Penmort Castle

Chapter Thirteen Penmort Castle

Cash was furious.

He’d been furious all day.

No, strike that, he’d been furious that morning.

In the afternoon, after James spoke to him, he’d been livid.

But those feelings had been directed at Abby.

Driving his car down the dark motorway toward Penmort Castle, Abby at his side, silent and staring at nothing out the passenger window, Cash was, at present, furious with himself.

That morning after she’d accused him of making her a whore when it was she who sold her body for two hundred thousand pounds; and after she’d told him she considered the dressing gowns he’d bought her a payment for services rendered, he’d felt a fury unlike anything he’d felt in his life.

Then he’d spoken to Abby in a way he’d never spoken to a woman in his life.

Indeed, it was not lost on Cash that, over the last week, Abigail Butler had made him feel, and do, many things he’d never felt, or done, in his life.

When he’d come home on Friday night to a light burning in the hall, Billie Holliday’s voice coming at him only to walk downstairs and see candles flickering, dim lights shining and Abby in a kitchen surrounded by cutting boards topped with chopped vegetables and something on a grill pan covered with foil, he’d felt something strange.

It was something he couldn’t remember ever feeling but perhaps he’d had it once when he was a child before his grandfather died.

It was contentment.

Even though she’d appeared anxious, coming home to her still made a strange ease settle over him.

And throughout the weekend, this ease grew.

It grew when he caught her eyes on him after her nap, her gaze soft and almost awed as if he was a god not a man. It grew simply because she was sleeping, exhausted by him, naked on his couch. It grew the next day when he’d done something he’d never done before, spent most of a day in bed with a woman. It grew as he discovered her body, was stirred by her touch, pleased that she seemed just as happy to do nothing but the same. And then she dozed while he held her and sometimes he’d slide his hands along her skin, familiarising himself with her even while she slept.

Lastly it grew the night before, when he came home and turned her into his arms and she’d muttered in sleepy relief that he was safe at home.

Cash knew it was him that she was happy was safe. It was him she looked at with awe. It was him on whose couch she slept naked. It was him whose body she put her mouth on, smiling against his skin when she made him groan.

It was him.

Not Ben.

And Cash began to feel more than content.

He felt at peace.

And he’d never, not once, felt peace in his life.

Knowing as a child does that something was not right with his mother, with his father’s family, Cash had not even felt it when his grandfather was alive.

Abby gave that to him. He felt it, he understood it and he meant to keep it.

But that morning, Abby had upset that peace.

And that afternoon, when James had come to deliver Abby’s message, she’d annihilated it.

James had seemed surprised, confused and even concerned at the message he had to deliver.

James had been at Cash’s side on the pavement when Cash made the unprecedented move to peer through a shop window and pause in his daily business to buy a diamond bracelet for a woman.

Cash had never done such a thing. Not for any woman.

James, for years a colleague and a friend, had attempted to ask tactful questions but Cash didn’t bite. James didn’t need the answers, Cash’s actions told the story.

And Cash couldn’t care less.

Abby was his. She’d given herself freely. Not just the first time, every time, all weekend, with her response to his touch, her reaction to the cashmere dressing gown, her gaze on him while he was reading.

Everything.

And as he told her, he took care of what was his.

And being Cash’s meant she’d wear cashmere and diamonds.

That was simply the way it was going to be.

But the message she relayed to James said quite plainly she wanted to end things.

And that idea, Cash found, he could not tolerate.

It was so intolerable it caused the slowly ebbing burn which had been reducing all day to re-ignite.

He’d even felt for a moment actual rage.

Therefore, by the time he stood at Abby’s door, he planned to teach her a lesson. He planned to make it perfectly clear the difference between being his and being his whore. Spurred by fury, he’d carried out his plan.

And after, at the door when she’d looked at him with deeply wounded eyes, the intensity of hurt in them caused Cash to feel a sharp pain in his gut.

It was then he realised that his plan had not been his most stellar.

He turned off the motorway and navigated the winding roads of Devon, heading for the coast.

He knew he was going to have to do something else he’d never done and he had no earthly idea how. And he was furious that he’d put himself in that position. And he was even more furious that he’d been the cause of her pain.

Over the distance, Cash considered his options.

