Echoes in Stone (26 page)

“Jessamine. You’re tired. Overwrought. I don’t know what you saw, and neither do you.”

She pulled back, pushing the wet hair from her face. She shook her head in violent protest of Dash’s words, but he put his hand over her mouth, not allowing her to speak.

“Jessa, I know it’s hard to accept, but Lily is dead. I saw her die. I heard—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I heard. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m going to find out. Someone’s playing cruel tricks on you. I suspect the same person is playing them on Holly as well. I’m going to find out who it is. Put a stop to it. But for tonight, please—”

Dash pulled her against his chest once more, rocking her in the water. “For tonight, shut off that very busy imagination of yours. Just let go. For tonight, let me help you.” He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, then pushed her away from him. He put a finger under her chin, raising her face to his. His silvery eyes, so sad and tired, met hers.

It was wrong. Being here was wrong. She was exhausted, tired of fighting him, tired of thinking. She nodded. “Just for tonight, Dash. But you must promise me. You won’t let it end here. Promise me you’ll listen to me later.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, then opened them again, giving her a small smile. “I promise, Jessa, but only if you let me finish washing you now. Let me get some dinner into you. Get you into bed. We can talk in the morning. I promise. I’ll let nothing interfere this time.”

She pushed herself off his lap, retreating to the other side of the tub. She watched him for a long moment, then handed him the flannel washing cloth.

“Yes. If you truly promise to listen later, then yes. Please.” With every ounce of her spirit she wanted to keep fighting, to make him listen to her, right this minute. But the day had been too long, too wrought with pain and danger. Her body betrayed her. And with one look into gentle gray eyes, her heart threatened to betray her as well.

34.

…her spirit still haunted Tremayne Hall…

GOD, WHAT HAD Jessa endured today? Dash stifled the urge to climb out the tub and stomp through the halls until he found and throttled whoever had caused that ghastly look in her eyes. He unclenched the fist that clutched the washing flannel as if it were the offender’s throat, stunned by the violence of his emotions.

Dammit. When had his household—and his life—spun so out of control? He’d thought the histrionics had ended with Lily’s death. But even now, her spirit still haunted Tremayne Hall.

Mist writhed and swirled around a ghost-pale face. Oh yes. When a half-drowned waif had stumbled in from the storm. She’d needed no battering ram to breach the stone walls of his castle. All she’d needed was a pair of jade green eyes and a protectiveness toward his daughter that rivaled his own.

She needed to be told about the servant’s death, but it could wait. Thankfully, she’d been too shaken earlier to catch his reference to impending guests.

Jessa lay back against the tub and closed her eyes. The tension still riding her was evident in her closed fist. Her rigid muscles. He washed her gently, stroking the soapy cloth the length of one arm before moving to the other. The muscles relaxed under his ministrations. Her hand fell open. He sat back, lifting her small foot.

Jessa’s eyes popped open. She stifled a giggle. She struggled to pull her foot from his hands. “Dash, let go. That tickles.”

His response was to wrap his hand more firmly around her ankle. “You promised to let me wash you. That means all of you. I’ll try not to tickle you. It will be easier if you just relax.”

She stopped struggling, but still smothered half giggles, wriggling when he soaped sensitive spots. Her instep. The back of her knee.

He mentally made note.

She tensed as he washed farther up her legs, until he reached the sensitive spot at the juncture of her thighs. She stared at him, no longer laughing.

“Breathe, Jessa. You have to breathe.”

She drew a shallow breath, but continued staring at him, eyes large in her still face.

He coaxed her thighs apart, moving the flannel between her legs, refusing to break eye contact. He rubbed the soapy cloth against her, applying pressure with the heel of his hand. He parted her nether lips. With the rough fabric wrapped around his finger, he rubbed the hidden nub he found there.

Jessa closed her eyes with a moan. She clutched the edge of the tub, but didn’t try to stop him. Her thighs tensed and trembled under his hands.

“Dash?” Her voice, high, thready, sent shivers skating down his spine.

He withdrew his hand. His cock bobbed in the water before him, aching.

