A present day Mr Darcy in Disguise?

Gemma Astley has succeeded where so many others have failed. She has somehow managed to tame tearaway rock star Dominic Heath and stop his womanising ways for good. But just as they find happiness, Dominic’s secret aristocratic past becomes public knowledge, and everything changes…not necessarily for the better.

Dominic is actually Rupert Locksley, heir of Mansfield Hall, a crumbling stately home that needs major financial investment to save it from ruin. Dominic’s mother pleads for his help, but his father, the earl, is on the verge of disinheriting him. Meanwhile, Dominic’s new status as Mansfield’s long-lost heir attracts the attention of cut-throat golddiger, socialite Bibi Matchington-Alcester, who means to make him hers at any cost.

Gemma and Dominic will need to test the strength of their foundations – as well as those of Mansfield Hall – if either are to remain standing.

Book 3 in Katie Oliver’s Dating Mr Darcy series

Also available by Katie Oliver

Prada and Prejudice

Love and Liability

Mansfield Lark

Katie Oliver

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014

Copyright © Katie Oliver 2014

Katie Oliver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2014 ISBN: 9781472084026

Version date: 2018-07-23

KATIE OLIVER

loves romantic comedies, characters who ‘meet cute’, Richard Curtis films and Prosecco (not necessarily in that order). She currently resides in northern Virginia with her husband and three parakeets, in a rambling old house with uneven floors and a dining room that leaks when it rains.

Katie has been writing since she was eight, and has a box crammed with (mostly unfinished) novels to prove it. With her sons grown and gone, she decided to get serious and write more (and hopefully, better) stories. She even finishes most of them.

So if you like a bit of comedy with your romance, please visit Katie’s website, www.katieoliver.com, and have a look.

Here’s to love and all its complications…

A big thank you to all of the bloggers, reviewers, Twitter followers, Facebook page fans, friends, and fellow UK HQ Digital authors for your ongoing support. Special thanks to Rebecca Raisin for her unstinting encouragement and help.

And, as always, huge thanks to my agent, Nikki Terpilowski, and my husband, Mark.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Epilogue

Extract

Endpages

About the Publisher

Prologue

‘Great show, Dominic!’

‘You kicked arse, mate!’

‘Is it true you and the Destroyers are breaking up?’

‘Give us an autograph, Dominic? It’s not for me – it’s for my daughter.’

Dominic Heath paused long enough to scrawl a few undecipherable signatures on some out-thrust concert programs and ticket stubs. Acknowledging their thanks with a tired nod, he grabbed the towel his manager handed him and worked his way through the crowd of magazine writers, newspaper stringers, photographers, groupies and assorted backstage hangers-on, mopping at the sweat on his face as he made his way to the dressing room. He stopped a couple of times to shake a hand or field a few quick questions.

When at last they reached the dressing room and Max shut the door behind them, Dominic flung himself into a chair.

‘I’m fucking exhausted,’ he grumbled as the older man tossed him a bottle of Evian. He drank it in one go and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’m not nineteen any more, Max. I can’t keep on leaping around and smashing up guitars forever. You’ve booked us into so many venues on this tour, I’ve barely had time to scratch my balls. And some of the venues are pretty crappy, too.’

Unperturbed, Max tapped out a number on his mobile phone. ‘Are you done complaining? Playing all these venues is what keeps you in Bentleys and blow, mind.’

‘Oh, please. I gave up the nose candy a long time ago.’ Dominic leaned forward and regarded himself critically in the dressing room mirror. ‘I like my nose. I won’t end up looking like that Lord Voldemort bloke.’

It wasn’t a bad face, he decided as he studied his reflection. Nose was a bit long, but straight; dark eyes and hair; recently whitened teeth, and a strong (one might even say, a chiselled) jawline.

‘Speaking of venues,’ Max began, ‘that’s something we need to talk about, you and I—’

‘Where’re the boys?’ Dominic asked suddenly. He hadn’t seen his band mates since they took their final encore.

‘Didn’t they tell you? They went to the after party at Annabel’s with Pammy and Lara and a couple of chaps from NME.’

‘No, they didn’t tell me.’ Dominic scowled and pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and threw it in the corner, followed in rapid succession by his skin-tight trousers. ‘Typical – they skive off and leave me to deal with the journos, paps and contest winners. Fucking bastards.’

‘Gemma said she’ll see you there.’

Dominic headed, naked, to the shower. The last place he wanted to go tonight was a heaving, thumping, celebrity-and-aristo-infested nightclub, but it looked once again as though he had no choice. Gem liked that sort of thing. And it wasn’t often she got a chance to rub elbows with celebs.

Nevertheless, the novelty of rubbing shoulders (or any other body parts) with A- and B-list celebrities had long since lost its allure for Dominic. Celebrities, he knew all too well, were just as fucked up and dysfunctional as anyone else.

They just did a better job of hiding it. And why not? he thought darkly as he lathered himself up under the pounding spray of the shower head. They had plenty of help, what with handlers, trainers, personal chefs, nannies, accountants, makeup artists, stylists, and publicists…

… not to mention an entire team of minders, assistants, and professional arse-lickers always ready to cover up, manage, or explain away whatever fix their famous employer had got into.

He ought to know. He had his own team – except for a nanny, because there was no need for that yet, thank God – and they’d managed his every waking moment for the last ten years.

As he emerged from the shower, Dominic heard a commotion just outside the dressing-room door. ‘But I’m desperate to see him!’ a young woman demanded. ‘He’ll want to see me. I’ll make Dominic very, very happy—’

‘I’m sure you would,’ Max told her, ‘if he was the least bit interested…which he’s not. Now run along before I have one of those nasty bouncers throw you out on your pretty little arse.’

