Penmort Castle (55 page)

Hope and his
actions were pressing her to think it would be good.

Reason and her
indisputably bad luck made her think it would be bad.

The time was
nigh for what would have been the end of their arrangement. She was
to pretend to be his girlfriend for the three weeks prior to the
weekend at the castle then continue for one week after.

Then it would
be over.

And, Abby
thought, maybe now that he was close to getting what he’d worked so
hard for, it was time for him to move on to his life as master of
the castle, a life without Abby.

The rational
part of her brain reminded her that Cash had asked her to move into
the castle with him.

The much
stronger irrational part of her brain reminded her that her luck
sucked and she’d learned the hard way that all good things came to
an end usually heartbreakingly sooner than she expected.

On that thought
she picked up the diamond bracelet Cash gave her and struggled with
the complicated clasp for a moment before securing it.

Then she stared
at her reflection in the mirror.

Her
great-grandmother’s gown was a bold, red satin with a long, flowing
skirt. The bodice came up in a soft, inverted V at the base of her
throat where there was an opening through which a wide band of
satin was fed through. This band held up the bodice at her chest
and went over her exposed shoulders, crossing between her shoulder
blades and holding the dress in place at her sides. The rest of the
back was open with a drape at the small. The hem of the skirt swept
the floor with a decorous hint of a train.

Abby wore a
pair of red pumps with satin-covered, pencil-thin, four-inch heels,
pointed toes covered entirely with bugle beads and complicated,
thin, beaded ankle straps.

She’d dried her
hair with curlers in to give it volume, parted it at the side and
swept the sections back softly in a twisted, loose knot at the nape
of her neck.

Regardless that
the satin fit smooth and snug to her skin, she’d somehow managed
(magic?) successfully to hide Cassandra’s protection amulet which
hung from a thin silver chain to rest between her breasts under the
dress.

She’d done her
makeup in the only one word style she had, though it was emphasised
when she spoke it aloud, the look was “
Drama!
”

The only other
adornment she wore was Cash’s bracelet and a pair of her mother’s
ruby studs in her ears, the rubies surrounded by small
diamonds.

She thought,
assessing herself, she didn’t look half bad.

“Please, God,”
she mumbled to the mirror, “don’t let me die in great-granny’s
dress.”

After her
muttered prayer, the door opened and Cash walked in.

Abby turned to
look at him and her breath caught in her chest.

He was wearing
a black tuxedo, clearly expensive, with an immaculate cut which
made it obvious it was tailored just for him. His crisp, white
shirt had a series of pin-tucks at the chest, there was a flash of
gold at his cuffs but other than that it was simple and, on Cash,
alarmingly masculine.

Abby felt her
knees go weak and she had to put her hand to the bureau to hold
herself upright.

Then she caught
the hungry look in his eyes as they swept the length of her and her
fingers clutched the edge of the bureau as her weak knees were
joined with a full-body tremor.

She had the
distinct feeling he liked the dress.

Deciding
something must be said before she spontaneously combusted under his
hot gaze, she muttered, “You look nice.”

His eyes,
resting in the region of her belly, cut to hers and he replied,
“You don’t.”

Abby felt her
body jolt at his words, thinking she’d misinterpreted his look, and
whispered, “I don’t?”

He started
walking toward her slowly, his eyes holding hers captive.

“No,” his voice
was low and rough, “the word ‘nice’ describes a lot of things. What
it does not describe is you in that fucking dress.”

Abby stood
solid as he stopped close in front of her and his hand came up. The
tips of his fingers slid down the satin at her side from the curve
of her breast to her waist where his hand flattened and his fingers
curled, pressing forcefully into her flesh, searing her there like
a brand.

It was safe to
say she wasn’t wrong in her first conclusion about how Cash felt
about her dress.

“Cash –” she
breathed but he talked over her.

“After this is
done, we have to talk,” he announced.

At the serious
look on his face Abby’s worry came crashing back and she swallowed
her fear before querying, “About what?”

