by Nina Milne
Admiration seethed inside him as he looked at her, standing amidst the imperial grandeur. Yet for once he couldn’t read her emotion—her expressive face was in shut-down, though she still rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
‘It was, but I’ve changed the plan. I need to get to Cathy. Christmas is over and I need to be with my daughter. I need to talk to Steph and work out our next step. I need to get back to my real life. This week has been magical, and I’ll never forget it, but it wasn’t real. It was a fling—an interlude.’
Her lips turned up in a smile that didn’t get anywhere near her eyes.
‘Fun, with no strings attached, and now I need to move on.’
Strange how his own words seemed so hollow now. Panic rocked him back on his heels as he realised that he didn’t want her to leave. Insane. What did he want? Another day? Another week? What difference would that make? He didn’t know, but he knew he couldn’t let her leave yet, had to make sure she was safe.
‘We both need to move on,’ he managed, the words redolent with strain. He forced his vocal cords into submission. ‘But we need to make sure we do this right. We’ll fly back to London together and go to a hotel. Then we can smuggle you out.’
‘I may go and stay in Cornwall at the Cavershams’ Castle Hotel. I can hole up there and—’
‘Ethan could collect Cathy from the cruise ship and bring her to you.’
Ethan would protect Etta and Cathy, and that was the most important issue at stake.
‘I can work out our next move from there. I’ll start packing.’
There it was again—that near desperate urge to stop her, to take her into his arms and tell her he would keep her safe from Tommy, hold her close. But along with that came the surge of panic, the memory that closeness led to weakness, made you vulnerable to pain and loss and fear. If you let people close, you opened the door to pain. He’d nearly slipped up with Etta. Somehow she’d slipped under his guard and under his skin and he needed to get her out.
The best way to do that was to shut down all emotion.
This had to end now.
Yet he could sense the bleakness seeping in under his armour, trying to touch his soul.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Two weeks later
GABE LOOKED ROUND the lounge at Derwent Manor and wished he could shake the memories of Etta—it was absurd to wonder if he could smell a hint of vanilla in the air.
His parents glared at him across the room.
‘What is going on, Gabriel?’ His father’s tone was testy, at best. ‘You should be out there securing Lady Isobel Petersen.’
‘Your father is right.’ The Duchess’s tone was glacial. ‘Plus you shouldn’t have asked Kaitlin to come. And, Kaitlin, you shouldn’t have come—what will Prince Frederick think? It’s his mother’s birthday banquet and...’
For a moment Kaitlin looked as though she might respond with an unheard-of suggestion as to what Prince Frederick could do with the banquet, but instead she smiled her trademark smile.
‘I’m sorry, Mother, but Frederick understands that my brother has to come first. I know Gabe wouldn’t have asked us all here on a whim.’
Baulked, the Duchess turned to easier prey. ‘As for summoning Cora...’ Her green eyes stared down the table at the younger of her twins with disdain.
Cora grinned back cheerfully, clearly unfazed, and Gabe blinked. Marriage had morphed his diffident sister into a confident young woman, no longer cowed by her parents. Marriage or love? a small voice asked him as he recalled Etta’s insistence that it was the latter.
‘Don’t worry, Mother. Rafael and I aren’t staying here—we’ve booked into a hotel nearby so you won’t need to see him.’
Gabe had little doubt that Rafael Martinez would rather eat dirt than stay with his in-laws, and he couldn’t blame him.
‘So, Gabe, why have you summoned us to this family conclave?’
His heart hammered in his ribcage. This was the moment of truth—the point in time when this nightmare would become completely real. Hope tugged at his heart as he looked at the aquiline features of his father and his mother’s serene beauty. The same hope he’d felt all those years ago when he’d run away from school. That they would show empathy, understanding... Even then he’d known that love was too high an expectation.
Gabe closed his eyes briefly, braced himself, unclenched his jaw. ‘I can’t have children.’
The room rang, echoed with absolute silence. His parents’ expressions morphed from disbelief to disdain and Gabe’s heart plummeted in his chest. Disappointment and near revulsion twisted the Duchess’s mouth into a grimace of distaste. As for his father—his blue-grey eyes were colder than the Arctic at its worst. He was looking at his son as if he could not believe that a Derwent could have let him down on so spectacular a scale.
Then Kaitlin spoke. ‘Gabe, I am so sorry.’
As if her sister’s voice had broken the spell Cora jumped up, moved around the table to his side, and pulled him into a hug. For a second he resisted, and then he hugged her back, before looking towards his parents.
‘I know it’s a shock—’
‘A shock? It’s a disgrace.’ The Duke banged his stick on the floor. ‘A let-down.’
‘It’s not Gabe’s fault,’ Cora said quietly.
‘Fault is irrelevant,’ the Duchess said. ‘We need the next heir and now our son is unable to provide him.’
The look she gave Gabe was equivalent to one she might give to an experiment that hadn’t worked to plan. Pain twisted his gut, but he refused to show it—after all, he had toughened up Derwent-style, and he would be damned if he’d let his parents see that their attitude hurt. He understood—always had understood—that the title, the land, the manor, and the Derwent name came first.