He slammed the door and turned to face Dominic. ‘Get dressed. You’ve three more interviews to do before you leave. But before I let them in–’ he paused ‘–you have a visitor.’

As he stepped into a pair of jeans and zipped up the fly, Dominic let out an exasperated breath. ‘Unless it’s Gem, or Kate Middleton, or the bloody queen herself, I’m not seeing anyone tonight. And that’s final.’

‘She said you’d say that. And she said I was to tell you “bollocks”. Now, if you’re decent, I’ll let her in.’

‘Damn it, Max, I told you, no visitors tonight—’

But his manager was already opening the door and ushering someone inside. Dominic looked up with a glare, ready to blast whatever journo or B-list celebrity had blagged their way into his precious inner sanctum; but upon seeing the slim, dark-haired woman in the Chanel suit and kitten heels standing there, the words dried up in his throat.

‘Hello, darling,’ she said, and arched an eyebrow. ‘Haven’t you anything to say to me?’

Dominic blinked, unsure if he could trust his own eyes. ‘Mum!’ He reached out to take his mother in his arms, crushing her against him in a fierce hug. She smelled exactly as he remembered, like L’Heure Bleue and the almondy-sweet scent of marzipan. ‘I can’t believe you’re really here. God, it’s been too long.’

‘Two years, to be exact,’ she informed him tartly as she drew back. ‘Don’t you remember? You invited me to spend Christmas at that draughty Scottish estate of yours. Charles was down with the flu. We had dinner at that enormous table with your band and a couple of groupies. It was the strangest dinner, your father would’ve certainly disapproved, but I adored every minute.’ She raised a brow. ‘Do you ever go up there?’

‘No. Too busy. I let it out for grouse-hunting and weddings.’

‘Let me look at you.’ Her gaze swept from his bare feet to the top of his trendily cut hair. ‘You’re looking quite handsome,’ she allowed, ‘but you’re too thin. Not doing the drugs, are you?’

‘No,’ he grumbled. ‘I don’t do drugs, only coffee, and a smoke now and then. Cigarettes,’ he added pointedly. ‘Come and sit down.’ He led her to a rump-sprung sofa in the corner and cleared a space for her to sit. ‘What brings you here? Is everything all right?’ His face clouded. ‘You’re not ill, or anything, are you?’

She waved a manicured hand in dismissal. ‘No, darling, nothing like that,’ she said as she sat down.

‘What, then?’

She fiddled with the clasp of the clutch on her lap. ‘It’s Mansfield Hall. It’s literally falling down around our ears,’ she added, her expression troubled, ‘and your father refuses to swallow his pride and ask for your help.’

Dominic stared at her, perplexed. ‘My help? But what can I do? You know he and I don’t get along. We haven’t spoken in eleven years.’

‘Yes, and that’s eleven years too long, in my opinion.’ Her words were firm. ‘It’s time you and your father ended this ridiculous quarrel.’

‘Mum,’ Dominic said carefully as he settled himself next to her, ‘this thing between me and him is a bit more than a quarrel. A quarrel’s an argument over who left muddy footprints on the carpet, or who ate the last piece of cake. Our…disagreement runs much deeper than that.’

‘What happened? I never understood why you left so suddenly, without even telling me goodbye.’

He stared down at his hands, clasped loosely between his legs, and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Dominic stood up. ‘How about some Cristal, or something to eat? I’ll have Max fetch you a plate of whatever you fancy.’

‘No, thank you. What I’d like,’ she pressed on, ‘is for you to come back to Mansfield. Perhaps if you reached out to Charles—’

‘No. I’m not going back there,’ he said, his voice low but determined. ‘I love you, Mum, you know that; I’ve kept in touch with you all these years, and I always will. I’d do anything for you. Anything,’ he added firmly, ‘but go back home to him. I swore I’d never set foot in Mansfield Hall again, and I won’t change my mind. And there’s an end to it.’

Chapter 1

Holly James finished marking up the feature for the April issue of BritTEEN and tossed her pen aside. The new editorial assistant wrote with real flair, but she had a lot to learn about dangling participles.

Holly leaned back in her chair and glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine p.m.; she’d worked yet another twelve-hour day. So much for my plans to meet Alex tonight, she reflected grumpily. She’d never make it to the Groucho club in time.

But as she picked up the phone to call Alex and tell him she couldn’t make it, she was secretly relieved. Because the truth was, she didn’t much like Alex Barrington’s friends.

Oh, they were polite, and polished, and they were all that was agreeable, as Jane Austen might have said, but what had Holly in common with a bunch of barristers and solicitors and back-benchers in Parliament?

Absolutely nothing, that much was painfully clear.

With their endless discussions of legal precedents and Inner Temple gossip, Holly always felt hopelessly out of her depth. And Camilla Shawcross, former barrister and MP for Putney, and thus one of Alex’s associates on the bench, had a real talent for making Holly feel like an empty-headed idiot.

With her stylish blonde hair, jewel-toned suits, and a double first from Cambridge, Camilla was everything Holly wasn’t.

Holly had no doubt that Ms Shawcross was sitting next to Alex at the club this very moment, one slim arm resting on the table alongside his as she talked earnestly of constituents and the home secretary and the goals of the latest Standing Committee.

She shuddered at the thought. What she really wanted was a long, hot bath, some Milk Tray, and a mindless reality program to watch.

