The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

And as each nightmare wove its dark spell the urge to bang on the wall grew ever larger. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Every instinct warned Etta that Gabe represented danger—and yet he made her feel safe, and she wanted him to chase away the shadows and the spectres of her imagination.

Not happening.

Instead she would do the mature thing—get up, get dressed, make a soothing cup of herbal tea and get an early start. Especially as she had unearthed some very interesting facts in the past few days.

Five minutes later she tiptoed to the door, holding her breath as she pulled it open.

One step onto the scruffy carpet of the hall and she stopped short as Gabe’s door opened and he stepped out. Etta nearly swallowed her tongue. Dark blond hair sleep-tousled, blue-grey eyes fully alert, he pulled a dark grey T-shirt over his head, allowing her a glimpse of the glorious expanse of his chest.

There it was again—that stupid spark that she couldn’t seem to douse. Wrenching her eyes from the golden skin, Etta turned away.

‘Are you OK?’

Questionable. ‘I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make myself a cup of herbal tea and start early.’

‘OK. Give me a second and I’ll come with you. You can give me your daily update early.’

‘Sure.’

Etta glanced at him, further convinced that there was something odd about all these updates; they seemed out of character. She’d watched Gabe over the past weeks and the man worked like a demon. But what she had also noted was his ability to delegate, not to micromanage but to trust his staff to carry out the tasks necessary to convert the manor into a Victorian Christmas masterpiece. Yet with the family tree he seemed interested in every minute detail.

Tea in hand, they entered the records room and Gabe pulled a chair up to the desk. Etta braced herself, inhaled the now so familiar tang of citrus soap and pure Gabe—almost as necessary as her first coffee of the morning.

Focus, Etta.

‘I’ve discovered something really interesting. I haven’t mentioned it before because I wanted to be sure, and now I am. I’ve found a whole new branch of the family. It’s one I originally thought had died out, but in actual fact this man here—’ she pointed at a name ‘—married again and had a son. Very soon after that he died and his wife remarried. I think everyone must have thought this son was actually from her second marriage, but he wasn’t.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’

‘Yes. I’ve done extensive research, and I’ve got copies of various records. Although he took his stepfather’s name, and inherited his property, I’m sure that he actually belongs on the Derwent family tree.’

Gabe scanned the enormous rough diagram Etta had put together. ‘Looks good.’

‘It’s better than good.’ She tugged a piece of paper towards her and skimmed her finger down the line of names. ‘His line goes all the way to the present. I mean it’s pretty convoluted—he’s your cousin practically a million times removed, and I doubt he even knows he is even distantly related to you, but he is. Linked directly back to the 5th Duke.’

His body stilled and for a heartbeat a blaze of heat streaked across his eyes, gone so fast she wondered if it had been a mere trick of the light.

‘Fascinating,’ he stated. ‘I’ve never so much as heard of this branch of the family tree. You’re doing a fantastic job. Next I’d like you to follow the branch we discussed yesterday. I want to find out more about my Great-Great-Great-Aunt Josephine—she sounds like a real character.’

‘Sure. Anyone who singlehandedly fought off a band of desperate ruffians with a borrowed sword is worth a mention.’

Etta frowned... Had there been a hint of strain in his voice? Plus, surely her discovery warranted a bit more discussion and considerably more interest. By her reckoning, given the intricacies of peerage inheritance laws, this distant cousin could well be next in line to the Dukedom after Gabe. ‘Will you do anything about the distant cousin?’

‘As you said, it’s unlikely he has any idea who the Derwents are.’ Gabe’s voice was dismissive. He rose from his chair. ‘I wonder if you’d like a break from the family tree today? In your other role as fair consultant I need your help with the Christmas decorations, and you have been holed up in here for days.’

Etta hesitated, sensing his reserve, wondering if she’d hit some sort of nerve. But if she had it clearly wasn’t a nerve he wished to discuss. Perhaps her reference to this new branch of his family tree had reminded him of his need to settle down, to abandon his playboy lifestyle and find his suitable wife. Maybe he regretted turning away Lady Isobel...

And maybe this was Gabe’s personal business and as such none of hers. ‘I’d love to.’

Relief tinged his smile. ‘Good. Come with me. I need you to cast an eye over the tree, and also I’m setting up some stalls so people can make their own Victorian wreaths and ornaments...’

It was impossible not to admire the dedication he’d given to tackling the Victorian theme, and admiration filled her at how much he’d achieved in so short a space of time.

As she followed

him into the Great Hall she slammed to a stop as she gazed at the Christmas tree and her jaw dropped. She gawped. It was the most enormous spruce she’d ever seen, but what held her speechless were the ornaments that hung from it.

‘They aren’t actually antique Victorian—they’re vintage Victorian-style.’ Gabe’s voice held satisfaction and appreciation. ‘But they’re beautiful, aren’t they?’