The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

by Nina Milne

  ‘Your turn.’

  Without hesitation, her fingers trembling with unabashed greed, she slid her hands under the pure cotton of his top, heard his intake of breath as she touched his skin, ran her hands over his glorious chest.

  ‘Come on.’ In one clean movement he scooped her into his arms. ‘It would be a shame to waste that bed. Let’s move this over there.’

  A few strides later and he’d laid her on the decadent bed and was looking down at her, his eyes dark with raw desire.

  She reached up and pulled him down next to her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ETTA OPENED HER eyes and blinked as she absorbed the vast stuccoed ceiling, the deep gold of the folds of curtain that hung from the bedposts. Then the ornate splendour was obliterated by memories of the previous night and warmth swathed her body with a flush of remembered pleasure, joy and wonder tinged with a hint of anxiety.

  What should she do now? What would one of Gabe’s liberated women do?

  Turning her head, she looked at Gabe—took in the strength of his bare chest, the sprawl of his long limbs tangled in the sinful silk of the sheet—and something tugged at her chest.

  Whoa, Etta. Don’t mix up the physical and the emotional. That way lay stupidity of Mount Everest proportions. What Gabe had given her last night was the realisation that she was capable of passion, of the giving and taking of pleasure, and for that she owed him a debt that she wouldn’t fuzz with any other feelings.

  He opened his eyes, went from drowsy to instant alert, and his lips curved up in a sinfully decadent smile. ‘Morning, gorgeous.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  As if he sensed her hesitation he reached out. ‘It is—and I know how to make it even better.’

  His deep chocolate drawl with its wicked note of laughter dissolved the remnants of her reservations. ‘Hmm...that sounds like a proposition I’m happy to explore.’

  ‘Exploration was exactly what I had in mind.’

  And then Etta got lost in the magic and the sizzle and the sheer exhilaration of the moment, until the dawn light had given way to bright Viennese winter sunshine that streamed through the gap in the brocade curtains.

  Eventually... ‘What shall we do today?’ Gabe asked. ‘I think we may need to add more options into the hat. But, whilst spending the whole day in bed has its plus points, I don’t want you to miss out on Vienna. So over to you.’

  The temptation to remain in bed was nigh on irresistible—but way too dangerous. She was Etta Mason, eminent historian, and she would not let herself forget that. Outside the hotel was a city that she had always wanted to visit, and she wouldn’t be distracted from that.

  Yet somehow her mood didn’t lend itself to visiting a museum, or even the historic splendour of a palace. ‘I’d like to go on the giant Ferris wheel. Apparently it’s an experience not to be missed.’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  By the time Etta emerged from the luxurious magnificence of a marble bathroom that was big enough to do the Viennese waltz in, complete with domed ceiling and chandelier, Gabe was standing at the window of the lounge, dressed in jeans and a thick knitted dark blue jumper.

  ‘All sorted,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  The sky was clear and their breath mingled white in the cold air as they stepped onto the busy Viennese streets, walked side by side, and Etta marvelled at the difference twenty-four hours could make. Now her awareness of Gabe had heightened into a knowledge of exactly what would happen if she succumbed to temptation, and the added frisson sent a small shiver through her.

  As if still attuned to her body, he turned to look down at her—and there was that smile again...enough to bring heat to her face and a vague echo of her mother’s disapproval. No. There was nothing wrong in what had happened last night and zip to be ashamed of.

  They approached the amusement park and Etta tipped her face up to view the imposing, truly giant Ferris wheel silhouetted against the Viennese landscape. She absorbed the hustle and bustle of the fairground, the excited shrieks of kids and adults as they braved the roller coaster, the scents of pastries, schnitzel and hot dogs mingled into an evocative mixture.

  ‘I’ve hired a private gondola,’ Gabe said, ‘1897-style. Plus a champagne breakfast.’

  ‘What a lovely idea. Thank you.’

  Looking up, she smiled at him just as the click of a camera made her whirl round.

