Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(66)

“I’ll explain things about my family later,” he promised.

She gave him a look that said clearly she really didn’t want to know. Her look was so adorable, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Then he dipped his face, rested his forehead against hers and muttered softly, “You’re exquisite.”

She blinked as her lips parted and, Cash thought, that was adorable too

“I hope you two are hungry,” Alistair boomed, again breaking the moment and Cash had to bite his lip to halt his angry retort.

But the moment was gone, Abby pulled away, turned to Alistair and Cash lost her yet again.

And from there the night progressed with no more turmoil. No “earthquakes”, no offensive interrogations and Abby handled herself beautifully.

By the end of dinner it was clear Nicola liked her. Fenella seemed taken with her. Honor thawed enough to be slightly charming. Even Alistair wasn’t a match for Abby’s unique blend of candour and humour and, to all appearances, began genuinely to enjoy the evening.

They were walking back to the drawing room for after dinner coffee and liqueurs when Abby asked the direction of the restroom and Fenella guided the way.

Upon entry to the drawing room, Suzanne absented herself immediately, not partaking in coffee and not waiting to bid Abby farewell.

Fenella joined them as Suzanne exited the room and was settling herself on the arm of the sofa with her cup of coffee when they heard Abby’s piercing scream.

At the hideous sound, Cash felt his blood run cold but he didn’t hesitate.

Slamming his brandy on the table, he knifed off the couch and sprinted to the bathroom, threw open the door and halted at what he saw.

Abby, her right arm bloodied, was lying unconscious on the floor surrounded by reflecting shards of mirror.

Chapter Fourteen

Spectre

“Call an ambulance,” Abby heard Cash’s deep, terse voice order from very close.

“Get some towels,” Nicola’s voice came from further away.

“Oh my God. The blood. I think I may be ill,” Honor remarked from even further away.

Abby felt herself being carried and knew she was in Cash’s arms before she opened her eyes to see his rigid jaw up close, her temple resting on his shoulder.

“Cash,” she whispered and his head jerked to look at her.

“She’s awake,” Fenella noted gratuitously.

“You’re all right, love,” Cash murmured his soft assurance but his troubled expression belied his words. He turned to face forward again as he carried her into the drawing room.

“Honor, I said get some towels,” Nicola was closer, crowding Cash as he laid Abby on the sofa.

“What happened?” Alistair asked, looming over the back of the sofa, brows drawn, his strangely unsettling (and not in a good way) eyes locked on Abby.

“Give her a moment,” Nicola demanded as Cash sat next to Abby’s hip, carefully took her wrist in his hand and slowly pushed back her torn, bloodied sleeve.

Abby watched him do this and it was then it came back to her.

She’d been at the sink, drying her hands, looking in the mirror in the bathroom, wishing she had her lip gloss handy (because, every girl knew, in any intense, gruelling, overly-emotional situation, which that night had been from the start, you needed lip gloss) when through the mirror she’d seen the vision behind her.

Seen it and seen through it.

A woman, dark hair, beautiful, pale face, her long hair streaming as if caught in a fierce wind and her old-fashioned violet dress floating in tatters around her.

Her expression was filled with blatant, frightening, evil hatred.

Abby had had no time to react when the vision moved toward her so fast it was shocking.

Abby screamed the terror that suddenly gripped her just as she felt a sharp thrust between her shoulder blades. She just got the chance to lift her hand to cushion her fall but the push was so strong, her hand went through the mirror. The mirror shattered around her wrist, the shards cutting her and the sudden pain mixed with some water on the floor and being off kilter made Abby slip. She went down, her forehead, with her weight and momentum behind it, slamming against the basin.

And then everything went black until she was in Cash’s arms.

And at that moment, lying on the sofa, Abby knew she had to get out of there.

Now.

“Cash,” she whispered urgently and his eyes went from her arm to her face.

“Quiet, darling,” he muttered, his gaze lifted to her forehead and narrowed.

Then his hand left her arm and came to her face, his palm resting against her cheekbone as his thumb cautiously tested the bump on her forehead.

At his tentative touch, Abby winced at the pain and jerked her head against the cushion of the sofa. Cash’s hand moved away immediately and his eyes locked on hers.

“Fucking hell,” he swore.

Abby didn’t have time for her possible concussion. There was a haunting afoot and apparently the ghost in residence did not like her.

At all.

“We need to get out of here,” Abby demanded, not caring about appearing rude in front of her audience because she thought it was more important to exit the premises immediately since the place was f**king haunted.

Cash had no time to respond for Honor arrived, announcing, “I’ve got the towels.”

Cash’s head came up. “Get me a bowl of warm water. Gentle soap.” Clearly whoever he was addressing hesitated because he barked, “Now!”