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.
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 the phone to her ear. ‘There’s been a problem. Tommy turned up here. I’m on my way back now. I’ll let you know what train I’m on.’
She glanced towards Gabe as if she was surprised he was still there and then she returned her attention to her phone.
‘Taxi numbers...’ she muttered under her breath.
‘Where are you going?’
‘London.’
Before he could even consider the import of his words his lips opened. ‘I’ll drive you there.’
Genuine shock made her jaw drop. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I can get you to London way faster than the train, and I don’t trust Tommy not to be waiting out there to follow you.’
The idea made her wince, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms again, her brown eyes staring at a scenario that she clearly didn’t like the look of. ‘I’m not sure I should say yes, or why you even care, but I’d be a fool to refuse. Thank you.’
‘Let’s go. I’ll find Ruby and explain you’ve had a family emergency.’
* * *
Ten minutes later Etta eyed Gabriel Derwent’s deep red Ferrari and wondered anew if she shouldn’t have caught a train, tried to hire a car—worked out some way to deal with this crisis herself. But the primitive need to be with Cathy overrode all else.
Logic told her that Cathy was safe with her friend Stephanie and her daughter Martha—according to Steph, Cathy and Martha were safely ensconced in Martha’s bedroom, watching a rom-com. Common sense reinforced the idea—there was no way that Tommy could track Cathy down there. And yet he’d found Etta.
Chill, Etta. That was hardly a huge feat of deduction. Her website had detailed her speech at the Cavershams’ Advent Ball. As for her mobile number—anyone could get that from her work answer-machine. But she couldn’t ‘chill’—not when she remembered how she had cringed before Tommy and his delight in her reaction. Dammit, he’d revelled in her fear—a fear that filled her with self-loathing even as a tidal wave of memories threatened to break lockdown. No. The past was over. She had to focus on the present and her daughter.
So Etta wanted to be with Cathy as soon as possible and Gabriel’s car offered the ideal solution. The problem was Gabriel himself came with the deal.
‘All set?’ The deep timbre of his voice held concern alongside a hint of amusement. ‘You’re looking at the car as if it’s akin to a lion’s den.’
Heat warmed her cheeks. ‘I’m just wondering whether it’s fair to put you to so much trouble.’
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