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The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal
Nina Milne
Christmas kisses with the Earl…Gabriel Derwent, Earl of Wycliffe, needs an heir. With no wife or child of his own, he hires Etta Mason to research his family tree and find one!Single mum Etta isn’t used to things going her way. So she can’t believe her luck when her new boss whisks her away from her humdrum life to spend Christmas with him! She might be cynical about fairytale endings, but standing in Gabriel’s arms, with snowflakes softly falling, she can't help but be tempted by his achingly romantic kisses…
Christmas kisses with the earl...
Gabriel Derwent, Earl of Wycliffe, needs an heir. With no wife or child of his own, he hires Etta Mason to research his family tree and find one!
Single mom Etta isn’t used to things going her way. So she can’t believe her luck when her new boss whisks her away from her humdrum life to spend Christmas with him! She may be cynical about fairy-tale endings, but standing in Gabriel’s arms, snowflakes softly falling, dare she hope his achingly romantic kisses could mean so much more?
‘I’ve tried dating and...it doesn’t work out.’
‘And I’ve told you you’re dating the wrong men.’ Gabriel surveyed her. ‘I bet you’re going for nice, average men with nice respectable jobs and...’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Color climbed Etta’s cheekbones and she narrowed her eyes.
‘Physical attraction is important too.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘That you date someone you feel attracted to in a physical way—where there’s a spark.’
‘I don’t seem to meet guys like that. Maybe that gene is missing, too.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
The last berry slipped on to the ring and he stood up and held the mistletoe circle, then attached it to the waiting ring.
‘Look up.’
A hesitation, and then she did as he asked, her face tipped up toward him, her delicate angled features bathed in the flicker of light.
‘Kiss me and I’ll show you,’ he said. ‘The ball’s in your court. Literally.’
His throat was constricted, his breath held in his lungs, and then slowly she rose to her feet and stepped forward until she was flush against him. Hesitantly her hands came up and looped around his neck; her fingers touched his nape and desire shuddered through his body. She stood on tiptoe and touched her lips against his in sweet sensation.
The Earl’s Snow-Kissed Proposal
Nina Milne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
NINA MILNE has always dreamed of writing for Mills & Boon Cherish—ever since as a child she played libraries with her mother’s stacks of Mills & Boon romances. On her way to this dream Nina acquired an English degree, a hero of her own, three gorgeous children and—somehow!—an accountancy qualification. She lives in Brighton and has filled her house with stacks of books—her very own real library.
Family is a big part of this book so this is for my mum. Thank you for being a great mum, an amazing grandma, and for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself!
Contents
Cover (#u093a3591-3e3f-5b6f-b365-6d76d402307c)
Back Cover Text (#ued03638b-3966-5198-844d-e84199123a1c)
Introduction (#ufe00c550-1517-5a6f-9e87-fc1762391b44)
Title Page (#u24321276-b119-52b2-9677-cc9342d83129)
About the Author (#u3e9aeeed-7eac-5738-a084-a230cf4f4fb2)
Dedication (#u2b266523-0935-5551-acb3-16bfd0e60afb)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_df82d529-460f-5f41-a231-82102a9f08a4)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_bbd15536-f271-5102-9936-d40b4dc433b0)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_992a2759-fa3d-5905-89f1-275b38625cdb)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_bfba8c2d-9cb2-5a04-8fd7-985817afe919)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_17cc9e8c-a401-512f-9571-4b45eb158f03)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e122e8b8-a996-5d07-a78b-3467beeb48ed)
GABRIEL DERWENT STARED at his reflection in the opulently framed mirror of the lavish hotel room—just to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently put his shirt on inside out or his boxers on his head.
But, no...his reflection gazed suavely back at him, its crisp white shirt correctly on beneath a midnight black tux, spiky blond hair free of encumbrance. No indication of the inner turmoil that had been tossing and turning inside him for the best part of a year. Not that he was complaining—the very last thing he needed was for the truth to be emblazoned on him for the world to see. For anyone to see.
Instead his fellow guests at the Cavershams’ Advent Ball would see what they expected—the debonair, rugged, charming Gabriel Derwent, Earl of Wycliffe, heir to the Duke of Fairfax. No doubt there would be questions as to his prolonged absence from the social scene, but he’d deal with those as if he were without a care in the world. Ditto any queries about his split from Lady Isobel Petersen.
