Echoes in Stone (35 page)

Jessa, however, rounded on him with daggers blazing from her brilliant eyes.

“How dare you, you highhanded oaf! How dare you announce our engagement as if it were a
fait accompli
, without ever asking me?”

Dash could only stare at the little fury before him. Who would have thought such a small woman capable of such towering rage? He opened his mouth to respond, but she held up her hand to stop him. Then she went so far as to stamp her little foot at him. Her foot, dammit!

“Don’t you dare say a single word, Dash Tremayne. Not a word, do you hear me? Just because I let you—” She sputtered. There were some things not said in front of one’s mother, no matter the provocation.

But she hadn’t finished her tirade. “You odious, arrogant beast!”

Again, with the foot stamping. Really, he’d have to curb that particular habit of hers.

“I. Will. Not. Marry. YOU!” She leaned into him, shaking her finger in his face, biting out each word. “I will not marry a man who doesn’t trust me. I will not marry a man who questions my every word. No, damn you, Dash Tremayne, I will not!”

Her balled-up fist connected with a crack on his chin. She turned, gathered her skirts, then raced out the door, shoving past the gaping group standing there, and up the stairs. Her wrenching sobs echoed in the vast entry hall behind her.

The sound ripped through him. He rubbed his abused chin. Such a little thing would be unlikely to leave a mark, but she’d surprised him.

Marguerite clutched her chest, gasping. No doubt a faint was in the offing. The grizzled man behind Marguerite stood, fists clenched, as if he’d like to follow up on Jessa’s blow with one of his own. Dash gave him a once over, certain he’d inflict far more damage than Jessa’s small fist had done.

Winston, damn him, grinned, rubbing his hands. “Well, my lord, will two weeks be sufficient time to plan a wedding? Or is one needed sooner this time?”

Dash glowered at him, then elbowed everyone out of his way. He raced up the stairs after Jessa.

She’d been poisoned.

Someone had attempted to suffocate her.

There’d been an attempt to burn her alive.

She’d been shoved down a staircase.

Alarm bells clanged in Dash’s head. No. It wasn’t going to happen again. He wouldn’t let it. No woman of his— His need for her overwhelmed him. But greater than his need were the undeniable facts.

Someone wanted Jessa dead.

It wouldn’t do to leave his new fiancée alone too long. God only knew what kind of trouble she’d get herself into.

Seconds too slow, he failed to catch her. He caught only the flash of her skirt disappearing through the doorway of her bedroom. The crack of the slamming door reverberated like a gunshot in the hallway. He leapt for the doorknob, just in time to hear the snick of the key in the lock. He’d arrived too late. He slammed his fist on the polished wood panels.

“Damn it, Jessa, unlock this door this instant!”

“Don’t you dare swear at me, you, you—” She sputtered but made no move to open the door.

He wanted to do nothing so much as kick the door down, but Jessa was already upset enough. His wooing of her left a great deal to be desired. And woo her he must.

Whether either of them wanted it, their marriage was inevitable. He’d taken the first step the day he’d kissed her in his study. He might have escaped the noose if he’d stopped there, but he’d sealed their fates the night he unhooked her dress and dropped it into a puddle of green velvet at her feet.

He leaned his head against the door. She sobbed as if she’d lost something—or someone—of very great value to her. Lily’s tantrums never made him feel this way. Jessa’s heartbroken wails tore through his heart the same way Holly’s tears did.

“Jessa. Honey. Please. Open the door, sweetheart.”

“Go away! I won’t marry you! You’re just what Lily said you were! Cold. Heartless. Monstrous! I want nothing from you. Do you hear me? Nothing!”

Dash waited, his breath held. At this point in her tantrums, Lily always smashed something, as if only destruction could exorcise her demons. He waited. Only the sound of Jessa’s heartrending cries seeped out. Nothing thudded against the door. No sound of shattering glass assaulted his ears.

“Do you want me to send up your mother?”

“NOOOOOO!” The force of Jessa’s howl had probably reached the servant’s quarters.

Dash tried again. “Jessa, sweetheart, at least tell me who that man is who looked as if he wanted to hang me from the nearest tree.”

“
That man
is Luther Brackmann.” The voice came from behind him. “And you are absolutely accurate in your assessment of my intentions.”

