Echoes in Stone (27 page)

“Whoever—whatever—you saw, Winston has it in hand. I’ve asked him to institute a search of the east wing. We should know more by morning.”

“But Holly. What about her? What if Lily—” The instinct to run to her niece swamped her. “What if whoever I saw means to harm Holly? She—that woman—keeps exhorting me to ‘protect the child’, then changes her mind and says I can’t protect her.” Jessa struggled to sit up. Without thinking, she put her weight on her injured wrist, then fell back with a small cry, clutching it to her chest.

“Enough. You have to let me get that wrist bandaged and get some salve on those bruises. For tonight, stop worrying so much about others. See to your own care for a change.”

“But Dash—”

“Set your mind at ease. I’ve already posted a footman outside Holly’s door. One of the maids will keep Gwenna company tonight in watching over Holly.”

What else wasn’t he telling her? She’d get no further answers from him until he was ready to give them. Stubborn man.

“Now, will you lie back and be still while I fetch Mrs. Penrose’s basket? And a brush. We need to get those tangles out of your hair before it dries into a mare’s nest.” He pushed his own unruly locks back. “I’m going to need to deal with mine as well, or we’ll both look like we’ve been dragged backward through a briar patch.”

His efforts to distract her were so obvious. Fine. She would allow herself to be distracted, but only until she found another opening in the stone walls he kept throwing up in front of her.

“I’ll let you help me with my hair, Dash, if you will let me return the favor.”

“You don’t mean to put Winston out of a job, do you? The man will be unfit to live with if you do a better job of it than he does.”

Jessa laughed outright, holding up her injured right wrist. “Since I will be brushing your hair left-handed, I doubt Winston has anything to worry about.” She managed to get herself upright, then pulled the blankets higher around her, settling tailor-fashion under them.

“Now go. I’m starving. If you don’t plan to let me eat until I’m smelling of liniment, you’d best hurry.”

Dash returned her impudent grin, then crossed to the table. He returned with an orange, peeled it, and handed it her. “This should hold you for a bit. And if you think you’ll smell like liniment, you don’t know Mrs. Penrose. All of her potions are pleasant. You’ll see.” With that, he disappeared through the door.

While she waited, Jessa ate her orange, relishing the sweet tang of the fruit. The cool juice soothed her parched throat. She laughed aloud when Dash bounded back into the room, the basket over his arm. “You look like some rather odd sort of picnicker. Or perhaps, in that black robe, with your hair in all directions, more like a wizard, with all those bottles of potions clanking about in your basket.”

Dash waggled his eyebrows at her, placing the basket on the nightstand. “Just wait until you see what magic I have for you in my basket, my dear.”

Jessa giggled, licking the orange from her fingers, while giving him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

The look in Dash’s eyes went from playful to smoldering in an instant. “Ah, Jessa. So young. So sweet. Never start a game you don’t intend to finish.”

Jessa returned his serious look with a provocative one of her own. One eyebrow cocked, she sucked her index finger, never taking her eyes from the silver ones gazing back at her. “You must teach me the rules of this game, Dash. So we can both win at it.”

Dash sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He broke eye contact first, turning to poke about in the basket. He held up various bottles, reading the labels by the light of the fire. When he found what he wanted, he removed the cork, then rummaged about for a roll of bandages. A pleasant scent of mild peppermint, mixed with something else, came from the bottle. Vanilla, perhaps.

“Let’s begin with your wrist,” Dash said, holding his hand out to her.

She let him rub the soothing ointment into it, wincing when he bound it with the clean white strip of bandage.

“Now, lie on your left side. Let me see what I can do about those bruises on your ribs and shoulder.”

Jessa did as he requested, presenting her back to him. She lay there, the covers pushed to her hips. Goose bumps prickled her skin. She glanced back over her shoulder, to find him standing with a bottle in his hand, staring at her. “Dash? Is something wrong?”

He startled, his trance-like gaze broken. “No, everything’s fine. Just assessing the damage. It’s really not too bad. A few bruises. You’ll be sore for a day or two, but I don’t think I’ll have to bind your ribs. When I washed you, I didn’t feel anything broken or cracked.”

He climbed into the bed, sitting next to her, then poured oil from the bottle, warming it between his hands.