But as she stood up to leave, Holly hesitated. It was Friday, quiz night at the pub where she and Kate and Natalie had gone a few times. They’d always had a laugh.

On impulse, she picked up her mobile and dialled Nat. ‘Nat? It’s Holly. What’re you doing?’

‘I’m looking at bridal magazines. Poor Rhys nearly threw his back out bringing a stack of them home.’

‘Have you chosen a dress yet?’

‘Yes! Wait till you see it, it’s gorgeous.’

Weddings, Holly thought with a pang. ‘That’s great,’ she said brightly, ‘really, really great!’

‘Are you okay, Hols?’ Natalie asked. ‘You sound a bit off.’

‘Fine,’ Holly assured her. ‘I’m leaving work, and thought we might go to the pub for quiz night. Have a laugh.’

‘I’d love that! But Rhys just started making dinner.’ She paused and added, ‘Why don’t you come here? We can have a nice long chin-wag, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.’

‘Thanks, Nat, but I don’t want to intrude. I’m tired, anyway; I’ll probably just go home and go to bed.’

‘Ooh, with that gorgeous new man of yours? That’s a much better prospect than spag bol and a bottle of Valpolicella.’

Holly sighed. ‘No, I’m on my own tonight. Alex is with his friends at the Groucho. Again.’

‘And you don’t want to listen to all that boring legal talk,’ Natalie observed. ‘I completely understand! Well, go home and get some sleep. At least tomorrow’s Saturday; you can sleep in.’

‘I can, but Alex can’t. He’s scheduled a surgery first thing in the morning with his constituents.’

When she first heard Alex say he’d scheduled a ‘surgery’, Holly thought he was having his appendix out. Amused, Camilla had set her straight. ‘A surgery is an advice meeting a MP holds once a month for his constituents, Holly,’ she’d chided. ‘You’re so amusing!’

‘Poor man,’ Nat clucked sympathetically. ‘He works very hard, doesn’t he? At least make him take you out to lunch afterwards.’

Holly promised she would, and rang off. As she slid the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and left the office, she decided that Natalie was probably right.

She and Alex just needed some time alone together. They’d both been so busy, what with her work at the magazine and Alex’s constituents, that they scarcely saw one another.

On a whim she retrieved her mobile and called Alex.

‘Hello, Alex Barrington here. Please leave a message.’

‘It’s me,’ Holly said. ‘Let’s do something tomorrow, after your clinic’s done, okay? Let’s spend the afternoon together. I’m on my way home. Call me when you get this, even if it’s late. I’ll wait up. Love you. Bye.’

But although she left her phone on from the time she left BritTEEN until she’d taken a bath and crawled into bed with a book, and although it remained on the bedside table when she finally laid her book aside and turned off the light just after midnight, Alex never returned her call.

‘Where’s Dominic, Gem? Isn’t he coming?’

Gemma Astley scowled into her Mojito. Bloody hell, but she was tired of waiting for Dominic Heath.

She was always waiting – waiting for him to show up, waiting for him to ask her to marry him…waiting for him to say he wanted to start a family together. A girl like her could wait only so long.

Her biological clock was ticking, after all. And it was getting louder by the day.

Not that she could hear it over the rumble of house music and the shouted conversations going on all around her, mind. Ordinarily, she’d be thrilled to hang out here at Annabel’s, rubbing elbows with Mick and Bryan and Pippa.

But Dominic had yet to show up, and her excitement had rapidly curdled into anger.

‘He said he’d be here.’ Gemma looked up as Mick, the blue-haired bass player for the Destroyers, sat down next to her. ‘But once again, he lied.’

‘He had a couple of interviews to do. He’ll be along soon,’ Mick reassured her, and drained his bottle of Stella. ‘Besides, who cares? Let’s have a laugh. Come on.’

Gemma took his hand and together they gyrated on the crowded dance floor until they were breathless and giddy with champagne and laughter. Mick bobbed and weaved on the floor like a blue-mohawked chicken, prancing and twirling like a dervish.

As they made their way back to the table, both of them gasping for breath and snorting with laughter, Gemma caught sight of Dominic, leaning back in his chair with a beer in his hand and a black look on his face.

‘So you finally decided to show, did you?’ she observed as she dropped back into her seat.

‘Don’t start, Gem. I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood.’ He looked over at her, and his face darkened. ‘At any rate, it looks like you’re having a good enough time without me.’

‘I am.’ She shrugged as Mick left and headed for the bar. ‘It was either go and dance, or sit here and wait for you.’

He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry, babes, but I had an interview with Kerrang! and NME, and it took longer than I expected.’ He laid his hand atop hers. ‘Let’s get out of here and go home, what do you say?’

Gemma wavered. He really did look tired, with shadows under his eyes and his hair sticking up like a coxcomb. She squeezed his hand. ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.’

Maybe they could get started on that baby after all.

‘Mum wants me to come back to Mansfield,’ Dominic told Gemma as he drove them to his townhouse in Primrose Hill.

‘Will you go?’

He pulled into the underground parking garage and shut off the engine. ‘I don’t know. She says the place is falling apart. The old man needs my help – but he won’t ask for it.’

‘He needs your money, you mean.’

‘Well, yeah, of course.’ He snorted. ‘Ironic, since the last thing he said when I left home was that I’d never amount to anything. ‘A great disappointment,’ that’s what he called me.’

‘That was an awful thing to say,’ Gemma said indignantly, and leaned across the console to kiss him. ‘But I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Besides, you’ve had the last laugh – you’re a massive success, and he’s had to come to you for help.’

