‘Are you all right?’ she asked. His dog went to sniff at her feet, and his tail wagged in approval.
Dalton didn’t even know how to answer that. No, he wasn’t all right. But she could do nothing to help, so there was little point in answering. He swiped at his eyes, not wanting her to see him like this. All he could do was nod.
‘I am Regina Crewe,’ she said quietly. ‘My father is the Earl of Havershire. We were visiting friends at Locharr when we heard about your brother’s death. My father thought we should stop and offer our sympathies.’
Dalton nodded. Vaguely he recalled seeing Tavin MacKinloch, the Laird of Locharr, among the guests, along with his wife. ‘Was Lachlan gone, then?’ he asked. If Lachlan had been in Scotland, he would have attended the funeral. They had been schoolmates and friends for years.
‘He was, yes. But the laird thought we should come.’
He nodded again, not really knowing what to say. The heaviness of grief had stolen away his ability to hold a conversation.
‘I don’t think you and I have met before,’ Lady Regina continued. ‘I would have remembered.’ A faint blush stained her cheeks, and then she added, ‘You still haven’t told me your name. Though I think I know who you are.’
‘I am Dalton St George,’ he told her.
‘Then I was right,’ she answered. ‘I guessed who you were, after I saw you leave.’ Her face turned soft with sympathy. ‘I know I should have stayed for the burial, but... I didn’t think you should be off alone.’ Her words trailed off. ‘I am sorry you lost your brother.’
He gave a third nod, feeling like he was made of stone.
‘I’m not supposed to be here without a chaperon,’ she said, but there was a tinge of irony in her tone. ‘My mother would be furious. You won’t tell, will you?’
‘No. I won’t tell.’ It was strange to be so tongue-tied around this beautiful creature. He’d flirted and laughed with many of the village girls before he’d stolen kisses or enjoyed their charms. But the earl’s daughter reminded him of a princess, so far out of his reach. Around her throat she wore an amethyst necklace on a silver chain. She couldn’t be older than sixteen.
Lady Regina walked towards the edge of the loch, where several large limestone boulders lined the shore. His dog scampered at her side, and she laughed, leaning down to ruffle his ears. Laddie rolled to his back for her to rub his belly, and she glanced back at him. ‘I’ve always loved dogs. They seem to know people better than anyone.’
He watched as she picked up a stone and hurled it as far as she could. It sank beneath the water with a loud splash.
‘Why did you follow me?’ he asked.
‘Because I saw your grief, and it bothered me. So I came.’
Her words seem to reach deep within him, and he stared at her in disbelief. This girl had noticed his sorrow and wanted to console him. He hardly knew what to say or do. But her presence was an unexpected balm.
Before he could say another word, she added, ‘Show me how far you can throw a rock.’
‘Why?’ he asked, feeling stupid at the question.
‘Because it’s a good distraction. We’ll stay a little while, and we won’t go back until it’s over.’
Until his brother was buried, she meant. Numbly, he nodded and picked up a stone. He threw it as far as he could, and it landed deep in the loch. Then he found another and threw it hard. This time, it didn’t travel as far, but the splash was stronger.
‘It’s all right to be angry,’ she told him.
And with that, cold rage came rushing out. He was angry. Angry that someone as good as his brother should die so young. It wasn’t right or fair.
Dalton let the next rock fall from his hands, and suddenly, she reached for his hand. Though she wore gloves, he could feel the warmth of her palm in his.
He gripped her hand, as if she were a lifeline. This girl’s quiet strength was what he needed right now. And as he stood beside her, he felt that, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone.
Chapter One
Seven years later
Dalton St George, Viscount Camford, was in love with his best friend’s fiancée.
Oh, there was no doubting that it was wrong. He knew that. But trying to shut off his feelings for Lady Regina was like trying to stop breathing. She was the reason he’d stayed in London, instead of retreating to his grandfather’s country estate in Scotland.
Some called her the Lady of Ice because she refused to speak with most men. Others called her a wallflower, for she rarely danced or conversed in public. They mistook her painful shyness for a haughty demeanour. But Dalton knew her better. There were secrets behind those deep blue eyes, as if she had suffered humiliation and wanted to remain in the shadows. Something had happened to her since the day they had met, years ago, but he could not say what it was.
Right now, she was standing at the back of the ballroom, watching over the crowd of people. Her straight red hair was pulled into a tight arrangement at the base of her nape, and she wore a light grey gown the colour of a pearl. Around her throat hung a sapphire necklace with another teardrop pearl suspended. She fluttered her lace fan, but her attention had drifted elsewhere as if she were dreaming.
Look, but don’t touch, his brain warned. You’re not the right man for her.
He knew she was meant to marry Lachlan MacKinloch. Their meddling fathers had planned an informal betrothal a
