The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

by Nina Milne

  ‘I wish I did as much good as they do,’ she improvised. After all it might not have been what she’d meant to say but it was the truth.

  ‘Ruby mentioned that you’d done some work for her?’

  The words niggled Etta. Ruby always had a good word to say about others, but that almost sounded as if Gabriel Derwent had expressed a specific interest in Etta. Could he be interested in her?

  To her irritation the idea set off a spark of appreciation, caused her gaze to snag on his firm mouth, sent a strange, long-forgotten tingle down to her toes. Jeez, she must be losing it big-time—the idea was nuts.

  Focus on the conversation, Etta.

  ‘I did. From time to time she deals with children who only have a name for their birth parent and want to know more about them.’

  ‘So you’re almost playing detective?’

  ‘Yes—that’s what’s so fascinating.’ Though that fascination held an element of the bittersweet—a reminder that all her research and effort hadn’t unearthed a single clue as to the identity of her own birth parents.

  A familiar ache kicked at her ribcage and she clenched her nails into her palms. Enough. Accept it. She would never know who they were or why they had abandoned her on a doorstep thirty-two years ago. Move on.

  ‘What if you discover something people don’t want to hear?’ Now darkness edged his voice, and matched the shadow in his grey-blue eyes.

  ‘I tell them anyway. It’s better to know.’ This she knew. After all, her adoptive parents had hidden the truth of her birth from her—hadn’t even told her she was adopted. Instead they had woven a web of illusion around her life—a mirage that had been exposed when they’d had a child of their own and turned Etta out into the cold.

  Enough. Accept it. Move on.

  Aware that his grey-blue eyes were studying her expression with a penetration she wouldn’t have believed a man of his reputation capable of, she summoned a smile. Hoped to combat the fervour her voice had held. Somehow their conversation had taken on way too much depth—and, worse, she had no idea how or why that had happened.

  ‘After all, they say knowledge is power.’

  ‘So they do.’ Now his voice matched her lightness, and suddenly there was that smile again. Full of charm. And she wondered if she had imagined the whole other side to the conversation.

  ‘And sometimes knowledge is just useful. I did one job for Ruby when a pregnant teenager in care wanted to find out her medical history.’

  It had been a case Etta had related to all too well. How many times had she looked at Cathy and worried that genes she knew nothing about might have an adverse medical impact on her daughter?

  ‘Although the other side to that coin is the fact that in the past no one understood genes and everyone got on with it. Sometimes I believe we have to make a leap of faith,’ she said.

  ‘And just believe in fate?’

  So now they had plunged into philosophical waters. ‘Sometimes. Don’t you agree?’

  A flare burned in the depths of his eyes. ‘No, I don’t. We choose our fate because we have the power of choice.’

  The intensity of his voice prickled her skin.

  Then his broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Or at least that’s what I choose to believe.’

  Enough. The Earl of Wycliffe possessed more depth than she’d given him credit for, but that didn’t alter anything. The man was at best a playboy and at worst a heartbreaking master of illusion. Etta still had no idea why he’d engaged her in conversation for so long but it didn’t matter. So...

  ‘It’s nearly time for my talk and I really must mingle. Hopefully the more people I talk to the more people will enjoy my speech. I’ll say goodbye.’

  ‘I look forward to your talk and to chatting again afterwards.’

  Really? This didn’t make sense. Curiosity surfaced and she pushed it, her besetting sin, down ruthlessly. There were way bigger items on her plate right now.

  Etta summoned up her coolest smile. ‘I won’t be staying long tonight, so in case we don’t get a chance to speak again I’ll say goodbye now.’

  ‘And I’ll say goodbye for now,’ he murmured, so softly that she couldn’t be sure she’d heard him correctly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GABE WATCHED FROM a corner of the beautifully decorated ballroom as Etta Mason headed towards the podium with a sinuous grace. Damn. There it was again. The tap of attraction that had sparked when she’d first emerged from behind the potted plant earlier—a complication he hadn’t anticipated.

  In recent months his libido had been in hibernation mode. Plus the photo on her website hadn’t prepared him for Etta Mason in the flesh, and the instant impact had caught him unawares. In real life her brown eyes were flecked with hints of amber and her generous mouth called for his attention. Glossy chestnut hair seemed to invite the touch of his fingers, and the slant of her cheekbones would cause envy in the heart of many a supermodel. But it wasn’t only her beauty that had stopped him in his tracks—her expression had held a piquancy, a poise, that summoned notice.

  Right now he needed to derail that train of thought and pull his libido under control. He required Etta Mason’s professional expertise. Urgently. So this attraction needed to be sidelined.

  Etta tapped the microphone and waited for silence, showing no sign of nerves as she waited for the hum of chatter to die down. She stood with poise and stillness, her sleeveless pink-and-white-striped dress emphasised the slenderness of her waist and the soft material of its skirt artfully swathed over the curve of her hips and fell to her ankles in sleek, diaphanous curves.

