Regardless, Henry tried to keep up the act anyway. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”
“Do I look like an idiot, Grandfather?” Diarmuid growled, his tone turning cool. “You were telling me to divorce Abigail Bernstein the last time we met, and now that woman shows up at the manor? You’re just trying to get us together, aren’t you?”
Henry was convinced that his plan was foolproof, but Diarmuid saw through it anyway.
. It really gets troublesome when people are too smart for their own good…
“Well…” Henry began, but he could not offer an explanation.
What else could he say other than ‘I was doing this for your own good?’
Naturally, his voice just trailed off into a sigh.
“I’ll have Stan arrange for a job for her, but don’t ever do that again,” Diarmuid said then.
His patience was limited, especially since Henry was meddling in his personal life.
“Fine, I won’t,” Henry promised. “I did want you to get along with Kathy, but I’m being honest when I asked you to get her a job. You see, she was living abroad with her grandfather for a while, and she led a lonely life like you, since she lost her parents early…”
Henry then realized that he had spoken too much, and quickly stopped there. “Ah, I’ve really gotten old.”
Diarmuid calmly said, “I’m hanging up if there’s nothing else.”
But when he did so, he was not calm at all!
Driving back to his mansion, he threw the car keys to Jimmy the chauffeur and strode inside. Seeing no one else around the living room, he asked Mrs. Watson, “Is she out?”
“She’s in her room,” Mrs. Watson replied.
“Okay,” Diarmuid replied softly and headed upstairs.
He paused for a moment outside Abigail’s room, but just as he was about to knock, he paused and refrained from doing so, striding to his own room instead.
In her room, Abigail was holding up a book, but could not focus enough to read it.
She was feeling especially irritated, but had no idea why.
She eventually gave up, put away the book, and headed downstairs.
Mrs. Watson rarely saw her restless, and it was obvious that she was not in a good mood.
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Althoff? You seem distracted, and you don’t seem to have an appetite either.”
Abigail scratched her head. “Do I?”
Mrs. Watson smiled. “Perhaps the food isn’t as good without Mr. Althoff around?”
Abigail blushed, and denied it fervently! “No way! Why would I not have an appetite when he’s not around?”
She thought that Mrs. Watson was being outrageous!
Nonetheless, Mrs. Watson smiled and waved her off. “Then pretend I never said that, though you know the truth yourself.”
Abigail did a double take.
Was Diarmuid the reason she was restless today? Did that mean he affected her emotions now?
No! That was impossible!
She did not want to admit it…
But it was a harsh reality. She was getting reckless because of Diarmuid.
She shook her head to try to get him out of her head. How could she have feelings for him, after he hurt her and indirectly caused her to lose one of her twins?
However, the more she tried to stop thinking about him, the more she did in fact, his image was now imprinted in her mind, and memories they shared replayed like a movie
“By the way, Mr. Althoff is upstairs. Didn’t he talk to you?” Mrs Watson asked just then
Abigail paused and wheeled on Mrs Watson “He’s back?”
Mrs. Watson nodded, and Abigail became even more distracted then
She headed upstairs, but was caught in a dilemma on whether she should see him
Impulse eventually trumped rationality, and she headed toward Diarmuid’s room.
The door was not shut, and there was a narrow slit. As she gently pushed it, she felt a little blinded by the brightness within, and she narrowed her eyes until she got used to it, and saw Diarmuid standing inside.
He was looking at something…
Abigail pushed the door further and then saw that he was looking at a painting-the same painting depicting her during her pregnancy, which he bought from Harvey Gooding at the auction!
She strode inside and asked softly, “Why would you spend so much to buy that painting?”
Diarmuid sensed a presence the instant she pushed the door, but did not turn to look at her.
He kept his eyes fixed on the painting, thinking to himself that she would only stay still and stay with him when she was asleep… or memorialized, such as in that painting.
“Because it’s you,” he said.
Abigail felt her breath leave her lungs, and her heart began to pound.
Those words were lovelier than anything else, and she admitted to herself then that she had fallen for him.
Without knowing it, she walked over to him and firmly wrapped her arms around his slim waist-perhaps because he looked so lonely from behind, or maybe she just had an uncontrollable burst of emotion.
Either way, she did it, and even she herself could not believe it.
When she finally came to her senses and tried to pull away, Diarmuid caught her wrists and stopped her, saying quietly, “I love you like this.”
Abigail lowered her gaze as her cheeks turned red, struggling against his hold as she asked shyly, “You like me to take the initiative?”
Diarmuid turned toward her then. “Can’t you be a little more obedient?”
Abigail bit her lip. “Why? I’m not a child.”
Diarmuid frowned-she could really upset him in a split second.
“Abigail.”
“What?” She looked up, and found Diarmuid leaning forward.
She held her breath, and closed her eyes as she felt his warm, tender lips against hers.
He gathered her in his arms at the same time-his kiss was possessive, but somehow captivating as well.
Abigail thought that the reason she had fallen for him was because he really had what it took to steal a woman’s heart.
“Please don’t run away again, alright?” She seemed to hear his voice despite her daze, and there was a plea in his quiet voice.
He had always been high and mighty, but his words now were humble.
Abigail would be lying if she said she was unaffected.
“I wasn’t trying to run. Samantha White tried to hurt me because she wants the Bernstein estate
As Abigail quietly explained everything, Diarmuid realized that while he had a general idea of what happened, he did not have the details.
Now that he knew Samantha had picked that quiet place to attempt murder, he stiffened and asked, “Were you hurt?”
Abigail shook her head.
Diarmuid was relieved, and remembered the injuries she inflicted on Harvey as well.
She knew her way around a scalpel–she was not about to get hurt that easily.
Even so, she was a woman–she had limits to her strength no matter how smart she was.
“Be more careful next time,” he told her. “Contact me at once when you get in trouble next time.”
“Okay,” Abigail said, her bright, crystalline gaze flickering just then. “Diarmuid, I…”
She wanted to tell her that she had a child just then, but swallowed her words just as it reached the tip of her tongue.
“What is it?” Diarmuid asked.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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