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PROLOGUE
‘OH, NO!’
Daisy Huntingdon-Cross skidded to a halt on the icy surface and regarded her car with dismay.
No, dismay was for a dropped coffee or spilling red wine on a white T-shirt. Her chest began to thump as panic escalated. This, Daisy thought as she stared at the wall of snow surrounding her suddenly flimsy-seeming tyres, this was a catastrophe.
The snow, which had fallen all afternoon and evening, might have made a picturesque background for the wedding photos she had spent the past twelve hours taking, but it had begun to drift—and right now it was packed in tightly around her tyres. Her lovely, bright, quirky little city car, perfect for zooming around London in, was, she was rapidly realising, horribly vulnerable in heavy snow and icy conditions.
Daisy carefully shifted her heavy bag to her other shoulder and looked around. It was the only car in the car park.
In fact, she was the only person in the car park. No, scratch that, she was possibly the only person in the whole castle. A shiver ran down her spine, not entirely as a result of the increasing cold and the snow seeping through her very inadequate brogues. Hawksley Castle was a wonderfully romantic venue in daylight and when it was lit up at night. But when you were standing underneath the parapets, the great tower a craggy, shadowy silhouette looming above you and the only light a tepid glow from the lamp at the edge of the car park it wasn’t so much romantic, more the setting for every horror film she had ever seen.
‘Just don’t go running into the woods.’ She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The whole situation was bad enough without introducing the supernatural into it.
Besides it was Valentine’s Day. Surely the only ghosts abroad today had to be those of lovers past?
Daisy shivered again as her feet made the painful transition from wet and cold to freezing. She stamped them with as much vigour as she could muster as she thought furiously.
Why had she stayed behind to photograph the departing guests, all happily packed into mini-buses at the castle gates and whisked off to the local village where hot toddies and roaring fires awaited them? She could have left three hours ago, after the first dance and long before the snow had changed from soft flakes to a whirling mass of icy white.
But, no, she always had to take it that step further, offer that bit more than her competitors—including the blog, complete with several photographs, that she’d promised would be ready to view by midnight.
Midnight wasn’t that far away...
‘Okay.’ Her voice sounded very small in the empty darkness but talking aloud gave her a sense of normality. ‘One, I can go into the village. It’s only a couple of miles.’ Surely the walking would warm up her feet? ‘Two, I can try and scoop the worst of the snow off...’ She cast a doubtful glance at the rest of the car park. The ever heavier snowfall had obliterated her footprints; it was like standing on a thick, very cold white carpet. An ankle-deep carpet. ‘Three...’ She was out of options. Walk or scoop, that was it.
‘Three—I get you some snow chains.’
Daisy didn’t quite manage to stifle a small screech as deep masculine tones broke in on her soliloquy. She turned, almost losing her footing in her haste, and skidded straight into a fleece-clad chest.
It was firm, warm, broad. Not a ghost. Probably not a werewolf. Or a vampire. Supernatural creatures didn’t wear fleece as far as she knew.
‘Where did you come from? You frightened the life out of me.’ Daisy stepped back, scowling at her would-be rescuer. At least she hoped he was a rescuer.
‘I was just locking up. I thought all the wedding guests were long gone.’ His gaze swept over her. ‘You’re hardly dressed for this weather.’
‘I was dressed for a wedding.’ She tugged the hem of her silk dress down. ‘I’m not a guest though, I’m the photographer.’
‘Right.’ His mouth quirked into a half smile. The gesture changed his rather severe face into something much warmer. Something much more attractive. He was tall—taller than Daisy who, at nearly six feet, was used to topping most men of her acquaintance—with scruffy dark hair falling over his face.
‘Photographer or guest you probably don’t want to be hanging around here all night so I’ll get some chains and we’ll try and get this tin can of yours on the road. You really should put on some winter tyres.’
‘It’s not a tin can and there’s very little call for winter tyres in London.’
‘You’re not in London,’ he pointed out silkily.
Daisy bit her lip. He had a point and she wasn’t really in any position to argue. ‘Thank you.’
