The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal Page 3

  Etta opened her mouth and realisation dawned—she had no idea of the answer. Her mind was a resounding example of the clichéd blank state. When she’d booked the cruise its destination had been the least of her criteria—availability had been her priority, because the idea of a ship surrounded by sea had felt safe. That was why it had been worth the remortgaging of her flat and the ransacking of her savings to pay for it. Cathy would be safe from her father.

  Because visceral fear had flared inside her—a fear that had been dormant for sixteen years but that had been reignited the instant Tommy had swaggered back into her life days before.

  Focus, Etta. Gabe had raised his eyebrows, and his eyes were shadowed with concern.

  ‘Sorry,’ she managed. ‘Senior moment. I can’t remember.’

  ‘You’re too young to qualify.’

  ‘Clearly not. I’ll let you know if it comes back to me.’

  Come on, Etta. Change the conversation. Unfortunately her brain was still tuned in to Planet Blank.

  Desperation loosened her vocal cords as she saw the challenge in his eyes. ‘In the meantime, what about you? Have you got any holiday plans for Christmas?’

  ‘No. I’ll be based at Derwent Manor. My parents are away in France, so my father can convalesce, and I need to ensure that various traditions are upheld. Including the annual Christmas Fair at the manor. This year I’ve decided to introduce a Victorian theme—hopefully whoever I get to do the family tree can lend me some advice on that at the same time.’

  Etta blinked. She loved to help with events such as this, and she’d bet Gabriel knew that. However innocent those blue-grey eyes looked as they calmly met her gaze.

  ‘That sounds like a pretty full-on few weeks.’ And a far cry from the playboy-style Christmas festivities she had imagined he would indulge in.

  ‘It will be. In truth, running Derwent Manor is a full-time job in itself—my parents’ whole life revolves around it.’

  ‘And yours too?’

  ‘Not my whole life, no.’

  ‘But one day it will?’

  ‘Yes.’ The syllable was clipped, and she’d swear his knuckles had whitened around the crystal water tumbler he lifted to his lips.

  ‘That must be strange. To always have known what your job will be one day. For most children the perennial question is, What do you want to be when you grow up? For royalty or aristocracy that isn’t a question—you’ve always known what you will be when you grow up.’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was impossible to read anything from the single word—yet she sensed a depth of emotion in the sheer rigidity of his jaw. Did Gabriel Derwent relish or resent his destiny? Speaking of which...

  ‘You said earlier that you believed in the power of choice over the power of fate, but that’s not true, is it? Fate has decreed that you will become Duke of Fairfax.’

  ‘Yes.’ As if this time he’d realised the curtness of his response he curved his lips into the famous Derwent smile. ‘But I do have the choice to renounce the title.’

  Etta placed her spoon down into the empty bowl. ‘Fair enough.’ Even if she didn’t believe he’d do that in a million years. ‘But not everyone has that sort of choice. Think of all the princesses in history who were forced to marry. They had no choice.’

  ‘You don’t know that. You could argue that they simply chose to do their duty. And some of them could have elected to give their life up to religion. Sometimes none of the choices we have are palatable, but they exist.’

  Etta opened her mouth but he raised a hand to forestall her.

  ‘I know that there are examples of people who have no choice. Innocent people caught up in a chain of events they can’t control. But I’m not sure fate comes into it—perhaps they are casualties of sheer bad luck.’

  ‘Fate versus chance?’ Even as she said the words Etta wondered how they had ended up in this discussion. It was almost as if they were in their own bubble amidst the glitz and buzz of their glamorous surroundings, complete with fairy-tale elements.

  The warning bells that had clamoured earlier renewed their alarm. But there was no need for worry. Two more courses and she’d be on her way. She’d never meet Gabriel again. This conversation was nothing more than a welcome distraction from her thoughts of Tommy. That was all. A distraction. If Toby Davenport hadn’t been bent on a drunken flirtation with his other neighbour she would no doubt have been distracted just as effectively by him.

  Liar, liar, candy cane dress on fire.

  In truth Gabriel Derwent was casting a mesh of fascination over both her body and her mind, and panic trickled through all the other sensations. She couldn’t remember the last time her body had responded like this and she didn’t like it.

  Before Etta could end the conversation she felt her minuscule evening bag vibrate under the strategically placed napkin on her lap. Foreboding shivered her skin even as she tried to tell herself it could be anyone. There was no reason to believe anything had happened to Cathy.

  Pushing her chair back, she tried to force her lips into a semblance of smile. ‘Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Don’t run.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GABE GLANCED AT the empty space next to him and frowned. No bathroom break took this long. Euphemistically speaking, Etta Mason could have powdered a hundred noses by now. Plus her food would soon congeal. Could she be in trouble?

