Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(64)

Cash felt his body tighten, instinctively going on guard at the malice he saw in his cousin’s eyes.

“Abigail!” Alistair boomed and Cash turned from one opponent to another.

His uncle did not look like a Beaumaris, at least not any of the former occupants of this house whose portraits hung in the gallery upstairs.

He was not tall, but of average height. He was not dark-headed with black eyes, but had light brown hair and faded blue eyes. He was not lean, straight and broad, but paunchy, slightly stooped with narrow shoulders.

And his eyes were mean.

He’d apparently decided to play the effusive host. Cash knew this because Alistair approached Abby, planted his hands on her shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

This was not Alistair Beaumaris’s normal manner.

“Delighted you’re here. Absolutely delighted,” Alistair proclaimed as Cash positioned himself close to Abby’s side. Alistair looked up at his nephew and smiled a rusty smile. “Cash, my boy.”

“Alistair,” Cash replied shortly and with considerable effort controlled the desire to curl his lip in loathing.

“Sit, sit,” Alistair motioned magnanimously to one of the two facing sofas. “Where’s Trevor?”

“Here, sir,” Trevor, one of several Penmort servants that Alistair had long since lost the ability to afford, came forward.

“Abigail, what would you like to drink?” Alistair asked and Abby opened her mouth but Cash spoke for her.

“Amaretto and Diet Coke, only if it’s diet and only if it’s chilled. Crush the ice. A splash of cherry juice and three cherries,” Trevor, Alistair, Nicola and her three daughters stared at Cash as he went on, “for me, whisky. Neat.”

All eyes moved to Abby when she said quietly, “Or, if that’s a bother, a martini would do.”

Trevor looked relieved and asked, “Gin or vodka?”

“Vodka,” Abby replied, hesitated and then went on, “up, no ice,” she hesitated again and queried, “would you mind chilling the glass?” On Trevor’s shake of the head, she hesitated yet again and added, “Olives, no onions,” and then she paused and completed her exacting litany, “three of them, on a toothpick, please.”

The minute she was finished, he couldn’t have helped it and didn’t try, Cash burst out laughing.

When he was done, he slid his arm around her, curling his fingers on her shoulder. He pulled her to him and gave the side of her head a kiss.

When he moved away, Abby’s head tilted back and she stared up at him, her face soft but stunned, her eyes shining in a way he’d never noticed before.

Her gaze felt like a physical thing, light and sweet, almost like a caress.

Cash noticed something move in his peripheral vision and with regret he tore his eyes from Abby, looked to his audience and saw they were all watching.

Alistair looked angry.

Fenella looked bewildered.

Suzanne looked irritated.

Honor looked astonished.

Nicola looked pleased.

Cash shared Nicola’s mood and guided Abby to the sofa, seating them both, crossing his leg and tucking her close to his side with his arm around her.

“So tell us, Abigail, what do you do?” Alistair asked, positioning himself at the fireplace, close to the mantel, assuming a Man of the Castle pose.

“Call me Abby,” Abby invited.

Alistair’s face cracked into a false grin. “Abby.”

“I used to be an interpreter and translator,” Abby answered and Cash felt his body go still as she unveiled this crumb of knowledge that he didn’t know. She appeared not to notice his reaction and continued, “I can read and speak four languages, well five, if you count English.”

“Really? How interesting,” Nicola put in. “What languages?”

“French, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese,” Abby answered. “It’s been awhile. I’m a little out of practice.”

“It’s probably like riding a bike,” Nicola assured on a smile.

“I hope so,” Abby replied, smiling back.

“You said ‘used to’. What happened?” Suzanne, seated opposite them next to her mother on a sofa, asked and Abby’s head turned toward her.

“Oh, life,” Abby stated vaguely and went on, “you know how it is.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Suzanne returned, her voice not containing curiosity but hints of acid. “How is it?”

“Suzanne,” Nicola muttered in a warning tone.

“How did you two meet?” Fenella entered the conversation, changing the subject and Cash felt rather than saw Abby turn her head to look at him but his eyes were on Suzanne.

“In a pub,” Cash answered, his gaze moving to Fenella, who was seated on the arm of the sofa.

“A pub?” Honor enquired as if the very idea of meeting someone in a public house was not only common, but foul, and Cash’s eyes sliced to her.

“A pub,” he repeated firmly and watched as Honor, under the heat of his glare, took a small step back and behind her mother. His eyes moved to Abby, his voice growing softer, and he continued, “You were wearing white.”

Abby stared at him a moment and Cash watched as warmth seeped into her hazel eyes. Then her hand came to rest lightly on his thigh.