Echoes in Stone (6 page)

Plush chairs and small side tables were arrayed around the sofa, inviting her to relax. Her jangled nerves wouldn’t allow her to accept the silent invitation. Before choosing a place to sit, she’d take this brief opportunity to explore the wolf’s lair, a room she hadn’t dared enter before.

Bookshelves covered two of the walls, from Aubusson-carpeted-floor to the ceiling somewhere high in the darkness above her. Rolling ladders, used to retrieve volumes from the upper shelves, leaned against the shelves, giving her some sense of the room’s height.

The third wall, cut through with the door that led to the foyer, was a gallery of sorts. Without taking the lamp from the table, Jessa was unable to judge the quality, or even the subjects of the myriad paintings that hung there. Bits of statuary were scattered around the room on pedestals or low tables.

The fourth wall contained French doors, through which she’d glimpsed a garden before Evers had drawn the heavy silk draperies over them, cutting off the view. In front of the windows, positioned with its back to them, was a massive desk of some wood that gleamed reddish in the firelight. Behind it sat an overlarge, leather-covered chair.

Jessa chewed her lower lip. Yet another darkened room. How could she let Holly grow up in a place like this, shrouded in endless gloom? She couldn’t let that happen. She took a seat on the sofa, arranging her skirts around her, composing her face into a mask of calmness, to await the arrival of her opponent in the battle for Holly’s life.

THE FIRE BURNING in the grate was not large. Dash plucked at his collar, but it did little to lessen the sensation of excessive warmth he’d experienced when he entered the study.

Jessamine sat on the sofa, the reflection from the burgundy velvet adding a warm glow to her cheeks. She’d bitten her lips to make them that appealing shade of red. Lily used to use the same ruse. Her face was serene. Lily’s usually had been as well, just before she tried to wheedle something out of him or manipulate him in some way. He drew a steadying breath, mentally preparing for whatever this sly miss had in store for him.

“Good morning, Jessamine.” He had a choice of chairs. A gentleman would sit across from her. Jessamine, however, provoked every one of his less gentlemanly inclinations. He seated himself on the sofa, next to her, where she’d arrayed herself so prettily. “I see Winston has provided us with elevenses. Will you pour?”

Her splayed skirts kept him at a distance, but her trembling hand on the teapot betrayed her. He’d unnerved her. Good. Best she learned now she would not gain the upper hand with him. Ever. Lily must have skipped a few lessons when teaching her little sister how to handle men. Lily wouldn’t have been shaken by a man sitting next to her. Lily, in fact, would probably have smiled coquettishly and moved closer.

Jessamine held the teacup out to him. The fragile gold-rimmed cup was a good match for her delicate hand, with its well cared for nails filed into neat ovals. It would be engulfed by his own large one, were he ever hare-brained enough to touch her again.

His palm tingled, as if remembering the way her touch had scorched him that first night. He took the cup from her, carefully avoiding all contact.

She cleared her throat. “Captain, I don’t wish to begin this conversation on a sour note, but I must ask you refrain from using my given name. Although we’re related by marriage, we’ve only just met, and your use of my name is, well, over-familiar for such short acquaintance.”

She’d made her pretty speech to the teacup in her hand. Only when she finished did she finally look up at him, attempting a small smile in his direction.

“I quite understand your discomfort, Jessamine,” he said, ignoring her request. He didn’t mean her discomfort at his casual use of her name. No, it was his face. The chit couldn’t even bring herself to glance at his scarred features.

Dash had grown accustomed to the stares, to the way people turned away from him, or spoke into his shirtfront rather than look him in the face. It didn’t lessen the hurt, but he understood their reasons. It couldn’t be easy to gaze upon his monstrous visage with any degree of calmness. He couldn’t stand to look at it himself.

But for whatever reason, it twisted something in his chest that she couldn’t hide her revulsion in his presence. Even Lily’s horror of him hadn’t galled him in this same way.

“But your lordship—”

“I don’t use that title. Winston might, or some of the staff, but I don’t care one whit about it. It’s an accident of birth, no more. I prefer ‘Captain’, if you must use a title. I’d much prefer it if you simply called me Dash, as I will call you Jessamine.”

“Jessa,” she replied. “I’m most often called Jessa. Only Marguerite—Mother—calls me Jessamine. And I maintain, it is most improper for you to use my given name on such short acquaintance, in spite of our tenuous relationship.” She lifted her pointed little chin and glared at him.

Dash was half-sorry he’d turned his profile to her, so the unmarred side of his face was presented to her. He would have liked to see if she would have been so bold to his flawed side.

“Nevertheless, I’m not in the mind to grant your request,
Jessamine
. To the devil with ‘proper society.’ I spent too long at sea to have great tolerance for artifice or arbitrary rules. In my house, my rules are the only ones that matter.” If he allowed her to win this skirmish, she’d think she would always get her way with him. He’d not allow that of her, or any other woman, ever again.

“Tell me, Jessamine,” he said, deliberately goading her, “how is it you and Lily have the same last name, when she was only your stepsister? Did Jack Palmer adopt one or the other of you?”

Her gaze dropped again to her teacup. She bit her plump lower lip, then raised her eyes to stare at the fire, refusing to look at him. Dash blinked in surprise as he watched the pretty pink flush rise in her cheeks. My God, he did not think there was a woman over the age of sixteen, in all of England, who still knew how to blush. The sight of it stirred something in his blood. It stirred something between his thighs, as well.

Damn
.

“Tell me about Lily,” she said. Her quiet voice wavered as she spoke. She turned to him, placed the teacup on the table, then looked him fully in the face. She twisted her linen napkin in knots. “Tell me everything you know about her. Then I’ll know how to answer your question.”