‘Oh, no, he meant every word,’ Dominic assured her grimly as he got out of the car. ‘And he won’t want my help. Even if he did,’ he added, ‘I’d tell him to go and stuff it up his arse.’

‘But it’s your mum who asked for your help,’ she reminded him.

‘That’s the only reason I’m even considering it.’

‘I think you should go. It’s past time you two patched things up. How long’s it been since you spoke to your dad?’

‘Eleven years,’ he answered as they entered the ground floor of his townhouse. He tossed his keys on the hall table.

‘That’s far too long to be on the outs with your father.’

‘You haven’t spoken to yours since you were a kid,’ he pointed out.

‘That’s different! Dad ran out on us and never looked back.’ She kicked off her shoes and followed Dominic into the kitchen. ‘Besides, he’s an alcoholic, lay-about plumber, not an earl. One day, you’ll inherit Mansfield Hall…and the title that goes with it.’

‘I don’t want it,’ Dominic said. ‘I’ve never wanted it. I’m no toff, Gem. I hate all that stuff, riding to hounds, and attending charity balls, and belonging to all the proper clubs. It’s not for me. It never was.’

‘But it’s a part of who you are, Dominic, whether you like it or not.’

He dragged a chair out from the table and sat down as Gemma switched on the kettle. ‘Maybe. But the fact remains that the old man hates me, Gem. He always has.’ He looked up at her, his eyes troubled. ‘I don’t want to go back there and dredge it all up again.’

‘But your mum needs you,’ she reminded him. ‘She asked you to come home and help her. And she’s never asked you for anything before.’

Dominic groaned. ‘I know. And you’re right. Bloody hell, but you’re always right, Gem. What would I do without you?’ He stood up and pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Gemma’s arms slid around his neck as she opened her mouth under his. His kiss left her lips swollen and her thoughts scattered. ‘The only reason I put up with you,’ she murmured against his mouth few minutes later, ‘is because of this.’

He nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. ‘And I thought it was only because of my money.’

‘Well, that too.’ She caught her teeth between her lips as he began to unbutton her blouse. ‘Why don’t we get started on that baby we’ve talked about?’ she murmured.

Dominic’s hands stilled on the third button. ‘You’re the one who’s always talking about having a baby, Gem. Not me.’

‘But you said you wanted us to have a baby.’

‘And I do! But I’m not ready for kids yet.’

Gemma pushed him away. ‘But you’ll never be ready, will you, Dominic? That’s the problem.’ She turned away as the kettle began to boil. ‘I’ll get the tea.’

‘Don’t be like that, babes.’ Dominic kissed her unresponsive cheek and sat down as Gemma set their cups on the table. ‘I do want a kid, eventually. Once I’m not touring so much.’

‘But you’re always touring! You never stop.’

‘Well,’ he pointed out reasonably, ‘tonight was our last show until September. So we have all summer to talk about it.’

She regarded him sceptically over the rim of her mug. ‘Really? You promise you’ll think about us having a baby, at least?’

He nodded. ‘I promise. And I thought about what you said about helping Mum out, too. I’ve decided I’ll do it. I’m going back to Mansfield Hall.’ He met her eyes. ‘And you’re going with me.’

Chapter 2

On Saturday, Holly woke to find Alex’s side of the bed empty. She sat up, blinking in the early morning light that slanted through the blinds, and stretched.

She heard the shower running. Alex had come in late last night; she remembered him reaching for her, sharing a few urgent, whisky-flavoured kisses before they made love. Then he’d rolled over and fallen asleep.

He emerged from the shower, his hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist. He bent forward to kiss the top of her head. ‘Good morning, darling.’

‘Morning,’ she mumbled, and yawned. ‘You came in late last night.’

‘Yes, sorry. A few of us went on to Mahiki.’

Holly pressed her lips together but said nothing. She had no doubt that Camilla had gone right along with him.

‘After this morning’s surgery,’ he added, ‘I thought we might spend the afternoon together. Have lunch in the country, perhaps.’

‘That sounds great.’ Holly wrapped her arms around her legs. ‘We never see each other anymore.’

‘Summer’s nearly here,’ he reminded her as he pulled on a shirt, ‘so the House won’t be sitting. Which means,’ he added as he pulled on his trousers and tucked in his shirt, ‘more time for us. No more late Mondays, no more PMQs on Wednesday…’

‘PMQs?’

‘Prime Minister’s Questions.’ Alex adjusted the knot of his tie and studied his reflection in the mirror. ‘We have the chance to grill the PM every Wednesday on whatever topics we choose. Terribly nerve-wracking the first time you do it.’

‘Like the first time you have sex?’

‘Exactly. But much less fun.’ He leaned down to kiss her. ‘I’ll meet you in Barnet later. Love you.’

‘Love you.’

As she popped two slices of bread into the toaster and brewed a pot of coffee a few minutes later, Holly switched on Radio 1. Maybe she and Alex could find a festival after lunch. There was always a festival on somewhere.

She buttered her toast with a generous hand and took a bite, savouring her moment of carbohydrate bliss. She’d wear jeans, she decided; nice dark-washed ones, not the ratty faded ones; and her new booties with the spiky heels.

And she’d top it off with her ‘Up the Monarchy’s Arse’ t-shirt, the one Dominic Heath had given her when she’d interviewed him last year, and her old Chanel jacket with three-quarter sleeves. Chic, trendy – perfect!

Holly finished the last of her toast and licked the butter and jam from her fingers with satisfaction, then headed to the bedroom closet with a smug smile on her face.

