The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

‘No.’ Etta strode forward, her pleated skirt swirling in the angry movement. ‘The subject is not closed. I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know I’ve been manipulated. You hired me as your cover—your fake girlfriend. What happened?’ Her voice broke and she gave an angry shake of her head in denial. ‘Is that what all this has been about? You and me? An additional cover to make it real for April’s spy, so no one suspects why you’re really here?’

The revulsion in her tone was directed in equal measure against him and herself.

‘That is not true.’ He didn’t want her to believe that—not when he knew what a leap of faith it had been for her to trust her feelings, trust her physical instinct. ‘I wouldn’t use you.’

Disbelief gazed back at him from her eyes. ‘But that is exactly what you’ve done. You used my professional expertise and then you used me. This whole fling has been an illusion, created to throw dust in everyone’s eyes for reasons of your own—a master strategy.’

Damn it. He couldn’t let her believe that, but the alternative...the alternative was to trust her. She had already worked out some of the facts...could already do damage.

As if she could read his thoughts she gave a small scornful laugh, devoid of all mirth. ‘Don’t worry, Gabe. I won’t go blabbing your secret to April or to anyone else. We had a deal and I’ll keep my part—I’ll even keep up the fake girlfriend charade for the next couple of days.’

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, and for a second she looked lost.

‘But I don’t care who April’s spy is—we aren’t sharing that bed. And I will be out of here on the first available flight on Boxing Day.’

Let it be.

That always worked. Only it didn’t. He couldn’t let Etta believe he’d used her, that the past days had been fake, an illusion.

‘I can’t have children.’

The words reverberated, caromed off the patterned wallpaper and lingered in the air, each syllable a portent of fate. The act of saying the words out loud banded his chest with harsh reality, and his lips twisted in a grimace as he took in her expression.

Etta’s mouth opened and closed, and shock etched each delicate feature even as her tawny eyes filled with compassion and near-empathy. His gaze twisted from hers. He didn’t want her pity—couldn’t bear to see her commiseration.

‘Gabe...’

The programme fell from her grasp, swished to the floor, and as if the soft thud had galvanised her she closed the gap

between them. She reached up and cupped his jaw in her palms, angled his head so their gazes locked.

‘Look at me. I’m sorry. More sorry than words can express.’

The sincerity of her voice and the feather-lightness of her touch mingled and grief threatened to surface. Gabe shoved it down—no way would he give in to misery.

‘It’s OK. You don’t need to say anything.’ Gently he lifted his hands and removed hers, squeezed gently and then let go and stepped back. ‘I’ve had a while to come to terms with it.’

‘How long have you known?’

‘Nine months. Since then I’ve seen three separate experts—top men and women in their field. I’ve looked into treatment options, but I am one of those rare cases for which they don’t believe treatment will result in success.’

The bitter tang of disbelief was still there—he’d been so sure he could fix the problem.

‘So the unbroken father-to-son Fairfax line will be broken. But what worried me most was the idea that the title might die out altogether. Thanks to the convolutions of the law and the way the Fairfax peerage was originally set up the title can’t be passed on via a female. So any children Kaitlin and Cora have can’t succeed.’

‘So that’s why you hired me?’

‘Yes. I needed you to find out if there was anyone out there to suceed me. You found him—Matteas Coleridge. The possible one day Duke of Fairfax.’ Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the acid note from his tone. Stupid. He had wanted another heir to be found, for Pete’s sake. This way there was a chance for the future. ‘Potential founder of a new dynasty.’

The words made her flinch. ‘Gabe. This sucks. You must be devastated. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because no one knows. I wasn’t sure how the news would affect my father’s health. I was worried it would tip him into another attack.’

‘So is that why you split with Lady Isobel?’

‘Yes. Isobel and I have always known our parents wanted us to marry—we talked about it when we were young and we agreed it suited us both. She wasn’t interested in love any more than I am—she wanted a title, the position of duchess, to be the mother of a future duke. She was very clear that she wants children, so I figured it was probably worth making sure I could back up what I had on the table. When I found out the truth I knew we couldn’t go ahead and get engaged as planned. But I still thought there must be a fix—a treatment of some sort. So I told Isobel I needed to postpone the engagement and I took off for America, because I figured it would be easier to avoid publicity there whilst I got the problem sorted.’

‘But Isobel must have been curious?’