Penmort Castle (26 page)

The castle was
a rambling “L” built around the side of a tor. It had thin bands of
terraced gardens containing meandering paths running along its
outer edge. It had a jagged roofline, some of its towers and
turrets rising five imposing stories from the ground. There was
another level built below into the face of the tor. It had a
jutting rectangular entrance at the bend of the “L” and was built
of a mellow red-brown stone.

The land had
been occupied, and fortified, since the time of William the
Conqueror when the sea, long since receded, had reached to the
bottom of the tor. The castle that stood now was built during the
Jacobean era, over four hundred years before. The entirety of its
interior décor had been painstakingly, with no expense spared,
refinished during the reign of Victoria.

Since the
property was granted to its first Beaumaris master, Henry, by
Richard, the Lionheart generations of men, men whose blood flowed
in Cash’s veins, had built and rebuilt the manor and then
fortified, defended and possessed it for over eight hundred
years.

“It’s
beautiful,” Abby whispered, her voice filled with awe.

He looked down
at Abby and then up at his ancestral home.

She was
correct. It was beautiful.

He took her
hand and tucked it in the bend of his arm, effectively pulling her
body closer to his side as he led her forward.

Moments later,
with the smell of Abby’s musky, floral perfume in his nostrils, the
feel of her against his side, Cash stepped through the enormous
door and over the threshold of Penmort for the first time its
owner, not only by birthright, but as the victor of a bloodless
battle.

As his and
Abby’s feet hit the stone floor of the entrance lobby, it wasn’t
only Cash who felt the floor slant beneath him.

Abby swayed,
her body twisting so her front was pressed into his side, her other
hand coming around to clutch his shirt at his stomach.

In front of
them, halfway up the short flight of stone steps, Cash saw
Fenella’s frame pitch awkwardly and she threw her arms out to
steady herself.

For a moment
they all seemed suspended.

When the
sensation ended, Fenella whirled toward them and cried, “What was
that?
Are we having an earthquake?”

Cash looked
down to Abby and saw her face was pale. She was still grasping his
shirt in her fist, her other hand gripping his bicep tightly.

“Are you okay?”
Cash asked Abby.

Her head tipped
back to look at him, her hazel eyes wide and frightened as she
whispered, “Did you feel that?”

“I felt it,”
Cash answered, pulling Abby closer to his body, his head turned to
Fenella and he asked, “Has that happened before?”

“No!” Fenella
cried and pressed her hand against her stomach. “That was
weird
.”

“Cash!”
Nicola’s voice greeted from straight ahead and Cash lifted his eyes
his aunt.

Arriving in the
entrance lobby was Nicola Beaumaris and her youngest daughter,
Honor.

Nicola was
nearly sixty years old but she looked ten years younger. Tonight,
as usual, her blonde hair was pulled back into an elegant bun at
her nape, her clothing was understated yet stylish and her bearing
was graceful but friendly.

Honor was the
only one of Nicola’s daughters that Cash could remotely endure. She
was not rail-thin like her sisters but curvy to the point of being
plump. When she wasn’t being silent, sullen or superior, she could
be quite clever and, on rare occasions, displayed a sense of
humour.

“Did you feel
that?” Fenella asked when her mother and sister entered the
hall.

“Feel what?”
Honor returned.

“I don’t know
what,” Fenella replied, “it felt like an earthquake.”

Nicola came to
a dead halt one step down and stared at her oldest daughter. “An
earthquake?”

“Yes, the room
pitched and –” Fenella started.

Honor
interrupted her sister, her voice weary. “Fenella, don’t be
dramatic.”

“I felt it!”
Fenella cried and then spun toward Cash and Abby. “You felt it
too!”

“We did,”
Abby’s soft voice confirmed Fenella’s story.

Fenella pointed
a finger at Abby and squealed, “See!”