“What? Afraid you’ll not spin me the same Banbury tale your sister told?” Dash strained to keep his voice level, his scorn disguised. “Did Marguerite not instruct you in what to say when she sent you here to recapture the wealthy, titled husband your stepsister lost?”

He was well aware the already off-kilter side of his mouth created a sneer on his face, even when not intended. At times like this, when he truly sneered, the effect must be horrifying. He didn’t care. Let the girl look on him, and tremble.

“Don’t sit there with that look of shock and hurt on your pretty face, Jessamine, as if I’ve done you an injury, or committed some unforgivable social
faux pas
. I’m sorry to say I know more about Lily than I ever wished to learn, although I can’t say I knew her as well as some other men might have. No,” he said, as she made to rise from the sofa. “You’re not going to run away from this conversation.” Without thinking, he reached out, seized her arm, and pulled her back down on the sofa beside him.

It was a mistake. Just as it had that first night, the air around him sizzled with an unseen energy. Whatever it was, it made his pulse pound and his vision blur. He’d give his next breath for just one whiff of her lemon-scented hair. One taste of those cherry lips. To sweep his tongue into that soft mouth, now open in a small “O” as she gaped at him.

With an iron will, he clamped down his raging emotions. The heat in his palm registered in his tumbling brain. He released her arm from his vise-like grip as if it were a live flame, then slid farther back on the sofa away from her.

Jessa made no further move to rise, simply staring at him. By God, that was not a tear shining there in the corner of her green eyes, was it? He couldn’t abide a woman’s tears.

Well done, Dash. Until now, she only suspected you might be a lunatic. Now you’ve left no doubt
.

10.

Lily said whatever she pleased…

DRAT THE MAN
. This boorishness, uncouth barbarian had gone too far. Since he’d entered the room, he’d been coiled like a snake, vibrating with tension, ready to strike out at her. She closed her mouth with a nearly audible snap, returning his baleful glare.

“Captain Tremayne. I don’t know what brought on that behavior. This is only our third conversation, and you have yet to remain civil in my presence for more than five minutes. I request you cease bellowing like a bear with his nose stuck in a beehive, and endeavor to have a simple, polite conversation with me. I daresay, we might have much to learn from one another.”

She drew a deep breath, forcing her hands to stillness in her lap. Now it was Dash’s turn to stare opened mouthed at her, looking as if he’d like to chew her head off. Fine. With his mouth open that way, she would at least be able to see if his strong white teeth came within biting distance of her. She squared her shoulders.

“I can’t begin to fathom why you would believe Marguerite sent me to you.” She held up her hand when he looked about to interrupt her. “You’ve had your say, and more. Now you will sit quietly, drink your tea, and listen. If I ask a question, you will answer politely. It’s called ‘having a conversation’, and to blazes with whatever the rules were on your ships. I will speak. Then it will be your turn. That is how civilized adults conduct themselves.”

What on earth had gotten into her? She’d never spoken to anyone that way in her life, much less a peer. From the surprised look in his eyes, she doubted anyone had ever spoken to him that way, either. Too bad. It was about time he learned that—pitiable face or not—she’d not allow him to browbeat her.

Lily would have spoken to him that way
.
Lily said whatever she pleased
.

And he’d confessed to killing Lily. She eyed him warily.

In spite of their sharp words, Dash unbent so far as to lean back upon the sofa, his ankle crossed over his knee, one arm stretched out across the intricate wood frame. It was the look of a man prepared to wait. No real gentleman sat with his legs spread that way in the presence of a lady. It was just another attempt on his part to keep her unsettled and distracted.

The gesture did its work. The memory of that first morning flashed, the way his trousers hugged his posterior as he walked away from her. Seated as he was, she couldn’t help but notice once more the way those trousers delineated every muscle under the clinging fabric. She shifted, wondering anew at the peculiar ache that thrummed between her legs whenever he was near.

Drat it
.
She’d not allow silly physical responses to overset her. She wasn’t Lily. If he thought for one minute she’d allow her passions run away with her as Lily had—

“You asked how it was that Lily and I shared a name,” she said. “I asked you to tell me what you knew of Lily. I have my reasons.” She hesitated. How much did Dash already know? Was this some kind of test of her veracity?

“Why do you so often call your mother Marguerite, instead of Mother?”

How like the mercurial man, to surprise her with a sudden switch in tack.

“I’ve noticed it several times now,” he said. “Winston mentioned it was your father who married Lily’s mother, is that not correct? Is it safe to deduce it was your father who adopted Lily, giving her his name of Palmer?”

Jessa opened her mouth to respond, but he, in turn, held up his hand to stop her, mimicking her own gesture to him.

“I beg your indulgence in this. Your sister and I met—and wed—on very short acquaintance. Fool that I was, I failed to ask questions I probably should have. Lily, and Marguerite, who was with her at the time, were in no hurry to be forthcoming with me. Later…” he sighed. “So I make the same request of you that you made of me. Tell me about Lily.”

Jessa reached for a scone from the tray, added clotted cream and a dollop of apple butter, then took a few small bites while she formulated an answer.

“Our lives were a bit complicated,” she said. “If there were things Lily and Marguerite withheld from you, whether or not it was intentional, perhaps it would be better if they remained unsaid now. Nothing about the past can be changed at this late date, and to speak of some of those things might give rise to…” she cast about for the right word, “
difficult
feelings, but provide no outlet for them.”

“I was married to Lily for almost five years,” Dash said, “and in all that time, I learned almost nothing about her. Our relationship was never…close.” His lips pursed, as if he’d tasted something bitter. “I’d like to be able to tell Holly something of her mother when she is old enough to ask. I don’t think she quite understands yet— I often pass by the nursery and hear her talking to
mama
. I expect she’s pretending with her dolls.” He took a saffron cake from the plate and bit into it.