Yet in that instant his brain reeled as realisation socked him—that whole creed was wrong. Etta would never make Cathy feel like this—would be constitutionally incapable of it. He could almost hear her voice, knew exactly what she would say. Nothing is worth more than your child’s worth—their happiness and well-being is paramount. Etta had lived her life by that principle and that made her truly wonderful. That was one of the reasons he loved her—she lived by her beliefs, had done so in the toughest conditions and won through.
What? Love?
That was preposterous. But true. The sheer incredibility of the knowledge, the strange joy that swirled inside him alongside panic threw his thoughts into turmoil.
Not now, Gabe.
‘Actually, I have located the next heir. Matteas Coleridge. Late twenties, seems decent, lives abroad.’
‘Never heard of him. Never heard the name.’ The Duchess shook her head. ‘How can you have let this happen?’ For the first time there was a crack in her voice, as if the truth were sinking in. ‘A line unbroken for centuries. And now, thanks to you...’
Cora spun round. ‘How about thanks to Gabe for finding this other heir. I bet it wasn’t straightforward. Plus, has it occurred to you how Gabe might be feeling? That he may be sad? Upset? Grieving? For himself? In his own right?’
‘Cora. It’s OK.’ Gabe reached out and took his sister’s hand. ‘But thank you for the support. Truly, little sis.’
The Duchess turned a basilisk look on Cora. ‘You always were vulgar, Cora. Marriage to a Martinez hasn’t changed that.’
She rose to her feet and the Duke followed suit.
‘We need to meet this Matteas Coleridge. Make it happen. If he is malleable and we deem it best you must step aside, Gabe.’
‘Excuse me?’ This time it was Kaitlin. ‘You can’t do that to Gabe. That’s inhuman—and it’s not your decision.’
‘Enough.’ Gabe kept his voice low but authoritative. ‘This has been a shock. There is no need to make a decision yet. When it is t
he right time I will decide what I’ll do.’
The Duke opened his mouth, but before he could speak Gabe rose to his feet.
‘I think it’s best if Dad gets some rest.’
The Duchess glanced at her husband’s expression and gave a curt nod.
Once their parents had left the room Cora shook her head. ‘They are unbelievable. But, Gabe, why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Because that’s not what the Derwents do,’ Kaitlin said as she leant forward in her chair, tucked a strand of red-gold hair behind her ear. ‘But right now you need to tell us what we can do to help.’
‘I don’t think you can do anything, but I appreciate it that you want to.’
Kaitlin looked thoughtful. ‘Was it Etta who found this Matteas Coleridge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does she know the truth?’
‘Yes.’
His sisters exchanged a glance.
‘Do you love her?’ Cora asked.
Yes, I do.
It explained so much. In the past two weeks there hadn’t been a minute when Etta hadn’t been in his thoughts. Everything brought back a memory of her—the smell of vanilla, the taste of venison, the sight of a woman with chestnut hair. Each thing made his heart ache because he missed her—missed her touch, the tilt of her chin, her smile, her chuckle, her courage. He missed Etta. Full-stop. Wanted her beside him, wanted to hold her, to protect her and...
And enough. How did this make sense?
Love made you vulnerable, opened up the route to pain and hurt.
But it also made you a better person.
Gabe knew he would do anything for Etta, and that if it cost him pain and hurt then that would be an acceptable price.
Only it didn’t have to be like that. Being with Etta made him...happy. Her courage, her strength, her decision to take a leap of faith and have a fling with him, her vulnerability, her zest for life, her amazing ability to parent...
‘Yes. I love her.’
Cora and Kaitlin looked at him.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Cora asked.
Two days later...
Gabe approached Etta’s London address, crunched over the white layer of snow, smelt the tang of more snow in the imminent future. His nerves were stretched tauter than the proverbial tightrope as he mounted the stairs outside Etta’s apartment block.
Easy does it.
Could be Etta wasn’t even there. His conversation with Ruby Caversham had simply unearthed the fact that Etta was still in London.
He buzzed the intercom of her flat and waited.
‘Hello?’
Relief at the sound of Etta’s voice dropped his shoulders. ‘Hi. It’s me. Gabe. Derwent,’ he added. ‘Can I come in?’
There was a pause and he wondered if she would refuse. Then, ‘Of course.’
The formality of her tone was not what he wanted to hear, but at least she was letting him in.
The intercom buzzed again and Gabe pushed the slightly dilapidated front door open and bounded up the stairs before Etta could change her mind.
Etta pulled the door open and led the way into a hallway separated from the rest of the flat by a closed door, painted a cheerful yellow. The hallway itself was an off-white colour that combined with the large mirror on one wall to give the tiny area an effect of space—a space well utilised with a coat and shoe rack.
She pushed the interconnecting door open to step into a small but welcoming lounge and headed to a spot behind a red sofa, her arms folded with more than a touch of wariness.
‘Hey...’ he said, his throat suddenly parched as he gazed at her.
Come on, Gabe.
He could do better than that. Only right now he couldn’t—her beauty had caught his breath. Dressed in jeans and a dark red top, with her sleeves pushed up, chestnut hair pulled back with two clips he’d swear she must have borrowed from Cathy, she looked gorgeous.
