The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

‘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.