  Her expression held calm, her tawny brown eyes looked directly out into the audience, and her lips curved upwards in a relaxed smile. The only small indication of tension was the way she tucked one short tendril of brown hair behind her ear.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen... I promise not to keep you for long. But before I begin I want you all to think about something that I feel is a staggering fact. Every single one of us here had an ancestor alive in medieval times, in Tudor times, in Victorian times.’

  Gabe could almost hear the sizzle as the attention of the audience was caught.

  ‘Some of us—’ Did her gaze linger on him for a second? ‘—may have had ancestors who stood in this very room and feasted with kings. For others those ancestors might have been common soldiers or ale-keepers, stonemasons or cutpurses or highwaymen. We all have family trees, and all trees need roots. Tonight I want to think about what those roots mean to us. As you know this ball is a fundraiser for teenage kids who have had a pretty tough start in life for one reason or another. Many of those children say they feel rootless, or uprooted...’

  As she spoke her voice vibrated with passion. She cared—really cared about her subject, and about these kids. It was something he recognised and respected in Etta Mason, in the Cavershams and in himself. An empathy that drove him to work with children who were victims of bullying and with the bullies themselves, to carry out charity work that he had not and would not make public.

  It was not relevant to the here and now. And yet Etta’s genuine concern was an additional point in her favour as her speech came across as heartfelt but delivered with a professional edge.

  A sweep of her hand indicated her dress. ‘I chose to wear this because it reminds me of Christmas and the traditional candy canes. Christmas is a time full of traditions—a time when families get together. As such, it is a difficult time of year for a lot of children in care and a lot of children who should be in care. The money raised today will help kids like those enjoy a better Christmas and help them towards a future in which they can hopefully put down some new roots of their own. So when it comes to the auction please dig deep, in the spirit of Christmas. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and thanks for listening.’

  As applause bro
ke out Gabe stepped forward. Decision made—he’d come here to assess whether Etta Mason could do what he needed and now he knew for sure. So he’d shut down the feeling of attraction and start on the mission he’d set himself.

  A few purposeful strides and he’d cut through the people who clustered around her. As he reached her side, surprise sparked in the exotic brown of her eyes.

  ‘Impressive speech.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I was wondering if I could have a word in private. We could stroll on the terrace before we eat.’

  For a second he thought she’d refuse, in which case he’d fall back on his reserve plan, but after a fractional hesitation she nodded.

  Five minutes later they stepped out into the clean, cold air and Etta gave a small gasp that undoubtedly denoted appreciation. ‘It’s beautiful!’

  Potted greenery twinkled with fairy lights and lanterns hung over the tables dotted about the mosaic-paved terrace, casting a warm, magical glow whilst outdoor heaters combated the chill of the night air.

  ‘The Cavershams know how to throw a party. There’s outdoor dancing planned for later. It’s a shame you have to leave early.’

  A sudden image of Etta Mason in his arms as they glided round the moonlit mosaic tiles pierced his brain with a strength that sent a tingle through his body. Without thought his feet carried him a step closer to her, and a tantalising overtone of her vanilla scent teased his senses.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  For a heartbeat he wondered if her mind had followed the same path as her brown gaze held his and flared with an intensity that caught his breath. Then the instant was over.

  Her lips thinned and she muttered a ‘tcha’ under her breath before moving away from him towards the wooden railings that surrounded the terrace. Once there, she turned to face him, arms folded. ‘Why did you bring me out here?’

  Her voice was tinged with suspicion—and who could blame her? Self-irritation coursed through his veins. He needed this woman in a professional capacity, and this conversation was way too important to risk it for the sake of a flare of thoroughly unprofessional attraction. Time to get back on track.

  ‘I need a historian and you fit the bill.’

  Surprise creased her brow as she assessed his words. ‘Tell me more.’

  Gabe kept his pose relaxed, indicating one of the wooden tables overhung with delicate white lit-up stars suspended from the glittering arbour. ‘Shall we sit?’

  ‘Sure.’ Etta walked over and lowered herself into the chair with a wary grace.

  Gabe followed suit, taking the opportunity to marshal his thoughts and line his words up like troops.

  ‘I’d like you to put together a detailed family tree of the Derwent family, going back centuries. About eighteen months ago a much-publicised flood hit Derwent Manor and a lot of valuable items were destroyed—including a parchment that documented the basic Derwent family tree. A lot of the supporting documentation—ledgers that date back centuries—were also damaged and muddled up. Unfortunately I’ve now discovered that those records were never computerised. I’m sure some of the facts are a matter of public record but I wouldn’t have the first clue how to access them let alone piece them all together.’

  She leant forward, those amber-flecked eyes sparking with interest now, and for a perverse moment he felt chagrin that they hadn’t been ignited by him.

  ‘So you want me to put your family tree back together?’

  ‘Yes. But in way more detail than the original.’

  For centuries the dukedom had passed from father to son, and now that would come to an end. Which meant he needed to clamber up the family tree, delve down obscure branches and work out who might succeed to the dukedom after him, now that he knew he would never have a son of his own.

  Frustration coated his insides. It was imperative that he understood his options—and fast. His father’s recent heart attack meant the Duke and Duchess wanted him, the heir, to marry and produce a son at speed. That couldn’t happen. But Gabe had no wish to trigger another heart attack in his father and the enormity of learning the truth might well do exactly that. So he had to come up with a strategy...a way to deal with it.