‘Why are you here, Gabe?’ A small shake of her head. ‘Sorry. That was rude. Would you like tea or coffee?’
He followed her gaze to the small kitchenette in the corner of the room, where again there was a feeling of cheer generated by the way Etta had combined clutter with clever use of space. Pots and pans hung from a handy contraption to the left of the sink. An array of fun mugs hung on hooks. A cork board was littered with notes and memos. The sofa held a collection of cushions, presumably collected from various holidays, and stacked tables made the small area feel like home.
‘I’m fine.’
‘OK.’
Another silence and he realised he was procrastinating because of fear—pure and simple. Time to get on with it.
‘How have you been?’
‘Good. You?’
‘Yup. Good. Where’s Cathy?’
‘Sleepover at Martha’s.’
‘So how come you’re still in London?’
Etta took in an audible breath. ‘I was going to get in touch with you. I was just waiting until...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘That doesn’t matter. You’re here now. I did what you suggested. I put my trust in my bond with Cathy and I let her meet her dad. She loathed him.’
There was a wonder in her voice, along with pride.
‘Apparently he turned on the charm and at first it worked. Then he had a go at me and Cathy went nuts in my defence. He unravelled after that. Cathy says her curiosity is satisfied and she never wants to see him again. He was so angry he went out, got drunk, ended up assaulting someone, and is now back behind bars. I know he’ll always be a danger, but both Cathy and I will keep seeing Max for martial arts training, and we’ve decided to live our lives. So thank you—you showed me that I could face up to Tommy and, most important, trust Cathy. That means the world to me.’
Pride and admiration filled him that Etta had been so brave, along with a feeling of satisfaction that she now knew and believed in her bond with Cathy and could lead her life untainted by fear.
‘Don’t thank me. You did it—you were the one brave enough to carry it through.’
‘What about you? Your turn. Have you told your family about Matteas?’ Her voice was brittle, her arms still folded.
‘Yes. My parents do think I should consider standing aside if he comes up to scratch.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not sure. That’s why I’m here. I was hoping for your input.’
Etta’s forehead creased in puzzlement.
‘But I wondered if you’d mind coming back to Derwent Manor to discuss it.’
Gabe held his breath, the weight of hope that she would agree heavy in his chest.
‘Now?’
‘Yes. I’ll drive you back later.’
Etta hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Give me a minute to check in with Cathy.’
* * *
Ten minutes later Etta locked her apartment door, her mind whirring with an entire gamut of conflicting emotions, overridden by the megabuck question: what was Gabe doing here?
No big deal, Etta.
Gabe needed advice from one of the only people who knew the true facts. So she needed to focus on practicalities, not on the immense joy that wanted to surface at the sight of him. No way could she allow herself to reach out and touch him to check that he wasn’t a hallucination from her dreams.
Yet she couldn’t help but cast surreptitious glances across the car. Her body and mind absorbed his presence, stored the sight of his face, his blond hair, the depth of his blue-grey eyes, and the breadth of his shoulders into the Gabe Derwent treasure trove of her memories.
The drive to Derwent Manor was achieved in near silence as he concentrated on negotiating the roads through the snow that still cascaded down in lazy white flakes. Once they arrived Gabe drove past the imposing wa
lls of the manor and parked outside a dilapidated old building.
Gabe unclipped his seatbelt. ‘What do you think?’
Etta studied the house—it was old, and in need of repair, but in her mind’s eye she cleaned and plastered the walls, replaced the cracked panes of glass, resurrected the roof, and tended the neglected lawn.
‘It has potential.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
He smiled at her then—a smile so full of warmth that her toes curled in her boots and the yearning to wrap her arms around the breadth of his chest had her scrambling to get out of the car.
‘Could I have a closer look?’
‘Sure, but first I want to show you something.’
Etta followed Gabe towards a small glade at the edge of the building and halted at the scene before her.
The spruce trees were alight with the twinkle of lights—a magical glitter that evoked memories of the first time she’d met Gabe at the Cavershams’ Castle Hotel. In the middle of the wooded area a picnic table held a crystal vase overflowing with a burst of colourful flowers. The snow had slowed now, but still fluttered in lazy flakes to create a tableau that took her breath away.
Emotions jostled inside her: hope, perplexity, and wariness all attempted supremacy.
‘Here.’
Gabe reached into the crook of the tree and produced a box, opened it and handed her a gold-wrapped package. Etta let out a soft sigh as his hand brushed hers and hurriedly attempted to disguise it with a cough.
‘Open it.’
Etta complied, her fingers shaking as she gently tore off the embossed paper and opened the dark blue cardboard box inside. She lifted out an exquisite snow globe.
‘Oh...’
Slowly she turned it in the dusky air and felt tears prickle her eyelids. Inside the globe were memories of Vienna—a miniature Ferris wheel, a Christmas tree, the palace, and a pair of ice-skaters. She shook it gently, watched the flakes swirl inside even as she tasted the cold tang of real snow on her tongue.
‘It’s beautiful. I’ll treasure it and the memories always.’
‘I wanted to say thank you.’