This was a fundraiser for a cause he believed in, but the whole idea of circulating, itty-bitty small talk and a face-off with the press made his jaw clench. Yet necessity dictated his actions... He needed the social backdrop to conceal the true reason for his presence—which was to start a quest, the idea of which banded his chest with bleakness.
Enough, Gabe. No way would he submit to despair. A childhood lesson well learnt.
The click of the hotel room door caused him to spin round and he forced his lips to upturn. ‘Hey, little sis.’ Seeing her expression, he stepped forward. ‘Is everything OK?’
Cora Martinez entered, her emerald-green dress shimmering as she moved. ‘You tell me. I knocked twice and you didn’t respond. I was worried. In fact I’m still worried.’
‘No need to worry. You look stunning, by the way.’
A wave of her hand swept the compliment away. ‘Don’t distract me. I am worried. I’ve seen you once in nearly a year, I have no idea where you’ve been, and then you ring me up out of the blue to ask me to introduce you to the Cavershams. Next thing I know you get a last-minute invitation to this ball. I don’t get it.’
‘I know.’
Her turquoise eyes narrowed. ‘That’s it?’
Digging deep, Gabe pulled out his best smile. ‘There is nothing you need to know except that I’m back.’
No way could he confide in Cora. What would he say? Hey, little sis. Nine months ago I found out that I can’t have children. Life as he had known it had changed irrevocably—the future he’d had mapped out for years was toast. Thanks to the archaic legal complexities that surrounded the Dukedom of Fairfax, the title that had passed from father to son for centuries might now die out. Unless he could find a male heir who descended directly, father to son, back to an earlier Duke of Fairfax. Bleakness returned in a vengeful wave even as he forced his body to remain relaxed.
‘Earth to Gabe...’ Cora placed her hands on her hips, one bejewelled foot tapping the plush carpet. ‘I’m still worried. I may be six years younger than you, and we might never have been close, but you’re my brother.’
Never have been close.
The words were no more than the truth. They weren’t close—Cora and her twin sister, Kaitlin, had been only two when he’d been sent to boarding school and after that he’d figured there was little point in forming close bonds with anyone, because closeness led to the agonising ache of missing people and home. Closeness made you weak and weakness rendered you powerless.
Her forehead crinkled. ‘Is it something to do with Dad? Was his attack worse than I thought? Or are you upset about Isobel? Love can be really complicated, but...’
‘Stop.’
Love was something he’d never aspired to—as far as he was concerned love was the definitive form of closeness and a fast track to complete loss of power. As for Lady Isobel...their relationship had been a pact. Gabe had always known his playboy lifestyle would have to end in the name of duty, and Lady Isobel would have been a dutiful wife. In return she would have had the desired title of Duchess and been the mother of the future Duke of Fairfax.
When he’d found out there was a possibility he couldn’t fulfil his part in that, he had asked to postpone their engagement for a few months. True, he hadn’t told her why, but she’d agreed...and then sold him down the river. She’d appeared on numerous talk shows on which she’d denounced him as a heartbreaker and a cad. But this was conversational territory he had no intent of entering.
‘Isobel is history. As for Dad—I spoke with the doctors and his prognosis is good. The heart attack was serious, but the stent should prevent further attacks and Mum has taken him away to convalesce. I’ll hold the fort in their absence.’ Tipping his palms up in the air, he aimed for an expression of exasperated affection. ‘So all is fine. There is no need to worry.’
Patent disbelief etched Cora’s delicate features. Clearly his aim was off.
‘Sure, Gabe. Whatever you say,’ his little sister said as she turned for the door.
Five minutes, one grand oak staircase, several wooden panelled walls and more than a few intricately beautiful medieval tapestries later Gabe followed Cora into the impressive reception hall of the Cavershams’ Castle Hotel. Beautifully dressed people filled the cavernous room and the hum of conversation was interlaced with the discreet pop of champagne corks and the clink of glasses.
Next to him, Cora’s face lit up with a smile that illuminated her entire being—a clear indicator that Rafael Martinez must be in the vicinity. Sure enough, within seconds her tall, dark-haired husband made his way through the throng to her side.
‘Gabriel.’ Rafael gave a curt nod.
‘Rafael. Good to see you.’
His brother-in-law raised one dark eyebrow in patent disbelief and Gabe couldn’t blame him. Although he had no problem with his sister’s marriage, he hadn’t exactly been around to offer his good wishes. On the other hand Rafael Martinez was undoubtedly more than capable of looking out for himself and his wife without assistance from anyone.