Cash didn’t
hesitate with his reply. “About you. About me. About our
future.”

Her heart
hammering, the fear taking control, her voice was higher when she
enquired, “What about it?”

His fingers at
her waist pulled her closer and his head dipped further to look
down at her. “Not now. Later. Now we need to focus on getting
through the night.”

Abby stared at
him, holding back the fear (just barely) and requested, “Maybe you
can give me a hint.”

His hand slid
around her back, it encountered skin and stilled for a brief moment
then pressed in, moving her to him.

His face dipped
closer. “Things have changed.”

“What things?”
Abby asked.

“Everything,”
Cash replied firmly yet mysteriously.

Abby had no
idea what that meant but before she could ask, he touched his lips
to hers.

When his head
came up, he muttered, “Now, darling, you need to focus on
tonight.”

“Okay,” she
agreed but even as she did, she didn’t.

There was no
way in hell she’d be able to focus on taking down a ghosty
she-bitch when Cash’s life was also in danger and her future with
Cash was in question.

On that
thought, her brain reminded her of her pledge to live the time she
had with Cash to the fullest. So their upcoming, scary-as-heck talk
might mean the end, now they were still in the middle.

Not to mention,
she might end the night flung out a window.

Obviously there
was no time like the present.

Therefore she
decided to carry on like there was going to be no end. Or, if there
was, however that might come, she was intent to give him something
which he could use to remember her even after she was gone.

She lifted her
hand to rest on his cheek and whispered, “I have something for
you.”

She saw a flash
in his eyes but before she could read it or lose her courage, she
pulled away and walked to the bedside table.

She opened the
drawer and retrieved a small, black velvet box, tied in a black
satin ribbon.

She came back
to him, held the box in the palm of her hand between them and
caught his eyes.

Then she
murmured, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

His gaze held
hers for a moment then dropped to the box. She saw a muscle leap in
his jaw, a reaction that usually indicated he was angry. She bit
her lip in concern but his hand came up, he took the box from her,
pulled at the bow and tossed the loosened ribbon on the bureau
before he flipped open the box with his thumb.

Inside was a
pair of cufflinks Abby purchased while out shopping with Jenny the
day Angus called. They were gold, set with oval onyx. Seeing them,
she thought they were smart, handsome, elegant and
very
Cash
therefore she felt at the time he had to have them.

Now, spying the
cufflinks in his cuffs, also gold, probably more expensive than her
gift, she thought they were kind of lame.

How many men
needed
two
pairs of gold cufflinks?

Hurriedly she
told him, “I didn’t think when I got them. I just liked them. Of
course you already have a pair.” His eyes went from the cufflinks
to hers, their black depths were blazing but she couldn’t quite
read why so she blathered on. “You don’t have to wear them. If you
don’t like them, I can take them back and find something else. A
tie pin or –”

She stopped
talking when he caught her in his arms, jerking her forward almost
violently. She crashed into his body and his arms held her tight as
he buried his face in her neck.

“I like them,”
he said into her neck and Abby lifted her hands to his upper arms
and held on.

“You do?” she
whispered.

He didn’t take
his face from her neck but his arms tightened to the point he was
squeezing the air out of her.

“Yes,” he
replied, “I fucking well do.”

Okay, he was
saying the f-word and she didn’t know if that was good or bad.

However she had
a priority concern.

“Cash,” she
wheezed, “I can’t breathe.”

He let her go
instantly, took a step back and immediately exchanged his cufflinks
for hers.

Abby watched
this and no matter how stupid she knew it was, her careening
thoughts shifted back to hope.

After he’d
completed his task, without looking at her he went to his briefcase
that was sitting beside one of the armchairs in the turret. He put
the briefcase in the seat of the chair, bent to open it and came
back to her, carrying his own small, black velvet box, this one
tied with an ivory satin bow.

He again got
close, leaned in, his fingers curling around her wrist, he lifted
her hand palm up and deposited the box in it.

The whole while
he did this, Abby stared up at him.