However before he came to any conclusions, Penmort Castle loomed in front of them, its lit towers and turrets a daunting vision against the dark night.

Cash barely registered the vague thrill he normally felt when he saw Penmort.

He’d been there only two times as a teen, when Nicola had invited him to stay. Both times had been, despite her best efforts, unsatisfactory. He’d been there relatively often since Alistair had offered his artificial olive branch.

This time he would be entering as its owner, a goal which he’d spent a year doing all in his power to achieve.

It should have been a triumph.

Cash didn’t give it a thought.

He drove up the steep hill at the side of the castle and stopped at the arched, gated doorway set into the thick, stone wall that surrounded much of the castle.

He pulled the emergency brake, switched off the car and noted Abby’s hand was already on her door handle.

In an effort to forestall her, his own hand went to the area above her knee. But at his touch, she instantly jerked away. Whether this was anger, hurt or revulsion, he didn’t know.

He also didn’t care.

“Abby,” he called as she continued her efforts to exit the car, partially opening the door.

They had only moments before their arrival would be discovered. He had to get this done now. He had no time to waste.

Swiftly, he leaned across her, his fingers curling around the door handle, and he slammed it closed.

Her head turned to look at him. He could see her face dimly lit in the outside lights of the gate.

She didn’t look angry, hurt or revolted.

She looked blank.

Fucking hell, he thought.

He lifted his hand to her neck and held her there.

“Abby –” he started softly.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice as expressionless as her face and Cash wondered how long it would take to achieve his new goal of winning Abby back.

As usual, he didn’t delay.

“James talked to me this afternoon,” Cash told her.

She stayed silent but he felt her body grow stiff.

“In future,” he went on quietly, “if you have something to say to me, you contact me yourself. Is that understood?”

Her body stayed stiff but she gave a short nod. Her neck tugged against his hand, trying to pull away and he gave her a gentle squeeze indicating he wasn’t done.

She went still.

“You made me very angry today,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle and she sat silent, eyes on him. “Tonight, instead of simply being angry at you, I took that anger out on you.” He paused and gave her neck another squeeze. “It won’t happen again.”

She remained silent, her eyes on his and he waited for some sign she understood but he didn’t get it.

Instead, all of a sudden her eyes moved to the side.

Then, surprising him, she leaned in, her hand coming to rest lightly on his shoulder and she pressed her lips against his.

He thought for a moment this was an act of forgiveness but before relief could fully form, mouth still on his, she whispered, “We’re being watched.”

Then her head tilted, she pressed closer, her fingers curled into his shoulder, and she opened her mouth under his, the tip of her tongue touching his lips.

He knew it was an act, a show for whatever audience they had.

And he didn’t care about that either.

He accepted her invitation and the opportunity it offered, opening his own mouth and drawing her tongue inside. One arm went around her to haul her soft body closer, his other hand fisted in the curls of her hair at her back, gently tugging down to manoeuvre her mouth so his would have better access.

Then he deepened the kiss and, gratifyingly, her hand moved from his shoulder, sliding up his neck and into his hair as her body yielded to his.

He knew then he had her.

Pressing his advantage, he kissed her until he heard that low, sexy noise she made in the back of her throat. A noise he discovered on Sunday that corresponded with a rush of heat between her legs.

And when he knew he could still reach her, his mouth broke from hers, slid down to her neck and Cash breathed in her perfume.

He heard her soft but heavy inhalations in his ear and he smiled against her skin.

“We’ll finish talking later,” he murmured.

She had no time to reply, there was a sharp rap on the passenger side window and Cash felt Abby’s body jolt in surprise.

“Is everything okay?” his step-cousin, Fenella, shouted and Cash saw her small face peering through the glass.

“Fuck,” he muttered right before Abby pulled away.

With no other choice (although he would have preferred to start his car, drive to Abby’s, take her back to her bed and finish what they’d started in the car, this time, with both of them finding release), Cash began to exit the car but he was intercepted by Abby’s hand on his arm.

He turned back to her and her hand came up toward his face, it hesitated then pulled back but stayed suspended and her finger circled.

“Lip gloss,” she whispered and two intensely unpleasant sensations hit him at once.

One was loss.