Not only would she and Alex have a brilliant afternoon together; she’d look so fabulous that he’d forget all about quid pro quo and habeas corpus… and Camilla Shawcross.

And she’d make Alex fall in love with her all over again.

It was nearly twelve-thirty, and still Alex hadn’t emerged from his constituency office on the high street. Holly frowned and thrummed her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. Where was he? She was starving.

Damn his constituents and their concerns. Didn’t they know that Alex Barrington had a life of his own? Didn’t they think that he might like to sleep in on a Saturday and spend the day with his girlfriend, lazing on the sofa reading the papers and watching rubbish TV? Did they think he liked to get up early and listen to them drone on about their petty little issues?

And, she wondered with narrowed eyes, why were so many of Alex’s constituents young, attractive women? What were they really doing in there?

Holly was just on the verge of slamming out of the car to stalk up the pavement and into the building across the street, when the doors finally opened.

At last! All her annoyance melted away as Alex emerged, looking gorgeous in his navy suit and yellow tie, smiling back warmly over his shoulder at someone.

Holly let out a little sigh of pleasure. He was handsome. He was sexy. And he was hers.

And – her smile froze – he was not alone.

The recipient of Alex’s warm smile was Camilla Shawcross, Conservative MP and all-around perfect woman. She wore a pencil skirt, a royal-blue silk charmeuse blouse, and kitten heels.

What the devil was she doing here?

Holly glanced down at her jeans and her ‘Up the Monarchy’s Arse’ T-shirt with misgivings. Suddenly her outfit didn’t seem nearly as chic or iconoclastic as it had done this morning.

Compared to Camilla, she looked like something the cat had dragged in… and spat back out, like a regurgitated hairball.

She slid down, very slowly, behind the wheel. Perhaps she could keep a low profile until Camilla said goodbye and left.

But no… damn it, Alex had just spotted her. He waved and said something to Camilla, who glanced in Holly’s direction with a bright, false smile.

Shit. There was nothing for it now but to get out of the car and go and say hello to Ms Shawcross.

‘Holly, there you are,’ Alex called out as she emerged from the car and crossed the street to join them. He leaned forward to give her a brief kiss. ‘You remember Camilla, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’ How could I not remember someone who always makes me feel underdressed and overly stupid? She smiled and held out her hand. ‘Hello, Camilla.’

‘Miss James,’ Camilla murmured, eyeing her outfit with a raised brow as she returned a limp handshake and a pained smile.

‘I hope you don’t mind, darling,’ Alex said as he turned back to Holly, ‘but I’ve invited Camilla along to lunch with us. An issue’s come up that we really need to discuss further.’

Holly opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

‘Oh, I’m quite sure Holly doesn’t want me intruding on your afternoon together,’ Camilla objected.

And of course there was nothing Holly could say to that except, ‘Oh, I don’t mind at all,’ even as she sent dagger eyes at Camilla. And Alex.

But neither of them noticed; they were too busy talking about something called ‘fiduciary law’ to care.

‘I thought perhaps the Black Dog for lunch,’ Alex told Holly. ‘It’s not far. Camilla will ride with me so we can discuss things on the way over. We’ll meet you there.’

‘But…doesn’t Camilla have a car?’ Holly managed to ask.

‘I do,’ she interjected, ‘but it’s at the garage. Alex was kind enough to give me a lift to the surgery this morning.’

‘So very kind,’ Holly agreed through gritted teeth.

Alex bent forward and kissed her. ‘I knew you’d understand. Isn’t she amazing?’ he beamed at Camilla.

‘Amazing,’ she echoed, oozing with insincerity.

‘We’ll see you in a few minutes, darling.’ Alex turned back to Camilla and held out his arm. ‘Ready, Ms Shawcross?’

‘I’m ready,’ Camilla purred, and took his arm.

And that, to Holly’s everlasting fury, was pretty much how the rest of the afternoon went.

He really shouldn’t have had that second pint of lager.

As Dominic Heath lifted the tarnished brass knocker and let it fall against the door with a clang, he realized he needed the loo, and soon. He’d forgotten just how bloody long the drive was that led from the road up to Mansfield Hall.

After a couple of minutes, the door swung open. A short, stout housekeeper, feather duster in hand, regarded him with suspicion. ‘Yes?’

‘Is his lordship at home?’

‘No, sir, he’s not.’ She moved to close the door.

Dominic thrust out his forearm to keep the door open. ‘When do you expect him back?’

‘I’m sure I couldn’t say.’ Disapproval was plain on her face as she took in his snakeskin trousers and spiky dark hair. ‘You look like one of them rock stars in the Mirror.’ She sniffed. ‘And I don’t mean that as a compliment, mind.’

‘As it happens, I am one of those rock stars in the Mirror.’

‘I knew it! I know my tabloids, I do.’

‘Well, that may be, but you don’t know the Locksley family very well. Kindly tell Lady Mary that her oldest son Rupert is here to see her.’ He took off his Cartier sunglasses to glare at her. ‘She’ll know who I am, even if you don’t.’

She blanched. ‘R-Rupert?’ she echoed, stunned. Her free hand flew to her throat. ‘Lawks a-mercy, I’m that sorry, sir. Please, come in, do.’ She swung the door wide.

He stepped into the same entryway he’d left behind so abruptly eleven years before. Little had changed since then. The same black and white tiles covered the floor, the same round pedestal table stood in the centre of the foyer; even the Meissen vase sitting on the table, with its half-hearted bouquet of wildflowers, hadn’t changed.

Dominic knew that the vase had a hairline crack at the top – the result of swordplay with his brother Liam (they’d used cricket bats in lieu of swords) one long-ago rainy afternoon.

