Penmort Castle

Chapter Twenty-Six Nicola

Abby stood at the mirror over the bureau spritzing perfume at her ears and wrists.

Cash had showered first while she dozed in bed and he dressed while she was taking a long, relaxing bath. When she was towelling off, he’d called through the door that James was there and he had to go talk to him. He didn’t explain why James was there and he’d been gone before Abby had a chance to ask.

That afternoon Cash had left their room once, to go get them some food for a light lunch. After making love and eating, they’d spent hours in bed, cuddling and whispering to each other about what could be causing Nicola’s strange mood, what was behind Suzanne’s even stranger behaviour and both their surprise at Fenella’s demonstrated fortitude.

Well, Abby did most of the whispering. Cash spent his time holding her, running his hands over her skin and gliding his lips along her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, her collarbone (and other places besides).

He would, however, often mutter things like, “Mm,” or “I’ve no idea,” or “Let’s just see how it plays out, shall we?”

Other than that, he seemed pretty happy to let Abby talk her way through things using him as a mostly silent sounding board.

Abby noted that Cash was completely at ease with all the nefarious goings-on.

Abby was not.

Regardless of spending the afternoon in bed with Cash and her relaxing bath, Abby was wired.

Although Cash appeared laid back about the attempt on his life, he was that morning more intense with Abby than ever.

Cash, Abby thought, was always a bit intense but this was different.

Not in a bad way. In a good one.

A really good one.

One that made that blooming hope in her heart start to blossom out-of-control even though she knew it was stupid, stupid, stupid to let that feeling flourish.

That afternoon she felt his intensity of the morning somehow settled even though it didn’t diminish. It was as if he’d come to some conclusion.

Although Abby wanted to know what that conclusion was, she didn’t ask him to share, scared of what it could mean.

Hope and his actions were pressing her to think it would be good.

Reason and her indisputably bad luck made her think it would be bad.

The time was nigh for what would have been the end of their arrangement. She was to pretend to be his girlfriend for the three weeks prior to the weekend at the castle then continue for one week after.

Then it would be over.

And, Abby thought, maybe now that he was close to getting what he’d worked so hard for, it was time for him to move on to his life as master of the castle, a life without Abby.

The rational part of her brain reminded her that Cash had asked her to move into the castle with him.

The much stronger irrational part of her brain reminded her that her luck sucked and she’d learned the hard way that all good things came to an end usually heartbreakingly sooner than she expected.

On that thought she picked up the diamond bracelet Cash gave her and struggled with the complicated clasp for a moment before securing it.

Then she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her great-grandmother’s gown was a bold, red satin with a long, flowing skirt. The bodice came up in a soft, inverted V at the base of her throat where there was an opening through which a wide band of satin was fed through. This band held up the bodice at her chest and went over her exposed shoulders, crossing between her shoulder blades and holding the dress in place at her sides. The rest of the back was open with a drape at the small. The hem of the skirt swept the floor with a decorous hint of a train.

Abby wore a pair of red pumps with satin-covered, pencil-thin, four-inch heels, pointed toes covered entirely with bugle beads and complicated, thin, beaded ankle straps.

She’d dried her hair with curlers in to give it volume, parted it at the side and swept the sections back softly in a twisted, loose knot at the nape of her neck.

Regardless that the satin fit smooth and snug to her skin, she’d somehow managed (magic?) successfully to hide Cassandra’s protection amulet which hung from a thin silver chain to rest between her breasts under the dress.

She’d done her makeup in the only one word style she had, though it was emphasised when she spoke it aloud, the look was “Drama!”

The only other adornment she wore was Cash’s bracelet and a pair of her mother’s ruby studs in her ears, the rubies surrounded by small diamonds.

She thought, assessing herself, she didn’t look half bad.

“Please, God,” she mumbled to the mirror, “don’t let me die in great-granny’s dress.”

After her muttered prayer, the door opened and Cash walked in.

Abby turned to look at him and her breath caught in her chest.

He was wearing a black tuxedo, clearly expensive, with an immaculate cut which made it obvious it was tailored just for him. His crisp, white shirt had a series of pin-tucks at the chest, there was a flash of gold at his cuffs but other than that it was simple and, on Cash, alarmingly masculine.

Abby felt her knees go weak and she had to put her hand to the bureau to hold herself upright.

Then she caught the hungry look in his eyes as they swept the length of her and her fingers clutched the edge of the bureau as her weak knees were joined with a full-body tremor.

