The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal. Nina Milne

back centuries—were also damaged and muddled up. Unfortunately I’ve now discovered that those records were never computerised. I’m sure some of the facts are a matter of public record but I wouldn’t have the first clue how to access them let alone piece them all together.’

      She leant forward, those amber-flecked eyes sparking with interest now, and for a perverse moment he felt chagrin that they hadn’t been ignited by him.

      ‘So you want me to put your family tree back together?’

      ‘Yes. But in way more detail than the original.’

      For centuries the dukedom had passed from father to son, and now that would come to an end. Which meant he needed to clamber up the family tree, delve down obscure branches and work out who might succeed to the dukedom after him, now that he knew he would never have a son of his own.

      Frustration coated his insides. It was imperative that he understood his options—and fast. His father’s recent heart attack meant the Duke and Duchess wanted him, the heir, to marry and produce a son at speed. That couldn’t happen. But Gabe had no wish to trigger another heart attack in his father and the enormity of learning the truth might well do exactly that. So he had to come up with a strategy...a way to deal with it.

      ‘There is another stipulation. I need it done by Christmas. I realise that this is a big job to accomplish in only a few weeks, but I’ll do everything I can to help. As you may know my father recently suffered a heart attack. I’d like to present him with the family tree as a surprise gift.’

      The animation left her face and she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I have family commitments—I’m leaving the country in a couple of days on a five-week holiday.’

      Disappointment weighed upon him. He’d done his research and Etta had seemed the perfect candidate. Now he’d met her, every instinct told him she would do the job right and fast. ‘Any chance you’d postpone? I’d amply compensate you and you can name your fee.’

      ‘It isn’t about money. I’m taking my daughter on a cruise.’

      Daughter. Somehow it hadn’t crossed his mind that Etta might have a daughter—there had been no mention of a husband or children on her website—and for a second the idea of their existence twanged a chord of disappointment inside him. No. The whole attraction thing had been closed down. But on a professional level he wanted Etta Mason for the job. So...

      ‘You’re sure? Perhaps your husband could take your daughter and I’d pay for another family holiday.’

      ‘There is no husband. Thank you for the opportunity, but I really can’t accept the job.’

      Now her words held regret, and a shadow that betokened disappointment clouded the amber of her eyes. Gabe frowned. Maybe he could change her mind—cruise or no cruise, he sensed she wanted the job. Time to utilise his reserve plan.

      As if on cue the dinner gong pealed out and he rose to his feet. ‘We’d better go in.’

      * * *

      Etta swallowed down a sigh. To trace the Derwent family tree ranked up there with her ideal job. Gabriel Derwent had offered her the opportunity to access papers and records of the past, to piece together a lineage that stretched back over centuries and complete a jigsaw puzzle of historical import, to lose herself in the life of people who had existed in times gone by.

      On top of that a high-profile case like this would have boosted her reputation and it would have paid well. Nothing to sneeze at if ousting Tommy from her life ever involved a need for legal aid.

      Tommy. Fear shivered through Etta—she would not let Tommy become part of their lives again. Nothing could compare with the importance of removing Cathy from Tommy’s orbit. So this golden opportunity would have to be passed by. Yet disappointment twinged, compounded by an inexplicable feeling of chagrin that he looked so calm. Which was further complicated by a memory of that moment on the terrace—that heartbeat of time when she had been aware of him with an intensity that had rocked her senses.

      So all in all it was a relief to re-enter the warmth and grandeur of the hotel and join the throng of guests headed for the banqueting hall.

      Once there, Etta stopped on the threshold. ‘I’d better go and find my place.’

      ‘I can help you there. You’re at Table Five. Same as me.’

      Etta frowned. ‘No. I checked the seating plan earlier.’

      ‘There’s been a slight change to the plan.’

      A flare of anger heated her veins at his sheer arrogance and she spun to face him—she would not be manipulated. ‘Are you telling me you altered it? Ruby puts a huge amount of thought into these arrangements—you can’t change them to suit yourself.’

      ‘Relax, Etta. I asked Ruby if she would change it. You told me you had to leave early, and I wanted to make sure I got the chance to speak with you about the job.’

      That made sense, and yet alarm bells began to clang in her head. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. Gabriel Derwent was used to getting what he wanted, and right now he wanted her to take this job. Worse, he might have sensed how much she wished she could do just that. And even worse than that the idea of Gabriel as a dinner companion held a temptation she didn’t want to analyse.

      ‘Well, that’s no longer necessary, so I think we should change the seating plan back.’

      ‘Why complicate matters?’ A nod of his blond head showed that most of the guests had found their places. ‘Come on—it won’t be that bad. I promise I won’t mention the job again. We can chat about whatever you like.’

      Clearly he’d found the charm button again. The persuasive lilt to his deep voice and the accompanying smile held definite appeal, enticing her own lips into an answering upturn.

      Careful, Etta. Perhaps he believed he could charm her into the job. Perhaps she should prove him wrong. Etta Mason was impervious to beguilement—had long since accepted that romance was not in her nature, that relationships were not something she understood. So...

      ‘Fine.’

      Once at their table, she turned to greet the man on her other side, received his congratulations on her speech, and realised from the slight slurring of his words that he was on the road to inebriation. No matter—she’d manage. Because no way did she want to give Gabriel Derwent even a hint of encouragement.

      Within minutes she’d set Toby Davenport off on a conversational trail upon which he told her all about his expensive lifestyle, his luxury holidays, and his yacht. Which left Etta free to add the occasional comment of encouragement whilst she savoured the rich flavours of the venison broth, appreciated the authentic tang of cloves and mace from the medieval recipe, and did her best to ignore her body’s hum of awareness at the warmth and sheer presence of Gabriel on her other side.

      Until his well-modulated tones broke into the Davenport drone. ‘Sounds amazing, Toby. Etta, here, is about to go on holiday. Tell me, Etta—I’m intrigued. As a historian, do you choose your holiday destinations based on historical interest? You mentioned a cruise... Where are you going?’

      Etta opened her mouth and realisation dawned—she had no idea of the answer. Her mind was a resounding example of the clichéd blank state. When she’d booked the cruise its destination had been the least of her criteria—availability had been her priority, because the idea of a ship surrounded by sea had felt safe. That was why it had been worth the remortgaging of her flat and the ransacking of her savings to pay for it. Cathy would be safe from her father.

      Because visceral fear had flared inside her—a fear that had been dormant for sixteen years but that had been reignited the instant Tommy had swaggered back into her life days before.

      Focus, Etta. Gabe had raised his eyebrows, and his eyes were shadowed with concern.

      ‘Sorry,’ she managed. ‘Senior moment. I can’t remember.’

      ‘You’re