He let her
wrist go and put a hand to her neck.

“I hesitate to
give you a gift after the last time,” he murmured his voice low but
teasing, “however, it
is
Valentine’s Day.”

She pulled
herself out of her trance and looked down at the box. She lifted
her other hand and yanked at the bow. She did as he’d done and
tossed the ribbon to the bureau before opening it.

In it was a
pair of extraordinary diamond chandelier earrings. A
not-small-by-any-stretch-of-the-imagination diamond at the base led
down to a complicated fall of diamonds set in platinum.

She stared at
the earrings, frozen in shock not only at their beauty but at their
obvious cost. She didn’t know what to do and had no clue what to
say.

She lifted her
eyes to his and stupidly whispered the first thought that came to
her mind, “You one-upped my present.”

At her words he
threw back his head and burst out laughing, his arms snaking around
her to pull her again tightly to him.

She absorbed
his laughter into her body and held onto his waist.

He pulled back
slightly and touched a finger to her ear before saying softly, “As
charming as those are, darling, I want you to wear my
diamonds.”

“Cash,” Abby
replied, her fingers curling around the box still in her hand as
they went straight to her ears to take out the rubies, “you’d have
to pay me
not
to wear your diamonds.”

He chuckled at
her words and held her loosely as she switched her jewellery and
then leaned into him to peer around and check herself in the
mirror.

“They’re
exquisite,” she breathed.

Cash’s arms
flexed around her and she straightened to look up at him.

“Yes,” he
murmured, his eyes on her face, “exquisite.”

Abby felt her
body melt into his as her arms wrapped around his waist.

“I want to kiss
you,” she told him, “but it’ll mess up my lip gloss.”

As his head
descended, he muttered, “Fuck your lip gloss.”

In the end, not
only did she have to repair her lip gloss, they had a
post-gift-exchange, Valentine’s Day make out session that might
have been so long and intense, Abby thought it should be entered
into a record book.

Needless to say
they were late descending the stairs to join the party.

* * * * *

“Jennifer,
don’t get drunk,” Mrs. Truman snapped at Jenny.

“I’m
not
getting drunk,” Jenny snapped back.

“Pumpkin,
you’re getting drunk,” Kieran put in on a smile.

Jenny shot a
glare at her husband and then tipped back her champagne glass,
draining it down her throat.

Abby pressed
her lips together and her gaze locked with Cash’s. He was standing
at her side holding a glass of champagne, looking cultured and
amused and almost criminally attractive.

Abby tore her
eyes away from Cash and studied her friends.

Jenny was
wearing a fantastic champagne-coloured strapless silk dress with
princess-seams, built-in boning and a mermaid-tail skirt. There was
a tiny, chiffon ruffle along the bodice. Her hair was swept back in
an elaborate up-do and she looked amazing.

Kieran wore a
well-cut dinner jacket and was more than his usual handsome.

Mrs. Truman
looked like The Queen times about five thousand. She was wearing a
boxy grey gown. From enormous shoulder pads to hips and down the
long sleeves the gown was elaborately sequined and beaded. The
silvery-grey, chiffon skirt was gathered effusively at the bottom
of the sequins at her hips, floating down to her stout-heeled,
square-toed, dove-grey satin, granny pumps.

Three hours
ago, when she and Cash finally drifted down to join the
already-started proceedings, they were all there, drinking
champagne, eating from the trays of hors d’ouevres that were being
passed around and mingling with the guests.

The minute
Abby’s eyes hit Mrs. Truman she thought the only thing missing was
a priceless tiara extracted for the festivities from the Tower of
London and a dozen bodyguards.

A waiter passed
and Jenny expertly nabbed another glass of champagne like she’d
attended champagne-glass-bearing-waitered-trayed-gala-affairs every
weekend since birth.

Abby looked at
Mrs. Truman and caught the woman’s eye roll as Trevor, Alistair and
Nicola’s practically silent servant got close and said something in
Cash’s ear.