She had the distinct feeling he liked the dress.

Deciding something must be said before she spontaneously combusted under his hot gaze, she muttered, “You look nice.”

His eyes, resting in the region of her belly, cut to hers and he replied, “You don’t.”

Abby felt her body jolt at his words, thinking she’d misinterpreted his look, and whispered, “I don’t?”

He started walking toward her slowly, his eyes holding hers captive.

“No,” his voice was low and rough, “the word ‘nice’ describes a lot of things. What it does not describe is you in that fucking dress.”

Abby stood solid as he stopped close in front of her and his hand came up. The tips of his fingers slid down the satin at her side from the curve of her breast to her waist where his hand flattened and his fingers curled, pressing forcefully into her flesh, searing her there like a brand.

It was safe to say she wasn’t wrong in her first conclusion about how Cash felt about her dress.

“Cash –” she breathed but he talked over her.

“After this is done, we have to talk,” he announced.

At the serious look on his face Abby’s worry came crashing back and she swallowed her fear before querying, “About what?”

Cash didn’t hesitate with his reply. “About you. About me. About our future.”

Her heart hammering, the fear taking control, her voice was higher when she enquired, “What about it?”

His fingers at her waist pulled her closer and his head dipped further to look down at her. “Not now. Later. Now we need to focus on getting through the night.”

Abby stared at him, holding back the fear (just barely) and requested, “Maybe you can give me a hint.”

His hand slid around her back, it encountered skin and stilled for a brief moment then pressed in, moving her to him.

His face dipped closer. “Things have changed.”

“What things?” Abby asked.

“Everything,” Cash replied firmly yet mysteriously.

Abby had no idea what that meant but before she could ask, he touched his lips to hers.

When his head came up, he muttered, “Now, darling, you need to focus on tonight.”

“Okay,” she agreed but even as she did, she didn’t.

There was no way in hell she’d be able to focus on taking down a ghosty she-bitch when Cash’s life was also in danger and her future with Cash was in question.

On that thought, her brain reminded her of her pledge to live the time she had with Cash to the fullest. So their upcoming, scary-as-heck talk might mean the end, now they were still in the middle.

Not to mention, she might end the night flung out a window.

Obviously there was no time like the present.

Therefore she decided to carry on like there was going to be no end. Or, if there was, however that might come, she was intent to give him something which he could use to remember her even after she was gone.

She lifted her hand to rest on his cheek and whispered, “I have something for you.”

She saw a flash in his eyes but before she could read it or lose her courage, she pulled away and walked to the bedside table.

She opened the drawer and retrieved a small, black velvet box, tied in a black satin ribbon.

She came back to him, held the box in the palm of her hand between them and caught his eyes.

Then she murmured, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

His gaze held hers for a moment then dropped to the box. She saw a muscle leap in his jaw, a reaction that usually indicated he was angry. She bit her lip in concern but his hand came up, he took the box from her, pulled at the bow and tossed the loosened ribbon on the bureau before he flipped open the box with his thumb.

Inside was a pair of cufflinks Abby purchased while out shopping with Jenny the day Angus called. They were gold, set with oval onyx. Seeing them, she thought they were smart, handsome, elegant and very Cash therefore she felt at the time he had to have them.

Now, spying the cufflinks in his cuffs, also gold, probably more expensive than her gift, she thought they were kind of lame.

How many men needed two pairs of gold cufflinks?

Hurriedly she told him, “I didn’t think when I got them. I just liked them. Of course you already have a pair.” His eyes went from the cufflinks to hers, their black depths were blazing but she couldn’t quite read why so she blathered on. “You don’t have to wear them. If you don’t like them, I can take them back and find something else. A tie pin or –”

She stopped talking when he caught her in his arms, jerking her forward almost violently. She crashed into his body and his arms held her tight as he buried his face in her neck.

“I like them,” he said into her neck and Abby lifted her hands to his upper arms and held on.

“You do?” she whispered.

He didn’t take his face from her neck but his arms tightened to the point he was squeezing the air out of her.

“Yes,” he replied, “I fucking well do.”

Okay, he was saying the f-word and she didn’t know if that was good or bad.

However she had a priority concern.

“Cash,” she wheezed, “I can’t breathe.”

He let her go instantly, took a step back and immediately exchanged his cufflinks for hers.

Abby watched this and no matter how stupid she knew it was, her careening thoughts shifted back to hope.

