The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal. Nina Milne

Change the conversation. Unfortunately her brain was still tuned in to Planet Blank.

      Desperation loosened her vocal cords as she saw the challenge in his eyes. ‘In the meantime, what about you? Have you got any holiday plans for Christmas?’

      ‘No. I’ll be based at Derwent Manor. My parents are away in France, so my father can convalesce, and I need to ensure that various traditions are upheld. Including the annual Christmas Fair at the manor. This year I’ve decided to introduce a Victorian theme—hopefully whoever I get to do the family tree can lend me some advice on that at the same time.’

      Etta blinked. She loved to help with events such as this, and she’d bet Gabriel knew that. However innocent those blue-grey eyes looked as they calmly met her gaze.

      ‘That sounds like a pretty full-on few weeks.’ And a far cry from the playboy-style Christmas festivities she had imagined he would indulge in.

      ‘It will be. In truth, running Derwent Manor is a full-time job in itself—my parents’ whole life revolves around it.’

      ‘And yours too?’

      ‘Not my whole life, no.’

      ‘But one day it will?’

      ‘Yes.’ The syllable was clipped, and she’d swear his knuckles had whitened around the crystal water tumbler he lifted to his lips.

      ‘That must be strange. To always have known what your job will be one day. For most children the perennial question is, What do you want to be when you grow up? For royalty or aristocracy that isn’t a question—you’ve always known what you will be when you grow up.’

      ‘Yes.’

      It was impossible to read anything from the single word—yet she sensed a depth of emotion in the sheer rigidity of his jaw. Did Gabriel Derwent relish or resent his destiny? Speaking of which...

      ‘You said earlier that you believed in the power of choice over the power of fate, but that’s not true, is it? Fate has decreed that you will become Duke of Fairfax.’

      ‘Yes.’ As if this time he’d realised the curtness of his response he curved his lips into the famous Derwent smile. ‘But I do have the choice to renounce the title.’

      Etta placed her spoon down into the empty bowl. ‘Fair enough.’ Even if she didn’t believe he’d do that in a million years. ‘But not everyone has that sort of choice. Think of all the princesses in history who were forced to marry. They had no choice.’

      ‘You don’t know that. You could argue that they simply chose to do their duty. And some of them could have elected to give their life up to religion. Sometimes none of the choices we have are palatable, but they exist.’

      Etta opened her mouth but he raised a hand to forestall her.

      ‘I know that there are examples of people who have no choice. Innocent people caught up in a chain of events they can’t control. But I’m not sure fate comes into it—perhaps they are casualties of sheer bad luck.’

      ‘Fate versus chance?’ Even as she said the words Etta wondered how they had ended up in this discussion. It was almost as if they were in their own bubble amidst the glitz and buzz of their glamorous surroundings, complete with fairy-tale elements.

      The warning bells that had clamoured earlier renewed their alarm. But there was no need for worry. Two more courses and she’d be on her way. She’d never meet Gabriel again. This conversation was nothing more than a welcome distraction from her thoughts of Tommy. That was all. A distraction. If Toby Davenport hadn’t been bent on a drunken flirtation with his other neighbour she would no doubt have been distracted just as effectively by him.

      Liar, liar, candy cane dress on fire.

      In truth Gabriel Derwent was casting a mesh of fascination over both her body and her mind, and panic trickled through all the other sensations. She couldn’t remember the last time her body had responded like this and she didn’t like it.

      Before Etta could end the conversation she felt her minuscule evening bag vibrate under the strategically placed napkin on her lap. Foreboding shivered her skin even as she tried to tell herself it could be anyone. There was no reason to believe anything had happened to Cathy.

      Pushing her chair back, she tried to force her lips into a semblance of smile. ‘Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute.’

      Don’t run.

CHAPTER THREE

      GABE GLANCED AT the empty space next to him and frowned. No bathroom break took this long. Euphemistically speaking, Etta Mason could have powdered a hundred noses by now. Plus her food would soon congeal. Could she be in trouble?

      Not his business. And yet there had been an expression of near fear on her face when she’d left the table, and that had touched him on a primitive level. Fear had once been a part of his life, and the memories still lingered in the recesses of his soul. Plus, the more he could discover about Etta Mason the more likely it would be that he could work out a way to persuade her to do the job. All valid reasons to go and check up on her.

      Rising, he smiled at his table companions. ‘Be back in a second.’

      He moved through the imposing doors and into the hall. A quick scan showed no sign of Etta. Could be she had headed somewhere more private to make a call. Could be he should just leave her to it. Yet his feet strode towards the lobby, which was a fusion of medieval detail and modern comfort.

      He halted on the threshold, took in the scene with lightning assessment. Etta was backed up against a pillar and a dark-haired man stood over her, aggression in his stance. The man’s expression held a malevolent smirk that Gabe recognised as that of a bully, of a man who knew he inspired fear in his victim. Tattoos snaked and writhed over the bulge of muscles that spoke of a lot of time spent pumping iron.

      ‘Is everything all right, Etta?’ Stupid question, because Etta Mason looked like a different woman from the professional, articulate, give-as-good-as-you-get woman he’d sat with at dinner. Her face was pale, her hands were clenched, and those tawny brown eyes held a mix of defiance and fear.

      ‘Everything’s fine,’ the man said. ‘So you can take a hike.’

      ‘I didn’t ask you.’

      The man took a step away from Etta. ‘And...?’ The menace was palpable. ‘I said take a hike.’

      Etta moved towards the man, her whole being diminished as she approached him, fear in every awkward movement, and Gabe knew with ice-cold certainty that at some point this man had hurt her.

      ‘Tommy, please.’

      The man gave a short, harsh laugh that prickled Gabe’s skin.

      ‘That sounds just like the old days, Etta.’

      ‘Enough.’ Cold rage ran through Gabe’s veins and he strode towards Tommy. ‘The only person who needs to take a hike round here is you.’

      ‘It’s OK, Gabe. I’ve got this.’ Etta hauled in an audible breath. ‘Tommy, just go. Please. You’ve made your point.’

      Tommy hesitated, his dark eyes mean, his fists still clenched, and Gabe took another step forward.

      Then, ‘Fine. This toff isn’t worth messing up my parole for. But this isn’t over. Cathy is my daughter and I will meet her. Whatever it takes.’ Turning, Tommy walked towards the portcullis-style door and exited.

      Gabe turned to Etta. ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘Yes. Thank you.’

      She rubbed her hands up and down her forearms and stared at the door as if to make sure Tommy had gone for good.

      ‘Right.’ Straightening, she tugged out her phone. ‘I need to go.’ A tap of her finger and then she lifted