Chapter 11 – Second Chance Love of the Missing Groom Novel

Ever since the death of his parents, Diarmuid had always kept to himsell, and was reluctant to return to Althoff Manor more often than not.

Not keen on pushing him too far either, Henry waved him off feebly. “It’s late now. Go get some rest.”

Diarmuid rose to his feet, and Moneypenny just happened to return. “Master Diarmuid.”

“Hmm,” Diarmuid grunted flatly as he left the room.

Walking up to Henry, Monepenny asked softly, “Is this really going to work, Master Althoff?” “Of course,” Henry replied. “Even if he has a heart of stone, he‘s only human, and he‘d feel desire just as humans do. What, are you saying that he wouldn‘t feel a man‘s instincts and impulses around a beautiful woman?”

Moneypenny was still worried. “But sir, you know that Master Diarmuid has a temper. He could definitely tell that you were trying to get him to share a room with Mrs. Althoff.”

“Well, how are they going to develop feelings if they don‘t come in contact? I can‘t manage him outside, but here in my house, he‘ll still listen to me,” Henry said quietly, though he felt guilty toward Diarmuid too.

He then added enigmatically , “How much longer can I live anyway? He needs someone to care for him.”

“Master Diarmuid will eventually definitely understand your sincerity, sir,” Moneypenny said, and helped Henry return to his room.

Moneypenny had brought Abigail to Diarmuid’s room in

Althoff Manor, and before he left, he told her that it was the room where Diarmuid had grown up in, although the central section had been renovated once.

Still, the interior decoration of the room was different from the mansion. This place was much darker with its black and gray hues, projecting a cold atmosphere devoid of any warmth.

She looked around, and inadvertently found a curious box. It seemed like something that would appeal to a girl more than a boy, and stuck out like a sore thumb from the interior of the room.

However, just as she was about to check it out, a stern, cold voice bellowed from behind, “What do you think you‘re doing?!”

The sudden bellow startled Abigail, and as she spun around, she inadvertently knocked the box, sending it crashing to the floor with a loud bang!

Diarmuid was glaring at her, and he appeared at once incensed and murderous!

Flustered, she quickly explained, “I–It was an accident…”

She dropped to a crouch and tried to pick it up, but she felt something catching her wrist before she could reach the box, and the weight behind the grip threatened to crush her bones.

It was agony–her hand could have fallen off just then, and she was sweating from the pain.

“Keep your dirty hands away from it!” Diarmuid yelled in rage, his eyes red as he promptly flung Abigail away.

Caught off guard, she stumbled backward and hit her head against the corner of a wardrobe nearby. The ensuing pain seemed to cut into her heart and numbed her. There was a dull ring in her head, and she could feel something warm flowing out–she reached out and felt around the back of her head, and felt a stickiness.

Unsurprisingly, it was blood, but it was not much.

She looked up, and saw between her disheveled locks of hair that Diarmuid was carefully picking up the box, and his reaction alone made it obvious how important the box was to him.

He opened it, fearful that the contents were destroyed, and carefully studied it. Still, it appeared that the box had protected the contents.

He felt a sense of relief, but the thought that Abigail almost broke it left his temper flaring–so much so that he could kill her!

Turning to glare at her with red, murderous eyes, he roared, “You really want me to kill you, don‘t you?!”

On the other hand, Abigail got to her feet with much difficulty. Her numbness had dissipated, but now it was sheer pain gnawing at her nerves, and she stopped herself from shaking as she said, “Sorry…”

She could see that the box was a treasure to Diarmuid.

“Sorry? You think sorry would cut it?”

To him, she was as shameless as she was conceited!

Even as he closed in on her, the crushing pressure that his mere presence projected left Abigail panicking and retreating fearfully.

Thud,

She was cornered against the wall, even as she murmured fearfully, “S–Stop…”

Even so, Diarmuid seized her chin with a pincerlike grip, and Abigail thought she heard the sounds of bones dislocating. It hurt so much that she could not make a sound, and all she could do was look at him in terror.

And he was certainly terrifying, like a reaper straight from hell–his presence making one‘s blood run cold!

As he closed in, his terrible presence seemed to enfold Abigail. She tried to struggle but could not, even as he breathed into her ears, “I will destroy everything you‘ve ever cared about!”

The emphasis he placed in the word ‘destroy‘ left her shuddering, and that was when he tossed her aside again.

She tumbled like a frameless puppet, and she would have fallen on the floor again if she was not against the floor.

Her legs were shaking even as she tried to stand, her body never leaving the wall because there would be nothing else keeping her standing otherwise. Meanwhile, Diarmuid returned the box to where it was. There was a photo frame beside it, holding a picture of him and his parents.

Abigail glanced toward it without meaning to, and her eyes lingered for two seconds.

However, just as she found the contents of the box a little familiar, Diarmuid roared at her before she could get a good look, “Get out!”

Flustered , Abigail quickly headed for the door before she could satisfy her curiosity–there was a chance Diarmuid would kill her if she lingered in the room!

Nonetheless, after she left the room, Diarmuid‘s cruel visage eased as he looked at the contents of the box, a rare tenderness showing in his eyes.

His heart turned cold after his parents‘ passing, and the owner of these objects were the last bastion that retained any Warmth he had in his heart.

Even if more than ten years had passed, he remembered the little figure and the determination as she dragged him along despite the exertion.

Her eyes were the clearest, purest eyes she had ever seen.

In the water, her body‘s heat allowed his ice–cold heart to feel a hint of warmth.

Outside the room, Abigail was holding a hand over her forehead when Henry rushed to the scene. Seeing her pale face, he asked, “What happened?”

“I got a little bruise,” she said softly.

Henry scowled. He was aware of Diarmuid‘s poor temper… but he should not go so far as to hit a woman, should he? “What happened?” he asked.

“I accidentally touched a box…”

“The one beside a family photo?” Henry quickly asked.

“Yes.” Abigail nodded.

Understanding what had happened right then, Henry sighed. “I don‘t think I can help you on this one… That box matters so much to him that I wouldn‘t touch him myself.”

Likewise, Abigail understood how precious the box was to Diarmuid, especially when he kept it beside a photo of his late parents.

She used to have something precious as well — the first birthday present she received from her late grandfather but she lost it.

She was not sure how she had lost it either, but when she was seven, her grandfather had brought her here to Althoff Manor. She was too young to understand what was happening aside from there being a funeral, or who had just died–she only found out that it was Diarmuid‘s parents‘ funeral.

---