The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal. Nina Milne
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of terror through Etta’s veins. No one knew better than she the spell Tommy could exert when he wanted to—she could imagine his spin, the story of his reformation, his interpretation of his past character as misunderstood rebel without a cause.
She gusted out a sigh as she looked at Steph. ‘I know she doesn’t want to go.’ But the cruise had to happen, because Etta would not—could not—sit back and watch her daughter repeat her own mistakes. ‘But we’re going anyway.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Thanks a million for last night, hun. There’s no need for you to stay. I know you need to get Martha to her singing lesson.’
‘Stay here as long as you like.’
Twenty minutes later the click of the front door indicated their departure and Etta approached the bedroom where Cathy was staying.
Her daughter sat cross-legged on the bed, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail set high on her head. ‘Mum—please, please, please don’t make me go on this cruise. If Dad wants to see me badly enough to follow you to Cornwall then surely it’s worth a try.’
Etta sensed her daughter’s frustration and it tore her apart. ‘Sweetheart, your father is not a safe person to be around.’
‘Maybe he’s changed.’
Before Etta could answer, the doorbell pealed and fear jumped up her throat. Keep calm. No way could it be Tommy.
Cathy leapt off the bed, clearly desperate for the very thing that held Etta petrified to the spot.
‘Cathy—wait!’
Ungluing her feet from the carpet, Etta raced down the stairs after her daughter, reaching the bottom just as Cathy got to the door and peered through the spyhole.
‘It’s not Dad. It’s some blond bloke.’
Disappointment drooped Cathy’s shoulders and Etta moved forward and pulled her into a quick hug, her heart aching even as relief surged through her.
Cathy stepped back. ‘We’d better open the door. Whoever it is he looks familiar. Good-looking for his age.’
Etta peeped through the spyhole and blinked. Blinked again in case of hallucination. But Gabriel Derwent remained in her line of vision. Casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved sweatshirt, he still exuded an energy that sent her pulse-rate up a notch. Be that as it may, she couldn’t leave him standing on Steph’s doorstep.
She pulled the door open and bit back a protest as he stepped forward and closed the door behind him.
‘What...?’
‘Apologies for the unannounced visit. There’s been a development.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Etta said, as foreboding prickled her skin. Surely things couldn’t get any worse. Could they? ‘What sort of a development?’
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