The other was remorse.

“Hello!” Fenella called from outside.

“Take care of it,” Cash demanded, ignoring his cousin, his brief sense of relief fading back to irritation again directed at himself.

He may still be able to reach her in one way but in another she was very far away.

“What?” Abby asked, her head turning from the direction of Fenella back to Cash.

“Take care of it,” he repeated and when she hesitated he continued with a note of warning in his tone, “Abby –”

“Oh all right,” she gave in, her voice soft but annoyed.

Cash was illogically pleased to hear her exasperation. It wasn’t a good reaction but it was a reaction and he felt that boded well.

Therefore he smiled when she leaned in, reached up, her hand resting on his cheek as her thumb wiped the gloss from his mouth.

“Who is that?” Abby whispered while her finger slid across his lips.

“My cousin,” Cash’s mouth moved under her thumb.

“Are you two okay?” Fenella yelled in the window.

Abby’s hand fell and she gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher before her head twisted toward the window and she called, “We’re fine. Be out in two seconds!”

With nothing for it, Cash sighed his displeasure that the moment was lost before he knifed out of the car and slammed his door. He rounded the bonnet, his eyes on Abby who had extricated her lip gloss and was fixing her lips in the mirror of the sun visor.

“I was worried that you two were fighting,” Fenella announced as he arrived at Abby’s door where Fenella was standing and Cash looked at his cousin.

Fenella Fitzhugh was Nicola’s first-born daughter and she looked like her mother. Blonde, petite and pretty but, unlike her mother, it was in a sharp, pointy-faced way. She was too short for Cash’s liking and far too thin.

She was also, as had been evidenced in the last few minutes, unbelievably irritating in an obtuse, coy way.

How two people who were kissing passionately in a car could appear to Fenella to be fighting, Cash had no idea.

Instead of commenting, he simply greeted, “Fenella,” and moved around her to open Abby’s door.

He bent in and took Abby’s elbow, guiding her out and firmly positioning her free of the door before he slammed it.

“You must be Abigail,” Fenella stated the obvious.

“Abby,” Abby replied, her soft voice warm and friendly and her hand came out to take Fenella’s as she leaned in to touch the other woman’s cheek with her own.

When Abby pulled away, Fenella exclaimed, “We’ve all been waiting with bated breath to meet you. Cash has never brought a woman to Penmort.”

Abby looked at him from under her lashes as she murmured, “Really?”

“Really!” Fenella nearly screeched and Cash winced at the shrill noise. “Mummy is in a dither. An… actual… dither,” Fenella declared.

“Um, is a dither a good thing?” Abby joked.

Fenella waved her hand in front of her face, Abby’s quip flying right by her. “Oh, Mummy’s always in a dither about something or other.”

In all of his memories of Nicola Beaumaris, Cash had never known her once to be in anything close to a “dither”.

Cash, finished with this ridiculous exchange, decided to intercede.

“Perhaps we can move this conversation out of the negative three degree weather and somewhere warmer?” he suggested drily.

“Oh yes! What was I thinking?” Fenella cried and then motioned to them to follow. “Come inside.”

Fenella led the way and Cash and Abby trailed, Cash’s fingers curling idly around hers, his thoughts on Abby as well as what that night would bring.

Outside of Nicola, who would give Abby a genuine warm welcome, Cash couldn’t begin to guess how his uncle, and Nicola’s two remaining daughters, Suzanne and Honor, would behave.

His thoughts were not positive.

He was taken out of them when he felt Abby’s step slow and his head turned to her.

She was looking up, her lips parted, her face registering wonder.

Cash’s gaze followed hers and he noted they’d entered the gate, climbed the steep path and up the steps into the common, turned left and were headed straight toward the castle.

Brilliant beams of light were shining from the ground up toward Penmort illuminating it brightly against the night sky.

The castle was a rambling “L” built around the side of a tor. It had thin bands of terraced gardens containing meandering paths running along its outer edge. It had a jagged roofline, some of its towers and turrets rising five imposing stories from the ground. There was another level built below into the face of the tor. It had a jutting rectangular entrance at the bend of the “L” and was built of a mellow red-brown stone.

