by Nina Milne
Her anticipation at the prospect of losing herself in the fascination of the past came up against the reality of the present, and fear shivered through her. Tommy was going to be livid when he realised Cathy wasn’t with her, and the thought of his anger unearthed a swathe of memories. The thud of her heart, the futile entreaties, the pathetic ways she had tried to appease him.
Gabe muttered an expletive under his breath, stepped forward, and encased her hands in his.
Etta allowed herself one brief instant of reassurance and then pulled away as the feeling of reassurance turned to something else—a heat, an awareness of the feel of his skin against hers...
Business. ‘I’m sorry. I’m fine.’
‘This room is safe, and it doesn’t lead directly onto the grounds. Here.’
Automatically Etta stretched out a hand and he placed a white box in her palm.
‘It’s a panic pendant. You press the button and an alarm runs to my phone.’
‘Thank you.’
Yet even as she looped the pendant over her head Etta knew she must not become dependent on Gabriel—must work out a strategy to be rid of Tommy herself. Because once the job was done Gabe’s bodyguard duties would cease.
But right now she was safe, and there was a project to embark on. ‘Right. I’m going to get started.’
The hours passed by in a welcome blur. A part of her was aware of Gabe’s presence, but he didn’t interfere as she inspected and stacked and sorted and dusted and felt the comfort of centuries of history envelop her. As she sifted through the records she could almost feel the people in them starting to come alive in her mind.
Until... ‘Etta. I think you need to stop before you collapse.’
She rose to her feet from where she’d been inspecting a tottering pile of ancient-looking papers and wiped a hand across her forehead. ‘What time is it?’
‘Dinner time.’ Gabe pointed at a plate of now rather limp-looking sandwiches. ‘Especially as you haven’t touched lunch.’
‘I did mean to eat them. I’m sorry. I got completely absorbed.’
‘So I can see. But I’m making an executive decision. You need to stop. I haven’t even shown you where you’re going to sleep. So, come on, I’ll show you your room, then you can freshen up and give me a progress report over dinner.’
‘OK.’ Etta looked down at herself and grimaced. Filthy didn’t quite cover it.
As she followed Gabe out of the records room and down a long corridor she took in the faint air of dinginess in the peeling wallpaper and the slight smell of must and damp. Then Gabe pushed a door open and Etta blinked.
‘This part of the house is open to the public,’ he said.
The contrast was marked: a gleaming oak staircase curved upwards with imposing elegance, polished furniture from times gone by sat on shiny wooden flooring, and gilt-edged portraits adorned the walls.
Etta trailed her hand along the carved oak as she mounted the richly carpeted stairs, and peeped into rooms resplendent with tapestries and velvet and history.
‘Here we are.’ Gabe unlocked a door marked Private and they stepped through into a shabby hallway. ‘All our money is poured into the upkeep of the estate and the public areas of the house. So I’m afraid you won’t be staying in historic splendour yourself.’
‘These rooms are still part of history. I’m guessing they were the servants’ quarters... Perhaps one of my ancestors worked as a scullery maid here.’
Gabriel pushed a door open. ‘Hopefully you’ll be fairly comfortable in here.’
‘Of course I will.’
The room was simply furnished, but it was clean, and although the walls could have done with a coat of paint there were fresh flowers on the dresser and the eaves and cornices were a reminder of ages past.
‘I’ll knock for you in half an hour. The bathroom is across the hall.’
* * *
Half an hour later Gabe watched Etta seat herself at the large wooden table in the airy well-equipped kitchen. She was dressed in jeans and an oversized jumper, her chestnut hair hung in damp tendrils round her make-up-free face, and she looked absurdly young.
She inhaled appreciatively as Gabriel ladled beef casserole onto a pile of wild rice and handed her the plate. ‘This smells divine. Did you make it?’
‘Not me. I can cook, but not to this standard. Our housekeeper made it. Sarah has been here for years, and she is always thrilled when one of us comes back to stay.’