‘His lordship is away from home at the moment, sir,’ the housekeeper apologized. ‘I’ll let Lady Mary know you’re here.’

‘Thanks.’ Dominic’s lips relaxed into a smile. ‘Have you been here long?’

‘Oh, bless, I’ve worked here at Mansfield since I married Mr Sutton, going on ten years now.’

‘Indeed? Well, I’ve no doubt you’re a treasure on both fronts, Mrs Sutton.’

She blushed like a schoolgirl and hurried up the stairs, feather duster still in hand.

Dominic returned his attention to the foyer. There was a veneer of neglect over everything. The tapestry hangings and upholstered chair cushions were faded and threadbare; moths had eaten tracks in the Oriental carpet under the table. An ugly brown water stain marred the crumbling plaster medallions of the Robert Adam ceiling.

He let out a short breath. Evidently his father – and Mansfield Hall – needed his help even more than he’d imagined.

He was just about to make a detour to the loo when the housekeeper returned, puffing a bit as she hurried down the stairs. ‘Your mum says she’ll meet you in the rose garden. She’ll be down shortly. This way, please.’

Dominic followed her through the drawing and reception rooms to a set of French doors that led out to the gardens. The drapes tied back at the windows were bedraggled ghosts of their former splendour, and he saw that moths had made serious inroads on the drapes as well as the rugs.

Mrs Sutton threw the doors open and stood aside as he stepped out. ‘I’m sure you know the way from here, sir.’ She hesitated. ‘Can I fetch you a drink?’

He shook his head. What he’d like was a loo, pronto. Barring that, a tree or a bush would serve nicely… ‘I’ll just ramble down to the garden and have a quick smoke.’ He held up a pack of Player’s. ‘Care to join me, Mrs S?’

‘Oh, thank you, sir, but I’ve a million things to be doing. This place takes a lot of looking after, you know,’ she confided. ‘With only myself and cook – and Mr Sutton, of course – and a local girl in twice a week, it fair runs us off our feet, it does.’

‘Well, I won’t keep you, then. Thanks.’ He rewarded her with another smile and wandered off across the south lawn in search of a likely-looking tree or bush.

As he made his way down the gravelled path that led to the rose garden, he wondered how Mum managed to keep twelve bedrooms and ten loos clean with such a small staff. Not to mention the library, drawing and morning rooms, study, and the great hall…or the dozens of mullioned windows and fireplaces that made up the rest of this Jacobean money-pit.

Dominic passed by the knot garden and cast a quick glance around to reassure himself that no one was in the vicinity. He unzipped his fly. He was saving poor, overworked Mrs S from cleaning another lav, after all. And no one need ever know…

He’d just finished whizzing into the cottage roses when he heard a sound – the crackle of a twig, followed by the flap of a bird’s wings – and he looked up, startled.

A young woman stood rooted to the path, a look of shock on her face. She wore a white cartwheel hat on her blonde head, and the kind of elegant, understated-but-expensive dress ladies wore to Ascot or the Henley Regatta.

She stared at him. He stared at her. Her eyes, Dominic noted irrelevantly, were cornflower blue.

He lifted his eyebrow. ‘Sorry. Looks like you caught me watering the old rose bushes.’ He grinned and unhurriedly tucked himself back up inside his trousers. ‘Dominic Heath, at your service.’

Unable to find a suitable response, she glared at him, turned on one well-shod heel, and stalked away.

Chapter 3

Twenty minutes later, his mother appeared, her arrival heralded by a trio of boisterous, yapping terriers. She wore a T-shirt and jeans tucked into a pair of muddy riding boots.

‘Rupert? You came home!’ she exclaimed as she embraced him. ‘I knew you would.’

‘Why not? I needed a break from London, anyway. Where’s my father?’ he asked warily as he drew back.

She tucked a strand of glossy dark hair behind one ear and indicated a wrought-iron table and chairs. ‘He’s gone to London with Liam to meet with his solicitor.’ She hesitated. ‘He wants to disinherit you.’

‘I’m surprised he hasn’t done already.’

‘What a nasty business…I’ve missed you, Rupert. Why has it been so long since you came home?’

‘You know why.’

‘Yes, of course…your father.’ She sat down with a sigh in the chair he held out for her. ‘I wish I could say he’s changed, but he hasn’t. The responsibility of running Mansfield Hall weighs heavily on Charles. It makes him… difficult, at times. And, of course, there’s the money situation…’ She fixed Dominic with a hopeful gaze. ‘Please tell me you’re here to patch things up with him.’

‘I mean to try…and to offer my financial help, if he’ll have it. But I doubt I’ll have much luck in either case.’

‘He wants Liam to marry Bibi Matchington-Alcester, you know. She’s a very eligible, very rich, ball-bearings heiress.’

‘And what does my brother say to that?’

‘He refuses, of course. Says he doesn’t love her and won’t “whore himself out” for her money, as he so indelicately puts it, even if it means saving Mansfield.’

Dominic reached in his pocket for his cigarettes. ‘Can’t say I blame him; she probably looks like the back end of a horse. Heiresses usually do.’

‘She’s actually quite lovely. When did you take up smoking? Never mind, I’ll blame your bad habits on all those musicians and models you keep company with.’

Dominic snorted. ‘Oh, please. Nobody eats or drinks or does drugs like they used to. They’re all disgustingly healthy.’ He thought of Gemma and her endless succession of diets. ‘Mum,’ he added, choosing his words carefully, ‘I’ve brought someone with me. Her name’s Gemma. I left her behind at the hotel in the village.’