  ‘There is another stipulation. I need it done by Christmas. I realise that this is a big job to accomplish in only a few weeks, but I’ll do everything I can to help. As you may know my father recently suffered a heart attack. I’d like to present him with the family tree as a surprise gift.’

  The animation left her face and she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I have family commitments—I’m leaving the country in a couple of days on a five-week holiday.’

  Disappointment weighed upon him. He’d done his research and Etta had seemed the perfect candidate. Now he’d met her, every instinct told him she would do the job right and fast. ‘Any chance you’d postpone? I’d amply compensate you and you can name your fee.’

  ‘It isn’t about money. I’m taking my daughter on a cruise.’

  Daughter. Somehow it hadn’t crossed his mind that Etta might have a daughter—there had been no mention of a husband or children on her website—and for a second the idea of their existence twanged a chord of disappointment inside him. No. The whole attraction thing had been closed down. But on a professional level he wanted Etta Mason for the job. So...

  ‘You’re sure? Perhaps your husband could take your daughter and I’d pay for another family holiday.’

  ‘There is no husband. Thank you for the opportunity, but I really can’t accept the job.’

  Now her words held regret, and a shadow that betokened disappointment clouded the amber of her eyes. Gabe frowned. Maybe he could change her mind—cruise or no cruise, he sensed she wanted the job. Time to utilise his reserve plan.

  As if on cue the dinner gong pealed out and he rose to his feet. ‘We’d better go in.’

  * * *

  Etta swallowed down a sigh. To trace the Derwent family tree ranked up there with her ideal job. Gabriel Derwent had offered her the opportunity to access papers and records of the past, to piece together a lineage that stretched back over centuries and complete a jigsaw puzzle of historical import, to lose herself in the life of people who had existed in times gone by.

  On top of that a high-profile case like this would have boosted her reputation and it would have paid well. Nothing to sneeze at if ousting Tommy from her life ever involved a need for legal aid.

  Tommy. Fear shivered through Etta—she would not let Tommy become part of their lives again. Nothing could compare with the importance of removing Cathy from Tommy’s orbit. So this golden opportunity would have to be passed by. Yet disappointment twinged, compounded by an inexplicable feeling of chagrin that he looked so calm. Which was further complicated by a memory of that moment on the terrace—that heartbeat of time when she had been aware of him with an intensity that had rocked her senses.

  So all in all it was a relief to re-enter the warmth and grandeur of the hotel and join the throng of guests headed for the banqueting hall.

  Once there, Etta stopped on the threshold. ‘I’d better go and find my place.’

  ‘I can help you there. You’re at Table Five. Same as me.’

  Etta frowned. ‘No. I checked the seating plan earlier.’

  ‘There’s been a slight change to the plan.’

  A flare of anger heated her veins at his sheer arrogance and she spun to face him—she would not be manipulated. ‘Are you telling me you altered it? Ruby puts a huge amount of thought into these arrangements—you can’t change them to suit yourself.’

  ‘Relax, Etta. I asked Ruby if she would change it. You told me you had to leave early, and I wanted to make sure I got the chance to speak with you about the job.’

  That made sense, and yet alarm bells began to clang in her head. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. G
abriel Derwent was used to getting what he wanted, and right now he wanted her to take this job. Worse, he might have sensed how much she wished she could do just that. And even worse than that the idea of Gabriel as a dinner companion held a temptation she didn’t want to analyse.

  ‘Well, that’s no longer necessary, so I think we should change the seating plan back.’

  ‘Why complicate matters?’ A nod of his blond head showed that most of the guests had found their places. ‘Come on—it won’t be that bad. I promise I won’t mention the job again. We can chat about whatever you like.’

  Clearly he’d found the charm button again. The persuasive lilt to his deep voice and the accompanying smile held definite appeal, enticing her own lips into an answering upturn.

  Careful, Etta. Perhaps he believed he could charm her into the job. Perhaps she should prove him wrong. Etta Mason was impervious to beguilement—had long since accepted that romance was not in her nature, that relationships were not something she understood. So...

  ‘Fine.’

  Once at their table, she turned to greet the man on her other side, received his congratulations on her speech, and realised from the slight slurring of his words that he was on the road to inebriation. No matter—she’d manage. Because no way did she want to give Gabriel Derwent even a hint of encouragement.

  Within minutes she’d set Toby Davenport off on a conversational trail upon which he told her all about his expensive lifestyle, his luxury holidays, and his yacht. Which left Etta free to add the occasional comment of encouragement whilst she savoured the rich flavours of the venison broth, appreciated the authentic tang of cloves and mace from the medieval recipe, and did her best to ignore her body’s hum of awareness at the warmth and sheer presence of Gabriel on her other side.

  Until his well-modulated tones broke into the Davenport drone. ‘Sounds amazing, Toby. Etta, here, is about to go on holiday. Tell me, Etta—I’m intrigued. As a historian, do you choose your holiday destinations based on historical interest? You mentioned a cruise... Where are you going?’