Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(29)
Author: Kristen Ashley

After Alistair Beaumaris had won his court battles, regained the family fortune Anthony Beaumaris bequeathed on Myra Fraser and, in so doing, bankrupted Cash’s mentally unstable mother, Alistair had left Cash and Myra with very little. When Cash’s grandfather died, there was even less. When Myra slit her wrists, there was even less.

Cash had fought his way out of poverty and into Oxford and spent many years shaping himself into a man on whose arm a woman like Abby belonged.

Even if he had to pay for her.

Perhaps especially since he had to pay for her, considering the astronomical amount he’d paid.

But he wasn’t going to get used to Abby being in his life and he certainly couldn’t allow her to do it.

He liked her company but he’d been alone a long time. He preferred to be alone and there wasn’t a woman in the world, not even Abby with all of her beauty and humour and contradictions, who could change that.

On that thought, Cash turned into Abby’s street and saw her lights on.

He was half an hour early but he wanted time with her before going to dinner at her neighbour’s. With his work and her being late the night before, they hadn’t had a lot of time to get to know one another and Cash intended to rectify that.

As Cash parked in the drive behind her BMW he decided he’d take her away somewhere after he’d claimed Penmort. Somewhere they could be alone, no curious neighbours, no traffic delays and no work. Somewhere warm, where all she needed was a bathing suit.

He was considering his options (and leaning toward an island in Greece) when he turned the bell on her door.

It clanked discordantly.

He looked at it and noted it had to be as old as the house and, by the sound of it, desperately in need of servicing.

He waited impatiently for her to open the door. She had to be home, her car was in the drive and the lights were on in the front room and upstairs.

He turned the bell again.

He waited again.

When he was about to knock or more to the point, hammer on her door, he saw the light in the vestibule switch on and the door opened.

Abby stood there wearing an old, faded-blue, flannel man’s dressing gown that was far too big on her. Her hair was held back in a wide, pale pink band, her feet were bare and her eyes were surprised.

He watched as the surprise disappeared and the shutters came down.

“You’re early,” she told him, not moving from the door.

At her non-greeting Cash’s good mood disappeared instantly. Firstly, because she appeared to be barring him from the house. Secondly, because she didn’t seem happy to see him. And lastly, and most importantly, because she was wearing another man’s clothes.

“I finished early,” he replied.

“You work until the wee hours, how did you finish early tonight?”

Having lost his patience, with artificial politeness Cash enquired, “Are we going to hold this conversation on the doorstep?”

She gave a start then her eyes darted away and she seemed to hesitate. For a moment Cash thought she wasn’t going to let him inside. Then she stepped back, opening the door.

“I’m sorry. Come in,” she murmured.

He stepped in and was immediately surprised.

It was as if stepping over her threshold took him a step back one hundred and fifty years in time.

The vestibule was large, in fact it was huge. It, and the hall leading off of it, had black and white tiled floors that seemed to stretch on forever. Both rooms were cavernous with tall ceilings. Heavy pieces of antique furniture, all of which were well-kept and high-quality, were positioned here and there in the vestibule and hall. The furniture indicated either Abby’s grandmother had good taste or Abby had given him a significant discount on the first quote for her fees.

“I’ll take your coat,” he heard her say.

He shrugged it off and ignored her outstretched hands, hanging it on the mirrored coat stand in the vestibule himself.

She watched him do this then her eyes moved to him before saying, “Come into the living room. I’m not ready yet. I’ll get you a drink and then I’ll finish upstairs.”

He followed her into the front room that was the same as the hall, enormous and well-furnished in quality antiques.

A tassel-bottomed, inviting, maroon velvet couch faced a large stone-mantel fireplace, two matching armchairs at its sides. There were handsome tables placed strategically around the seating area for comfort of use and aesthetic purposes.

The heavy, maroon velvet draperies were pulled back with silk, cord tassels. The windows were dark, exposed to the night.

The couch sat in the centre, leaving a wide expanse of floor space available to the room. Most of it was empty except for a delicate writing desk, angled in the corner, facing the room.

The desk was not for show, it was obviously in use, the brown leather desk accessories filled with pens, upended notepads and bits of paper. The desktop held a tidy stash of stationery under a tasteful, round glass paperweight in which there was a swirl of colour. Also on top was an antique brass desk lamp, now lit, the lamp’s shade a pink glass globe. The desk had a delicate chair upholstered in plum velvet.

There were several bookshelves standing around the room filled with books and displaying objects d’art, all of the pieces interesting, some of them, Cash noted, highly valuable.

Cash couldn’t help but think that this was not where he saw Abby living. Although it was refined, yet warm and inviting, with silver-framed photos on the mantel, on the desk and dotting the shelves and tables, Cash felt it somehow didn’t suit her.

He didn’t know what would but this was just not it. It was too vast, too old and it didn’t have even a hint of her playful personality or her cosmopolitan flair.

“Whisky?” she asked when he’d stopped behind the couch and his eyes moved to her.

She’d barely entered the doorway. She was standing too far away and she looked preoccupied.

“Abby, come here,” he demanded and her body went still for a moment before she seemed to force herself to move toward him. When she arrived within reach, he lifted his hand to curl his fingers around her neck. “You haven’t even said hello,” he told her, trying not to let her see that her behaviour was displeasing him.

She blinked, looking confused, then asked, “I haven’t?”

Cash shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and she sounded like she was.

This went a long way towards dispelling Cash’s irritation.

“Is there something on your mind?” he queried softly.