Echoes in Stone Read Free Page B

ragged, torn face, and of the man’s lips, so close to hers. Certainly not his charming manner. Perhaps his breadth of shoulder had attracted Lily, or his intriguing pewter eyes…. No. Please—don’t let me be like Lily .
    Sometime in the deepest part of the night, Jessa jerked fully awake from her fitful sleep. Her skin prickled in awareness, as if someone—or something—watched her. She lay very still, fighting to keep her breath deep, even. She listened, stretching out with all her senses.
    “Sooo.” The sibilant hiss came from nowhere, everywhere. Words, no more distinct than sighs, swirled around the room.
    Just the wind, whispering through the gaps in the windows.
    “You have come too late. Too late.” The breathy voice died away. Long, tense minutes later, the sensation of another presence in the room, watching her, dissipated.
    Days of jouncing around in a carriage, the atrocious welcome, and now this? What the devil kind of place had she come to? If Dashiell Tremayne thought such a cruel trick would force her into leaving….
    Every muscle in Jessa’s body ached with tension and fatigue. Nevertheless, she threw back the covers and struck a lucifer to her lamp.
    Of the room’s three doors, one led to the hall, one led to a small washing room, and the third, locked, remained a mystery. She dragged a chair away from the fireplace, shoving it hard against that third door. She double-checked the hall door as well. Locked. Nothing could have come through there.
    Her head throbbed, her patience stretched to breaking. Before climbing back into bed, she turned the lamp low, but didn’t extinguish it. The friendly light would be a welcome guard against whatever dwelled here.
    She lay on her side, her eyes shut tight. I’m not like Mother. Not like Lily. I won’t give in to idiotic dramas .
    Far away, down the corridor, a door slammed. Likely her sotted, inconsiderate host, taking himself off to bed. Had he paused outside her door, whispering through the keyhole? But that voice…
    Nothing more than a long journey. Overwrought nerves. An old house creaking in a storm. That couldn’t have been Lily’s voice. Lily was dead.
     

     
    IN THE DIM light of the study, Winston studied his cousin through narrowed eyes. He’d watched Dash do battle with his inner demons many times over the last few years, but somehow, tonight was different. God knew the man had already been through enough with his family, his past. With Lily.
    Winston hated to pick at old wounds, but something had to be done to detour Dash from his self-destructive path. Too many mistakes had been made already.
    Dash had always protected Holly from her mother—from Lily’s odd fancies and her temper tantrums. He loved the child. But the little girl still needed help, guidance. Dash was the only person in any position to provide that. But not if he continued to allow himself to be controlled by his bitterness.
    Winston blew out another puff of smoke from his cigar, watching the silvery wisp spiral toward the high ceiling. He cleared his throat, uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward.
    “What are you going to do now, Dash?” he asked. “Though she bears some passing resemblance to her, you know as well as I that was not Lily there in your foyer tonight. That was a flesh and blood—and thanks to you—very frightened, woman.” His voice sharpened. “We are so far off any of the main roads, there is not the slightest chance her being here is an accident. She will still be here in the morning. You will need to be sober enough—and sane enough—to listen to her explanations. I suggest you put down that glass and let me help your drunken, sorry self to bed.”
    Winston crossed the room to the man swaying before the fire. He removed the glass from Dash’s unresisting hand. The fight had left his friend as suddenly as it had come upon him. Winston cajoled Dash across the now-empty foyer, up the long flights of stairs, then down the drafty corridor to