He lifted his hand and dropped the two tablets into her opened palm. Keeping his arm around her, he watched her take them deciding tonight was not the night to talk about their future, a future which had limits. Limits that Abby had to understand before she embarked on any future with him.
They’d talk about it tomorrow.
Or, Cash thought, after his aunt and uncle’s anniversary.
Or, he thought (understanding his own selfishness but, with Abby pressed close, not caring), even later.
She put her glass on the counter and relaxed into him.
“That’ll work?” Cash asked softly.
“In about half an hour, yes,” she replied.
“I’ll let you get to sleep and finish up in the study,” Cash told her.
A look crossed her face that he could swear was disappointment before she nodded.
His hand not around her lifted to her jaw, his thumb sliding along her soft cheek. “I’ll be up soon.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
She tipped her head back and he knew she expected a kiss. Not just expected one but wanted one. And not a demonstration of passion, but rather one of affection.
His eyes roamed her face, memorising the beauty of it in anticipation of tenderness, before his neck bent and he touched his mouth to hers.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered against her lips.
“Don’t be long,” she whispered back and gave his waist a squeeze with her hands before she pulled away and walked up the stairs.
He wandered the room, turning off the lights and extinguishing candles when, at the last lamp, he stopped and looked around.
His arrival that evening had not been conducive to him paying much attention to anything but Abby. Dinner was more Abby, her delicious meal as well as a throng of women in his dining room.
So he hadn’t noticed until now how Abby’s simple touches had transformed the room from what had always been only living space to what was now lived-in space.
He pulled in a slow breath and on the exhale, he muttered, “Fuck,” before he turned out the last lamp and walked up the stairs to his study.
Now it was much later and it had taken him some time to regain concentration on his work. He’d finished that, switched off his laptop, the lamps, turned his chair to the window and sat brooding in his darkened study like a character out of a Brontë novel.
On that thought, he pushed out of his chair and walked upstairs to his bedroom, seeing Abby’s motionless form under the bedclothes. Cash could tell, even in the dark, she’d curled around his pillow.
He prepared for bed, pulled back the covers and slid in. Careful not to disturb her, he tugged at his pillow. As she was asleep, and he always had her in sleep, she gave up the pillow in favour of him, her limbs curving around him as she pressed close. He put his pillow behind his head and settled back.
“Cash?” she whispered, her voice sexy and husky.
“Yes, love, go back to sleep.”
Abby had not lied when she’d told him she liked her sleep. Therefore, he was surprised when she got up on her elbow and pulled her hair out of her face.
“Is it late?” she asked.
“Close to midnight,” he replied.
“Are you tired?”
No. He wasn’t tired. He was in bed with Abby and her voice was just-woken-up-throaty. However, she’d also started her period and was uncomfortable even talking about it therefore he had a feeling she’d not be thrilled with the idea of having sex while on it.
Instead of answering her question, he said, “I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”
“We have to talk.”
His body went still but she didn’t notice it. She pressed into him, reaching across the bed, groping for a moment before she found the lamp switch and muted light filled the room.
He watched as she blinked adorably, her eyes adjusting to the light then they focused on him.
She further surprised him by keeping her position; her torso on his, her forearm came to rest on his chest, holding herself elevated but still close.
Her face was drowsy but the look in her eyes was serious.
Cash mentally braced.
With Abby, it could be anything. She could say something that would lead to a heated row. She could suffer an emotional breakdown. She could do something outrageous to make him laugh. Or she could put her mouth on him and make him come.
He had to be prepared.
However nothing he could do would prepare him for what came next.
“Something’s happened,” she told him.
“What?” he asked.
She looked away and bit her lip then sighed and looked back to him. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
His hands stole around her hips. “Darling, just start at the beginning. Whatever it is, it’ll be all right.”
Then she did something that so surprised him, his entire body reacted to it, tensing along his length as her hand came up to rest on his cheek.
And, with a soft voice, her eyes on his, she said, “I met this man yesterday at Mrs. Truman’s. I wasn’t going to say anything about him until the time was right but then Honor talked to me tonight.”
The tension in Cash’s body increased and she felt it, her thumb moved to his temple and circled there soothingly.
“Cash,” she whispered, “Penmort is yours.”
His body froze solid.
“I’m sorry?” he growled.
“Honor told me,” she said.
He felt his eyes narrow. “Honor told you what? Exactly.”
She licked her lips and took in a breath, “She told me she found your grandmother, Lorna’s, diaries.”
Cash’s eyes stayed narrow but now in confusion. “Keep talking.”
Abby nodded and went on. “She says she thinks no one knows about them. She’s read them. Cash,” she hesitated then in a soft explosion, she burst out, “God! I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Losing patience, Cash rolled her to her back, positioned his body on his elbow and loomed over her. “Just say it.”
She stared at him a moment then said swiftly, “Your grandmother was raped.”
Cash’s body jerked and instantly both her hands came up to frame his face.
“Cash, look at me, please, honey, look at me.” When the shock from her announcement receded, Cash’s eyes focused on Abby’s face. She was staring at him with a look that was immensely gentle and she whispered, “Alistair was the product of that rape.”
Cash blinked slowly.
Abby kept talking. “Honor says all you need to do is ask for a DNA test and Penmort is yours. She says she’s had a friend examine Penmort’s covenant and the castle can’t be held outside of the bloodline. Alistair isn’t of the line. Honor says the castle, and everything, is yours.” One of her hands moved away from his face and she went up on one elbow, getting closer as her other hand drifted down to his shoulder. “Honey, the castle has always been yours.”
His eyes never left her concerned face as sensations tore through him, some of them exultant, some of them toxic.
When his father had died, Penmort and its holdings were vast. They had to be for anyone to maintain such a huge property. There was land. There were lettings in the local town, both commercial and residential. There were investments. His father owned the controlling share of several lucrative businesses and kept a domineering hand in all of them earning a reputation as a clever but ruthless mogul.
At the time, it had been worth multiple millions, translated into today’s money, it would have been billions.
Alistair had dwindled that down to nothing. Almost as if he was doing it intentionally, he pulled out of good investments and threw money at bad ones. He sold the controlling shares, the properties, the lands and he lived high. Travelled widely. Spent freely. Until there was nothing coming in and thousands going out, monthly.