The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

Easy does it, Gabe. Instinct told him Etta wouldn’t appreciate his next words, however he spun them.

‘The press clocked our departure from the ball last night, found out about our moonlit stroll on the terrace and discovered my ploy with the seating plan. They have decided you and I are an item. I thought I’d better give you the heads-up as there may be reporters outside your house.’

For a second she stood as if frozen, her lips formed in a circle of astonishment, her head tilted, waiting for the punchline. Then, when she realised none was forthcoming, she banged the kettle down onto the hob and sheer outrage etched her cheekbones with a flush of anger.

‘You and me? The press thinks we are an item?’

Hmm... A hint of chagrin touched him at the sheer horror that laced her voice. ‘I’m afraid so.’

Jeez, was it that bad?

‘But that’s ludicrous!’

‘Why?’ It wasn’t what he had meant to say, but her expression of distaste had sparked a surge of irritation.

‘Because...because it is such an impossible scenario.’

‘Why?’ Rising to his feet, he headed towards the kitchen counter, kept his gaze on hers.

And suddenly the atmosphere hitched up a notch. Or three. The look of aversion faded from her face and morphed into shock as desire ignited in her eyes. Gabe’s mouth dried, and the tick-tock of a clock in the background pounded his eardrums as he moved closer—close enough that those damned freckles caught his attention again.

Her hands gripped the underside of the worktop so tightly her knuckles showed white against the marbled grey. As if the touch had pulled her back to reality she stepped back. ‘It’s impossible because it could never happen.’ The quaver in her voice demonstrated the shakiness of her argument.

‘Really?’ He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen. ‘Look.’

Etta stared at the images, and Gabe could almost see her eyeballs pop from their sockets on cartoon stalks as she swore under her breath.

‘Yup. That’s what I thought.’ Gabe couldn’t keep the smugness from his voice. Because some enterprising photographer had captured the moment he and Etta had met, as she’d emerged from behind the potted plant. There could be no denying the look of utter arrest on their faces.

‘I’ll track down whoever took that and disembowel him,’ Etta muttered, before looking up with a tilt of her chin and challenge in her eyes. ‘Because he is incompetent—clearly the light was odd, or the angle of the lens, or...or...’

‘Or we saw each other and there was a mutual moment of appreciation.’

Her eyes rested on his image and for a heartbeat he would have sworn there was a glimpse of satisfaction on her face at seeing him equally smitten. Then it was gone and she straightened up.

‘I’ll stick to the mistake theory, thank you.’

Gabe raised his eyebrows. Maybe he should have let it go, but her sheer refusal to acknowledge the attraction prompted curiosity—along with his inner devil. ‘Or you could admit the truth. You are attracted to me and vice versa. I don’t have an issue acknowledging it.’ He gestured to the screen. ‘The evidence is right there.’

If the laws of physics had allowed, her laser glare would have shot his phone with its telltale images to smithereens. ‘This may be hard for you to believe, but I am not attracted to you.’

Each word was exaggerated, and issued through clenched teeth, and yet Gabe knew she was lying.

‘You don’t want to be attracted to me.’ And he wasn’t sure why not. ‘That’s different.’

‘Gabriel...’

‘Please. Only my parents call me Gabriel. I prefer Gabe.’

‘Gabe. You are not my type. I don’t go for shallow playboys or men who lead women on and then break their hearts.’

Whoa. ‘“Shallow playboy” I’ll own up to. But I don’t lead women on.’ Ever.

‘What about Lady Isobel? You led that poor woman up the garden path, round the garden and a whole village full of houses. You made her think you’d marry her, then you bailed out in the public eye, broke her heart and humiliated her.’

Anger stirred inside him even as he accepted Etta’s stance—Isobel had played her part to perfection, and most of the country believed in her false portrayal of Gabe Derwent as heartbreaker extraordinaire. In return she’d netted herself a packet and some great publicity. A month after that his sister Kaitlin had spotted her partying on the Riviera. It seemed as if Isobel had decided to break free—rebel against the role of duchess she’d been primed for and go for the money.

But forget Isobel. Right now Etta glared at him, one foot tapping the kitchen floor tiles. Gabriel met her gaze full on. ‘I thought historians valued accuracy and confirmation and didn’t rely on tabloid gossip?’

Heat touched her cheeks. ‘A good historian looks at the available evidence and makes deductions. Are you denying that you led Lady Isobel to think you would marry her?’

‘No. I’m not. But that is one fact. There are a whole host of other facts you are not privy to. Unlike Isobel, I intend to keep them private. However, I give you my word that it did not go down the way she claimed it did. I didn’t break her heart.’

A pause, and then she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. ‘I accept that I may not know the full story. But I’m still not attracted to you. I appreciate you coming to warn me, and I’ll explain to any reporters it’s all a misunderstanding.’

‘Actually, I have a different solution.’

Suspicion narrowed her eyes. ‘We don’t need a different solution. We don’t need any solution because this doesn’t need to be a problem.’

‘Fine. I have an idea I want to run by you. It benefits us both.’

The kettle whistled as she hesitated, and then she pulled a cafetière towards her and nodded. ‘OK. Shoot. You’ve got a cup of coffee’s worth of time.’

‘Seems fair. I suggest we go along with the press. Run with the story.’

Her hand jolted on the plunger at his words and coffee spilt onto the counter. Etta ignored it. ‘Go along with it? Run with the story?’ Her hands tipped in an exaggerated question. ‘Why? Why would we even do a two-minute walk with the story?’

‘Because as my girlfriend you can bring Cathy and move in to Derwent Manor with me. You can put together the family tree. In return I will pay you a hefty fee and keep you safe from Tommy. Win-win.’

This way he would get his family tree done by the expert he wanted, she would get the chance to complete a project he knew she wanted, and she would be safe from Tommy. He figured it was pure genius. Etta looked at him as if she thought it was sheer garbage.

‘That’s nuts.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘Yes, it is. For a start, how can you possibly guarantee our safety?’

‘I have a number of qualifications in self-defence and a variety of martial arts.’

Once Gabe had worked out that no one was going to rescue him from the horrors of boarding school and the ritual humiliation the other students felt a prospective duke deserved, he’d figured he needed to rescue himself. The best way to do that had been to learn self-defence—and as it turned out he had an aptitude for it.

Etta shook her head, clearly unimpressed by the claim as she mopped up the spilt coffee and poured the remains into two mugs. ‘You don’t get it. Tommy is a nutcase. He’s a street fighter. He got put away for an assortment of crimes—drug-dealing, armed robbery, and a hit-and-run whilst fleeing the scene of a crime.’

‘I’m not belittling any of that, and I’m not blowing hot air—I can protect you from Tommy. I didn’t just do a few classes and get a few belts. I’m the real McCoy. There is no way I would offer protection if I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure I could provide it.’

Her fingers drummed a tattoo on the counter, and her head tilted to one side as her brown eyes assessed him. ‘It wouldn’t work.’

‘Why not?’