Nina Milne - The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

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.