Free Echoes in Stone by Kat Sheridan Page A

her face deeper into the dark warmth of the man holding her, fighting the pain. Struggling to remember.
    Dashiell Tremayne. They’d argued. About Holly. Marguerite. Lily. The scent of lime cologne enveloped her. She remembered that.
    He’d kissed her.
    Jessa’s eyes popped open, staring straight into a pair of silver eyes. She tried to spring away from his firm grasp. Her feeble push on his chest was no match for his strength. His heart thudded against her palm. The same rhythm that had pounded in her ear.
    Dash Tremayne had kissed her. That kiss had almost killed her.
     

 
     
    13.
     
    Being dead is a bad thing…
     
    “NOW SEE, CAPTAIN, ye have frightened the lass. I told you she wasn’t quite back with us.” Mrs. Penrose stood at the foot of the bed, peering at Jessa. A smile hovered on her lips.
    “How are you feeling now, Miss? Careful there, your lordship, or you’ll have tea all down the front of her nightgown. I’m not certain she has a clean one left.” The small woman moved to the head of the bed to plump up a stack of downy pillows.
    Dash eased Jessa from his arms, propping her upon them. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss Palmer,” he said. He scooted off the bed. He looked much as he had that first night—his hair tumbling to his shoulders, a stubble of black beard shadowing his cheeks and chin. “I, for one, am glad to see you looking better. A bit more color in your cheeks, and you’ve stopped making those god-awful noises.” He clasped his hands behind him, rocking back on his heels.
    “What’s going on here?” Jessa asked. The last thing she remembered was feeling both hotter and colder than she’d ever been, then something about rosebushes. She widened her eyes as memory returned. Her hand flew to her mouth.
    “God lord woman, you’re not going to pitch the contents of your guts on my boots again, are you? Winston had the devil’s own time getting it all out the last time. Mrs. Penrose, fetch that basin.” In spite of his stern tone, Dash loosed his hands, hovered, as if ready to come to her aid in an instant. Contradictory beast .
    “No.” Jessa managed to say, “I don’t believe I’ve anything left to pitch.” Hollowed out, empty, but at least her stomach didn’t churn as furiously as it had when she last remembered.
    Dash stood back again, hands resting at his side. “Thank God. You’ve been rather disgusting for the last two days. I’m not sure how much more Mrs. Penrose and the poor maids would be able to tolerate. Mrs. Penrose.” He turned to the housekeeper. “Perhaps we could try putting a bit of food into our houseguest.” Dash eyed Jessica as if she were a ticking bomb. “Some dry toast, perhaps, or a bit of beef broth. Something that won’t make too great a mess if she decides she isn’t finished being ill in my rosebushes.”
    At least Jessa was no longer cold. Heat flared in her cheeks. The odious brute, to remind her of her humiliation.
    “If you’re quite sure you won’t be doing anything revolting in the next ten minutes, Miss Palmer, I will stay with you until Mrs. Penrose can send a maid up with a tray.”
    Jessa smiled at him, baring her teeth. “Oh, your lordship, I can’t be certain of anything. I’m not even certain where I am.”
    She glanced around. This wasn’t the blue room she remembered. The walls here were the color of old gold. Deep red draperies hung at the windows, repeating the color from the bed curtains. She’d seen this color somewhere else recently, but memory eluded her. An elegant room, but not hers.
    The captain sent Mrs. Penrose scurrying out the door with a gesture. He strode to a wingback chair pulled close to the side of the bed, all but flinging himself into it.
    “Tell me, Jessa. What’s the last thing you remember?”
    “Sick,” she said. “Sick and—”. Something else. Something had frightened her. Why couldn’t she remember?
    “Who is Luther? You called out for him rather often the last