The land had been occupied, and fortified, since the time of William the Conqueror when the sea, long since receded, had reached to the bottom of the tor. The castle that stood now was built during the Jacobean era, over four hundred years before. The entirety of its interior décor had been painstakingly, with no expense spared, refinished during the reign of Victoria.

Since the property was granted to its first Beaumaris master, Henry, by Richard, the Lionheart generations of men, men whose blood flowed in Cash’s veins, had built and rebuilt the manor and then fortified, defended and possessed it for over eight hundred years.

“It’s beautiful,” Abby whispered, her voice filled with awe.

He looked down at Abby and then up at his ancestral home.

She was correct. It was beautiful.

He took her hand and tucked it in the bend of his arm, effectively pulling her body closer to his side as he led her forward.

Moments later, with the smell of Abby’s musky, floral perfume in his nostrils, the feel of her against his side, Cash stepped through the enormous door and over the threshold of Penmort for the first time its owner, not only by birthright, but as the victor of a bloodless battle.

As his and Abby’s feet hit the stone floor of the entrance lobby, it wasn’t only Cash who felt the floor slant beneath him.

Abby swayed, her body twisting so her front was pressed into his side, her other hand coming around to clutch his shirt at his stomach.

In front of them, halfway up the short flight of stone steps, Cash saw Fenella’s frame pitch awkwardly and she threw her arms out to steady herself.

For a moment they all seemed suspended.

When the sensation ended, Fenella whirled toward them and cried, “What was that? Are we having an earthquake?”

Cash looked down to Abby and saw her face was pale. She was still grasping his shirt in her fist, her other hand gripping his bicep tightly.

“Are you okay?” Cash asked Abby.

Her head tipped back to look at him, her hazel eyes wide and frightened as she whispered, “Did you feel that?”

“I felt it,” Cash answered, pulling Abby closer to his body, his head turned to Fenella and he asked, “Has that happened before?”

“No!” Fenella cried and pressed her hand against her stomach. “That was weird.”

“Cash!” Nicola’s voice greeted from straight ahead and Cash lifted his eyes his aunt.

Arriving in the entrance lobby was Nicola Beaumaris and her youngest daughter, Honor.

Nicola was nearly sixty years old but she looked ten years younger. Tonight, as usual, her blonde hair was pulled back into an elegant bun at her nape, her clothing was understated yet stylish and her bearing was graceful but friendly.

Honor was the only one of Nicola’s daughters that Cash could remotely endure. She was not rail-thin like her sisters but curvy to the point of being plump. When she wasn’t being silent, sullen or superior, she could be quite clever and, on rare occasions, displayed a sense of humour.

“Did you feel that?” Fenella asked when her mother and sister entered the hall.

“Feel what?” Honor returned.

“I don’t know what,” Fenella replied, “it felt like an earthquake.”

Nicola came to a dead halt one step down and stared at her oldest daughter. “An earthquake?”

“Yes, the room pitched and –” Fenella started.

Honor interrupted her sister, her voice weary. “Fenella, don’t be dramatic.”

“I felt it!” Fenella cried and then spun toward Cash and Abby. “You felt it too!”

“We did,” Abby’s soft voice confirmed Fenella’s story.

Fenella pointed a finger at Abby and squealed, “See!”

“Fenella, don’t point,” Nicola’s voice was gentle but firm. “And don’t tell tales.” Nicola descended the stairs to come close to them but her kind eyes were on Abby. “You must be Abigail.” At Abby’s nod, Nicola went on, “My eldest has a vivid imagination,” she explained, “she swears Penmort is haunted.”

Cash heard Abby’s indrawn breath and felt her press closer to him.

He had, of course, heard about the Famous Ghost of Penmort Castle. It was the spirit of the raven-haired beauty, supposedly named Vivianna Wainwright, who was also the spurned lover of one of Cash’s ancestors.

Legend told that Vivianna was a practicing witch and once her love was thwarted, she’d put a spell on her soul before hurling herself off the tallest tower of the castle, falling down the side of the tor to a gruesome death.

She’d done this not to kill herself but to live eternally within the castle as a malevolent phantom, wreaking vengeance by causing intermittent havoc and murdering the true loves of Penmort’s male line.