Jessa returned to her side. She flinched at the first touch of Dash’s oil slicked palm on her shoulder.

He stopped.

“No, go on Dash. It’s all right,” Jessa said. “I was merely surprised, that’s all. Just hurry. I’m getting chilled.”

Dash waited no longer. He massaged the oil into her shoulder, then down the length of her arm. He warmed more oil in his hands, smoothing it across her back. Calloused palms massaged the ointment into her shoulder blades.

She sighed in pleasure.

“Raise your arm over your head, Jessa, so I can get this on your ribs.”

She did as he asked. The hissed intake of Dash’s breath, surprised her. She closed her eyes, giving herself over to the glorious sensation of Dash’s hand. He swept the length of her torso from under her arms, grazed the side of her breast, then rested his hand on her ribs. His long fingers probed, each rib checked and accounted for.

There was another moment of coolness, then the warmth of Dash’s hand returned, this time at her waist. He pushed the blankets down farther, massaging the curve of her hip with the fragrant ointment.

Jessa relaxed into the smooth sheets. The scent of mint, mixed with vanilla, both soothed and invigorated. Her skin tingled as the ache in her ribs eased, to be replaced with a new ache, lower. She rolled onto her back, looking up at Dash.

His oil-slicked hand slid across her belly, rested there.

“Dash, you are turning me into a wanton.” She raised her hand to reach for him, but he caught her wrist, stopping her.

“No, Jessa. We can’t do this.” He closed his eyes. “Food,” he said. “The next thing we have to do is get some food into you. After we get you into something warm.”

“But—”

“No ‘but’, Jessa. Don’t tempt me more than I can stand. Your skin is glistening in the firelight. Your breasts—” He reached for her, but drew back. “You’re lying there before me like a feast to be devoured. And I’m a starving man. But I’m also an honorable man. At least I’m trying to be. Please. Help me to do the right thing.”

She blinked once at him, then covered her breasts with her hands. Had the stubborn Captain Dashiell Tremayne ever asked for help in his life? She’d give him what he asked. At least for now. “You’re right, of course. I’m starving as well.”

Dash pulled away from her.

“Food,” she said. “I meant I’m hungry for food. That orange was lovely, but not nearly enough. If you’ll help me with my night rail—”

“I think your robe will do for now. It’s easier to get you into without too much strain on your shoulder.” He helped her from the bed, reaching for her robe.

Jessa let him help her into the soft red flannel. Her own robe had been destroyed in the fire. From somewhere, Mrs. Penrose had found this one. Like her nightgown, it was meant to be sensible rather than seductive. She brushed his hands away, tying the belt at her waist. She reached to pull the heavy mass of her damp hair our from under robe, but winced when she raised her arm.

“Let me do that for you. Give that shoulder a rest until the salve does its job.” Dash lifted her hair, then let it fall down her back. “Why don’t you come sit in front of the fire? Eat, while I play lady’s maid for you.”

She’d never had a lady’s maid in her life, but if it meant she could enjoy Dash’s good mood for a few minutes longer, she could learn.

Dash watched her from under furrowed black brows, his skin burnished to bronze in the firelight, his scar once again hidden in the shadows.

Jessa took a step toward him, resolutely pushing away the niggling questions in her mind. How could this be the same man Lily had so feared? And what would become of this new tenderness between them if Lily were found tonight?

36.

Children tend to sense things…

DASH WATCHED JESSA approach, her bare feet peeking from beneath the red robe. He drew a slow breath, tamping down the onslaught of conflicting emotions. Her wet hair glimmered like gold in the firelight, drawing his gaze like a lodestone, but the lavender shadows under her eyes fired every protective instinct. God, what was he to do with her? And how did this get to be such a disaster?

Dash seated Jessa, then pulled the covers off the dishes on the table.

In spite of the uproar in the house tonight, Cook had done a creditable job on dinner. Slices of cold meats were piled on white china plates, along with cheeses and a crusty loaf of bread. Shiny apples and oranges jostled together in a silver bowl. Delft bowls contained plum jelly and strawberry jam.

Notable only by its absence was the apple butter always provided for Jessa. The death of the cook’s assistant doubtless had the kitchen in disarray tonight. He sighed, wondering if the doctor and the poor girl’s mother had arrived yet, then shook his head. Winston could deal with the rest of the household for now. Tonight, his only duty was to Jessa.