In truth, Sarah had been one of the people he’d missed most when he’d been at boarding school. She was one of the few people who had ever hugged the Derwent children.
‘So you don’t live here?’
‘No. I’ve got my own place in London.’ One day, when he married, he planned to renovate one of the old empty houses on the estate. No way would he expect his wife to live with his parents in the manor, however suitable she might be. No way could he live with his parents—the idea was impossible to picture.
‘It must have been amazing to grow up here. I felt thrilled for Cathy when I got us a place with a tiny patch of lawn and her own bedroom. So all this space and the gardens... It must have been magical.’
‘I didn’t really spend that much time here.’ He kept his voice deliberately even.
Etta’s forehead creased. ‘Where were you? I thought the Derwents lived here pretty much all year round?’
‘I went to boarding school at eight and I spent a lot of the holidays at various camps.’
Camps to toughen him up. His parents had been appalled when their son and heir had run away from boarding school. His gut still twisted when he remembered the first step in their ‘toughen up Gabe’ regime—they had sacked his nanny, who had also looked after Kaitlin and Cora.
In truth Megan Anstey had been more of a mother to him than the Duchess had ever been, and he could still taste the grief, feel the tears pounding the back of his eyelids. Tears he’d held in because he’d known if he’d cried his parents would blame Megan, would hold back her references. So he’d uttered a polite, formal goodbye, and later that afternoon he’d been driven back to boarding school.
The entire journey was etched on his memory. Suppressed tears, the tang of grief at the loss of Megan, and the pang of guilt at the consequences to Megan of his actions. The realisation had come that if he hadn’t let Megan close then he wouldn’t be feeling this pain and neither would she.
Then, as the car had sped over the country roads, he had felt the clench of fear in his gut at the knowledge of what awaited him: the glee-edged cruelty and ritual persecution from the bullies. He’d loathed himself for the sheer helplessness he’d felt. Had made a decision that his parents were right—his only option was to toughen up. One day he would make up for his error to Megan Anstey, but he wouldn’t let her or anyone else close again. And one day he would take on the bullies and he would win.
Both those days had been a long time coming, but one of his first acts when he’d had money of his own had been to track Megan down and give her a substantial cheque. As for the bullies—eventually he’d got tough enough to fight.
‘Oh.’ Etta’s delicate features were scrunched into an expression of perplexity. ‘I can’t imagine how that must have felt. I don’t think I could have sent Cathy away, missed so much of her childhood.’
‘All the male Derwents go to boarding school.’ Though he had vowed with intensity that he would never send a child of his away. Though now that wouldn’t be an issue. In any sense of the word. The now familiar ache tightened his chest.
‘That must have been tough on your mother.’
He doubted that—his parents had been remote figures all his life. Oh, he knew they were proud of him—proud of his looks and charisma, proud to have produced a healthy male heir. But they had barely registered his absence as a person.
‘Did you want to go?’ Etta asked, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and sympathy.
It was impossible to lie—not when he remembered the bleak horror of those first years. Until he’d learnt to fight back, form alliances, and never show weakness.
‘I accepted it,’ he stated flatly.
‘That doesn’t answer—’ She broke off as the doorbell rang: a hard, insistent peal. One slender hand rose and rubbed her chest, as if fear had clasped her heart. ‘Tommy...’ she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GABE ROSE TO his feet. ‘Wait here.’
The temptation to do just that showed on her face, but then she shook her head and pushed back her chair. ‘If it’s Tommy it’s my problem. You’re here to guard me. I’m supposed to deal with him.’
Admiration surged inside him—Etta was whiter than milk, and he could see the fear in her eyes, but her back was ramrod-straight as she moved from behind the table.
‘All right. But remember if it is Tommy I will not let him hurt you. OK?’
A slight hint of colour returned to her cheeks. ‘OK,’ she repeated as the doorbell rang out again in staccato buzzes. ‘But be careful.’
‘I will be.’ Gabe smiled as an adrenaline buzz kicked into his veins.
