The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

Cathy, caught in a web of confused emotions, wanted her father to be a wonderful man. Wanted to meet him, to bond with him, and the idea sent waves of terror through Etta’s veins. No one knew better than she the spell Tommy could exert when he wanted to—she could imagine his spin, the story of his reformation, his interpretation of his past character as misunderstood rebel without a cause.

She gusted out a sigh as she looked at Steph. ‘I know she doesn’t want to go.’ But the cruise had to happen, because Etta would not—could not—sit back and watch her daughter repeat her own mistakes. ‘But we’re going anyway.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Thanks a million for last night, hun. There’s no need for you to stay. I know you need to get Martha to her singing lesson.’

‘Stay here as long as you like.’

Twenty minutes later the click of the front door indicated their departure and Etta approached the bedroom where Cathy was staying.

Her daughter sat cross-legged on the bed, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail set high on her head. ‘Mum—please, please, please don’t make me go on this cruise. If Dad wants to see me badly enough to follow you to Cornwall then surely it’s worth a try.’

Etta sensed her daughter’s frustration and it tore her apart. ‘Sweetheart, your father is not a safe person to be around.’

‘Maybe he’s changed.’

Before Etta could answer, the doorbell pealed and fear jumped up her throat. Keep calm. No way could it be Tommy.

Cathy leapt off the bed, clearly desperate for the very thing that held Etta petrified to the spot.

‘Cathy—wait!’

Ungluing her feet from the carpet, Etta raced down the stairs after her daughter, reaching the bottom just as Cathy got to the door and peered through the spyhole.

‘It’s not Dad. It’s some blond bloke.’

Disappointment drooped Cathy’s shoulders and Etta moved forward and pulled her into a quick hug, her heart aching even as relief surged through her.

Cathy stepped back. ‘We’d better open the door. Whoever it is he looks familiar. Good-looking for his age.’

Etta peeped through the spyhole and blinked. Blinked again in case of hallucination. But Gabriel Derwent remained in her line of vision. Casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved sweatshirt, he still exuded an energy that sent her pulse-rate up a notch. Be that as it may, she couldn’t leave him standing on Steph’s doorstep.

She pulled the door open and bit back a protest as he stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

‘What...?’

‘Apologies for the unannounced visit. There’s been a development.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Etta said, as foreboding prickled her skin. Surely things couldn’t get any worse. Could they? ‘What sort of a development?’

CHAPTER FOUR

GABRIEL HALTED, ALL thoughts of developments scrambled in his brain as he gazed at Etta. This was a completely different Etta from the previous night, and somehow even more full of allure in jeans and a short knitted cream jumper that emphasised the length of her legs. Shower-damp chestnut hair emitted a tantalising waft of strawberry, and fell in a glossy swathe around her unmade-up face. Her skin glowed and a smattering of freckles down the bridge of her nose was now revealed. For an absurd second his hands tingled with the urge to reach out and run his finger down the line. As for her lips—

Hurriedly he tore his gaze away and realised that they weren’t alone.

A girl stepped closer to Etta and eyed him with a speculative gaze. There could be no doubt the two were related, despite the girl’s long curtain of dark hair; her eyes were the same amber-flecked brown. Sisters? Or...

Etta stepped forward. ‘Gabriel, this is my daughter, Cathy. Cathy, this is Gabriel—the man who kindly drove me home last night.’

Her chin tilted upwards as she met his gaze in an unspoken challenge, and he blinked away the surprise he knew had surfaced in his eyes. There was no point in pretence—he was surprised. In his mind Cathy had been considerably younger, and his brain whirred to adjust the parameters of the idea he intended to present to Etta.

‘Good to meet you,’ he said, and he held out a hand to Cathy, who surveyed him, her dark head tilted to one side.

‘Are you... Gabriel Derwent?’

‘The one and only.’

They were words he wished unsaid as he flinched inwardly at their bleak truth. One day he could be the one and only Duke of Fairfax—the last of the line. Yet he forced his lips to tilt upwards and could only hope the smile factor outweighed the grimace.

A small frown etched Etta’s forehead. ‘Cathy, could you go and get ready, please? Once Gabriel has left we need to get home and pick up our cases.’

Cathy heaved a sigh. ‘I told you, Mum. It’s not necessary. We don’t need to go.’ The muttered words held defiance underlain with resignation, but she headed for the staircase.

‘Cathy. We’ll discuss this later, but the bottom line is we are going.’

