‘I went to boarding school at eight and I spent a lot of the holidays at various camps.’
Camps to toughen him up. His parents had been appalled when their son and heir had run away from boarding school. His gut still twisted when he remembered the first step in their ‘toughen up Gabe’ regime—they had sacked his nanny, who had also looked after Kaitlin and Cora.
In truth Megan Anstey had been more of a mother to him than the Duchess had ever been, and he could still taste the grief, feel the tears pounding the back of his eyelids. Tears he’d held in because he’d known if he’d cried his parents would blame Megan, would hold back her references. So he’d uttered a polite, formal goodbye, and later that afternoon he’d been driven back to boarding school.
The entire journey was etched on his memory. Suppressed tears, the tang of grief at the loss of Megan, and the pang of guilt at the consequences to Megan of his actions. The realisation had come that if he hadn’t let Megan close then he wouldn’t be feeling this pain and neither would she.
Then, as the car had sped over the country roads, he had felt the clench of fear in his gut at the knowledge of what awaited him: the glee-edged cruelty and ritual persecution from the bullies. He’d loathed himself for the sheer helplessness he’d felt. Had made a decision that his parents were right—his only option was to toughen up. One day he would make up for his error to Megan Anstey, but he wouldn’t let her or anyone else close again. And one day he would take on the bullies and he would win.
Both those days had been a long time coming, but one of his first acts when he’d had money of his own had been to track Megan down and give her a substantial cheque. As for the bullies—eventually he’d got tough enough to fight.
‘Oh.’ Etta’s delicate features were scrunched into an expression of perplexity. ‘I can’t imagine how that must have felt. I don’t think I could have sent Cathy away, missed so much of her childhood.’
‘All the male Derwents go to boarding school.’ Though he had vowed with intensity that he would never send a child of his away. Though now that wouldn’t be an issue. In any sense of the word. The now familiar ache tightened his chest.
‘That must have been tough on your mother.’
He doubted that—his parents had been remote figures all his life. Oh, he knew they were proud of him—proud of his looks and charisma, proud to have produced a healthy male heir. But they had barely registered his absence as a person.
‘Did you want to go?’ Etta asked, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and sympathy.
It was impossible to lie—not when he remembered the bleak horror of those first years. Until he’d learnt to fight back, form alliances, and never show weakness.
‘I accepted it,’ he stated flatly.
‘That doesn’t answer—’ She broke off as the doorbell rang: a hard, insistent peal. One slender hand rose and rubbed her chest, as if fear had clasped her heart. ‘Tommy...’ she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GABE ROSE TO his feet. ‘Wait here.’
The temptation to do just that showed on her face, but then she shook her head and pushed back her chair. ‘If it’s Tommy it’s my problem. You’re here to guard me. I’m supposed to deal with him.’
Admiration surged inside him—Etta was whiter than milk, and he could see the fear in her eyes, but her back was ramrod-straight as she moved from behind the table.
‘All right. But remember if it is Tommy I will not let him hurt you. OK?’
A slight hint of colour returned to her cheeks. ‘OK,’ she repeated as the doorbell rang out again in staccato buzzes. ‘But be careful.’
‘I will be.’ Gabe smiled as an adrenaline buzz kicked into his veins.
They walked through the kitchen and down the corridor to the front door. Gabe tugged it open, unsurprised to see Tommy slouched against the jamb, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. The dark-haired man smiled—a slow sneer—and Gabe tensed, ready to push Etta behind him.
‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘Not here.’ Etta’s voice was breathy but clear.
‘Then where is she? We need to discuss this, Etta. Cathy is my daughter too.’
‘There is nothing to discuss.’
‘But there is, darlin’, there is. I’ve talked to a lawyer and now I want to talk to you. You know it’s better to give me what I want.’
Etta flinched, then nodded. ‘Ten minutes. We’re in the middle of dinner.’
Gabe led the way into a small anteroom.
‘Dinner?’ Tommy said. ‘Very cosy.’ His dark blue eyes darted between Etta and Gabe. ‘Guess she hasn’t got you between the sheets yet, then?’