They walked through the kitchen and down the corridor to the front door. Gabe tugged it open, unsurprised to see Tommy slouched against the jamb, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. The dark-haired man smiled—a slow sneer—and Gabe tensed, ready to push Etta behind him.
‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘Not here.’ Etta’s voice was breathy but clear.
‘Then where is she? We need to discuss this, Etta. Cathy is my daughter too.’
‘There is nothing to discuss.’
‘But there is, darlin’, there is. I’ve talked to a lawyer and now I want to talk to you. You know it’s better to give me what I want.’
Etta flinched, then nodded. ‘Ten minutes. We’re in the middle of dinner.’
Gabe led the way into a small anteroom.
‘Dinner?’ Tommy said. ‘Very cosy.’ His dark blue eyes darted between Etta and Gabe. ‘Guess she hasn’t got you between the sheets yet, then?’
‘Enough.’ Gabe moved forward and in one seamless move slammed Tommy against the wall. He saw the surprise in the other man’s eyes and revelled in it. ‘Let’s keep this clean, shall we? Say what you need to say and get out.’
He released his grasp and for a second he thought the other man would go for him—he saw the malevolent gleam in his eye. Bring it on.
But then Tommy shrugged, walked over to a chair, and sprawled in it. ‘I want to speak to you alone, Etta.’
‘No.’ Etta folded her arms across her chest. ‘Whatever you need to say you can say it in front of Gabe.’
‘Whatever?’ The word dripped with malice. ‘Perhaps we can take a trip down memory lane? I can tell the toff exactly what you like and the best way to make you listen.’
Against all probability Etta’s complexion took on an even deeper pallor.
‘If that’s how you want to spend your ten minutes, feel free. But the clock’s ticking, Tommy,’ Gabe told him.
‘Say what you need to say.’ Etta’s voice was low, but steady, and Gabe hoped the reminder of his presence had helped. ‘I’ve consulted a lawyer too. You’re not on the birth certificate. You have no parental responsibility.’
‘But I can apply for a court order. Or... Cathy is sixteen—if she wanted she could even move in with me.’
‘She’d need my consent until she was eighteen.’
‘That’s a technicality and you know it. I think in real life there won’t be anything you can do about it.’ Tommy smiled and settled back in the chair. ‘You know I always hated the idea of a family, but now I’m thinking maybe I was wrong. I like the idea of having a daughter—someone who carries my blood, my genes—and I believe I have the right to be part of her life. Teach her my ways and my beliefs. You took that opportunity from me, Etta—you ran away and you took away my chance to be a dad.’
‘You didn’t want to be a father.’ Etta’s voice was tight, and her hands rubbed up and down her arms. ‘You punched me in the stomach to try and get rid of the baby.’
Gabe’s blood chilled and he stepped forward even as Tommy shook his head. ‘That was your fault, Etta. You defied me and you know I don’t like that. That’s something Cathy will need to learn too. It’s something I had to learn from my father, and it’s a tough lesson but an important one.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Of course I would never hurt Cathy—I’m a reformed man. You see how I didn’t lay a finger on your toff, here. I came because I want to give you a heads-up. Let you know I’m coming after my daughter. You took her from me once—now it’s my turn. You and me...we’ve unfinished business. I owe you, and another thing my old man taught me is to always pay my debts.’
Etta stood as if rooted to the spot, her tawny eyes shocked, and anger made Gabe’s fists clench. ‘You’ve said your piece. I’ll see you out.’
As he walked Tommy to the door Gabe held tight to his anger—yes, his foot itched to boot the man as far as he could kick him, but that wouldn’t help the situation.
‘Don’t come back.’
Gabe shut and locked the door and made his way back to the kitchen. Etta was standing exactly where he’d left her, his arms wrapped around her body, shivering, her lip caught between her teeth.
‘He’s gone.’ Gabe moved towards her. ‘Come into the lounge. I’ll light a fire and get us a drink.’