“Turn around, Jessa. Let me wash your back. We both need to breathe here.”

He drew in a shaky breath. Lord, what she did to him. He meant to take care of her. She needed to know he’d keep her safe. Protected. His intentions were honest, but his cock had other activities in mind. She’d been through too much already. It was up to him to put a stop to this. But, God help him, he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him. To bury himself in her. Reassure himself she was alive, safe, in the most primitive possible way.

She turned, pulled her hair forward over her shoulder, presenting her back to him. The bruises on her shoulder were already purpling. He soaped the cloth, then spread the warm square of fabric across her skin. He moved it in slow circles, from the nape of her neck down across her shoulder blades. He massaged as he went, probing the tense muscles until they relaxed under his hands.

“Lean forward. Just relax. I’ve got you now.”

She complied, rounding her shoulders, dropping her head forward. Dash followed the curve of her back with the soapy square, until he reached the base of her spine. She moaned in pleasure.

Dash grabbed another washing flannel. He warmed and soaped it to match the first. With one cloth in each hand, he washed under her arms. Her small giggle alerted him this was yet another sensitive spot. He ran his cloth-covered hands down her sides to the flare of her hips, then back up again, taking his time. Over and over, he traced the same path—under her arms, graze the sides of her breasts, follow the inward dip of her waist, then out over the curve of her hips. The contours of her body mesmerized him.

“Dash,” she moaned, “you need to stop. You’re making me ache. You’re making me—”

“Hush, my sweet.” Dash didn’t stop. “It’s all right. Just enjoy the feeling. I won’t hurt you. You needn’t be embarrassed. I’ve told you that before.”

He pulled her back against him, moving his hands to her abdomen. She hummed a small protest, but laid her head back on his shoulder, her eyes closed. He rubbed the soapy squares of fabric down her taut abdomen, just to the top of the curls that lay hidden under the water, then swept back up her body. He cupped her full breasts, one in each hand. He glided the slick fabric over them, fondling, stroking.

He rinsed the soap from the fabric, then returned to her breasts. Without the soap to soften it, the fabric was rougher. He abraded her nipples with the flannel, teasing them into twin peaks. She moaned, writhing in his arms. He plucked her nipples with cloth-covered fingers, until they were pebbled as ripe berries.

Jessa groaned, laying her hands over his to stop him.

“No,” he commanded, his voice harsh. “Put your hands on the side of the tub. Keep them there.” Dash drew a shaky breath. “I’ll stop, Jessa, soon, but for now—please. Please just let me give you some pleasure.”

She hesitated, then stretched out her arms, gripping the sides of the tub. Her breasts bobbed on the surface of the water. Her nipples, exposed to the cool air, tormented by the rough fabric covering his hands, drew into tight buds.

He did not relent, but continued plucking, rubbing them.

She thrashed, moaned, but didn’t let go of the tub.

He gloried in the sound of her breath, the quick, shallow gasps. When he sensed she could take no more, he wrapped one arm around her, her breasts bouncing on top of his forearm, pulling her back tight against his chest. With his other hand, he plunged below the water, abrading the harsh fabric against the nub between her spread thighs.

Her hands, gripping the edge of the tube, were white knuckled. She stiffened in his arms, threw back her head, then climaxed with a high, wild cry.

He dropped the cloth, resting the palm of his hand, still and warm, between her thighs. He held her that way until she stopped shaking and relaxed back against him. His rigid cock ached, throbbed against her back, but he ignored it. This was Jessa’s time. She needed the release he had given her.

“May I—” Jessa’s voice was a mere whisper. “May I let go of the tub now?”

Dash threw back his head with a shout of laughter.

“Yes Jessa mine, you may let go now. You let go so very well.” He laughed again, then turned her to sit sideways in his lap.

She wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. Just as she’d done last night, she drifted into a light doze.

He examined her relaxed features. Her dark lashes cast shadows against her fair skin. How had this stubborn, willful woman managed to worm her way past his defenses? He smiled, shook his head, holding her tighter. How was he going to let her go? For her protection—and for his own sanity—he had to. Soon. In spite of her bountiful charms, he couldn’t allow her to stay with him. The danger to him—and
from
him—was far too great already.

