The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

Flirting with Gabriel Derwent was idiocy—the man had a master’s degree in the art and she didn’t hold so much as a pass. Yet her imagination danced with the possible scenario—what would he do if she took him up on the ‘otherwise’ option? Chose to join the ranks of his playboy play dates...? Yuck, said the tiny part of her brain that advocated logic and common sense. Yum, shrieked her hormones, dizzy at the prospect.

The atmosphere in the room had accelerated to steamy and Gabe was so close. His eyes were dark with desire...dark as the blue of a storm-tossed sea. Breathing seemed problematic, time slowed in direct correlation to the leap in her pulse and her lips parted in anticipation.

Then guilt slammed in. What am I doing? Attraction led to loss of perspective, made you behave in ways so stupid and alien they changed your life, caused pain and loss. Already for long moments she had taken her eye off the most important issue: Cathy.

Pressing her lips together, she moved away from him, all too aware of the telltale jerkiness of her movements. Focus, Etta. No way would she give Gabriel Derwent any power over her—she would not relinquish even a jot of control. To any man. Ever. She’d experienced powerlessness first-hand already. Never again.

‘I don’t want to play at all. I want to keep my daughter safe. I’ll let you know what is happening once I’ve spoken to Cathy and Steph. Provided all goes to plan, I’ll travel down to Derwent Manor once Cathy is safely gone.’ Holding out a hand she waited expectantly, but Gabriel didn’t move to take it.

‘I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens, you need to go home to get your suitcases. There’s a chance Tommy will be there, and it’s a definite that the press will be. So I’ll go with you. I’m your bodyguard, Etta, so you’d better get used to me.’

Just fabulous.

‘And speaking of the press conference,’ he continued smoothly. ‘We’d better discuss a strategy. That photograph needs to be explained.’

There seemed little point in a reiteration of her the-photographer-got-it-wrong defence because it sucked. The previous night she’d thought she’d been poleaxed when she first saw him. Well, that was a freaking understatement—if she looked closely at that picture she’d probably spot the drool on her chin. Though at least Gabe looked similarly afflicted, and despite herself there was that funny little thrill. Again.

‘I...’ In truth she couldn’t think of a single explanation, and he knew it. A smile quirked his lips and she was tempted to kick him in the shin. Hard. ‘We need to stress that our association is strictly professional. That you are hiring me as a consultant for the Christmas Fair.’

‘And hope they believe us and don’t pick up on our body language?’

‘There is no body language.’

‘You’re one hundred per cent sure of that?’

‘One hundred and ten,’ she stated. ‘So there will be nothing for the press to pick up on.’

Even if she had to douse herself in an ice bath before meeting them.

‘I’ll go and talk to Cathy and then call Steph.’

* * *

Gabe watched Etta leave and felt intrigue mingle with surprise—most women would have taken him up on his offer. Especially given the flare of mutual attraction. For a second disappointment lingered at her refusal to acknowledge it, let alone act on it. But there would be other women—right now his focus was on business, not pleasure, so really he should feel relief at her decision to keep their relationship professional.

Glancing round Steph’s kitchen, Gabe saw that Etta featured in the collage of photographs—an absurdly young-looking Etta with a woman he presumed to be Steph posing at a carousel. Etta held a dark-haired toddler, a miniature version of today’s Cathy, and Steph held a blonde little girl of a similar age. There was another picture of the two women with their girls in school uniform, beaming with similar gap-toothed grins at the camera.

Gabe felt a two pronged searing of loss—for a past he couldn’t change and a future he wouldn’t have. The only photos he had of himself with his mother were publicity shots, and he would have no children to be pictured with. Fate had decreed that his body would let him down and the Derwent line would end. But perhaps there was still hope—perhaps there was another heir out there and Etta would find him. That was the goal.

As if on cue, the kitchen door opened to reveal Etta.

‘Steph and Martha are thrilled, and Cathy is at least more enthusiastic than she was. Though she wants to speak to you alone. I don’t know why. Maybe she wants to make sure you won’t beat Tommy up too badly. Or—’ she gave a sudden smile ‘—maybe she’s checking you out as a suitable person for me to stay with.’

‘I’ll assure her that my intentions are strictly honourable.’ More’s the pity, whispered his libido.

Five minutes later Cathy entered the room and headed to the large wooden table in the window alcove. Gabe seated himself opposite her and waited as she surveyed him. Her assessment was direct, as if she were trying to decide how to play him. Fair play to her—it would be his own strategy in her place.

‘So Mum will be staying with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you will protect her from my dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘It won’t be necessary.’ Cathy’s chin tilted at an angle that mirrored Etta’s line of stubbornness. ‘Dad just wants to see me. I don’t get what’s so bad about that. He has changed over the past sixteen years. You’d think Mum would be glad.’

‘I saw your dad last night, Cathy, and he struck me as potentially dangerous.’