Alistair’s gaze swept the room and he snapped, “I don’t believe this. In my own home –”
“It isn’t your home, Alistair. After Richard Beaumaris died, it stopped being your home,” Honor told him and Alistair’s eyes shot to her but he was smart enough, after his last crack to Nicola and Cash’s reaction, to clamp his mouth shut. Honor carried on. “Cash is being nice, I don’t know why, he’s got no reason to be, but he is. I, however, don’t feel like being nice after you manhandled my mother in front of an audience.”
Cash had made it to Abby and his arm curved around her shoulders, curling her front to his side even as his eyes were on Honor.
Softly, he murmured, “Honor, don’t.”
But Honor kept going and announced flatly, “Your mother was raped by a gardener. You’re the product of that rape.”
As if struck, Alistair reeled back several paces at her words.
Nicola whispered, “Oh my God.”
Suzanne watched Alistair, a startled look on her face but it shifted quickly and triumphantly to a satisfied smirk.
Honor was relentless. “She wrote all about it in her diaries. I found them and Cash has them now. They’re evidence enough but if you push him and he demands a DNA test, the whole world will know you for what you are.”
“I kind of hope he does,” Mrs. Truman muttered loudly to Kieran and Abby pressed her lips together to stop from smiling.
Instead she turned to the older woman and whispered, “Mrs. Truman, please.”
Mrs. Truman widened her eyes in faux innocence and asked, “What? Everyone can see he’s not a very nice man,” then she declared as a finale, “comeuppance.”
Abby heard Jenny’s half-amused, half-embarrassed giggle and opened her mouth to speak but Alistair got there before her.
“I fail to see,” he started quietly, “what’s funny about my mother being raped.”
“Nothing,” Mrs. Truman returned tartly. “I’m sure everyone in this room agrees it’s very sad about your poor mother. Tragic. What’s more tragic is that you carried on your father’s legacy of cruelty rather than fighting whatever wicked impulse you have that makes you behave the way you behave and, instead, being a good husband and father to a widowed family as it is abundantly clear you have not been.” She leaned forward at the h*ps and declared, “You reap, good man, what you sow.”
“That’ll be enough, Mrs. Truman,” Cash murmured firmly.
Mrs. Truman looked at Kieran and announced, “I was done anyway.”
Finally everyone fell silent and Abby watched as Alistair visibly battled with his new knowledge and she almost, but not quite, felt sorry for him.
Cash’s fingers squeezed her shoulder. Her eyes moved from Alistair and her head tilted back to look at Cash.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” she lied. “Are you?”
He ignored her question, his fingers tensed again at her shoulder and his voice still soft, he warned, “Don’t lie to me Abby.”
She sighed and replied, “Okay, well, I was just attacked again by a ghosty she-bitch, so of course I’m a little –”
Cash cut her off. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Abby blinked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about walking into the hall earlier and seeing you looking like your whole world had come to an end.”
Abby felt her heart start racing and she kicked herself for being, yet again, so very, annoyingly, transparent.
She searched her brain for a plausible story.
Luckily she didn’t have to search far. “Cash, someone made an attempt on your life today but I got in the way. Tonight we’re at war with a ghost. You’ve just thrown your uncle out of his home. This is all going to wear on me.”
He pushed in at the same time his arm tightened around her shoulders bringing her even closer.
When they were front-to-front, his hand lifted to her neck and he accused quietly, “You’re lying again.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Am not!”
“When I came back to the hall, you weren’t where I left you. You were standing with Jenny in an out-of-the-way place. The kind of place you’d engage in a private conversation,” Cash informed her and Abby wished he wasn’t so damned clever because at times it was pretty annoying. Then he pressed, “What did she say?”
“We were getting ready for the toast,” Abby lied again.
Cash’s mouth grew tight before he demanded, “Stop lying.”
“Cash.”
“Abby.”
They held a brief staring contest before Abby looked away and muttered, “I’m not talking about this now.”
Cash’s arm gave her a shake and as he intended, her gaze went back to his.
His hand at her neck moved to cup her jaw. “I hope to God whatever she told you, you’re smart enough to come to me before you jump to any ridiculous conclusions.”
“Cash –” Abby began but he cut her off.
His brogue was rough and dangerous when he finished. “Because, darling, if you don’t and you go off half-cocked, it’s going to piss me right, the f**k, off.”
All right then.
Abby scratched a chat with Cash on her mental to-do list.
After she helped take down a centuries old spirit from beyond the grave that was.
She decided to give up. “Can we just focus on the matter at hand?”
“We can, after you promise you’ll be in bed with me at the night’s end,” Cash returned and Abby’s body gave a small jerk.
“Of course,” she whispered and watched as the intensity faded from his eyes before she went on, “if I’m not in a hospital bed wearing a full body cast, that is.” And she watched as the intensity shot right back.
“This isn’t funny,” he clipped.
“I wasn’t joking,” she replied.
His eyes rolled to the ceiling, his hand dropped from her jaw and he muttered, “Fucking hell.”
Abby got up on tiptoes, put her hand on his shoulder, his gaze came back to her and she advised softly, “You really shouldn’t say the f-word so much.”
“Darling,” he retorted, “you really should learn not to be cute when I’m annoyed.”
She dropped back on her heels saying, “I’ll make a note of that.”