“Fenella, don’t
point,” Nicola’s voice was gentle but firm. “And don’t tell tales.”
Nicola descended the stairs to come close to them but her kind eyes
were on Abby. “You must be Abigail.” At Abby’s nod, Nicola went on,
“My eldest has a vivid imagination,” she explained, “she swears
Penmort is haunted.”

Cash heard
Abby’s indrawn breath and felt her press closer to him.

He had, of
course, heard about the Famous Ghost of Penmort Castle. It was the
spirit of the raven-haired beauty, supposedly named Vivianna
Wainwright, who was also the spurned lover of one of Cash’s
ancestors.

Legend told
that Vivianna was a practicing witch and once her love was
thwarted, she’d put a spell on her soul before hurling herself off
the tallest tower of the castle, falling down the side of the tor
to a gruesome death.

She’d done this
not to kill herself but to live eternally within the castle as a
malevolent phantom, wreaking vengeance by causing intermittent
havoc and murdering the true loves of Penmort’s male line.

In all the
castle’s history, this had allegedly happened only five times. Not
generation-to-generation but, the tale dictated each time the
victim had been Penmort’s master’s one, true, abiding love.

It was, Cash
knew, complete rubbish.

His fingers
covered Abby’s on his bicep and he murmured, “It isn’t true,
darling.”

“Then what just
happened?” Fenella demanded to know.

“I’m sure
spooky Vivikums has better things to do than ruin Mummy’s dinner
party,” Honor retorted.

Fenella’s face
blanched before she whispered, “Don’t call her that. She doesn’t
like it.”

“Hogwash,”
Honor returned on a sharp hiss.

Nicola’s hand
came out to touch Abby lightly. “Abigail, what must you think of
us? Let’s take your coat and get you a drink.”

Cash escorted
Abby up the steps and into the outer, took her bag and then her
coat from her shoulders, motioning with his chin that Abby should
follow Nicola.

He saw Nicola
take Abby’s arm in her hand and guide her toward the drawing room
saying, “I’m Nicola, Cash’s aunt. You’ve met Fenella, this is my
youngest, Honor.”

Fenella and
Honor trailed them and Cash watched as Abby cast a tremulous grin
over her shoulder at Honor.

They
disappeared into the drawing room and Cash took off his coat and
tossed his and Abby’s belongings over a wide window seat before he
traced their steps.

They were
gathering in the drawing room, Alistair and Suzanne already there
and when Cash entered Abby was greeting Suzanne.

Suzanne was
Nicola’s middle child and the only one of the three that Cash
actively detested. Far prettier than both her sisters, she knew it.
She had the same sultry aura of Abby but where Abby’s was simply a
part of her, Suzanne’s was a weapon she used.

And Cash had
learned over the last year she used it aggressively.

As pretty and
alluring as she was, she was no match for Abby’s striking beauty
and casual glamour.

The minute his
eyes fell on Suzanne’s face, which was turned to Abby and filled
with unconcealed spite, Cash saw that Suzanne knew that too.

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.

“Yes, I was,”
she replied with gentle surprise as if it was ten years since they
met, not just over a week.

Alistair
cleared his throat and Cash felt Abby’s body start against his side
as the all-too-short spell was broken.

“You’re
obviously American,” Alistair observed when Abby turned to him.
“What brings you across the pond?”

Abby didn’t
hesitate in answering. “I inherited the family home when my
grandmother died just over a year ago.”

“Oh Abby, I’m
sorry to hear that,” Nicola murmured and Abby smiled at her.

“So you just
dropped everything and moved to England? That seems a bit extreme,”
Suzanne remarked and both Cash and Nicola opened their mouths to
say something when Abby spoke.

“Yes, well,”
she said on a friendly smile. “there wasn’t much to drop.”

“Pretty girl
like you? Didn’t leave a man behind broken-hearted, did you?”
Alistair queried half in jest and Cash felt Abby’s body go
solid.

“No,” Abby
answered.

“I find that
hard to believe,” Suzanne commented and Cash decided he was
done.