Echoes in Stone (28 page)

The knock at the door made them both jump.

With an oath, Dash responded. Winston stood in the opening.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, Captain. It’s Holly.”

Jessa leapt to her feet, pulling her robe closed around her. “Is she—”

Winston glanced at her over Dash’s shoulder. “She’ll be fine. Just a bit overset at the moment, crying for her mother.” He turned to Dash. “The nursemaid isn’t much help right now, I’m afraid. I thought perhaps you—”

“Of course.” Dash returned to Jessa, pulling his robe tighter. “I’ll be back as soon as Holly’s calmed down. Children tend to sense things, no matter how hard adults around them try to hide their feelings. She still misses her mother—” He bit his tongue. No point in burdening Jessa with the knowledge of what a careless mother Lily had been. Holly had worshipped the woman, in spite of her neglect.

“Should I come with you?”

“Not necessary. I won’t be long. However, I’ll ask Winston to stay with you.” He gainsaid her rebellious glare with a one of his own. “Jessa, someone attacked you today. I don’t believe this is the first time. But Holly is my first priority right now. Please don’t be stubborn about this.”

Her grudging nod spoke volumes. The conversation would be continued the minute he returned. He owed her explanations. But not now.

He strode to the open door, but turned to his servant before leaving.

“This time, Winston, I’d appreciate it if you’d do a better job at seeing to it that nothing disastrous happens to our guest while she’s in your care.” With that, he slammed the door.

37.

I received a letter, long after her passing…

JESSA GAWKED AT Winston, whose face had flushed a shade that rivaled the crimson of her robe.

“What did he—”

“He told me about you believing a woman attacked you when you were ill.” Winston ran a hand through his blond locks, drew a deep breath, then blew it out. “It’s nonsense, of course. What idiocy, to believe a murderous maniac is running loose about the house.”

“I
was
attacked, Winston. More than once. I certainly didn’t lock myself in that stairwell today. But why would Dash blame you?”

“I was your watchdog that night. Dash saw to it you were never alone. We all took turns.”

Suspicion wrapped an ugly tendril around Jessa’s spine. “The woman who attacked me—who tried to smother me—fought with a man in the dark. You, Winston? Why should I believe it wasn’t you?”

“What motivation do I have to lie to you, Miss Palmer? Why would I have interfered with this imaginary woman of yours if I truly wished you ill?”

Jessa blew out her breath in frustration. “I don’t know. Perhaps you just wished me to be frightened? Frightened enough to run away, leaving Holly here with your master? I won’t do that, you know. When I go, I’m taking my niece with me.”

“Then we are at an impasse, Miss Palmer. Dash will never let you take her. I believe, as does he, Holly is safest here with us.”

Jessa shook her head. She’d never convince Winston. Why waste the time? Only Dash needed to be persuaded to let her take Holly away from this God-forsaken house of secrets. She sat at the table, toying with her food, leaving Winston standing at the door. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the clock chiming the hour far down the hall. Dash should return soon.

Winston looked around the room, sniffing his nose in unspoken disapproval. Let him think what he wanted. She was tired, sore, and beyond caring. Best take advantage of this rare opportunity for a private conversation with the elusive manservant. “Mrs. Penrose tells me you’re responsible for posting the letters. Did you post one from my sister to me?”

“Of course, on numerous occasions. I believe you were the only person to whom she ever wrote.”

“I received a letter, long after her passing. Did you find it among her things, send it on to me?”

Winston shook his head. “You must be mistaken. There were no un-mailed letters among her things. If I’d done that, I’d have enclosed a note of explanation.”

Jessa stood, pacing before the fire, running her hands through her hair. “But it was that letter that brought me here. Someone had to have sent it. If you didn’t post it, who could have?”

The door opened, admitting Dash. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that letter,” he said. “We started to discuss it once before, but became…distracted.”

Jessa hid her smile from Winston’s inquiring gaze. Distracted. Yes. In the study.

“Do you still have it?” Dash said. “Are you sure it was from Lily? Perhaps someone simply played a cruel trick on you?”

She sighed. “I’m afraid it was lost in the fire. I had it in my nightstand. But there was a picture with it. A miniature. I can show you that.”

The sympathy in Dash’s eyes infuriated her. The open distrust in Winston’s eyes. They didn’t believe her.

“I know it doesn’t make sense, and a picture isn’t the same as a dated letter, but I’m telling you, I had it. Luther could vouch for me. He saw it.”

Dash’s features hardened. “Ah yes. Luther. I’m sure he would.”

Jessa rose from her chair, her fists clenched in frustration. “Never mind. I can’t prove it. But the letter existed. Lily wrote it. Someone sent it to me. That letter brought me here. I’m not leaving until I find out what’s going on.”

DASH NODDED AT Winston, who shook his head before departing. When the door closed, Dash crossed to Jessa, wrapping his arms around her. She stood rigid, but he refused to let her go. With a sigh, she at last relaxed against him.

He stroked her hair. “We won’t solve the problem tonight. For now, we’ll finish our dinner, then put you to bed.”

She looked up at him. “Holly?”

“Sound asleep. As you should be. The day has been too long. Tomorrow promises to be worse. We both need to rest.”

“Not yet, Dash. My mind is still twirling. Please. Talk to me instead.”

He escorted her to her chair, pouring her another glass of wine. He pointed to her plate. “We’ll talk while you finish your dinner. Then, to bed with you.” He shook his head when she started to speak. “Dinner. Bed. Sleep. No more arguing.” He smiled. “You’re as bad as Holly sometimes. She hates bedtime as well.” He sat, picked up the sandwich he’d abandoned, and took a bite.

“Why are you so opposed to having mirrors in the house?”