Once the teenager had trailed up the stairs Etta turned to Gabe. Her lips parted as if to speak but instead she just stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide.

Then she stepped back and gave her head a small shake. ‘Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I haven’t got a lot of time. The cruise leaves tonight. What’s happened?’

This would be a tricky conversation, and he’d be damned if he would conduct it in a hallway. ‘I appreciate that you’re busy, but we do need to talk. Properly. With you focused on what I have to say. I promise I will be succinct.’

A hesitation, and then she nodded. ‘OK. Come through to the kitchen. I’ll make coffee. It sounds like I’ll need it.’

Gabe followed Etta into a spacious, airy kitchen with cheerful daffodil-yellow walls adorned with corkboards holding pinned artwork and photos. He seated himself at a big wooden table as she filled the old-fashioned kettle.

‘OK. Hit me with it.’

Easy does it, Gabe. Instinct told him Etta wouldn’t appreciate his next words, however he spun them.

‘The press clocked our departure from the ball last night, found out about our moonlit stroll on the terrace and discovered my ploy with the seating plan. They have decided you and I are an item. I thought I’d better give you the heads-up as there may be reporters outside your house.’

For a second she stood as if frozen, her lips formed in a circle of astonishment, her head tilted, waiting for the punchline. Then, when she realised none was forthcoming, she banged the kettle down onto the hob and sheer outrage etched her cheekbones with a flush of anger.

‘You and me? The press thinks we are an item?’

Hmm... A hint of chagrin touched him at the sheer horror that laced her voice. ‘I’m afraid so.’

Jeez, was it that bad?

‘But that’s ludicrous!’

‘Why?’ It wasn’t what he had meant to say, but her expression of distaste had sparked a surge of irritation.

‘Because...because it is such an impossible scenario.’

‘Why?’ Rising to his feet, he headed towards the kitchen counter, kept his gaze on hers.

And suddenly the atmosphere hitched up a notch. Or three. The look of aversion faded from her face and morphed into shock as desire ignited in her eyes. Gabe’s mouth dried, and the tick-tock of a clock in the background pounded his eardrums as he moved closer—close enough that those damned freckles caught his attention again.

Her hands gripped the underside of the worktop so tightly her knuckles showed white against the marbled grey. As if the touch had pulled her back to reality she stepped back. ‘It’s impossible because it could never happen.’ The quaver in her voice demonstrated the shakiness of her argument.

‘Really?’ He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen. ‘Look.’

Etta stared at the images, and Gabe could almost see her eyeballs pop from their sockets on cartoon stalks as she swore under her breath.

‘Yup. That’s what I thought.’ Gabe couldn’t keep the smugness from his voice. Because some enterprising photographer had captured the moment he and Etta had met, as she’d emerged from behind the potted plant. There could be no denying the look of utter arrest on their faces.

‘I’ll track down whoever took that and disembowel him,’ Etta muttered, before looking up with a tilt of her chin and challenge in her eyes. ‘Because he is incompetent—clearly the light was odd, or the angle of the lens, or...or...’

‘Or we saw each other and there was a mutual moment of appreciation.’

Her eyes rested on his image and for a heartbeat he would have sworn there was a glimpse of satisfaction on her face at seeing him equally smitten. Then it was gone and she straightened up.

‘I’ll stick to the mistake theory, thank you.’

Gabe raised his eyebrows. Maybe he should have let it go, but her sheer refusal to acknowledge the attraction prompted curiosity—along with his inner devil. ‘Or you could admit the truth. You are attracted to me and vice versa. I don’t have an issue acknowledging it.’ He gestured to the screen. ‘The evidence is right there.’

If the laws of physics had allowed, her laser glare would have shot his phone with its telltale images to smithereens. ‘This may be hard for you to believe, but I am not attracted to you.’

Each word was exaggerated, and issued through clenched teeth, and yet Gabe knew she was lying.

‘You don’t want to be attracted to me.’ And he wasn’t sure why not. ‘That’s different.’

‘Gabriel...’

‘Please. Only my parents call me Gabriel. I prefer Gabe.’

‘Gabe. You are not my type. I don’t go for shallow playboys or men who lead women on and then break their hearts.’

Whoa. ‘“Shallow playboy” I’ll own up to. But I don’t lead women on.’ Ever.

‘What about Lady Isobel? You led that poor woman up the garden path, round the garden and a whole village full of houses. You made her think you’d marry her, then you bailed out in the public eye, broke her heart and humiliated her.’

