Yardford House, Outside of London, 1859

Spencer Campbell straightened to the full height of his ten-year-old frame, confident with the knowledge that right was on his side. It was the only thing he had on his side in his young life, and he gripped it tightly.

“You may not take the rabbit inside,” he stated clearly and loudly so she couldn’t claim she hadn’t understood him at a later date.

The young girl whom he addressed shoved a wayward strand of blonde hair from her eyes with a filthy hand to better glare at him. “I’m taking him in.”

“No, you are not.” He scowled, realizing this verbal sparring could go on for days. Dalia Fairchild might be smaller and younger, but when she set her mind on something, very little stopped her. “I am older, and this is my house. You must do as I say.”

“You are older by only three years, and this is your family’s house, not yours.” She stuck out her tongue at him. Dalia’s family often visited their country estate during the summer as Mrs. Fairchild and his mother were, unfortunately, dear friends.

Spencer found Dalia’s visits vexing since he was expected to keep her out of trouble. It was an impossible task. Dalia was nothing like her sisters, who preferred to remain in the nursery doing things girls were supposed to do, like drawing and practicing their letters.

But not Dalia.

Lucky for him, the rabbit in question struggled from her grasp and bounded away, ending the argument.

“No!” Dalia cried. She turned to him and placed her fisted hands on her hips. “Spencer Campbell, you ruin everything.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.” He turned away from the anger in her big, blue, accusing eyes to hide how much her words stung. He’d been told that more times than he could count by his older brother, who was five years his senior.

The worst part was when Edward said as much in front of their father. The old man would smile, the glint in his eye suggesting he couldn’t agree more. Spencer was the spare heir and as different from them as oil and water. He was an outsider in his own family.

Edward was the image of their father, both in appearance and personality. Charmingly reckless.

He drove Spencer mad.

Nearly as mad as Dalia did.

“Dalia? Where have you gotten to?” Letitia, Dalia’s eldest sister, called from the gardens.

Spencer sighed in relief. At least he wouldn’t need to attempt to convince her to clean the once white dress she wore that was now covered in dirt before returning inside. That task would be her sister’s.

Not bothering to respond to Letitia’s call, Dalia glared at Spencer. “One day, you’ll be sorry you are always so mean to me.”

“And you’ll be sorry you were so contrary. At least one can hope.” He turned away without a backward glance.

Yardford House, 1865

Dalia Fairchild glared at the bane of her existence—Spencer Campbell. Never mind that he had grown quite tall in the past year. Or that his shoulders had become so broad. Or that something about his now deep voice made her shift uncomfortably.

“Spencer Campbell, you ruin everything.”

“Yes, yes. You’ve said that before.” He waved his hand in dismissal, which only irritated her more.

“Then why do you continue to do so?” She’d been so close to riding the beautiful black stallion his father, the Earl of Yardford, had purchased a few weeks ago. The horse was magnificent. Dalia had been attempting to mount the steed when Spencer had stopped her.

This wasn’t the first time—and she feared it wouldn’t be the last—that she’d cursed him for being such a killjoy.

“How can you not want to ride him?” Dalia asked as she stroked the white blaze that ran down the middle of the stallion’s head. “He’s glorious. Can you imagine his speed? The wind in your hair? The power of his body beneath yours?”

Dalia turned to look at Spencer, dismissing the glittering look in his eyes as anger. At her. Because that was how he always looked. She’d thought now that she was thirteen and nearly a woman of the world, things between them would be different. She was beginning to believe it would never change.

“I can also imagine my father’s wrath when he learns of it.” He shook his head. “Not worth the consequences.”

“Pfft.” She shook her head. “What’s the worst he would do?”

That couldn’t be a shudder that passed through Spencer’s tall frame, could it?

“Let us just say it wouldn’t be pleasant.”

His relationship with his father and brother was much different from hers with her family. Though hers was far less than perfect, she didn’t think she’d care to exchange it for his.

“As you grow more mature,” he said, his condescending tone causing her to roll her eyes, “you’ll learn the advantages of conforming to rules. After all, they’re given to us for a reason.”

“You mean forced upon us.” She turned to face him in full. “I hope one day, you’ll realize there is more to life than rules.” With that, she turned on her heel and left him behind, wishing he hadn’t grown so handsome.