In all the castle’s history, this had allegedly happened only five times. Not generation-to-generation but, the tale dictated each time the victim had been Penmort’s master’s one, true, abiding love.

It was, Cash knew, complete rubbish.

His fingers covered Abby’s on his bicep and he murmured, “It isn’t true, darling.”

“Then what just happened?” Fenella demanded to know.

“I’m sure spooky Vivikums has better things to do than ruin Mummy’s dinner party,” Honor retorted.

Fenella’s face blanched before she whispered, “Don’t call her that. She doesn’t like it.”

“Hogwash,” Honor returned on a sharp hiss.

Nicola’s hand came out to touch Abby lightly. “Abigail, what must you think of us? Let’s take your coat and get you a drink.”

Cash escorted Abby up the steps and into the outer, took her bag and then her coat from her shoulders, motioning with his chin that Abby should follow Nicola.

He saw Nicola take Abby’s arm in her hand and guide her toward the drawing room saying, “I’m Nicola, Cash’s aunt. You’ve met Fenella, this is my youngest, Honor.”

Fenella and Honor trailed them and Cash watched as Abby cast a tremulous grin over her shoulder at Honor.

They disappeared into the drawing room and Cash took off his coat and tossed his and Abby’s belongings over a wide window seat before he traced their steps.

They were gathering in the drawing room, Alistair and Suzanne already there and when Cash entered Abby was greeting Suzanne.

Suzanne was Nicola’s middle child and the only one of the three that Cash actively detested. Far prettier than both her sisters, she knew it. She had the same sultry aura of Abby but where Abby’s was simply a part of her, Suzanne’s was a weapon she used.

And Cash had learned over the last year she used it aggressively.

As pretty and alluring as she was, she was no match for Abby’s striking beauty and casual glamour.

The minute his eyes fell on Suzanne’s face, which was turned to Abby and filled with unconcealed spite, Cash saw that Suzanne knew that too.

Cash felt his body tighten, instinctively going on guard at the malice he saw in his cousin’s eyes.

“Abigail!” Alistair boomed and Cash turned from one opponent to another.

His uncle did not look like a Beaumaris, at least not any of the former occupants of this house whose portraits hung in the gallery upstairs.

He was not tall, but of average height. He was not dark-headed with black eyes, but had light brown hair and faded blue eyes. He was not lean, straight and broad, but paunchy, slightly stooped with narrow shoulders.

And his eyes were mean.

He’d apparently decided to play the effusive host. Cash knew this because Alistair approached Abby, planted his hands on her shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

This was not Alistair Beaumaris’s normal manner.

“Delighted you’re here. Absolutely delighted,” Alistair proclaimed as Cash positioned himself close to Abby’s side. Alistair looked up at his nephew and smiled a rusty smile. “Cash, my boy.”

“Alistair,” Cash replied shortly and with considerable effort controlled the desire to curl his lip in loathing.

“Sit, sit,” Alistair motioned magnanimously to one of the two facing sofas. “Where’s Trevor?”

“Here, sir,” Trevor, one of several Penmort servants that Alistair had long since lost the ability to afford, came forward.

“Abigail, what would you like to drink?” Alistair asked and Abby opened her mouth but Cash spoke for her.

“Amaretto and Diet Coke, only if it’s diet and only if it’s chilled. Crush the ice. A splash of cherry juice and three cherries,” Trevor, Alistair, Nicola and her three daughters stared at Cash as he went on, “for me, whisky. Neat.”

All eyes moved to Abby when she said quietly, “Or, if that’s a bother, a martini would do.”

Trevor looked relieved and asked, “Gin or vodka?”

“Vodka,” Abby replied, hesitated and then went on, “up, no ice,” she hesitated again and queried, “would you mind chilling the glass?” On Trevor’s shake of the head, she hesitated yet again and added, “Olives, no onions,” and then she paused and completed her exacting litany, “three of them, on a toothpick, please.”

The minute she was finished, he couldn’t have helped it and didn’t try, Cash burst out laughing.

When he was done, he slid his arm around her, curling his fingers on her shoulder. He pulled her to him and gave the side of her head a kiss.

When he moved away, Abby’s head tilted back and she stared up at him, her face soft but stunned, her eyes shining in a way he’d never noticed before.