Anger stirred inside him even as he accepted Etta’s stance—Isobel had played her part to perfection, and most of the country believed in her false portrayal of Gabe Derwent as heartbreaker extraordinaire. In return she’d netted herself a packet and some great publicity. A month after that his sister Kaitlin had spotted her partying on the Riviera. It seemed as if Isobel had decided to break free—rebel against the role of duchess she’d been primed for and go for the money.

But forget Isobel. Right now Etta glared at him, one foot tapping the kitchen floor tiles. Gabriel met her gaze full on. ‘I thought historians valued accuracy and confirmation and didn’t rely on tabloid gossip?’

Heat touched her cheeks. ‘A good historian looks at the available evidence and makes deductions. Are you denying that you led Lady Isobel to think you would marry her?’

‘No. I’m not. But that is one fact. There are a whole host of other facts you are not privy to. Unlike Isobel, I intend to keep them private. However, I give you my word that it did not go down the way she claimed it did. I didn’t break her heart.’

A pause, and then she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. ‘I accept that I may not know the full story. But I’m still not attracted to you. I appreciate you coming to warn me, and I’ll explain to any reporters it’s all a misunderstanding.’

‘Actually, I have a different solution.’

Suspicion narrowed her eyes. ‘We don’t need a different solution. We don’t need any solution because this doesn’t need to be a problem.’

‘Fine. I have an idea I want to run by you. It benefits us both.’

The kettle whistled as she hesitated, and then she pulled a cafetière towards her and nodded. ‘OK. Shoot. You’ve got a cup of coffee’s worth of time.’

‘Seems fair. I suggest we go along with the press. Run with the story.’

Her hand jolted on the plunger at his words and coffee spilt onto the counter. Etta ignored it. ‘Go along with it? Run with the story?’ Her hands tipped in an exaggerated question. ‘Why? Why would we even do a two-minute walk with the story?’

‘Because as my girlfriend you can bring Cathy and move in to Derwent Manor with me. You can put together the family tree. In return I will pay you a hefty fee and keep you safe from Tommy. Win-win.’

This way he would get his family tree done by the expert he wanted, she would get the chance to complete a project he knew she wanted, and she would be safe from Tommy. He figured it was pure genius. Etta looked at him as if she thought it was sheer garbage.

‘That’s nuts.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘Yes, it is. For a start, how can you possibly guarantee our safety?’

‘I have a number of qualifications in self-defence and a variety of martial arts.’

Once Gabe had worked out that no one was going to rescue him from the horrors of boarding school and the ritual humiliation the other students felt a prospective duke deserved, he’d figured he needed to rescue himself. The best way to do that had been to learn self-defence—and as it turned out he had an aptitude for it.

Etta shook her head, clearly unimpressed by the claim as she mopped up the spilt coffee and poured the remains into two mugs. ‘You don’t get it. Tommy is a nutcase. He’s a street fighter. He got put away for an assortment of crimes—drug-dealing, armed robbery, and a hit-and-run whilst fleeing the scene of a crime.’

‘I’m not belittling any of that, and I’m not blowing hot air—I can protect you from Tommy. I didn’t just do a few classes and get a few belts. I’m the real McCoy. There is no way I would offer protection if I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure I could provide it.’

Her fingers drummed a tattoo on the counter, and her head tilted to one side as her brown eyes assessed him. ‘It wouldn’t work.’

‘Why not?’

‘You couldn’t protect both Cathy and me because we won’t be together all the time. Plus...’ Her voice trailed off.

Gabe stared at her as his mind trawled the brief time he’d spent with Cathy. ‘Plus Cathy doesn’t want to go on the cruise because she wants to meet her Dad, and that would make her difficult to protect?’ he surmised.

For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer, and then she exhaled on a sigh. ‘Yes. Which is why the cruise is a good idea.’

‘You can’t keep Cathy on a ship in the middle of an ocean for ever.’

‘I know that. But right now it works for me as a strategy.’

‘I told you yesterday—running away is seldom a good strategy.’ He had a memory of his eight-year-old self—the sheer exhilaration that had streamed through his body as he’d escaped boarding school. The terrified but determined trek home to Derwent Manor, the blisters on his aching feet, the growl of hunger in his stomach. His ignominious reception.

‘Derwents do not run, Gabriel. You have let the Derwent name down.’

His explanation about the bullying had fallen on deaf ears.

‘Cowardice cannot be tolerated, Gabriel.’