His sharp intake of breath almost lodged the bit of food in his throat. The horror on Jessa’s face arrested his incipient leap from his chair.

“I’m sorry, Dash. I didn’t mean to make you angry.” She put down her sandwich, resting her hands in her lap.

Contrition flooded through him. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. She’d had enough fright for one day. But no one had ever been bold enough to question him about his aversion to mirrors. Jessa sipped her wine, the gaze of those maddening green eyes never leaving his face, although her teeth worrying at her lower lip provided a clue to her inner turmoil.

“Is it because of your face?”

He shook his head in response, but Jessa’s unwavering look of trust stopped him.

“Is it because you can’t bear to see what my sister did to you? Did she leave scars inside you even more grievous than the one marring your cheek?”

Dash drew a juddering breath, then turned to stare at the fire. Deliberately, he displayed the ruin of his face to her.

She did not flinch or drop her gaze.

“What manner of woman are you, who can look at this horror that is my face and not turn away in revulsion?” Ice dripped from his voice, bitter cold as the lump in his chest where his heart used to be. “What do you know of how I got this? Did your darling sister write, bragging of it? Or perhaps she simply whined about the nightmare of living with such a hideous beast?”

He couldn’t stop the bitterness in his words. “Now you want to prod at old wounds as well. Feeling sorry for yourself? Sorry you let yourself be seduced by a creature such as me?”

Jessa’s eyes had grown wide during his speech. Her hands covered her mouth as she held her breath. He expected her to start crying. He didn’t care. Let her cry. Let her run from him in fear, just as Lily had.

To his utter astonishment, she slammed both palms flat on the table, setting the cutlery ringing. She rose to her full height, then leaned across the table, her face mere inches from his. “How dare you.” Her voice was a whisper, but she bit out every word. “For the last time, Captain Dashiell Tremayne, I am not Lily. I am no coward, to run from you. I am not the kind of woman who falls into tears or hysterics at the smallest upset.” She drew a deep breath, quivering in rage.

He would never have suspected it of her.

She leaned back, cradling her bandaged wrist to her chest. Slamming her hand as she had could have done it no good.

He jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over. He reached for her, but she stepped back. There was no fear in her face, only fury. “And I am not the kind of woman, Captain Tremayne, whose head is turned by a sad, self-pitying story, so spare me.”

He stared, his hands clutching the table edge. His jaw clenched to the point of aching.

The small virago stood, hands on her hips, heedless of the way her red robe now gaped open to the belted waist. The swell of her breasts, playing peek-a-boo with the edges of the robe, provided a tantalizing distraction, derailing his attention.

She followed his dropped gaze and glanced down. She yanked the front of her robe closed, then looked up at him. Her eyes sparked with fury.

“Is that what it will take, Captain, to get you to talk to me? To get you to answer my questions? Do you want to see what I have under this robe?” She shook her head. “You’ve already seen, tasted, touched everything I have to offer. But if that’s what it will take to make you talk to me—”

She stalked past him to stand in front of the shrouded mirror. She looked over her shoulder at him, then yanked off the cover, flinging it to the floor.

He kept his eyes locked on hers. The challenge in them was clear.

She turned her back to him, looking into the mirror.

Someone had taken the time to polish it. He could see the fire reflected in the gleaming surface, and himself, still in shadow. Dash didn’t look into it, but kept his gaze focused on the figure in front of it.

Jessa raised her arms, running her fingers through her hair. She lifted the golden locks, then let them fall down her back in a shimmering wave. She leaned forward, turning her head from side to side, examining her image.

Of course. She’d not had this view of herself for weeks. He stood mesmerized at the simple beauty of a woman admiring her own reflection.

“You must come closer, Dash, if you wish to see.”

He took a step toward her, but did not look into the mirror.

She half turned to him, pulling back the top of her robe. Just as it was about to part, to drift down her shoulders, she turned back to the mirror. Helpless as a starving child confronted by a feast, he stepped forward, staring into the mirror. He didn’t look at what the gaping robe revealed, but at her face.

She didn’t gaze at herself, but at his reflection. Her eyes met his in the mirror. She raised small hands to cup full breasts surrounded by the red fabric of her robe. The ivory skin matched the color of the bandage wrapped around her wrist.

With a half-smothered groan, he closed his eyes, stepped forward, wrapped himself around her. His hands moved over hers, feeling the weight, the fullness of her breasts. She stilled his hands with her own.

“No, Dash. You must open your eyes. Look into the mirror. This isn’t easy for me. It’s awkward, embarrassing, and frankly, more than a little frightening.”

His chest against her back, the quiver racing through her matched his own.

“I need courage to do this,” she said. “You can give me that, I know you can. But you must have the courage to look.”

Dash lifted her hair away from her neck. He nuzzled her ear, trailing his tongue down the side of her throat. He inhaled the clean scents or peppermint and vanilla, blended with some scent that was Jessa’s alone. He drew a deep breath, then opened his eyes, and looked into the mirror.

38.

It’s as if she were Eve—raw, untouched, elemental woman…

THE MIRROR REFLECTED a man Dash barely recognized. The shadow of his hair hid the scarred side of his face. He’d gone too long without a haircut. It now hung forward over his shoulder. The contrast between his ebony mane and Jessa’s gold one was startling. Beautiful. He cupped her breasts again, marveling at the sight of the pale, smooth globes in his large, dark hands. He watched his hands fondling her breasts. He watched Jessa’s eyes, gazing back at him in the mirror.

His engorged manhood lay heavy between his thighs. He parted his robe, pressing harder against Jessa’s back. The worn flannel of her robe—soft, warm against him. He nudged the generous curve of her buttocks.