But before anyone could say a word, his voice low with fury, Cash growled, “You lying, fucking bitch.”
Once she’d pulled herself out of her speechless shock, Abby murmured a soothing, “Cash.”
Cash ignored Abby, his body rigidly controlled, he scowled at Suzanne in a way that made Abby grateful a table lay between them but Suzanne glared right back.
Everyone held their breath.
Suzanne broke the staring contest, turned to her mother and demanded, “Are you going to let him speak to me that way?”
“Yes,” Nicola said calmly and not only Suzanne’s but also Abby, Honor and Fenella’s eyes grew round at her single word.
“What?” Suzanne snapped.
“You’ve been prodding the sleeping lion all night, Suzanne,” Nicola replied softly, demonstrating uncanny mother’s observational abilities and she went on. “You wanted a response, you got one. You woke the lion, dear, don’t turn to me to pull you to safety.”
Fortunately this served to piss off Suzanne enough for her to jump up, throw her napkin on the table and storm out of the room.
After Suzanne disappeared, Nicola’s eyes slid to Cash and she apologised for her daughter. A muscle jumped in Cash’s cheek but he jerked his chin in acceptance of her apology.
Fenella quickly filled the conversational void with chatter and Abby, sitting next to Cash, curled her fingers on his thigh and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
Cash’s gaze came to her, still angry, but also, she noted, somewhat astonished.
Then the look faded as did his anger and his fingers curled around hers on his thigh. He gave them a squeeze then left them there, holding her hand under the table.
Without Suzanne there, and with Cash’s hand in hers, the rest of the evening had been kind of fun (if you didn’t count Alistair being totally fake and Nicola being practically silent, that was).
Now Abby stood by their bed in their room.
Nicola had given them a lush corner turret room. It had a heavy, ornate wardrobe, chest and bureau and was decorated in a mixture of olive and emerald greens and dove grey a bizarre colour combination, which, somehow, worked. And in its circular turret it had two inviting, overstuffed chairs sharing an ottoman and a small table.
Abby was wearing her cashmere robe and her favourite of the nightgowns Cash had given her. This one black silk, ankle length with daring, sexy slits on either side from the hem to her lower hip. The cut was simple, the back low and the gown fit her at bodice, midriff and hips fit like a second skin.
Abby was distractedly rubbing lotion in her hands and thinking that, even if Cash didn’t seem in the best mood (which was an understatement), she had more to tell him. More he needed to know.
She should have told him before but she figured him coming to terms with his ancestral legacy being haunted by an evil spirit who wanted to murder his new girlfriend was enough to handle.
In the meantime they’d been kind of busy.
But, Abby decided, it was time.
Even though she didn’t like it, she had to do it.
For Cash.
She heard the door to the bathroom open. She had her back turned to it and saw the light hit the room before Cash pulled the cord and it was extinguished.
She didn’t turn but she felt him come close then his hands went to her waist, slid around to her belly and put pressure there, pulling her back into his warm, hard, strong body.
His mouth came to her ear where he asked in his rough burr, “You doing okay?”
At the concern in his voice, Abby felt her heart leap, her belly melt and she turned her head. His came up and she caught his eyes as her hands went to his at her belly.
She didn’t answer him, instead she enquired, “Can we talk?”
Something she couldn’t catch flashed across his face before he murmured, “Of course.”
She took one of his hands in hers, curled it away from her body and then tugged on it, leading him to a chair in the turret. He was wearing navy blue pyjama bottoms and a dark grey, flannel robe opened at the front so she could see most of his chest and the tight muscle across his abdomen.
She ignored the view (and the fact that Cash looked good in a robe), pressed him into the chair and, unresisting, he sat. She then lifted one of his arms and settled in his lap, curling close.
For a brief moment, she felt his body tense under hers as she settled, almost as if he was surprised.
Then he relaxed, one of his arms curved around her waist, the other one came to rest across her lap, his fingers flexing into her hip.
His eyes caught hers. “What is it?”
Abby pulled in breath.
Then quickly and as gently as she could, she told him what Fenella, Angus and Honor said. Everything they said. About his father, about his father’s intentions toward his mother and him and lastly about Alistair (maybe) killing his father.
When she was close to finished, she lifted a hand to rest on the side of his face and leaned into him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know this is a lot to process and I should have told you before. But I didn’t know how and–”
He cut her off with words as well as his fingers tightening their grip on her hip and his arm giving a squeeze. “Stop saying you’re sorry.”
She blinked at him. “But, I just told you there’s a possibility that your uncle murdered your father. Anyone would be sorry about that.”
“I know Alistair murdered my father,” Cash shared bluntly and Abby gasped at this news but he talked over her gasp. “I know my father intended to move my mother and me to Penmort.” Abby stared at him and Cash gave her another squeeze, his voice dipping low. “I know everything, Abby.”
“You do?” she breathed.
“Yes,” he said shortly, “I do.”
“How… when…” she stammered, “how?”
Cash shifted, twisting her so her back was against the arm of the chair, he pulled her body further across his lap, her legs were hanging over the other arm and his torso was partially resting on hers. It was a far more comfortable and intimate position and Abby’s brain registered just how much she liked it when he continued.
“When my father died, the police suspected Alistair but couldn’t pin anything on him. Even though the trail was cold, there was enough to explore so I took up the threads of their investigations. I found out the man who tampered with the brakes of my father’s car got nicked for another job. He told his cellmate what he’d done. With a little persuasion, his cellmate told me.”
Abby felt her heart start to beat faster.
“You should go to the police,” she encouraged.
Cash shook his head. “The person who Alistair paid to do it is now dead. Died in prison, diabetes. His cellmate is still alive but it’s hearsay. There’s no point.”
Abby put her hands to his neck and asked, “If you know, then how can you be here? How can you sit at his table? How can you –”
Cash interrupted her. “It’s my table, Abby.”
“You know that now,” she returned, “but you just found out Alistair isn’t a Beaumaris.”
“It’s been my table for two months,” Cash replied and Abby’s breath stuck in her throat. “Alistair is in debt up to his teeth. I bought the notes. If he paid the loans he’s taken against the castle, which he doesn’t, he’d be paying me.”
Abby felt her eyes grow round and Cash got closer.
“That’s why you’re here, darling. I’ve been playing with him for a year, making him think I might be interested in one of his stepdaughters in order to keep his attention off the fact I was stealing his house from under his nose. This weekend you’re here to rub his face in one failure, his not securing a Beaumaris to marry one of his stepdaughters, while I rub his nose in the ultimate failure for any Beaumaris, true or not, by informing him he needs to pack his bags and get… the fuck… out.”