‘Well, why on earth didn’t you bring her here?’ his mother demanded. ‘Is she someone special, or just another of your flings? I know all about them,’ she added, ‘because I follow your exploits in the tabloids.’

‘That stuff’s all crap, Mum.’ He leaned forward. ‘Gemma is…she’s someone I—’ he stopped. ‘The truth is, I love her,’ he said in a rush. ‘And I want you to meet her. But I have to deal with my father first. I don’t want Gemma dragged into the middle of all the family drama.’

‘Where is she from?’ Lady Mary enquired.

‘London,’ he hedged. Gemma Astley had grown up over a kebab shop in Essex, to be exact, and her father had done a runner when she was ten. But there was no need to tell Mum all that.

‘London? Whereabouts, exactly? Who are her people?’

‘Lady Mary? Excuse us. I do hope we’re not intruding.’

Dominic turned to see a woman of middle age and dumpy figure standing at the entrance to the garden. She clutched a handbag against the wide expanse of her floral skirts in the manner of the Queen and beamed at them.

Behind her stood a young woman – the same tall, slim young woman who’d so recently caught him watering the rose bushes.

‘Mrs Norris! Of course you’re not intruding. Hello, Bibi.’ Lady Mary stood. ‘Come, both of you, and meet my eldest son.’

She turned to him. ‘Rupert, this is Bibi Matchington-Alcester and her mother, Mrs Norris. Bibi, this is Rupert, Liam’s older brother.’ She smiled at him indulgently. ‘I’m rather proud of him. He’s the black sheep of the family.’

‘Lovely to meet you,’ Mrs Norris simpered as Dominic took her hand. ‘I’ve always favoured the black sheep, myself.’

‘We’re much more fun,’ he agreed with an insouciant smile.

Recognition, followed by shock, registered on Bibi’s face as Dominic turned to her. ‘You’ll forgive me,’ she told him icily, ‘if I don’t take your hand.’

He choked back a laugh. ‘I completely understand.’ He drew her aside. ‘Listen, I don’t mean to pry, Bibi – but why’s your last name different from your mum’s?’

‘She recently remarried and took my stepfather’s name. I,’ she added pointedly, ‘did not.’

Lady Mary invited them to sit down.

‘I’ll just go and fetch us some wine,’ she announced. ‘It’s a perfect afternoon for an impromptu garden party.’

‘I’ll go,’ Dominic offered. He had no desire to stay and make conversation with Liam’s girlfriend or her battleaxe of a mother. He could all but see their collective disapproval of him.

‘Nonsense. Stay and chat with our guests, darling. I won’t be a moment.’

Before he could protest, his mother departed. Dominic waited until the women were seated before he sat down himself. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, ladies?’

‘I wondered if Lady Mary would oversee the kissing booth at the village fête next month,’ Mrs Norris replied.

‘A kissing booth? Sounds like fun.’ His glance flickered deliberately to Bibi. He was pleased to see her blush.

‘Oh, it will be. And all for a good cause, of course.’ Mrs Norris leaned forward, her amble bosom preceding her. ‘May I ask what brings you back home after all these years, Rupert?’

He gave her a bland smile. Nosy old cow. ‘Well, I’ve been a bit busy in the interim. Touring makes it hard to get away.’

‘Touring?’

‘Yes. Dominic and the Destroyers world tour, to be exact.’ He raised a brow. ‘You’ve heard of Dominic Heath, I presume? Rock star, guitar-smasher, and defiler of young women?’ He smirked. ‘That’s me.’

Mrs Norris drew back. ‘You…you’re Dominic Heath? You’re that dreadful rock musician? Oh my word.’

Bibi frowned in confusion. ‘I don’t understand. Lady Mary introduced you as her son, Rupert Locksley.’

‘So I am. But I’m also Dominic. In fact,’ he confided, filled with a wicked desire to tease her, ‘you’ll soon see that I’m much more Dominic than I am Rupert.’

She glared at him. ‘I already have.’

Lady Mary and Mrs Sutton returned, bringing wine, glasses, and to Dominic’s relief, assistance on the conversation front.

‘I was just telling your son,’ Mrs Norris said as she accepted a glass of wine from Mrs Sutton, ‘that there’s to be a kissing booth at the fête this year. Might you run it for us?’

‘Of course,’ Lady Mary agreed. ‘Have you any candidates to sit in the booth?’

‘Well, Bibi’s put herself forward; but I hardly think it appropriate,’ Mrs Norris sniffed.

‘On the contrary, that’s a marvellous idea!’ Lady Mary beamed. ‘Bibi’s a lovely girl, she’ll be very popular. And raising money for the local children’s ward is our goal, after all.’

‘True,’ Mrs Norris said, doubt plain on her face.

‘What about you?’ Bibi said suddenly, and turned to Dominic.

He nearly choked on his Pouilly-Fuissé. ‘Me?’

‘You’re a rock star, after all. You’d make a fortune for us. All the girls will line up to kiss Dominic Heath.’

‘That’s brilliant!’ Lady Mary exclaimed. ‘You must do it, darling.’

‘No,’ he said mulishly. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘But you’d be helping the village,’ his mother coaxed, ‘and you’d be helping the children’s ward of the local hospital.’

‘Think of the publicity,’ Bibi pointed out. ‘“Rock Star Aids Local Children’s Ward”.’

Dominic hesitated. He could certainly do with a bit of good publicity. Besides, how hard could it be, getting paid to kiss a bunch of local teenage girls?