Her gaze felt like a physical thing, light and sweet, almost like a caress.

Cash noticed something move in his peripheral vision and with regret he tore his eyes from Abby, looked to his audience and saw they were all watching.

Alistair looked angry.

Fenella looked bewildered.

Suzanne looked irritated.

Honor looked astonished.

Nicola looked pleased.

Cash shared Nicola’s mood and guided Abby to the sofa, seating them both, crossing his leg and tucking her close to his side with his arm around her.

“So tell us, Abigail, what do you do?” Alistair asked, positioning himself at the fireplace, close to the mantel, assuming a Man of the Castle pose.

“Call me Abby,” Abby invited.

Alistair’s face cracked into a false grin. “Abby.”

“I used to be an interpreter and translator,” Abby answered and Cash felt his body go still as she unveiled this crumb of knowledge that he didn’t know. She appeared not to notice his reaction and continued, “I can read and speak four languages, well five, if you count English.”

“Really? How interesting,” Nicola put in. “What languages?”

“French, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese,” Abby answered. “It’s been awhile. I’m a little out of practice.”

“It’s probably like riding a bike,” Nicola assured on a smile.

“I hope so,” Abby replied, smiling back.

“You said ‘used to’. What happened?” Suzanne, seated opposite them next to her mother on a sofa, asked and Abby’s head turned toward her.

“Oh, life,” Abby stated vaguely and went on, “you know how it is.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Suzanne returned, her voice not containing curiosity but hints of acid. “How is it?”

“Suzanne,” Nicola muttered in a warning tone.

“How did you two meet?” Fenella entered the conversation, changing the subject and Cash felt rather than saw Abby turn her head to look at him but his eyes were on Suzanne.

“In a pub,” Cash answered, his gaze moving to Fenella, who was seated on the arm of the sofa.

“A pub?” Honor enquired as if the very idea of meeting someone in a public house was not only common, but foul, and Cash’s eyes sliced to her.

“A pub,” he repeated firmly and watched as Honor, under the heat of his glare, took a small step back and behind her mother. His eyes moved to Abby, his voice growing softer, and he continued, “You were wearing white.”

Abby stared at him a moment and Cash watched as warmth seeped into her hazel eyes. Then her hand came to rest lightly on his thigh.

“Yes, I was,” she replied with gentle surprise as if it was ten years since they met, not just over a week.

Alistair cleared his throat and Cash felt Abby’s body start against his side as the all-too-short spell was broken.

“You’re obviously American,” Alistair observed when Abby turned to him. “What brings you across the pond?”

Abby didn’t hesitate in answering. “I inherited the family home when my grandmother died just over a year ago.”

“Oh Abby, I’m sorry to hear that,” Nicola murmured and Abby smiled at her.

“So you just dropped everything and moved to England? That seems a bit extreme,” Suzanne remarked and both Cash and Nicola opened their mouths to say something when Abby spoke.

“Yes, well,” she said on a friendly smile. “there wasn’t much to drop.”

“Pretty girl like you? Didn’t leave a man behind broken-hearted, did you?” Alistair queried half in jest and Cash felt Abby’s body go solid.

“No,” Abby answered.

“I find that hard to believe,” Suzanne commented and Cash decided he was done.

In a low voice, he ordered, “Suzanne. Enough.”

Suzanne widened her eyes in mock innocence and asked, “Enough what?”

“Enough of the third degree,” Cash responded instantly.

“Well, she’s very pretty, Cash. I can’t imagine you’re the first man in her life,” Suzanne retorted. She had, Cash surmised, sensed something and she honed in on her target with lethal ease. Suzanne’s eyes, as hard as her tone, moved to Abby when she continued. “Cash is family. We’re just trying to get to know you.”

Abby’s chin lifted but she smiled politely at Suzanne when she agreed, “Of course. And you’re right. Cash wasn’t the first man in my life.”

“Well, of course not. That’d be ludicrous. You have to be at least thirty,” Fenella put in and Abby’s head swung to her.

“Thirty-eight,” she informed Fenella and Fenella’s mouth dropped open.

Suzanne ignored her sister’s second change of subject and pulled it back to one she preferred. “So you did leave a man behind.”