Dash spun, ready to defend himself.

The gray-haired man stood rigid, erect in spite of the cane held in front of him. His kilted companion, his breathing stentorian, chugged toward them. Dash pointed his chin in his direction.

“And him?”

“That would be Jessa’s uncle, Stanley Coffman.”

Marguerite hadn’t followed them. She and Winston had likely gone off somewhere to plan a wedding. Dash stood back, gesturing to the closed door with a wave of his hand.

Luther stepped up and tapped the door with the silver top of his cane. “Jessa? Sweetheart?”

“Luther? Is that you?” Jessa’s voice wavered from behind the door. Her sniffling hiccups grated on Dash’s ears, shredding more of his heart.

“Yes, dear. Uncle Stan is with me. Won’t you let me in?”

“Is Mother with you?”

A trace of a smile crossed the old man’s features before he hid it with a stern look at Dash.

“No, Jessamine. I believe she might have fainted. Or at least she was doing her best to try to. I’m afraid I left that other gent with rather an armful of purple velvet.”

A half-choked giggle issued from behind the door.

“That’s better, honey. Now open up. Let me see you’re all right. I haven’t laid eyes on you in weeks, and all I’ve seen since I arrived is something that looked more like a ragged hoyden than my sweet Jessa.”

“Is Dash still there?”

Luther cocked an eye at Dash. The look made Dash loose his patience all over again.

“Dammit, Jessa,” he shouted. “Open this door before I break it down!”

“Here, here, young man,” Stan said. Even using a cane, Luther had still been faster than Stan. He mopped the sweat from his forehead with his scarlet jacket sleeve. “I’ll not have you talking to my niece that way. Take yourself off before I find any further excuse to thrash you!”

Luther stepped between the two men. He held a finger to his lips, shushing both. He turned to Dash. “Captain Tremayne, while you may not remember me, I remember you quite well.” His eyes blazed, but he kept his voice even. “I attended your wedding when you married Lily. As I recall, you were surly, sullen, and in a foul temper. Just as you are now. Tell me, sir. Is that your usual demeanor, or is there some sunnier side to your disposition we’ve not yet encountered?”

Dash growled. “Mr. Brackmann, I can assure you I am ordinarily a very genial fellow, full of goodwill and bonhomie.” He ignored Jessa’s snort from behind the door. “It’s only in the presence of any woman named
Palmer
that I apparently lose my temper. And my mind. I don’t know how you’ve served them for so many years without throttling the lot of them.”

Again, a ghost of a smile played over Luther’s face. “I find it helps, Captain Tremayne, if you love them very, very much.”

The two men stood in silence, taking one another’s measure. Dash broke eye contact first, glancing at Jessa’s locked door. With a slight nod, he stepped back. “Help her Luther. Take care of her. She must be kept safe. Things have been—I mean, things keep happening—” He cleared his throat. How could he explain it? None of it made sense.

Jessa’s muffled sobs drifted through the door. She needed comfort. Luther could provide what he could not. “If you gentlemen will excuse me now, it sounds as if my manservant needs rescuing. He doesn’t do at all well with wilting women.”

With a final glance at the door, Dash moved off down the hallway. He wanted to be the one to soothe Jessa’s tears. He wanted to fold her in his arms, to never let anything hurt her again. Instead, he’d been the one to make her cry.

He had to keep her safe. The only way he could see to accomplish that would be to marry her as soon as possible. Then he’d be able to keep her by his side. No other man would have the right to interfere. He glanced back over his shoulder. Luther and Stan were disappearing through Jessa’s open door.

There could be no doubt Jessa held a special place in Luther’s heart, and he, in hers. Dash prayed the man’s love for Jessa would be strong enough to safeguard her. With the two men by her side, she should be safe enough until he could find out what—or who—threatened her. He couldn’t shake the feeling he had little time left.

46.

Did you die for love, Lily?

JESSA FLUNG HERSELF in the chair before the fire, exhausted. Would this hideous day never end? Damn Dash Tremayne. And damn his idiotic proposal. He hadn’t proposed. He’d just announced their betrothal without a by-your-leave. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t marry that beastly, odious—

It had been a great comfort to spend time with the two men most dear to her. Uncle Stan had stomped about the room, muttering threats and making gruff noises before plopping into a chair in front of her and gruffly patting her knee.