  Not his business. And yet there had been an expression of near fear on her face when she’d left the table, and that had touched him on a primitive level. Fear had once been a part of his life, and the memories still lingered in the recesses of his soul. Plus, the more he could discover about Etta Mason the more likely it would be that he could work out a way to persuade her to do the job. All valid reasons to go and check up on her.

  Rising, he smiled at his table companions. ‘Be back in a second.’

  He moved through the imposing doors and into the hall. A quick scan showed no sign of Etta. Could be she had headed somewhere more private to make a call. Could be he should just leave her to it. Yet his feet strode towards the lobby, which was a fusion of medieval detail and modern comfort.

  He halted on the threshold, took in the scene with lightning assessment. Etta was backed up against a pillar and a dark-haired man stood over her, aggression in his stance. The man’s expression held a malevolent smirk that Gabe recognised as that of a bully, of a man who knew he inspired fear in his victim. Tattoos snaked and writhed over the bulge of muscles that spoke of a lot of time spent pumping iron.

  ‘Is everything all right, Etta?’ Stupid question, because Etta Mason looked like a different woman from the professional, articulate, give-as-good-as-you-get woman he’d sat with at dinner. Her face was pale, her hands were clenched, and those tawny brown eyes held a mix of defiance and fear.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ the man said. ‘So you can take a hike.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you.’

  The man took a step away from Etta. ‘And...?’ The menace was palpable. ‘I said take a hike.’

  Etta moved towards the man, her whole being diminished as she approached him, fear in every awkward movement, and Gabe knew with ice-cold certainty that at some point this man had hurt her.

  ‘Tommy, please.’

  The man gave a short, harsh laugh that prickled Gabe’s skin.

  ‘That sounds just like the old days, Etta.’

  ‘Enough.’ Cold rage ran through Gabe’s veins and he strode towards Tommy. ‘The only person who needs to take a hike round here is you.’

  ‘It’s OK, Gabe. I’ve got this.’ Etta hauled in an audible breath. ‘Tommy, just go. Please. You’ve made your point.’

  Tommy hesitated, his dark eyes mean, his fists still clenched, and Gabe took another step forward.

  T
hen, ‘Fine. This toff isn’t worth messing up my parole for. But this isn’t over. Cathy is my daughter and I will meet her. Whatever it takes.’ Turning, Tommy walked towards the portcullis-style door and exited.

  Gabe turned to Etta. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  She rubbed her hands up and down her forearms and stared at the door as if to make sure Tommy had gone for good.

  ‘Right.’ Straightening, she tugged out her phone. ‘I need to go.’ A tap of her finger and then she lifted the phone to her ear. ‘There’s been a problem. Tommy turned up here. I’m on my way back now. I’ll let you know what train I’m on.’

  She glanced towards Gabe as if she was surprised he was still there and then she returned her attention to her phone.

  ‘Taxi numbers...’ she muttered under her breath.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘London.’

  Before he could even consider the import of his words his lips opened. ‘I’ll drive you there.’

  Genuine shock made her jaw drop. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I can get you to London way faster than the train, and I don’t trust Tommy not to be waiting out there to follow you.’

  The idea made her wince, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms again, her brown eyes staring at a scenario that she clearly didn’t like the look of. ‘I’m not sure I should say yes, or why you even care, but I’d be a fool to refuse. Thank you.’

  ‘Let’s go. I’ll find Ruby and explain you’ve had a family emergency.’

  * * *

  Ten minutes later Etta eyed Gabriel Derwent’s deep red Ferrari and wondered anew if she shouldn’t have caught a train, tried to hire a car—worked out some way to deal with this crisis herself. But the primitive need to be with Cathy overrode all else.

  Logic told her that Cathy was safe with her friend Stephanie and her daughter Martha—according to Steph, Cathy and Martha were safely ensconced in Martha’s bedroom, watching a rom-com. Common sense reinforced the idea—there was no way that Tommy could track Cathy down there. And yet he’d found Etta.

  Chill, Etta. That was hardly a huge feat of deduction. Her website had detailed her speech at the Cavershams’ Advent Ball. As for her mobile number—anyone could get that from her work answer-machine. But she couldn’t ‘chill’—not when she remembered how she had cringed before Tommy and his delight in her reaction. Dammit, he’d revelled in her fear—a fear that filled her with self-loathing even as a tidal wave of memories threatened to break lockdown. No. The past was over. She had to focus on the present and her daughter.

  So Etta wanted to be with Cathy as soon as possible and Gabriel’s car offered the ideal solution. The problem was Gabriel himself came with the deal.

  ‘All set?’ The deep timbre of his voice held concern alongside a hint of amusement. ‘You’re looking at the car as if it’s akin to a lion’s den.’

  Heat warmed her cheeks. ‘I’m just wondering whether it’s fair to put you to so much trouble.’

  ‘I offered.’