“Not exactly –” Abby started as Cash’s body got tight in order to control his temper, Nicola leaned forward to intervene but unfortunately Alistair got there before anyone.

“Well, you’ve outdone yourself now. You’re with Cash. And he’s a Beaumaris. Whatever idiot let you leave him behind is no match to Cash,” Alistair declared with false pride.

“Alistair!” Nicola snapped but Abby spoke at the same time.

“I was married,” she stated.

“Oh dear, a divorcee,” Honor muttered in mock horror and Abby’s head turned to his cousin but Cash was finished.

“Abby isn’t divorced. Her husband was killed,” he clipped, his abrupt, angry tone ending the ridiculously inappropriate conversation.

Nicola’s sharp intake of breath was audible and Cash watched the blood drain from her face. Fenella, Honor and even Suzanne had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

Alistair, however, looked strangely snide.

But Abby clearly didn’t read Cash’s tone and continued, her voice low but strong, her eyes locked on Suzanne. “Seven car pileup on the highway. Two other people died too but not like Ben. Ben died instantly. He was the only one to die instantly,” she paused then went on, the words innocuous, her tone making them heart-wrenching, “at the scene.”

Cash felt his chest tighten and, ignoring their onlookers, he used his arm to curl her into him before murmuring, “Darling, you don’t have to talk about this.”

Abby moved her hand from his thigh to his chest, her pale face lifted to his, her eyes, he saw, held unconcealed pain.

He knew exactly what it cost her when she whispered her lie, “It’s okay. They’re your family, they should know.”

He realised that she was playing her part and playing it beautifully.

He also realised he hadn’t once regretted his decision to pay two hundred thousand pounds for her.

Until that instant.

She pulled away, her hand leaving his chest, and looked back at Suzanne. “I loved him. He died four years ago and there hasn’t been anyone since,” her back straightened before she said, “until Cash.” Cash watched her head tilt enquiringly, her eyes never leaving Suzanne. “Do you have any more questions?”

“Not right now,” Suzanne returned coolly but she shifted on her seat in a way, Cash thought distractedly, that made her look uncharacteristically uneasy.

“You’ll let me know when you do,” Abby replied politely but pointedly.

Suzanne had no retort.

Abby’s body stayed tense and only when she felt Cash’s fingers squeeze her shoulder did she relax against him.

At that moment Trevor walked in with their drinks.

Cash watched Nicola lean toward Suzanne before she hissed angrily under her breath, “We’ll talk later.”

Trevor served their drinks and as Abby took a sip, Cash used Trevor’s distraction to catch Abby’s attention.

When her head tilted back to look at him, he murmured, “Are you all right?”

With uncustomary openness, she whispered, “No.”

“I’ll explain things about my family later,” he promised.

She gave him a look that said clearly she really didn’t want to know. Her look was so adorable, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Then he dipped his face, rested his forehead against hers and muttered softly, “You’re exquisite.”

She blinked as her lips parted and, Cash thought, that was adorable too

“I hope you two are hungry,” Alistair boomed, again breaking the moment and Cash had to bite his lip to halt his angry retort.

But the moment was gone, Abby pulled away, turned to Alistair and Cash lost her yet again.

And from there the night progressed with no more turmoil. No “earthquakes”, no offensive interrogations and Abby handled herself beautifully.

By the end of dinner it was clear Nicola liked her. Fenella seemed taken with her. Honor thawed enough to be slightly charming. Even Alistair wasn’t a match for Abby’s unique blend of candour and humour and, to all appearances, began genuinely to enjoy the evening.

They were walking back to the drawing room for after dinner coffee and liqueurs when Abby asked the direction of the restroom and Fenella guided the way.

Upon entry to the drawing room, Suzanne absented herself immediately, not partaking in coffee and not waiting to bid Abby farewell.

Fenella joined them as Suzanne exited the room and was settling herself on the arm of the sofa with her cup of coffee when they heard Abby’s piercing scream.

At the hideous sound, Cash felt his blood run cold but he didn’t hesitate.

Slamming his brandy on the table, he knifed off the couch and sprinted to the bathroom, threw open the door and halted at what he saw.

Abby, her right arm bloodied, was lying unconscious on the floor surrounded by reflecting shards of mirror.