spent his time in his room or making himself useful around the house. As Clara had learned from Georgina, he had already climbed up and patched the exterior gutter work, fixed the back door which tended to swell and stick in damp weather, unblocked the kitchen flue, mended a faucet, and performed a dozen other small tasks. Whatever he had been in his past life, he’d obviously possessed a host of skills.

  No sooner had he come to her mind than he appeared. That, she acknowledged, seemed to happen a lot lately. Now he came down the main staircase focused not on her but on Dax.

  “Got him refurbished, then, have you, lads? You’ve done a grand job.”

  Both boys glowed. Clara couldn�
�t deny they shone in Liam’s presence, sought his company and his approval, as was to be expected, she supposed. Lads their age required a strong male role model.

  “Did they not, Clara?” Liam prompted.

  “I was just about to say that. Dax is quite splendid.”

  “Dax splendid,” the unit repeated. “High praise. Will be able to perform many more tasks now. Asset to household.”

  “Indeed, and you are,” Clara confirmed.

  “Just don’t let old man Van Hamelin catch sight of you,” Woodrow put in, “or he’ll want you back.”

  “Dax go nowhere!” the unit intoned. “Dax home.”

  A startled silence fell. Clara raised an eyebrow at the boys. “Did you feed that into him?”

  “No, we didn’t alter his commands at all, just worked on the mechanics. What do you think it means?” Fred asked.

  It meant Dax had an at least rudimentary sense of self, but Clara couldn’t voice that; it seemed too absurd.

  Instead she touched the unit on the arm. “You’re staying with us,” she told him.

  “To be sure,” Liam chimed in, “Mrs. McMahon keeps her possessions close, however she may or may not value them.”

  “Dax,” Dax announced, “will shovel the new load of coal that arrived this morning.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Fred objected. “You’ll spoil your shine. Come along of us, and we’ll teach you some things.”

  The three disappeared to the back of the house; Clara and Liam remained standing alone together.

  “Another load of coal,” Clara fretted. “I don’t know how we’re going to pay for it.”

  “Have you considered sending me out to work? I could probably earn twice as much as those lads.”

  “No. You are supposed to be”—she waved a hand at him—“a gentleman.” He did not look it. At the moment, with his collar wide open at the throat, eyes bright and hair tumbled over his forehead, he looked all rogue. One with whom she ached to go to bed. It was no wonder she couldn’t sleep; she spent all her nighttime hours thinking about that, about him.

  “I’m bored, Clara. I’ve little to do but think, and there’s precious little in my head to think about. You want me to stay here shut in like a damned convalescent. You’ll have to give me some way to occupy myself.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Her days were so full with the children—especially Cassie—and the household, she hadn’t considered how his must drag.

  “Do you think of me at all?” He stepped closer and her breathing immediately hitched. “Do I mean anything more to you than that steamie?”

  “Of course. Though I value Dax very highly—”

  He stepped still closer; she promptly lost her train of thought.

  “Clara, I can’t stand this. Why won’t you come to me at night, if only for the sake of my sanity? This feels like being starved by bits. Do you feel nothing, no want? No need?”

  Did she feel nothing? She closed her eyes a moment against the intensity of emotion. He had to know some of what she felt, must feel it the way she gleaned the overflow of the turbulence he experienced.

  “Liam, I am trying to protect myself, to protect both of us.”

  “How? By killing me over again? You must know how it feels, being denied your presence.”

  “You are not denied my presence. You can be in my company any time.”

  “Except at night, when I need you most, when I lie there with my sanity in shreds, straining to hold on to myself. You don’t turn Cassie away. Why me?”

  “You’re much more dangerous.” The words slipped from Clara before she could hold them back.

  “Me, dangerous?” He widened those sky-blue eyes, and Clara’s pulse sped up another notch.

  She whispered, “Liam, please.”

  “That’s better; ask nicely.” His voice dropped still further. He reached out and caressed her cheek, a gentle touch that sent a shiver through her frame. “Where is everyone?”

  “The lads, as you see, are busy with Dax.”

  “Aye?”

  “Georgina has taken the rest of the children to chapel.”

  He leaned closer and his lips fumbled the curve of her ear. “God bless Georgina. And Cassie?”

  “As it’s Sunday, her mother’s at home, and—”

  “Ah, Sunday morning. I cannot imagine spending it better than in worship.”

  “Eh?”

  “Of you.”

  His lips found hers then, and pleasure speared through her, effectively disengaging her brain. His tongue, wild and hungry, plundered her mouth, stole her breath and the last shreds of her self-control.

  How had she thought she could live without this?