  This was daft—and a waste of valuable time. A nod and then she pulled the low-slung door open and slid into the luxurious leather seat. Fact: Cathy was more important than anything else right now.

  Within minutes they were on the road. Etta looked into the shadowy darkness as the powerful car ate up the miles. Wind turbines loomed in the dark, turned by the Cornish winds, fields and farmhouses flashed past, and occasionally she glanced at Gabriel Derwent. His blond hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his focus was on the road, each movement easy and competent.

  He glanced at her too, then returned his attention to the deserted road. ‘I get the feeling you’re not comfortable. Are you worried about your daughter?’

  ‘Yes. But I know she’s safe. You’ll have to let me pay you for this. I’ve dragged you away from an incredible dinner and moonlit dancing. I feel bad.’

  ‘I told you. No need. Do you want to talk about it? The situation with Tommy and your daughter?’

  Did she? For an odd moment a pull to do just that touched her. More madness—this man was a stranger, and not even her closest friends knew about that dark period of her life. ‘There’s nothing to say that you haven’t deduced. You heard Tommy. He is Cathy’s dad and he has decided he wants to see her. I don’t want him anywhere near her.’

  A small frown creased his forehead. Presumably he was wondering how she could ever have been such a fool as to have anything to do with a lowlife like Tommy.

  ‘Has he ever been part of her life?’

  ‘No.’ Etta shook her head. ‘I don’t want to sound rude, but I don’t want to talk about it.’

  For years she had shut down the memories of Tommy and she had no wish to revisit them now—to expose her youthful stupidity, folly and weakness to this man. A man who clearly didn’t know the definition of the word weak. Even now her insides felt coated with a fuzz of shame at her own behaviour, so best to keep the door firmly closed and padlocked with a host of security outside.

  ‘This is my problem and I am dealing with it.’

  ‘By running away on a cruise?’

  Despite the softness of his deep voice, the words sent a flare of anger through her. ‘I am not running away.’ Was she?

  ‘I’m sorry if that sounded harsh, and I know I don’t know the details. I get you don’t want to discuss them. But if there is one lesson I’ve learnt in life it’s that running away is seldom the best option.’

  No doubt it was easy not to run away when you were the Earl of Wycliffe. Etta bit the words back—the man was doing her a massive favour here. ‘Thanks for the advice. As I said, it’s my problem and I’m dealing with it.’

  With that Etta leant back and turned her head to focus on the landscape. Conversation over. To her relief Gabriel Derwent let it rest. Even if she sensed that next to her he was still mulling over the situation.

  But he remained silent until they approached the outskirts of London, where he simply asked for directions, and soon enough they pulled up outside Steph’s house.

  ‘Thank you again. I truly appreciate this and I owe you a big favour.’ The idea was an irritant that she suspected would stay with her until she worked out how to repay the debt. ‘In the meantime, I wish you a safe journey home and I apologise again for wrecking your night.’

  ‘I’ll see you to the door.’

  ‘No! Really... Steph is waiting up and I’d rather go in quietly.’ She pushed open the door hurriedly. ‘Goodbye, Gabriel.’

  Without looking back she scurried up the stairs and pulled out the spare key Steph had given her. Right now she just wanted to go and see Cathy and watch her daughter breathe peacefully. Yet at the door she turned for one last glimpse at Gabriel Derwent’s shadowy profile.

  * * *

  ‘How did you sleep?’

  Etta looked up from the pine kitchen table and smiled at her best friend. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Fibber,’ Steph said. ‘You must have been terrified when Tommy appeared.’

  ‘It was scary, but...’ But from the second Gabriel Derwent had appeared she had felt safe.

  She had to get a grip—life had taught her that the only person to rely on was herself. She’d escaped Tommy once—she’d do it again.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Etta gripped her mug of coffee and tried hard to believe her words even as she heard the hollowness of each syllable. ‘How was Cathy last night?’

  ‘Quiet. She didn’t mention Tommy to me, though I’m sure she has talked to Martha about it. She did say she doesn’t want to go on the cruise.’

  Etta sighed. Her usually cheerful, well-behaved daughter had changed since Tommy’s arrival on the scene, and Etta couldn’t blame her—she herself would do anything to meet her own birth dad. Or mum.

  S
he hadn’t even known of their existence until she’d reached fifteen and discovered the fact that she’d been adopted. Worked out that her whole life had been an illusion, a lie. That was why she had vowed never to lie to Cathy, believed that honesty was the best way forward. So as Cathy had grown up Etta had told her who her dad was in an age-appropriate way. She had never wanted Cathy to feel she’d been lied to—hadn’t wanted her daughter to build up a fantasy picture of her father. Equally, when Tommy had turned up with his demand to see his daughter, Etta had told Cathy the truth—but she hadn’t anticipated her daughter’s reaction.

  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.