The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

‘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.