  The man gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Looking good, Gabe.’

  A fleeting frown touched his face before the Derwent smile took its place. ‘Now you’ve got your picture we’d appreciate some privacy.’

  ‘No problem. As long as I get the heads-up on your dinner plans.’

  ‘No deal—because we haven’t decided as yet.’

  The photographer discreetly moved away, presumably content with his picture, and Etta composed her features. ‘So we have photographers following us around?’

  ‘I figured it was better to arrange a photo opportunity—with any luck, that will be it for the day.’

  ‘You told the photographer we’d be here?’ It was an effort to keep her voice light, to remind herself that the reason she was here was to play the part of Gabe’s temporary girlfriend. It made sense that he had given the photographer the information.

  ‘Yes. I always figure it’s better to have a good relationship with the press—usually if I tip them off they take a photo and then leave me alone. I should have mentioned it.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess I’m so used to the publicity I don’t think about it. Sorry, Etta.’

  ‘It’s not a problem.’

  She was tempted to ask if he’d booked the Ferris wheel ride for the benefit of the press coverage, as proof of their relationship, but she pressed her lips together and held the words at bay. It didn’t matter, because Gabe always saw the bigger picture and always liked to be the one who painted it.

  ‘It is if you’re upset.’

  ‘An angle you didn’t consider?’ She’d meant to utter the words lightly, but she recognised the note of hurt. ‘Sorry, Gabe, that came out wrong. I’m not really a public person unless it’s to do with my job, but for the next few days this is my job.’ It was a reminder to herself as much as to him. She grinned up at him suddenly. ‘And I intend to enjoy it.’

  ‘Good, because so do I.’

  Etta followed Gabe to the front of the queue and soon they boarded a red gondola. The simple interior had wooden slatted walls, and light streamed in through the six windows to illuminate an elegant round table set for two. Champagne flutes glinted in the winter sunlight and silver cutlery gleamed next to pristine white napkins. The aroma of coffee tantalised, and an array of breakfast items topped the damask tablecloth—semmeln, pats of creamy butter, glass jars of apricot jam, ham and boiled eggs.

  ‘This looks amazing. But I’m not sure we’ll be able to eat it all on one rotation of the wheel.’

  Gabe shook his head. ‘Each rotation is about thirteen minutes. We get to stay on for six rotations, so we have plenty of time to eat and enjoy the view.’

  His eyes rested on her as he said the last words and her tummy turned to mush.

  ‘Shame there are so many windows so all I can do is look.’

  Her legs threatened to turn jelly-like and she sat down as the wheel began to move slowly. Gabe seated himself opposite and poured her a glass of bubbly, followed by a glass of orange juice. ‘Cheers.’

  Etta clinked her glass against his and then sipped the golden liquid. ‘This is madly decadent. Steph and Cathy would definitely approve.’

  ‘How are they?’ he asked.

  ‘Loving the cruise. The Caribbean was an enormous hit, and Cathy says she wants to live in New York one day.’

  ‘You must miss her.’

  ‘Yes. But...’

  But n
ot as much as I’d expected. There came that familiar nudge of guilt-laced panic. Because, like it or not, she suspected the reason for that was sitting opposite her. No need to panic. Given the choice she’d be with Cathy for Christmas, and soon enough she would be with her daughter and they would embark on a new phase of their lives. Gabe would be a treasured but distant memory.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘But I need to get used to it.’ Etta improvised with a different truth. ‘Cathy is growing up, and it could be that she does decide to live abroad for a while, and that’s how it should be. I don’t ever want her not to do something because she’s worried about me.’

  ‘You’re a great mum. You know that, right?’

  Warmth touched her at the sincerity in his voice. ‘I’ve done my best.’

  ‘It can’t always have been easy. Seventeen and on your own with a baby.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy.’ There had been times when fear and panic and sheer exhaustion had threatened to overcome her. But through it all she had known she could never give up Cathy. She had wanted to give her baby everything her own parents—birth and adoptive—had failed to give Etta. ‘But I wanted to give Cathy the best I could—both in terms of love and lifestyle.’