After he’d completed his task, without looking at her he went to his briefcase that was sitting beside one of the armchairs in the turret. He put the briefcase in the seat of the chair, bent to open it and came back to her, carrying his own small, black velvet box, this one tied with an ivory satin bow.

He again got close, leaned in, his fingers curling around her wrist, he lifted her hand palm up and deposited the box in it.

The whole while he did this, Abby stared up at him.

He let her wrist go and put a hand to her neck.

“I hesitate to give you a gift after the last time,” he murmured his voice low but teasing, “however, it is Valentine’s Day.”

She pulled herself out of her trance and looked down at the box. She lifted her other hand and yanked at the bow. She did as he’d done and tossed the ribbon to the bureau before opening it.

In it was a pair of extraordinary diamond chandelier earrings. A not-small-by-any-stretch-of-the-imagination diamond at the base led down to a complicated fall of diamonds set in platinum.

She stared at the earrings, frozen in shock not only at their beauty but at their obvious cost. She didn’t know what to do and had no clue what to say.

She lifted her eyes to his and stupidly whispered the first thought that came to her mind, “You one-upped my present.”

At her words he threw back his head and burst out laughing, his arms snaking around her to pull her again tightly to him.

She absorbed his laughter into her body and held onto his waist.

He pulled back slightly and touched a finger to her ear before saying softly, “As charming as those are, darling, I want you to wear my diamonds.”

“Cash,” Abby replied, her fingers curling around the box still in her hand as they went straight to her ears to take out the rubies, “you’d have to pay me not to wear your diamonds.”

He chuckled at her words and held her loosely as she switched her jewellery and then leaned into him to peer around and check herself in the mirror.

“They’re exquisite,” she breathed.

Cash’s arms flexed around her and she straightened to look up at him.

“Yes,” he murmured, his eyes on her face, “exquisite.”

Abby felt her body melt into his as her arms wrapped around his waist.

“I want to kiss you,” she told him, “but it’ll mess up my lip gloss.”

As his head descended, he muttered, “Fuck your lip gloss.”

In the end, not only did she have to repair her lip gloss, they had a post-gift-exchange, Valentine’s Day make out session that might have been so long and intense, Abby thought it should be entered into a record book.

Needless to say they were late descending the stairs to join the party.

“Jennifer, don’t get drunk,” Mrs. Truman snapped at Jenny.

“I’m not getting drunk,” Jenny snapped back.

“Pumpkin, you’re getting drunk,” Kieran put in on a smile.

Jenny shot a glare at her husband and then tipped back her champagne glass, draining it down her throat.

Abby pressed her lips together and her gaze locked with Cash’s. He was standing at her side holding a glass of champagne, looking cultured and amused and almost criminally attractive.

Abby tore her eyes away from Cash and studied her friends.

Jenny was wearing a fantastic champagne-coloured strapless silk dress with princess-seams, built-in boning and a mermaid-tail skirt. There was a tiny, chiffon ruffle along the bodice. Her hair was swept back in an elaborate up-do and she looked amazing.

Kieran wore a well-cut dinner jacket and was more than his usual handsome.

Mrs. Truman looked like The Queen times about five thousand. She was wearing a boxy grey gown. From enormous shoulder pads to hips and down the long sleeves the gown was elaborately sequined and beaded. The silvery-grey, chiffon skirt was gathered effusively at the bottom of the sequins at her hips, floating down to her stout-heeled, square-toed, dove-grey satin, granny pumps.

Three hours ago, when she and Cash finally drifted down to join the already-started proceedings, they were all there, drinking champagne, eating from the trays of hors d’ouevres that were being passed around and mingling with the guests.

The minute Abby’s eyes hit Mrs. Truman she thought the only thing missing was a priceless tiara extracted for the festivities from the Tower of London and a dozen bodyguards.

A waiter passed and Jenny expertly nabbed another glass of champagne like she’d attended champagne-glass-bearing-waitered-trayed-gala-affairs every weekend since birth.

Abby looked at Mrs. Truman and caught the woman’s eye roll as Trevor, Alistair and Nicola’s practically silent servant got close and said something in Cash’s ear.

Trevor then melted away and Cash’s hand came to her waist as his mouth went to her ear.

“James is at the door. I have to speak with him,” he murmured.

Abby turned her face to his. “Why is James here?”

Cash touched his nose to hers and whispered, “I’ll explain later.”

He pulled away and looked at Kieran.