Luther had sat next to on her settee and said nothing while she cried. He’d simply pressed his handkerchief into her hand, then rubbed her back as he’d done when she was a child, his silence and love seeping into her like a soothing balm.

“You know,” Luther had finally said, “if you accept his proposal, you’ll achieve what you set out to do.”

“Now see here,” Stan said, rising to his feet and glowering at Luther. “You mean to tell me my goddaughter set out to finagle a proposal from that rotter? Why the devil—”

“Not a proposal,” Luther said. He turned to Jessa. “You came here to see about Holly’s welfare. To ensure that she was in no danger. To protect her. To make certain she grows up surrounded with love. If you marry Tremayne, you’ll have the right to stay here and do all that.”

“At the cost of her own happiness?” Stan huffed into his mustache. “Not on my watch. We can bundle up the little one and smuggle her out.”

“And be up on kidnapping charges,” Luther said. “Whether we like it or not, Tremayne is the child’s father. We’d hoped Jessa could convince the man to at least let her take Holly away for a visit. Is there even the smallest hope…?”

Jessa had shaken her head, choking back the hurt and fury that threatened to swamp her once again. No. There was no hope. Not for her. And not for Holly.

Both men had urged her to face down the dragon in the dining room, but dealing with her mother at the moment was beyond her powers. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with Marguerite’s censure and Dash’s appalling proposal.

Instead, she’d sent them away with hugs and reassurances, then joined Holly in the nursery for supper, but hadn’t been able to swallow a bite. She’d kept her niece company, grateful for the nursemaids’ lively chatter as they’d joined Holly in the meal.

Soon after, she’d tucked her sleepy niece into bed, a stuffed rabbit clutched in her chubby hand. The ugly Susanna doll was nowhere in sight.

The maids had been yawning as well when she’d left them, whispering together as they settled into chairs with their mending. It couldn’t have been an easy day for them, left behind to tend to Holly while everyone else had gone off to the servant girl’s funeral.

Her head throbbed. She had to get out of here. Perhaps Uncle Stan was right. She should simply take Holly and go. Away from the gloom. The grief.

Away from the infuriating man who wanted to give her a wedding ring, but not his heart.

She hadn’t told Luther and Uncle Stan about the accidents. About her belief that Lily still walked stalked Tremayne Hall. Luther would have told Marguerite. She didn’t want to raise false hopes at the same moment her mother had finally reconciled herself to Lily’s death and rallied enough to come to Jessa’s side. Finally. For the first time in Jessa’s life, her mother had placed her welfare above Lily’s. Above her own. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell them. To launch an all out search for Lily. To find her and help her.

To explain to them all why she could never marry Dashiell Tremayne. Not because he didn’t love her as she loved him. Not because he refused to trust her. But because his legal wife—Lily—was still alive.

Was this what it was like for you, Lily? This pain of constantly flinging yourself against a stone heart that would not yield? Is that why you ran away? Because you’d found someone who let you into his heart? Did you die for love, Lily?

She still didn’t know who’d sent the letter, or the miniature enclosed in it. It no longer mattered.

She crossed to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer where she kept the small painting. Then she remembered. She’d dropped it in her reticule and taken it to the nursery with her, intending to ask Holly about it. She looked around for her reticule, but didn’t see it. Drat it. She must have left it in the nursery. She couldn’t lose it. She hadn’t yet shown the painting to Dash. It was the only proof left that someone had contacted her. Lured her here.

She opened the door to the hallway. Unlike most households, Dash didn’t believe in putting the nursery far away, on another floor. He’d wanted his daughter near him. Her rooms were only a few doors down the hall.

Light spilled from the open door of the nursery. She’d closed it when she’d left. She was sure of it. She’d given the maids very specific instructions to keep the doors locked.

Alarm tingled through her. She picked up her skirts, about to run to the nursery, when a flicker of movement in the gloom caught her eye.

Far down the hall a shape moved, a lighter shade against the gloom, disappearing around the corner. Toward the east tower. The tower that was kept locked because it was too dangerous.