35.

Lily is out there somewhere…

THE COOLING WATER woke Jessa. She’d dozed only minutes, but it had done her good. She snuggled deeper against Dash’s chest, relishing the warmth. The steady thud of his heart drummed in her ear. She stretched, but the cool, lavender-scented air raised goose bumps on her skin. She looked up to see silver eyes watching her. She smiled.

“I’m cold.”

“I know, honey. I can take care of that.”

Dash rose from the water, Jessa in his arms. He set her on her feet, then reached for a Turkish towel. She stood still, letting him rub her until her skin tingled.

When he finished, he wrapped it around her, then reached for the black velvet robe hanging from the hook on the back of the door. He shrugged into it, cinching the sash around his waist. “I don’t know about you, Jessa, but I’m starving.” He smiled, then took her by the hand, leading her to the door in the far wall.

A narrow hall led from there, past rows of clothes hanging on either side. A dressing room, Jessa guessed. Dash turned a key at another door at the far end, then swung open the door.

Jessa gasped. “This is my room.”

A fire crackled in the fireplace, illuminating the gold walls and ebony furnishings. She’d known this door was here, but after discovering it locked, she’d investigated no further. She’d known Dash’s rooms were near hers, but, until now, had no idea they were connected. Realization dawned.

“These are the lady’s rooms, aren’t they?” Of course. The master suite would connect to his wife’s rooms.

“When you were so ill, it seemed expedient to have you here. Easier for me—or rather, the staff— to keep an eye on you. It saved them running from one end of the house to the other. If you’d taken a turn for the worse, I could be fetched more easily.” Dash had the grace to look embarrassed.

She’d been very ill, but remembered him being at her side more often than not.

Dash interrupted before she could explore that train of thought further. “Let’s get you into something warm, then see what Cook has put together for us.”

The covers on the high four-poster bed were turned down. Jessa’s nightgown lay spread out on the sheets. Heat rose in her cheeks. The plain gown was something to be worn by a sensible spinster, not the gown of a woman who’d just been seduced by a handsome man. She wished it were something beautiful, sheer and enticing.

“Perfect,” Dash said. “Nice, warm flannel. Just what you need. Before we get you into it though, I want to get some salve on those bruises and wrap your wrist.” He led her to the bed.

She clutched the towel around her with her uninjured hand, wondering how she’d climb into the high bed without losing either her towel or her dignity.

Dash rescued her once again. “Let me help.” He scooped her off her feet, settling her in the bed as easily as he would have done for Holly. “Give me that wet towel, then I’ll pull the covers over you.” He didn’t wait for her response, but swept off the towel and tucked her into the blankets in economical motions.

“Really Dash, I can manage.”

“Why do you keep resisting my help?” Dash put his hands on his hips, glaring. “Just lie there. Get warm while I fetch the basket of ointments Mrs. Penrose left.”

Jessa gave him a small nod, then turned on her side, tucking her hands under her cheek. Why was he being so kind to her? It didn’t matter. She was grateful he’d hidden away his usual, surly side. She was too tired, too confused to deal with it.

Dash moved to stoke the fire. A table and two chairs were pulled close to it. Covered dishes, arrayed on a crisp white tablecloth, sat on the table. Her stomach rumbled, a reminder she’d missed lunch. Her brow furrowed when she remembered why.

As if she’d spoken aloud, Dash rose from the fireplace, returning to her bedside. He laid a hand on her cheek.

“Not now, Jessa. Smooth that brow of yours. Stop frowning. I knew this would happen if I left you alone.” He caressed her forehead, then rubbed small circles on her temple.

“Medicine, food, rest, in that order. I’ll be right here when you wake up. We’ll talk then. But for now, you must listen to me. Just rest, Jessamine.”

“But Dash, how can I rest? Lily is out there somewhere, prowling about the house tonight. She looked ill, unkempt, and—”

“Jessa, stop it. Stop it right now.” Dash blew out an exasperated breath, running his hand through his wet hair, shaking water droplets onto Jessa’s exposed shoulder. She shivered.