Echoes in Stone (16 page)

What little investigation he’d done on Lily’s stepfather, Jack Palmer, indicated he’d only married once, to Marguerite. The information about Lily’s real father, Marcus Wilkerson, had never come to light. Marguerite’s doing, no doubt. Odds were high Marguerite had given birth to both girls. Jessa had been born while Marguerite’s degenerate husband chased about Europe, Lily in tow. Not surprising, given the woman’s intemperate nature.

He considered the woman who moved about the room, ostensibly studying his art and sculptures while studiously ignoring him. There was an air of innocence about Jessa that had been wholly lacking in Lily. Of course, who could tell the real damage done to Lily growing up in the custody a depraved man such as Wilkerson? Perhaps Jessamine simply better hid her lack of morals. Surely, no virtuous woman would’ve traveled here alone or stayed in a bachelor household without good reason.

Money—and Marguerite’s chronic lack of it—would be a very good reason. If one daughter could be sold into marriage, why not a second?

It had been a long time since anything so intrigued or captivated him as Jessa. So many questions. Only the little temptress, standing still, examining a painting, held the answers. The evening stretched out before him. He could wait.

When the dinner was laid out, Dash held the door for the departing maid. Winston hesitated. “Are you sure you wish me to leave, Dash?” he whispered. “Remember what happened the last time you had a quiet dinner alone with one of the Palmer women.”

Dash patted his cousin on the back, giving him a reassuring smile. “Never fear, my friend. Tonight, I’ll eat or drink nothing she doesn’t sample first. There’ll be no drugs in my wine this time. No matter what happens, there will be no marriage proposal on the morrow. You may be quite certain of that.”

Dash closed the door behind Winston, then turned the lock, the click loud in the tense stillness of the room. He wanted no interruptions—and no escapes—before he’d gotten all his answers. He turned to the woman who watched him, wariness in those beautiful eyes.

She clutched the stem of her empty glass as if it were a sword offering her a measure of protection from him.

He gave her the most innocent smile he could manage with his ruined face. “Come, Jessa. Join me. Let us see what delicious surprises await us.”

WHAT HAVE I gotten myself into this time
? Dash’s wolfish grin did nothing to soothe Jessa’s nerves. Tonight he wore shades of deepest gray, like a living shadow. Only his snowy white shirt and cravat gave any relief to the general impression of darkness. When he offered Jessa another glass of wine, she didn’t hesitate to accept.

In spite of the cheerful fire, tension crackled across the table, arcing between them like invisible lightning. Cook had created a fine meal for them. Venison and fish, several vegetables, fresh bread, even a dish of apple butter loaded the table.

“Ah. I see cook has included your favorite,” Dash said, holding the dish of fruit out to her.

Heat rushed to her cheeks as memory rushed in. Dash’s apple-flavored kiss there in the quiet copse. The way his tongue tasted as it entangled with hers. She’d never be able to taste Cornish Gillyflower apples again without remembering that day, wrapped in Dash’s arms, her blouse unbuttoned, his hand—

No. She mustn’t even think it. He’d read her thoughts in her eyes. “Thank you, but I believe not just now. There are so many other lovely dishes to try first.”

She needed all her wits about her, but his presence stirred her blood, caused goose bumps to break out on her arms. Why? Whatever the answer, Dashiell Tremayne caused it. The worst of it was the odd feeling between her thighs, that same peculiar ache she’d experienced when he kissed her. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the uncomfortable throb.

She cleared her throat, then took a larger swallow of the sweet red wine than she was normally wont to do, breathing deeply. “Is anything amiss, Captain? You don’t seem to be eating much. I would have thought a day spent riding about your estate would have given you a greater appetite.”

Indeed, he only seemed to be pushing the fine dinner around on his plate, but had swallowed little of it. He’d replaced her sherry with Madeira, and was enjoying the ruby wine himself. He raised his eyebrow, giving her another of those odd smiles.

“My appetite is fine, thank you for asking, Jessa. I’m simply enjoying the sight of a lovely woman enjoying her dinner. So many women just pick at their food. Worried about their figures, I suppose. It’s a pleasure to dine with a woman who has no need for such worries.”

A compliment? From the surly Captain Tremayne? Jessa could hardly credit it. Her skepticism must have shown on her face. That, or Dash really could read her mind.

“Oh dear,” Dash said. “I haven’t spoiled your appetite, now have I?” He smiled. “That was certainly not my intent. A bit more bread and butter, perhaps? If you have no taste for apples tonight, perhaps you’d prefer strawberries?” Without waiting for her response, he prepared a slice of the yeasty bread for her, then watched her take a bite before doing likewise with his own.

Conversation was desultory. She had no idea how to broach any of the topics that most needed discussing. Casting about for an innocuous subject, she mentioned the conservatory she’d discovered the day before. “It’s a truly remarkable example, Captain. There were species I’ve only seen in larger conservatories in London. You have some quite interesting palm trees, and oh my, the fragrance of the lily of the valley and the jasmine were both quite lovely.” Although lily of the valley grew profusely outdoors, it had been cultivated in large pots in the conservatory and was blooming well past its normal season.

“Yes,” Dash replied, “I’m rather fond of the jasmine myself. That’s your name, is it not? Jasmine?”

Jessa offered her first genuine smile of the evening. “Yes, in a way. My name, Jessamine, is a variation on the name for the flower.”

“I just realized, although I never noticed it before, that all of you, the Palmer women, have flower names. Is it some sort of family tradition?”