‘This is a tactical retreat.’

‘Don’t kid yourself, Etta. A tactical retreat is a chance to move away so that you can regroup, because to stand your ground means certain defeat. You can’t regroup on a cruise ship.’

Her mug made a decisive thunk on the counter. ‘Enough. I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours—I don’t need your advice or analysis. This doesn’t even make sense. There are other historians you could employ in a way that’s much more straightforward and considerably less dangerous. Why offer to do this at all?’

It was a good question. From the second he’d seen her with Tommy a protective urge had kicked in. Nothing personal, but born from his own childhood experience of bullying, the taste of helplessness, the shameful desire to flee.

‘My instinct tells me you are the right person for the job, and I don’t like men like Tommy so it would be a great pleasure to kick him round the block. Several times.’

Her expression warmed even as she shook her head. ‘That is a wonderful thought, but it won’t work. I need Cathy off Tommy’s radar.’

‘Fair enough.’ Turning, he paced the length of the counter. ‘How about you stay here and Cathy goes on the cruise? With grandparents or another family member? I’ll pay any difference.’

‘There are no other family members.’ Etta’s voice was flat, clipped with sadness. ‘Which is fine, because I will keep Cathy safe.’

‘The best way to do that is to deal with Tommy.’

A small sigh escaped her lips and for a heartbeat vulnerability gleamed in the brown depths of her eyes, as if the idea of dealing with Tommy scared her.

‘Whilst I keep you safe.’

Once again her fingers drummed on the countertop. ‘I could ask Steph if she would take Cathy. And Martha, of course. The girls are at college together. I’ve explained the situation to the head and he is all right with me taking Cathy out as long as she takes some work with her. Martha could do the same. Steph is a self-employed illustrator, so she may be able to take work with her...’ Etta shook her head. ‘Sorry. I’m thinking out loud here.’

‘That’s fine with me.’

‘I’ll talk to Cathy first, and then Steph. If they agree I’ll research your family tree and in return you will pay me and act as my bodyguard whilst I figure out how to deal with Tommy.’

‘And we’ll go along with the press angle of a romance between us.’

When he’d seen the article that morning his first thought had been that he’d better warn Etta. His next had been to consider whether this development might be utilised to his advantage. His and Etta’s. After all, an alliance only worked if it benefited both parties.

‘It works for us both.’

‘How do you figure that?’ Her voice held a certain fascinated curiosity.

‘If the press believes we’re dating it takes the spotlight away from you researching the new family tree. No one need even know that I am hiring you.’ Nor start to dig into my motivation for doing so.

Besides, if his father got wind of his supposed ‘surprise gift’ he’d know something was off—neither the Duke nor Duchess had any interest in the family tree except in that it showed the unbroken direct line that he was about to snap with heart-rending finality.

‘That hardly works for me. If I am working for you then I want recognition for that.’

‘And you can have that recognition. In spades and shovels and pitchforks. After Christmas.’

‘A fat lot of good it will do me then. By then my professional reputation will be in ruins. It will look as though you hired me because I was sleeping with you.’

A pause stretched into a silence and for a second Gabe knew with bone-deep certainty that their minds had tracked the same path to an image of silken sheets and bare skin, of touch and taste and...

‘Supposedly,’ Etta said, her voice a touch breathy. ‘Supposedly sleeping with you.’

‘Not when they see your credentials and the results you provide. No one will blame you for mixing business and pleasure—you can spin the whole girlfriend deal into positive publicity. This is an opportunity.’ One that any woman he had ever dated had always taken advantage of—a chance to glean celebrity coverage and rich pickings.

Her mouth opened in a circle of outrage. ‘So you see this as a deal-sweetener?’

Gabe shrugged. ‘Yes.’

‘Not for me. I’d rather earn positive publicity through my work. So thanks, but no, thanks. I’ll do your family tree. But I won’t be your girlfriend. Fake or otherwise.’ Her chin tilted in challenge. ‘Take it or leave it.’

There was no quarter in her words and a hint of chagrin touched his nerves...along with a small burn of surprise. Not that it mattered. The most important objective had been achieved and he was a step closer to finding a future Derwent heir.

‘I’ll take it. We can tell the press I’m hiring you as a consultant for the Christmas Fair.’ Yet her continued refusal to acknowledge their attraction prompted his vocal chords. ‘But any time you change your mind and want to be my girlfriend—fake or otherwise—let me know. We can play this any way you want. It’s up to you.’