“If Nicola leaves this room, you get Abby to safety. Our room upstairs is closest,” Cash ordered, Kieran nodded and Cash looked back at Abby, his voice gentling when he finished. “I won’t be a moment, darling.”

Then Abby watched him saunter away, his long legs carrying him across the room swiftly, his gait powerful, his strides wide and everyone he passed glanced at him with unconcealed admiration.

Abby sighed.

“Girlfriend, we need to talk,” Jenny muttered in Abby’s ear and Abby looked down at her friend.

Jenny was staring at her, eyes serious, the set of her face determined.

“What? Why?” Abby asked as Jenny took her hand, made their excuses to Mrs. Truman and Kieran at which both of whom scowled but, Abby thought, both for different reasons. Kieran, Abby suspected, because he knew what Jenny was going to say. Mrs. Truman, Abby guessed, because she did not.

Then Jenny led Abby to a large window that faced the tor at the side of the castle. It was quiet, secluded and felt somehow removed from the busy hall.

Once there she turned Abby so that Abby faced her and Jenny’s back was to the room.

“It’s not a good time but it’ll never be a good time and it’s looking like the sooner the better,” Jenny started ominously and Abby blinked at her.

“What’s not a good time?” Abby enquired.

“I’ve been thinking about this since it happened, wondering if I should say something, thinking I shouldn’t but I can’t help but think I should,” Jenny stated and Abby looked down at her friend, confused at her words and the tone of her voice which shook with emotion.

“Since what happened?” Abby asked.

“Since Cash and I had our little chat,” Jenny answered.

Abby stared at her friend, stunned.

Her voice was breathy when she enquired, “Cash and you had a chat?”

Jenny nodded and went on. “That night all the girls came to dinner, he and I talked. It wasn’t pleasant,” Abby sucked in breath at this news as Jenny carried on, “I can see it…” she hesitated and switched from nodding to shaking her head, “you, I can see you… I can see it happening.”

Concerned, Abby moved closer to her friend, a woman who rarely couldn’t find the words to express herself.

“Jenny, you aren’t making any sense,” she said softly.

“You’ve fallen in love with him,” Jenny blurted and Abby felt her eyes round.

“With who?” she asked stupidly.

“With Cash!” Jenny replied on a muted shriek then looked over her shoulder to see if anyone had heard to find that only Mrs. Truman had her eagle-eyes on them. Jenny turned back. “You’ve fallen in love with Cash.”

Abby felt her heart start beating faster but she went into denial. “Jenny, I’ve known him three weeks.”

“The night Ben brought you home from your first date you phoned me, woke me up and told me you were going to marry him. A year and a half later I was your maid of honour,” Jenny reminded her.

This was true.

It was also true that the minute she laid eyes on Cash in that pub, she’d had a feeling that she’d only felt once in her life. It was the same feeling she had when Ben’s eyes caught hers when she was standing at a coffee bar ordering her latte and Ben was standing at the end of it waiting for his.

Except with Cash that feeling was infinitely stronger.

Abby felt like someone threw a bag of bricks at her and it landed heavily against her belly.

“Jenny –” she started.

“Get out,” Jenny talked over Abby, her eyes reading Abby’s thoughts, her voice now urgent. “Get out now.” She came closer and her fingers curled around Abby’s. “Abby, honey, it kills me to tell you this but he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Abby felt her body jerk as if she’d been struck at the same time the room started spinning. She heard Jenny’s voice come at her from far away asking if she was okay. Abby blinked several times and with a good deal of effort, she focused on Jenny.

“How do you know?” she whispered.

Jenny got even closer and whispered back, “He all but told me, Abby. He cares about you, that’s obvious. He wants you to be happy, he even told me that. But he isn’t in this for the long run, he told me that too.”

Abby felt that bloom in her heart start to wither. “He mentioned something but –”

Jenny gave her fingers a squeeze, cutting off her words. “Then you’ve got to get out now, before it’s too late.”

Even though the hope she’d been feeling started to fade away, Abby still whispered, “I can’t.”

“You have to Abby,” Jenny’s other hand grabbed Abby’s and she held their hands tightly together between them. “He’s a… I don’t know. He’s a force of nature,” she said. “You’re going to… hell, you’re already caught in his magnetic field. When he cuts you loose, you’re not going to want to be let go but you won’t have any choice. Abby,” she shook their hands between them, “it’ll destroy you. You know it’ll destroy you,” she paused and her voice went low before she finished, “again.”