  ‘You could be a role model for young single mothers. Or for teenagers who are having a rough time. You pulled yourself from a dark place. I know how much you could help some of the kids I work with—’ A shade of annoyance crossed his face as he broke off.

  ‘The kids you work with?’ Kaitlin’s words came back to her. Has he told you about his charity work?

  Gabe hesitated, reached for a roll and buttered it, as if debating whether to close the conversation down.

  Then he gave a lift of his broad shoulders. ‘It’s no big deal but it’s not something I publicise. I work with a charity and I offer self-defence classes for kids who’ve been bullied or have suffered physical abuse. Sometimes the bullies come in as well. Often the reason they’re bullying others is because they’ve been bullied or abused themselves—it’s a vicious cycle that needs to be stopped. A lot of them come from difficult backgrounds and are in care, or they’re on their own and isolated.’

  ‘So how long have you done this charity work and how come you haven’t publicised it? Surely that would be advantageous?’

  ‘It’s a personal thing.’

  ‘Personal?’ Etta surveyed him across the table as her mind pieced together various comments he’d made. She made a leap in the dark. ‘Were you bullied at school?’

  His body stilled and she was pretty sure it wasn’t in reaction to the gentle lurch of the gondola as the wheel it made its way round.

  ‘Yes. Again this isn’t public knowledge, and I don’t want it to become so. But I’d rather you knew the truth than speculated.’

  Etta shook her head. ‘I won’t tell or speculate. But...that must have been hell. I...I guess I didn’t think someone in your position would ever be bullied.’

  ‘My boarding school was rife with bullying, and in fact I made the perfect target. The older boys decided I was stuck-up and needed to be taken down a peg or two.’

  His voice was matter-of-fact, but Etta’s heart twisted at the image of an eight-year-old Gabe, his blue-grey eyes filled with fear, being hurt.

  ‘It was a long time ago, Etta.’

  Maybe, but she was pretty damn sure he still carried the scars. ‘How long did it go on for?’

  ‘Until I got old enough and skilled enough to stand up to them.’

  ‘But that must have been years. Why didn’t you tell anyone? Your parents? A teacher?’

  ‘Telling a teacher would have made it worse—the teachers wouldn’t have been able to protect me twenty-four-seven. Plus, that would have been snitching.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  No answer. And as Etta studied his expression she suddenly knew with utter certainty that he had told his parents and they had done nothing.

  ‘As I said, it was a long time ago. I dealt with it, I learnt from it, and now I’d rather not talk about it.’ He made a gesture to the window. ‘We’re nearly at the top.’

  Conversation closed.

  Reaching across the table, she covered his hand, hoping her touch conveyed sympathy and admiration as she gazed out at the panoramic view of Vienna. Her breath caught in her lungs, but Etta was unsure whether it was due to the incredible landscape from two hundred feet up or the feeling of warmth that Gabe had confided as much as he had—trusted her with such personal information.

  ‘It’s amazing.’

  * * *

  Equally as amazing were the next two days that soared by.

  Minutes spun into hours, time cascaded in a fairy-tale warp and Etta lost herself in an exquisite maelstrom of sensation with every sense heightened.

  The sights of Vienna were bright and vivid, with the boldness of modern art displayed in opulent baroque backgrounds. The smells and tastes of schnitzel, glühwein and apfel strudel and the dark richness of coffee lingered on her tastebuds.

  And throughout it all there was Gabe. His lightest touch caused her entire body to hum with desire and the nights were filled with the touch of silken sheets, his warmth and strength, his gentleness and laughter and the intensity of shared passion.

  Until somehow Christmas Eve arrived, and from the moment they woke Etta sensed Gabe’s withdrawal.

