Penmort Castle by Kristen Ashley Read Free Book Online Page B

Anthony bestowed the Beaumaris fortune on her as
well as the castle.
    After his
brother committed this heinous act, Alistair had spent thousands of
pounds in the attempt to convince the courts it was impossible to
bequeath “outside the family” as well as convincing them the
fortune went with the castle.
    And,
fortunately, he’d succeeded in these endeavours.
    Now,
unfortunately, Alistair Beaumaris needed Conner Ewan “Cash” Fraser.
He needed him to marry one of his stepdaughters.
    Not that he
liked Cash Fraser. Indeed, he hated the man. In fact, his
preference would be to see him just as dead as his father and if he
didn’t need him he would make his preference a reality, just as
Alistair had done with Cash’s father.
    Not even that
he liked his stepdaughters and wanted them to make an excellent
match. He didn’t hate them. They could be tolerable some of the
time. However most of the time they were wholly annoying and he had
no problems telling them so and explaining exactly and in some
detail how they were.
    No, he needed
Fraser’s money.
    And that
reminder put Alistair in an even worse mood.
    * * * * *
    The ghost of
Vivianna Wainwright floated two inches from the high ceiling
directly over the cluttered table, not, for now, allowing her
presence to be seen or felt.
    She looked down
at the picture in the paper and her spectral eyes moved lovingly
over the tall, dark man.
    They grew hard
as they shifted over the cool, blonde woman.
    Vivianna’s mood
was not bad.
    It was
murderous.
     
     

Chapter
Four
    The Phone Call
and the Picture
     
    Abby heard the
phone on her bedside table ring, ripping her from a deep, fitful
sleep and Zee made a mew of disapproval as he stretched his four
legs out, arching his back into Abby’s belly.
    She peered at
the clock and saw it was just after eight in the morning.
    Cash had her
home before ten with no necking, likely much to the disappointment
of Mrs. Truman who Abby saw peering through her draperies at them
when they arrived. Though he walked her to the door, he didn’t
attempt to come in, didn’t attempt to give her a goodnight kiss but
also didn’t leave until she’d made her way safely inside, closed
the door and had turned on the light in her bedroom.
    Still, even
though she was in bed early, she didn’t get to sleep until the wee
hours.
    This was
because she spent hours tossing and turning with the realisation
that she’d, again, done something thoroughly and completely
stupid.
    Although there
were other stupid things she’d done in the last thirty hours (many, many of them), her Latest Stupid Abby Act Obsession
currently centred around that kiss.
    When she’d
kissed him the day before at the pub it had been to make a point
and it was under her control.
    However, wiping
her lip gloss from his mouth had been habitual. It was something
she’d done for Ben countless times. She was, of course, a girl who
liked her lip gloss.
    She didn’t know
why she did it to Cash. She just had and she’d kicked herself for
it before burying the memory deep in the recesses of her mind.
    But she
couldn’t bury that kiss. It was right at the surface.
    The smell of
Cash, the feel of his body against hers, his hard mouth and,
finally, the sweet touch of his tongue.
    He tasted of
brandy which he’d drunk after dinner. Brandy and the rich chocolate
torte with clotted cream he’d had for dessert.
    Good God, but
he tasted good.
    She’d felt the
touch of his tongue from her mouth, through her body, to the tips
of her curled toes.
    She’d never
felt anything that luscious or that strong.
    Not even with
Ben and Ben had been a fabulous kisser.
    And that meant
her exasperation with herself was mingled with the guilt she felt
at betraying her dead husband.
    She shoved
these thoughts aside. These weren’t waking-up thoughts. These were
beating-yourself-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night thoughts and she
reached to the phone and pulled it out of its receiver.
    She was not big
on mornings, though