Abby closed her eyes and looked away.

She could try to fool herself that his behaviour meant they were developing something deeper.

What she couldn’t do was ignore the fact that Cash told her best friend of all people that their relationship was finite.

He would never do that.

Unless it was.

Even though she knew she was living on borrowed time, she’d been unconsciously holding onto that hope in her heart, wanting more, wishing the magic was real.

Instead of yet another path that led to heart wrenching despair.

But Abby knew better than that. She’d been taught that lesson time and again.

And every time Jenny had picked up the pieces.

She squeezed her eyes tight and clenched her teeth tighter as the pain of the dying dream of years filled with anguish ending in a life filled with magic seared through her soul.

She opened her eyes and looked at her friend’s concerned face.

“He told me earlier tonight we had to talk about our future,” she confided, her voice aching, her throat burning. “He’s very astute. I’m guessing he’s cottoned on to how I feel and wants to remind me where we stand.”

“Abby –” Jenny started but Abby kept talking as she squeezed their hands.

“Don’t worry Jenny,” she whispered. “Please, don’t worry.” Then she said out loud what she knew she had to do to guard her heart before, as Jenny surmised correctly, it was too late. “After tonight, it’s over.”

The word “over” came out in a croak as tears clawed their way up her throat and Jenny let go of their hands and got even closer.

Her friend put her cheek to Abby’s and in her ear, she murmured, “I’m sorry, Abby, so sorry. I started this and now here you are. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Abby replied, gulping back tears, succeeding, in an extreme effort of will, at fighting them back before a single one was shed.

Jenny leaned back and her fingers curled around Abby’s upper arm. “It is but we won’t argue that.” Her hand tightened and she looked deep into Abby’s eyes. “You’ll get through this, girlfriend. You always do. I don’t know anyone on this planet who’s stronger than you.”

At that Abby laughed but there was not even a hint of humour in it.

Before more could be said Mrs. Truman descended on their tête-à-tête.

“What are you two whispering about?” she demanded to know.

Jenny turned to Mrs. Truman but caught Abby’s hand. “Nothing.”

Mrs. Truman eyed Jenny then she looked at Abby assessingly. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Abby lied.

“Well,” she said on an angry-to-be-left-out humph, “you two were so absorbed, you haven’t noticed that something’s happening.”

Abby and Jenny looked into the room to see people were coming from all corners of the house, squeezing into the large space, making it small.

As she looked, Abby saw Cash arrive. His eyes scanned the room and for the first time in her life Abby wished both that she wasn’t so tall and that she wasn’t wearing a pair of elegant, expensive high-heeled shoes when Cash’s eyes easily found her.

She watched as his powerful body wended its way through the crush toward them and he arrived at the same time as Kieran.

Jenny dropped her hand as Cash got close, his arm moving along her waist, his chin dipped and she saw his brows draw together as he examined her face.

Then he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Abby swallowed then lied, forcing her voice to sound cheerful, “Nothing.”

His eyes shifted to Jenny for a mere moment then came back to her. They narrowed, his fingers dug into her waist and he started, “Abby –” but people were tinkling their champagne glasses and Abby tore her gaze from him to glance over the crowd.

They were all looking in one direction and she could see Nicola and Alistair standing in front of the fireplace, a small pocket of space in front of them.

Honor, Fenella and Suzanne were at the edge of the crowd closest to Nicola and Alistair.

As Alistair lifted his hand for silence, conversation in the room died away.

“Thank you, thank you,” Alistair’s voice boomed pompously from his position as lord of the manor, the smile on his face even at Abby’s distance not only looked false, it did not reach his eyes. He went on, “We, Nicola and I, thank you for coming. We thank you for being here to celebrate this, our special anniversary.”

“Hear, hear,” someone shouted and Alistair bowed his head in a farcical attempt at noble.

Abby turned her attention to Nicola who didn’t look thankful in the slightest. She looked pale, she looked tense and she looked weirdly expectant.

Alistair continued, lifting his glass. “Now, everyone, I hope you’ve charged your glasses so you can join us in toasting twenty-five years of –”

“One second,” Nicola’s voice cut in. It was pleasant as usual however it was also raised and it carried across the expanse.

Alistair hesitated and looked down at his wife who did not meet his eyes.

“I would also like to thank you for coming,” Nicola declared, “for it is, indeed, a special day.”

There was shifting of feet and smiles but something about the way Nicola looked, her tone, put Abby on edge.