  He broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “Come upstairs and let me worship you.” Without waiting for a reply, he swept her up into his arms. She felt instantly light as thistledown and disconnected from reality. He bore her up the stairs and into not his but her old room, and her heart pounded all the way.

  No, not here, she wanted to say. If he made love to her here, she would never be able to inhabit the place again without having him in her head.

  She expected him to deposit her on the bed. Instead, he set her on her feet and then carefully shut the door and placed a chair under the knob. Next he drew the curtains, shutting out most of the daylight.

  “Liam—”

  “Hush.” He approached her softly, as one might a wild creature. His hands came out and unfastened the leather corset she wore. She stood unmoving but breathing hard as his fingers loosened the hem of her shirt from the waistband of her trousers. He unbuttoned the shirt very slowly, letting it fall open as he worked his way down.

  She wore nothing beneath. He drew the fabric down her arms and tossed it to the floor.

  “God. Oh, God, Clara.”

  He sank to his knees precisely like a man at prayer and buried his face in her bosom. She wrapped her arms around him and held him there, where he trembled against her with the intensity of his emotion.

  The last of Clara’s resistance crumbled, and her bones turned to water—no, to molten, liquid fire. She felt his eyelashes tickle the skin of her breast and then his lips move, seeking. He latched on, and the sheer pleasure of it almost knocked her down.

  She stood there in the dim room as any hope of rationality flew away from her and she realized in full her danger. For she felt at once wild and wanton, tethered only to him.

  She moaned as his hot, wet mouth abandoned her first breast for her second. She tangled her fingers in his thick, dark hair, and he gave a gusty laugh.

  “Like that, do you? Then why do you deny me? Why, precious girl, make both of us suffer? No—don’t pull away. Only stand there and let me finish worshipping you.”

  Stand she did, trembling in every limb, and worship he did, still on his knees and fully clothed while he lavished her with the attentions of lips and tongue, leaving both her breasts wet and tight, and working downward. When his fingers untied the laces on her trousers, she caught her breath.

  “Liam—”

  “Don’t you dare stop me now. If I don’t have a taste of you, I’ll die all over again.”

  Couldn’t have that, not when she’d spent so much energy raising him. Utterly shameless now, she stood with the cool air of the room pricking her breasts while he stripped the trousers from her and rendered her completely naked and utterly open to him.

  Then he began to worship her all over again, pressed kisses all down her legs, onto her ankles, and up again until she quivered like piano wire. By the time she felt his warm breath between her thighs, she would have offered herself to him in public if need be.

  He did not have to ask her to open for him. The instant his hands curled round her thighs and eased them apart, she arched into his tongue. And she stood trembling, consumed by fire, while his mouth plundered her into waves of pleasure that seemed to go on and on.

  When at last it ended in a brilliant burst of light, he caught her so she wouldn’t
fall down. Breathing hard, he pressed his face against her stomach.

  “Lovely girl, beautiful girl.” His breath gusted against her skin when he spoke. “I cannot live without that, without you. Please don’t make me try.”

  Some hard knob of resistance within Clara melted. She did not know who he was—from what life he had come—but they belonged together. “No,” she said.

  “No?” He tipped his head and looked up at her, his eyes full of light.

  “No, I won’t deny you again.”

  “Thank God.”

  She caressed his hair as she might that of a child, though the feelings burgeoning inside her had nothing childlike about them. “You will need to be eased,” she said then. “Let me.”

  Without another word she slid down through his arms onto the carpet in silent offering. Already she felt her desire for him spark again. She lay on the floor of the room that had been hers since birth and watched while he stripped the clothes from his body, marveling that he could be hers.

  But he was, he was.

  Then he covered her nakedness with his flesh—hot, burning, ready. His tongue entered her mouth an instant before he plunged into her, where he belonged.

  Sanity returned slowly, gentle as the light in the room. He had not withdrawn and remained still inside her. She lay with her arms wrapped around him and his breath gusting against her neck.

  “Clara, say it once more, promise you’ll never deny me again.”

  “I promise,” she whispered, “I’ll never deny you again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Clara, some troubling details about Liam have come to light,” Theodore said. “Your grandfather’s attorneys unearthed the record of a William McMahon arrested for assault last month and taken to the county jail on Delaware. They’ve also uncovered notations of a man by the same name who entered this country from Canada, via Niagara Falls.”

  “Impossible,” Clara breathed. She had agreed to meet with Theodore in her father’s surgery, fully expecting good news from him regarding her finances. Instead, it seemed her grandfather had decided to investigate the legitimacy of her marriage before signing the papers that would bestow her mother’s inheritance.