“I’m surprised Lily didn’t tell you when you were choosing names for your daughter. Yes, it goes back to Marguerite’s mother.” Jessa caught herself before she said the word
grandmother
. She’d never met Marguerite’s mother. In any case, neither of them would have acknowledged the relationship. “Marguerite’s mother was named Daisy. When she had a daughter, she wanted her to have a flower name as well, so she named her Marguerite, which, of course, is another name for a daisy. Marguerite carried on the tradition with Lily. Lily carried it forward with your own daughter, Holly. As you surmised, I was named after the jasmine flower.”

Jessa laughed. “Papa used to call us his ‘pocketful of posies’. I once asked what he’d have done had he had a boy. He said boys needed to be named after something stronger than delicate flowers. He said he’d have used the names of trees.” Jessa smiled at Dash. It was one of her few happy memories.

She had no warning. Dash slid under her defenses for the
coup de grace
. “So tell me, Jessamine, how is it, if you are only Marguerite’s stepdaughter, you came to be named after a flower as well?”

Jessa froze, her smile gone. Perhaps the unaccustomed glass of sherry, combined with the Madeira, had lowered her normal defenses, loosened her tongue. Whatever the cause, she’d forgotten one of the key rules of survival. Never relax your guard in the face of a wolf, even if his tail is wagging. She dropped her napkin by her plate, pushed back her chair, and stood.

Dinner was over. The after-dinner game had begun.

21.

It was if Lily transformed somehow…

DASH KEPT HIS word to Winston. Throughout dinner, he’d eaten nothing not first tasted by the mercurial woman who now prowled the room, examining his books. This one wouldn’t be able to drug him then falsely claim he’d compromised her. If he were ever crack-brained enough to seduce her, they’d both be fully aware of what they were doing.

Dash left his place at the table, pouring himself an after-dinner splash of brandy. The glass almost to his lips, he stopped, eyed it with suspicion, then set it on the desk, untouched. No point in taking chances. After all, the little minx had been alone in the room with his decanters before dinner.

He settled on the sofa, then lit a cigar without begging Jessa’s permission. She’d taken it on herself to invade his study; why should he concern himself with her comfort?

“You haven’t answered my question, Jessa mine.” It gave Dash a perverse pleasure to torment her with his own variation of her name. “How is it that you,
step
daughter of the delightful Marguerite, came to be one of Palmer’s ‘pocketful of posies’?”

Jessa, who’d been giving closer-than-necessary examination to a painting, startled.

His voice dripped with honey. “My dear, you still seem on edge, even after that delightful dinner and some of my best Madeira. Perhaps you’d find a medicinal glass of brandy would soothe your nerves.”

Jessa shook her head. She settled back into one of the gold and black-striped chairs across from Dash. The colors complemented her gown and hair.

Dash caught his breath at the picture of such beauty. What would she look like sprawled beneath him on the sofa, her gold hair spread out against the cushions? His member responded to the erotic image.

To the devil with it. If she’d drugged the brandy, so be it. He needed to relax with her or he’d never get the answers he sought. So what if he did allow her to seduce him before the night ended? At least the chit’s mother wasn’t here this time, to burst into the room making accusations and demanding he be leg-shackled to her conniving daughter.

Jessa sat with her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. After filling his snifter, he returned to the sofa, waiting for her to speak, allowing the silence to stretch out before them. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Captain, I can understand you wanting to know my family history. After all, I came here, without prior acquaintance, to check the welfare of my niece. I—” She drew a breath. “I had reason to come here when I did. I understand why you would suspect my motives. I’d hoped to find my concerns were without merit, but, given everything that’s happened to me here….”

She sighed, then leaned back in her chair. “Captain, there is something unhealthy in this house. Something haunts it. I told you about my dream—if that’s what it was—when I was so ill. About a woman who looked like Lily, but who called herself Susanna. The woman who tried to smother me. I saw her again, Captain, just before the fire in my room. But this time, I truly thought it was Lily. At first, she tried to save me from the fire. She was trying to warn me away from here. But then—”

Dash sat up straight, shaking his head in disbelief. Was there no end to the lies these Palmer women would tell?

Jessa looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap, then returned his gaze, furrows marring her brow. “I don’t know how to explain. It was as if Lily transformed somehow, right before my eyes. She
became
Susanna, who seems to think I’m some sort of… some sort of fallen woman. One who needs to be punished. On the two occasions I’ve encountered her, she says fire is the only way to save me.”

Jessa leaned forward, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. “I’m frightened, Captain, but more so for Holly than for myself. This woman exhorts me in one breath to save the child, then in the next tells me it’s too late.” Jessa blew out her breath.

Dash leaned forward as well, intent on her words. “Why are you coming to me with this story only now? If you truly believed
my daughter
to be in danger—”

“I’ve hesitated to tell you. The last time, you put it down to an upset from traveling or a reaction to Mrs. Penrose’s tisane. The vision of  Susanna could have been laudanum induced. But explain the fire, Captain. I don’t know how to make you believe me, but I swear, it was no accident. I didn’t knock over my lamp. Something is going on, Captain. I cannot, in good conscience, leave Holly here to face this demented creature, whoever it may be, alone. It must be one of your staff. Or one of their relatives. Or perhaps some poor, sick vagrant from the village. It doesn’t matter. She’s real, and she’s dangerous. I demand you find her. Confine her.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Call me hysterical if you wish. An overwrought alarmist. But I know the truth. And I can’t leave
my niece
here, at such risk.”

If he hadn’t found the unbroken globe from her lamp under her bed, he’d have rejected her words outright. Even then, the possibility existed Jessa herself had set the fire, in order to create a false crisis to drive him to hand Holly over into her care. She didn’t know him at all, if she believed he’d ever give the protection of Holly into anyone’s hands but his own.

Dash rose. Jessa flinched in her chair, much to his annoyance. What had he ever done to cause her to fear him? “You must believe me. I’m doing everything possible to investigate your claims.”