  There was no laughter or teasing, no fleeting touches that spoke of intimacy. It was nothing she could encapsulate in words, but it was in the tension of his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw, the distance he kept between them as they walked to the Schönbrunn Palace for the concert.

  ‘So we tour the palace and then go to the Orangery for the concert?’ Etta knew the answer, but for the first time in days the silence between them was laced with awkwardness.

  ‘Yes.’ Gabe had his hands deep in the pockets of a grey overcoat that topped a charcoal suit. As if aware of the brevity of his reply, he added, ‘The tour is guided and people are split into groups of ten.’

  ‘It should be great. The Orangery is meant to be magnificent. It was built in 1754 by Franz I and it’s very baroque. Joseph II used to have banquets there, with illuminations in the citrus trees, and Mozart conducted his singspiel The Impresario there in 1786—’

  Etta broke off. Why on earth was she trying to fill the silence by spouting like a tour guide? Perhaps to counter the clench of misery in her tummy. It was an irrational sadness. Was this the etiquette of a fling? To start to pull back as the end approached? Maybe it was a strategy she should emulate—after all, once Christmas was over it would be time to get on with her real life. This was an interlude, with no more bearing on reality than the fairytale it was. Only this fairy tale didn’t end in happy-ever-after. It ended with no strings attached, never to see each other ever again.

  But no matter. Right now there was Christmas Eve to be enjoyed, in this incredible setting that would stun any fairy-tale princess, and she would make the most of it.

  The palace was lit up, shining in all its splendour, and the Christmas market outside was a hive of bustle and cheer. The enormous Christmas tree was simply decorated with white lights and overlooked a life-size hand-carved nativity scene that imbued Etta with a sense of awe.

  But as their tour of the palace commenced for once Etta couldn’t find it in her to marvel at the Imperial splendour. Even as she gazed on the most magnificent of ceiling frescoes, the grandeur of the white-and-gold rococo decorations, and the incredible crystal mirrors that created a near magical illusion of blurred other dimensions, her entire awareness was focused on Gabe.

  Her antennae registered his tension, growing like a fast unfurling plant, until finally she said, ‘Gabe, is something wrong?’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GABE FORCED HIS body into a more relaxed s
tance—not an easy task when every muscle seemed filled with tension, every sinew torqued with strain.

  Pull it together and answer the question.

  He smiled down at Etta’s concerned expression. ‘No. Nothing is wrong.’

  Except for the fact that in mere minutes he would see the man who might one day bear the title that Gabe had believed would pass to his own child. It wasn’t a big deal—dammit, he was glad Matteas Coleridge existed, relieved that there was a possible alternative heir so the title would not die out. Yet right now anger and bleakness pulsed inside him because fate had decreed that he couldn’t have children.

  Enough. Whingeing at the unfairness of life was pointless and ineffective.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure? You seem different, somehow.’

  ‘Not me.’ Gabe dug deep and discovered the famous Derwent charm, the smile, the expression. But Etta’s frown only deepened. ‘You’re imagining it.’

  Turning from the searching look in her tawny eyes, he studied the blue and white porcelain on display and tried to quell his sense of impending doom.

  Tour over, they completed the two-minute walk to the Orangery. Once inside, he waited until Etta had settled herself onto a comfortable seat below the glittering extravaganza of the chandelier and seated himself beside her. The orchestra, dressed in eighteenth-century costume, were already assembled, and Gabe’s heart pounded his ribcage as his eyes scoured each member.

  There he was. Gabe rested his gaze on a stocky, brown-haired man, cello in hand, his eyes closed as if in inner preparation for performance. Visceral pain sucker-punched Gabe so hard he expelled a breath, and Etta turned to look at him.

  With immense effort Gabe leant back in the chair and forced his voice into action. ‘It should start any minute.’

  To his relief, before Etta could respond the conductor rose to his feet and started to speak. Minutes later music swelled around them. The classical pieces fluted and strummed through the air, mingled with motes of history, and it was almost possible to imagine that Mozart himself stood on the stage.