Nina Milne - The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

‘I know.’

Her turquoise eyes narrowed. ‘That’s it?’

Digging deep, Gabe pulled out his best smile. ‘There is nothing you need to know except that I’m back.’

No way could he confide in Cora. What would he say? Hey, little sis. Nine months ago I found out that I can’t have children. Life as he had known it had changed irrevocably—the future he’d had mapped out for years was toast. Thanks to the archaic legal complexities that surrounded the Dukedom of Fairfax, the title that had passed from father to son for centuries might now die out. Unless he could find a male heir who descended directly, father to son, back to an earlier Duke of Fairfax. Bleakness returned in a vengeful wave even as he forced his body to remain relaxed.

‘Earth to Gabe...’ Cora placed her hands on her hips, one bejewelled foot tapping the plush carpet. ‘I’m still worried. I may be six years younger than you, and we might never have been close, but you’re my brother.’

Never have been close.

The words were no more than the truth. They weren’t close—Cora and her twin sister, Kaitlin, had been only two when he’d been sent to boarding school and after that he’d figured there was little point in forming close bonds with anyone, because closeness led to the agonising ache of missing people and home. Closeness made you weak and weakness rendered you powerless.

Her forehead crinkled. ‘Is it something to do with Dad? Was his attack worse than I thought? Or are you upset about Isobel? Love can be really complicated, but...’

‘Stop.’

Love was something he’d never aspired to—as far as he was concerned love was the definitive form of closeness and a fast track to complete loss of power. As for Lady Isobel...their relationship had been a pact. Gabe had always known his playboy lifestyle would have to end in the name of duty, and Lady Isobel would have been a dutiful wife. In return she would have had the desired title of Duchess and been the mother of the future Duke of Fairfax.

When he’d found out there was a possibility he couldn’t fulfil his part in that, he had asked to postpone their engagement for a few months. True, he hadn’t told her why, but she’d agreed...and then sold him down the river. She’d appeared on numerous talk shows on which she’d denounced him as a heartbreaker and a cad. But this was conversational territory he had no intent of entering.

‘Isobel is history. As for Dad—I spoke with the doctors and his prognosis is good. The heart attack was serious, but the stent should prevent further attacks and Mum has taken him away to convalesce. I’ll hold the fort in their absence.’ Tipping his palms up in the air, he aimed for an expression of exasperated affection. ‘So all is fine. There is no need to worry.’

Patent disbelief etched Cora’s delicate features. Clearly his aim was off.

‘Sure, Gabe. Whatever you say,’ his little sister said as she turned for the door.

Five minutes, one grand oak staircase, several wooden panelled walls and more than a few intricately beautiful medieval tapestries later Gabe followed Cora into the impressive reception hall of the Cavershams’ Castle Hotel. Beautifully dressed people filled the cavernous room and the hum of conversation was interlaced with the discreet pop of champagne corks and the clink of glasses.

Next to him, Cora’s face lit up with a smile that illuminated her entire being—a clear indicator that Rafael Martinez must be in the vicinity. Sure enough, within seconds her tall, dark-haired husband made his way through the throng to her side.

‘Gabriel.’ Rafael gave a curt nod.

‘Rafael. Good to see you.’

His brother-in-law raised one dark eyebrow in patent disbelief and Gabe couldn’t blame him. Although he had no problem with his sister’s marriage, he hadn’t exactly been around to offer his good wishes. On the other hand Rafael Martinez was undoubtedly more than capable of looking out for himself and his wife without assistance from anyone.

Gabe scanned the room, which glittered with festive cheer. Rich green holly wreaths adorned the stone walls and discreet choral music touched the air, heralding the first Sunday of Advent, the next day, and the arrival of Christmas in just a few weeks—the deadline he’d set himself to map out his options and discover if there was an heir to the dukedom besides him.

Not for the first time he cursed the legal convolutions that demanded his heir had to be derived from a direct male line only. If there was no descendant who matched the rules the title would die out; the idea coated his tongue with the bitter taste of the unpalatable.

Focus, Gabe.

Alongside the Christmas-tinged atmosphere he became aware of the attention and buzz directed at him, on his first public appearance for nearly a year. It came as almost a relief as his body and mind spun automatically into action. Time to walk the walk and talk the talk. It was crucial to ensure that the press didn’t work out why he was really here this evening, and that meant he must speak to all and sundry so that no one would identify his real quarry.

A smile on his lips, he headed towards his host and hostess—they should be able to point him in the right direction.

* * *

Etta Mason stepped behind an enormous potted plant and hauled in breath so hard her lungs protested as she checked her mobile phone for the gazillionth time.

This had been a mistake of supersonic proportions. Breathe, Etta. It would be OK. Cathy was safe. Images of her beautiful, precious sixteen-year-old daughter streamed through her mind. From babyhood to teenagedom she’d loved and looked after Cathy—sure, it had been hard sometimes, but not once had she regretted the choice her sixteen-year-old self had made. Whatever it had cost her.

Safe. Cathy is safe.

She was at a sleepover with her best friend, and most crucially of all there was no way that Tommy could find her. Etta dug her nails into the palm of her hand. Cathy had managed without her father thus far and that was how it would stay.

Determination hardened inside her. She had the situation under control. So now she needed to get on with her job. This was an important event and she had promised Ruby Caversham that she would do a pre-dinner talk. Therefore skulking behind potted plants was really not on the agenda. Instead she would step out in her pink-and-white candy cane dress and... And walk crash-bang into a very broad chest.

‘I am so sorry. Put it down to a combination of high heels and innate clumsiness... Thank goodness I didn’t impale y—’

The words died on her lips as she took in the appearance of the man she had nearly spiked with her candyfloss-pink heels. Short dark blond hair, blue-grey eyes that caught the light from the wall-mounted candles and cast a strange spell on her, a firm mouth that her gaze wanted to snag upon—especially when a smile tipped it up at the corners...

Etta blinked. Holy moly! There could be no gainsaying that this man had charisma. Whoa... Her brain cells finally caught up and she stopped gawping as recognition sent out a flare. The man in front of her was none other than Gabriel Derwent, Earl of Wycliffe, heir to the Duke of Fairfax.

Great! The first time she’d been poleaxed by a man since...since never, and it turned out to be a man she despised. True, she didn’t actually know him—but what kind of historian wouldn’t follow the exploits of a leading member of the aristocracy? A man whose ancestors had been instrumental in the most gripping moments of English history.

In fairness, she had no issue with the playboy lifestyle he’d enjoyed for years—it was his more recent actions that had left her enraged. Nine months ago Gabriel Derwent had renounced his playboy way of life, wooed Lady Isobel Petersen, wined her and dined her and taken her to visit his parents—all of it recorded in celebrity magazines worldwide. He had even been papped in a jewellery store, scanning the engagement rings, and then...kabam! On the verge of a proposal Gabriel Derwent had unceremoniously dumped Lady Isobel and fled the country.