“What are you sighing so about back there?” Jessa asked. She turned to look at him. “Is my hair such a hopeless mess?”

He smiled for her. There’d be time enough tomorrow to tell her about tonight’s tragedy. “Why don’t you put together a sandwich for me, while I get your brush?” He turned toward her dresser, then stopped, instantly rigid.

A chair scraped the floor behind him. Bare feet shushed across the rug. Warmth enveloped him, accompanied by the scent of vanilla. “Dash! My mirror! Did you have it brought here for me?” Jessa clasped her hands together, grinning like a child with a new toy.

He clenched his jaw. Shuddered. Though still shrouded with the dust cover, the shape of the object standing against the wall was unmistakable. He’d seen it earlier tonight in a bedroom far from this one.

“Dash?” Jessa tugged on his sleeve, commanding his attention. He looked down at her. A worried pucker marred her brow. “Didn’t you have it brought here for me? I don’t understand.” She bit her lip.

He shook his head. This was Winston’s doing, he was sure of it. There would be words over this in the morning. He strode past the object, retrieved Jessa’s brush from her dresser, then escorted her back to her chair. He stood behind her, shaking in rage.

“If you clutch my brush any harder, you’re likely to break the handle.”

Dash looked down at Jessa. Her brow was smooth now. She was trying to joke with him. Trying to calm him. He glanced down at his white-knuckled fist, throttling the handle of her brush as if it were a throat he’d like to crush.

He loosened his grasp, flashing Jessa a brief smile. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Your brush has done nothing to offend me. I’d hate to have to replace it.” He drew in a steadying breath. “Now, how about that sandwich?”

Jessa’s gaze roamed over his face, then she turned to do as he’d asked. He rolled his shoulders, to ease the tension in them, then reached for her hair. He slid the brush through it, working the snarls from it, while she assembled plates for them. When her hair at last lay smooth, although still damp, he used the brush to attack the disorder of his own.

“You promised you’d let me do that,” Jessa said. “Sit. Eat while I play Winston’s role.”

“But your wrist—”

“Is already feeling better, thanks to you and Mrs. Penrose.” Jessa held out her hand. “My brush?” She half-pushed him into the chair she’d just vacated. Even seated, he was so tall his head came to the middle of her chest. Damp locks brushed his shoulders.

“Eat, Dash. You’ve been running today as much as I have.”

He shuddered at Jessa’s first touch, but forced himself to remain still. Her small hand smoothed his hair, following the path of the brush. Over and over, she stroked it along his scalp, massaging as she went. Dash imagined those same hands stroking, smoothing elsewhere. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, pulling his robe tighter closed over his lap, grateful the glimmering firelight hid his hardening shaft.

At last, she stopped the torture, moving to sit across from him. “Was the sandwich not to your liking? You haven’t touched it.”

She spoke the truth. While she’d stood behind him, he’d been unable to think of anything other than the sensation of her hands on him. He shook himself, as if waking from a dream.

“I notice you haven’t eaten either. Why don’t I pour us both a glass of wine, then we can do proper justice to Cook’s efforts.” The dinner service included a bottle of fine Bordeaux with the cold dinner, as well as a bottle of port and one of brandy  “Winston must want to make sure you rest well tonight.”

Jessa laughed, handing him her glass. “You choose,” she said.

“Bordeaux it is, then.” He poured a generous measure for each of them, then took a sip from his glass.

Jessa followed suit. Her tongue flicked out to catch a stray drop of the ruby wine.

His staff roused again, as he imagined the taste of wine on her lips. Sweet. Rich. He stirred in his chair, discreetly arranging himself more comfortably. Perhaps the food would prove a sufficient distraction. He picked up his sandwich, nodding at Jessa to do the same. He took a large bite but forgot to chew it in the pleasure of watching Jessa eat.

Small white teeth took a dainty bite. The sight of her tongue, flicking out to lick the crumbs from her lip, mesmerized him. She sucked a bit of juice from the roast beef from her thumb, driving his imagination to picture her performing a similar act with him. Her hair, dry from the warmth of the fire, shimmered as she shook it back. Emerald eyes watched him, smoky and seductive.