Gabe scanned the room, which glittered with festive cheer. Rich green holly wreaths adorned the stone walls and discreet choral music touched the air, heralding the first Sunday of Advent, the next day, and the arrival of Christmas in just a few weeks—the deadline he’d set himself to map out his options and discover if there was an heir to the dukedom besides him.
Not for the first time he cursed the legal convolutions that demanded his heir had to be derived from a direct male line only. If there was no descendant who matched the rules the title would die out; the idea coated his tongue with the bitter taste of the unpalatable.
Focus, Gabe.
Alongside the Christmas-tinged atmosphere he became aware of the attention and buzz directed at him, on his first public appearance for nearly a year. It came as almost a relief as his body and mind spun automatically into action. Time to walk the walk and talk the talk. It was crucial to ensure that the press didn’t work out why he was really here this evening, and that meant he must speak to all and sundry so that no one would identify his real quarry.
A smile on his lips, he headed towards his host and hostess—they should be able to point him in the right direction.
* * *
Etta Mason stepped behind an enormous potted plant and hauled in breath so hard her lungs protested as she checked her mobile phone for the gazillionth time.
This had been a mistake of supersonic proportions. Breathe, Etta. It would be OK. Cathy was safe. Images of her beautiful, precious sixteen-year-old daughter streamed through her mind. From babyhood to teenagedom she’d loved and looked after Cathy—sure, it had been hard sometimes, but not once had she regretted the choice her sixteen-year-old self had made. Whatever it had cost her.
Safe. Cathy is safe.
She was at a sleepover with her best friend, and most crucially of all there was no way that Tommy could find her. Etta dug her nails into the palm of her hand. Cathy had managed without her father thus far and that was how it would stay.
Determination hardened inside her. She had the situation under control. So now she needed to get on with her job. This was an important event and she had promised Ruby Caversham that she would do a pre-dinner talk. Therefore skulking behind potted plants was really not on the agenda. Instead she would step out in her pink-and-white candy cane dress and... And walk crash-bang into a very broad chest.
‘I am so sorry. Put it down to a combination of high heels and innate clumsiness... Thank goodness I didn’t impale y—’
The words died on her lips as she took in the appearance of the man she had nearly spiked with her candyfloss-pink heels. Short dark blond hair, blue-grey eyes that caught the light from the wall-mounted candles and cast a strange spell on her, a firm mouth that her gaze wanted to snag upon—especially when a smile tipped it up at the corners...
Etta blinked. Holy moly! There could be no gainsaying that this man had charisma. Whoa... Her brain cells finally caught up and she stopped gawping as recognition sent out a flare. The man in front of her was none other than Gabriel Derwent, Earl of Wycliffe, heir to the Duke of Fairfax.
Great! The first time she’d been poleaxed by a man since...since never, and it turned out to be a man she despised. True, she didn’t actually know him—but what kind of historian wouldn’t follow the exploits of a leading member of the aristocracy? A man whose ancestors had been instrumental in the most gripping moments of English history.
In fairness, she had no issue with the playboy lifestyle he’d enjoyed for years—it was his more recent actions that had left her enraged. Nine months ago Gabriel Derwent had renounced his playboy way of life, wooed Lady Isobel Petersen, wined her and dined her and taken her to visit his parents—all of it recorded in celebrity magazines worldwide. He had even been papped in a jewellery store, scanning the engagement rings, and then...kabam! On the verge of a proposal Gabriel Derwent had unceremoniously dumped Lady Isobel and fled the country.
There had been a short but excited media outburst before the efficient Derwent publicity machine had rolled in, and Etta had taken the plight of Lady Isobel to heart. Etta knew how it felt to be deceived, to become enmeshed in a situation only to have it exposed as an illusion, and she could almost taste Lady Isobel’s bitter hurt. A hurt inflicted by this man.
Her eyes narrowed as she returned his gaze.
His blue-grey eyes studied her face as he held out a hand, and something sparked in their depths. ‘I’m Gabriel Derwent.’
For an instant her gaze snagged on his hand. Capable, strong, thick-fingered...and suspended in mid-air. Get with it, Etta. The last thing she wanted was for Gabriel Derwent to believe her to be flustered by his presence.
Clasping his hand in a brief handshake, she mustered a cool smile. ‘Etta Mason.’ She ignored the surely imaginary lingering sensation from his touch.
‘Etta Mason...eminent historian.’