Ten minutes later he rose from the fireplace as the logs caught and the flames crackled into a blaze. The scent of pine invaded the air and Etta released a small sigh, as if the warmth gave her comfort. Gabe strode to the lacquered drinks cabinet, selected a bottle of cognac and poured a generous measure into two balloon glasses.
‘Here.’
Etta reached up from the depths of the armchair she had curled into. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re still shivering.’ Gabe pulled his thick knitted jumper over his head and handed it to her. ‘Put this on until the fire kicks in.’
A hesitation, and then she accepted it. ‘Sorry. Tommy really spooked me this time.’
‘No need to apologise. The man is clearly, as you said, a first-class nutter and downright scary. I’m sorry you ever hooked up with him—it must have been hell.’ The memory of her words, the revelation of how he had hurt her, still iced his veins, made him want to force Tommy to his knees to grovel before her.
‘It was.’ The words were simple. ‘But I’m glad he came here today.’ She straightened up and tugged at the sleeves of his jumper so she could pick up her glass. ‘Because it’s made my decision. I know how I’ll deal with Tommy.’
‘How?’
‘Exactly how I did sixteen years ago. I’m going to run—take Cathy and disappear.’
‘Or you could stand your ground.’
‘I can’t fight him. You saw it for yourself—he’s a nutter. No amount of restraining orders will stop him—even if I could get one. I won’t risk Cathy, and it won’t be for ever. Tommy is a criminal, through and through. All I have to do is run until he gets himself put behind bars again. Cathy and I can take off—go backpacking somewhere or relocate for a while.’
‘And then what? What happens when he gets out of prison the next time?’
‘I’ll deal with that when it happens.’
‘No.’
Gabe realised he’d said the word with way more force than he’d intended. But he knew that this was not the way to deal with a man like Tommy—with any bully. He had first-hand experience, and as an adult he’d done enough work with children—both bullies and the bullied—to know that running away, showing fear, kept the cycle going.
‘It won’t work. I get that you’re scared, but running will make Tommy worse. He relishes your fear. He didn’t need to come here today, or stalk you to Cornwall. If this was only about Cathy he’d contact her. This is about making you suffer.’
‘Well, he’s good at that.’ The bitter undertone spoke volumes about her bleak memories. ‘But I don’t care about me. It’s Cathy I’m scared for. And that’s why I’ll run. To keep her safe.’
‘You don’t have to do that. Not when you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. Don’t throw it all away.’
‘I won’t. I’ll just be putting it aside for a while. You don’t get it, Gabe. None of it matters more than Cathy.’
‘There is an alternative.’
‘What? I kill him? Tempting, but unfortunately not feasible.’
‘Call his bluff. I don’t think he has any interest in Cathy—he just wants to punish you. Let Tommy see Cathy.’
‘Excuse me?’ Etta thunked her glass down on the side table, the expression in her tawny eyes morphing from incredulity to anger.
‘I don’t mean hand her over. I mean set up a supervised meeting. From what I saw of her, it seems to me that Cathy is a strong, intelligent girl. And that you and she have a strong bond.’
For a moment envy touched him as he tried to imagine his own parents forging any bond with their children except one of duty. He remembered the photos on Steph’s walls, depicting the years of Cathy and Martha’s childhood.
‘Am I right?’
‘Yes.’ Etta’s expression softened. ‘Cathy has some teenage moments, but she has got a great outlook on life. She worked hard, got excellent GCSEs, and she has a plan for her future, great friends. That’s the point. I won’t let Tommy ruin that.’
‘Then maybe you should trust her. And yourself. You’ve brought up a very together, bright young woman. Trust her to see Tommy for what he is. Then he loses his power over you.’
For a scant second she considered his words as she swirled the cognac round the glass and watched the dark golden ripples. Then she shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. You can’t understand. You are Gabriel Derwent, Earl of Wycliffe, one day the Duke of Fairfax. You have a long line of ancestors at your back, two parents, two siblings—a whole family tree. Cathy has me. I’m her entire family tree. So of course she wants a dad.’
