Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(132)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“You should know there was another way. A potion Abby could take to fight her. We could have waited six months and gone after her.”

Cash’s body got tight and he declared, “I wouldn’t have allowed that.”

She grinned and replied, “I figured that.” Then her voice dropped low. “Furthermore, as much as Abby was prepared to do it, I reckon Vivianna would have made mincemeat of her. When Angus found out I’d even mentioned the potion to Abby, he went off on one. Of course, we didn’t know at the time that you had any power over her.”

This surprised Cash. Angus had not seemed hesitant to put Abby in the line of fire. Apparently he was only happy to do so if he had Abby’s back and felt in control of the situation, something he would not be if Abby had been in the position of going head-to-head with Vivianna.

Cassandra kept talking, again in her low quiet voice, her eyes had grown intense as they studied Cash’s face. “You should also know, when we made contact with your father, he wanted to come early. He wanted to spend time with you in the castle.” Her arms came uncrossed, she took a step forward, put her hand on Cash’s bicep and informed him, “It was a grave risk, Cash. The longer he was away from the other plane, the less likely it was we could return him there. If we didn’t get him back in time, he’d be stuck here for eternity. Says a lot about him, that he’d take that risk and why he took it, also says a lot about how he feels about you.”

Cash clenched his teeth against the feelings this statement sent surging through him, not wishing to share them with Cassandra, who he liked well enough, but not enough to engage in an intensely private moment.

Instead he felt an overwhelmingly strong desire to get to Abby.

Cassandra took pity and finished, dropping her hand from his arm. “As for Vivianna never appearing in front of Nicola, we don’t know why. Lorna nor Anthony understood it either. I suppose that will just have to remain a mystery.”

Cash nodded again as she took a step back, his voice was deeper than normal when he said, “Thank you.”

She awarded him with a bright smile, suggesting she’d enjoyed every minute of her endeavours because in the end, they’d been successful. “My pleasure.”

Then she took another step back and closed the door.

Cash turned to his room. When he made it safely to the end of the corridor Jane, the cook, was bustling down the hall balancing a silver tray.

“I’ll get that,” Cash said, divesting her of the tray and he put his other hand to the knob. “Mrs. Fitzhugh is in the sewing room, she’ll be needing coffee.”

Jane blinked at him and asked, “Which Ms. Fitzhugh?” When Cash didn’t immediately reply, she hurried on. “I only ask because Suzanne is kind of funny about her coffee.”

“Nicola Fitzhugh,” Cash replied and watched her eyes go round. Deciding she’d likely hear it soon enough, he might as well tell her, “Jane, I’ve foreclosed on the house. Ms. Butler and I’ll be moving in imminently. Mr. Beaumaris won’t be back. The Fitzhugh women, however, will be staying.”

She stared at him, mouth open, stunned speechless.

Then she made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like strangled laughter. At the sound, her eyes bugged out in horror and she choked back her mirth.

“Sorry, sorry, erm, sorry sir, I’m just shocked,” she stuttered but although her nerves weren’t gone, her eyes were bright and cheerful.

She was, Cash knew, lying.

She wasn’t shocked. She was happy. She disliked Alistair. She also probably liked Nicola.

Cash wasn’t surprised and he smiled. “It’s all right, Jane, he was an ass.”

She was now staring at his mouth and he watched her cheeks get pink.

“Jane,” he called and she snapped out of it with a jerk. “Coffee,” he reminded her, “for Nicola.”

“Right, right,” she muttered moving away, lifting her arms and waving her hands at the side of her head. “I’m on it.”

“One more thing,” Cash halted her, Jane turned and Cash finished. “I’m not ‘Mr. Fraser’ nor am I ‘sir’. You call me Cash.”

She gawked at him, eyes wide, face aflame, before she nodded, her mouth forming a smile and she began her retreat.

He watched her move down the hall then he opened the door and entered.

Abby lay motionless under the covers.

The black circle of Zee lay ensconced at the back of her bent knees.

Cash moved across the dark room, placed the tray on the table between the two armchairs in the turret and turned on the standing lamp there. Soft light filled the space.

He walked to the bed and bent at Zee, his fingers sifting through the cat’s silky soft fur. Zee lifted his head with a sleepy mew.

“You get gourmet wet cat food for the rest of your life,” Cash muttered to the cat and, as if Zee understood, he let out a stronger but still sleepy mew and stretched his neck to press into Cash’s fingers which were scratching behind his ears.

With a final stroke for Zee, Cash moved away to sit in the curve of Abby’s lap afforded by her position curled around his pillow. He looked at the bedside clock and noticed it was nearly seven.

Obviously, he’d slept in.

His eyes moved back to Abby and he pulled her hair off her neck then rested his hand there.

“Darling,” he called but she didn’t move.

He gave her neck a gentle squeeze and repeated his endearment.

She shifted slightly, her eyes opened and only they moved to him. She kept her face nuzzled in the pillow.

He thought, somewhat distractedly, that she looked rather adorable.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to work,” she grumbled sleepily.

“I’m not going to work.”

She closed her eyes. “Good, come back to bed.”

He would, he knew, be delighted to do that.

Later.

However they had to talk first.

“Abby, we have to talk.”

Her eyes opened immediately but this time her head turned.

“About what?” she asked, her voice sexy and husky but there was an edge of alertness to it.

“Get up, love, this is an awake and functioning talk,” he told her.

“I don’t want an awake and functioning talk,” she returned. “I want to sleep and be awake and functioning on Thursday,” she closed her eyes again muttering, “maybe Friday.”

His voice held a gentle warning when he said, “Abby.”