Nicola kept talking. “I’ve been married to this man at my side for twenty-five years,” she announced unnecessarily, “twenty-five extraordinarily unhappy years.”

There were some chuckles and murmurs as many thought Nicola had flubbed her speech.

Abby, however, did not. Nor, she could tell by the way he tensed at her side, his arm curling her closer, did Cash.

“There wasn’t abuse, not overtly,” Nicola went on, Abby felt Cash’s body jolt and the chuckling and murmurs stopped immediately as the room grew silent. “Mostly neglect. And, on occasion, cruelty. Not only to myself, but to my daughters.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Truman muttered as the feeling in the room turned uneasy.

Alistair’s face, magnanimous a moment ago, had soured, indicating without words the veracity of Nicola’s awful speech.

His hand came up to curl around her arm and he muttered, “Dearest –”

She yanked her arm free and gave him a cold look.

“I’m not, nor have I ever been, your dearest,” she informed him and then looked back to the crowd. “I asked you all here tonight not so you could celebrate twenty-five years of a very, very bad marriage. But instead so I could publicly apologise to my daughters for being weak and not protecting them the way I should. For desiring for them a life without want and sacrificing a home filled with love in order to do it. And now what I ask of you is to lift your glasses in a toast, not to the continuation of that bad marriage, but to the end of it,” she turned back to Alistair and finished, “because, dearest, tomorrow morning, my daughters and I are moving out. I want a divorce.”

There were shocked gasps, excited murmurs and a good deal of uncomfortably shifting feet.

Except Mrs. Truman who was chuckling.

She turned back to Abby and Cash and muttered loudly and with authority, (even though she had none), “Met him and was in his presence for about two seconds. Didn’t like the look of him. Just deserts, I say.”

Jenny’s gaze shot to Abby’s and even with their heartbreaking conversation of moments before, they both emitted short, shocked but entirely unamused giggles.

Their giggles stuck in their throats and their eyes flew back to the fireplace when they heard Alistair’s voice vibrating with fury, demand, “How dare you!”

Nicola ignored him and lifted her glass, shouting, “A toast! To the end of the bad and heralding the beginning of the good!”

But she didn’t get her glass to her lips.

Alistair’s fingers closed around her wrist and he jerked her hand down, the champagne spilling all over Nicola’s throat, chest and down the front of her elegant, black, strapless, bias-cut gown.

There were more stunned gasps but Cash didn’t gasp. The instant Alistair’s fingers curled around Nicola’s wrist he moved, pushing forward through the crowd toward the couple on display.

“You bitch! How dare you humiliate me in front of my friends?” Alistair demanded, getting in another jerk, causing the rest of the champagne to splash against Nicola’s chest and also in her face, triggering another now-horrified murmur to race through the crowd.

Fenella got close to the couple, her body rigid, she demanded loudly, “Unhand Mummy!”

Alistair’s eyes sliced to Fenella and he barked, “This is none of your goddamned business!”

It was then Cash arrived at the scene. He moved between Fenella and Alistair, positioning himself in front of the three sisters, his back to the crowd.

Even so, his deep voice carried when he ordered, “Take your hand off her.”

Like a demented schoolboy who was abusing a toy, Alistair gave Nicola, who was now fighting his grip on her wrist, another hefty wrench and her entire body shook with it, so much she nearly came off her feet.

All three sisters pressed in behind Cash but at Alistair’s action, Cash’s deadly voice cut through the room. “Take your hand off her,” he repeated, “now.”

Alistair, clearly mad in the face of Cash’s warning, enraged tone, narrowed his frightening eyes at Cash. “Who do you think you are? This is my wife and my house. I’ll do what I damn well please and I won’t let the bastard son of a Scottish bitch-in-heat stand there telling me what to do!”

Abby felt as if all the air in the room was sucked away as, with a vicious tug, Nicola tore free of Alistair. She stepped aside and Abby watched in disbelief as Alistair, robbed of one victim, turned his eyes to another and he took a swing at Cash.

Then two things happened at once.

One, Cash easily caught his uncle’s fist in his hand, twisted his arm, twirling Alistair so his back was to Cash and then he jerked Alistair’s arm up forcing him to emit an ugly grunt of pain.

Two, Vivianna Wainwright materialised in the air above Alistair, her dress and hair drifting and snapping about her. Her eyes, cruel and filled with venomous hate, were on Alistair.

As the room went entirely still, Vivianna opened her mouth and screamed.