‘All right, I’ll do it. But only for a couple of hours.’

Although it clearly pained her to do so, Mrs Norris thanked him for his generosity. ‘I’ll let you know the details later, Rupert…I mean, Mr Heath.’

She did not allude again to his regrettable musical career, nor did she address him further. Loathing emanated from her like heat shimmering above a barbeque grill.

And Dominic was glad. It meant he could sit back, get pleasantly fuzzed, and let the conversation eddy and swirl around him without the bother of joining in.

Shadows grew long on the east lawn as he and his mother finished off the bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé. Bibi and Mrs Norris, after a few more minutes of polite conversation, murmured their apologies and left. Neither Liam nor his father had returned from London.

‘Well, Mum, it’s time I left as well.’ Dominic stood and bent forward to kiss his mother‘s cheek. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow, and I’ll bring Gemma.’

‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, darling. It might be best if we all meet for tea at the hotel instead.’

His expression darkened. ‘Why can’t I bring her here?’

‘Now, Rupert, don’t spoil things by scowling at me like that! Of course you must bring Gemma here. Just…not yet. Your father will be in too much of a strop over your return to deal with any more drama.’

He scowled, fully prepared to be mulish, but thought the better of it. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he agreed grudgingly.

‘Of course I am. Let’s plan for lunch at the tearoom tomorrow at noon, shall we?’ Her words were brisk. ‘I’ll get to meet Gemma, and she can meet me.’ Lady Mary eyed him shrewdly. ‘And we can take one another’s measure.’

Dominic said his goodbyes and made his way through the rose garden and around the side of the manor house, back to his Maserati. Shadows stretched across the drive as he thrust on his sunglasses and climbed in and started the engine. Although he’d wanted to get the meeting with his father over with, he was relieved it hadn’t happened.

It was sure to be unpleasant. Anything to do with Lord Locksley invariably was.

Dominic manoeuvred the car around the front sweep of the drive and headed back to the hotel. His old man could trace his lineage to the Elizabethans, and he had Mansfield Hall, his title, and the family herald to prove it. He was aristocratic to the bone.

He was also intolerant, close-minded, prejudiced, and elitist. And those were his good qualities.

Moodily, Dominic changed gear as he rounded a bend in the drive. He decided to open the Maserati up. Driving in London, the car seldom moved above a crawl; it needed a good, hard run. He floored the gas pedal and the sleek red car leaped forward.

Dominic imagined himself racing across the finish line at Le Mans to waving flags and cheering crowds. He saw the adulation on the faces of the onlookers. He saw a couple of gorgeous, busty models waiting to drape the winner’s ribbon around him. He saw…

… an ancient estate wagon coming straight at him from the opposite direction. He cursed and wrenched the steering wheel sideways to avoid a collision; as he slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt, the estate wagon skidded and veered off into the ditch in a cloud of dust.

Furious, the driver flung open his door. ‘You young idiot!’ he raged. ‘You nearly killed us. What the devil do you mean, flying through here at such a high rate of speed? This is a private drive! Are you quite mad?’

Dominic emerged from his car and met the man’s irate glare. He was glad for the half bottle of Pouilly he’d just consumed. ‘No harm done, there’s not even a scratch on your fender.’

‘That’s scarcely the point, is it? You might have killed us!’

‘But I didn’t.’

‘You…what do you mean by this?’ the man sputtered. ‘Who the devil are you?’

‘You don’t know who I am? Really? I know it’s been a few years, but still.’ Dominic removed his sunglasses and said evenly, ‘Not much of a welcome home, is it, Dad?’

Chapter 4

‘Rupert?’

His father stared at him, rendered momentarily speechless.

‘Hello, Dad.’

‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’

‘Mum asked me to come. She said Mansfield’s in a bad way.’

His father snorted. ‘Indeed? She told you I meant to disinherit you, more likely, and so you thought to run me over before I changed the will.’

Dominic counted, slowly, to five. ‘Sorry, no. By the way, I’m fine, thank you for asking. Oh, wait, that’s right – you didn’t ask.’

‘Why should I? I already know how you are,’ Lord Locksley shot back. ‘All I need do is flick through the tabloids to fully acquaint myself with your latest exploits.’

Liam Locksley got out of the car and came round to stand next to his father. His scowl lifted for a moment as he took in the Maserati. ‘Wow. Nice wheels.’

‘Thanks. Take you for a spin in it if you like.’

‘So you can wrap your brother and that ridiculous vehicle around a tree?’ the earl retorted. ‘Certainly not.’ He turned to his youngest son. ‘Help me push the car out of the ditch.’

‘Let me help,’ Dominic offered. ‘After all, it’s my fault. I ran you off the road.’

‘Thank you, no. We’ll manage.’ His father turned away and returned to the car. With Liam’s help, they rolled the estate wagon out of the ditch, climbed back inside with two slams of the door, and drove away up the drive without a backward glance.

‘What a dreadful young man.’

So saying, Mrs Norris sailed into the entry hall of Barnsley Manor – regrettably, the house was a recent purchase, not an inherited pile – and tossed her handbag aside.

‘He was unquestionably awful,’ Bibi agreed thoughtfully.

‘He was vile,’ her mother went on. ‘Ghastly.’

‘Outrageous,’ Bibi murmured.

Mrs Norris sniffed. ‘I’m glad we’re of like minds on the subject. A pity that he’ll inherit, now that he’s back.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t count on it. According to Liam, his lordship plans to disinherit Rupert,’ Bibi reminded her, and yawned. She really was awfully tired. Spending money at the shops took such a lot out of one.

‘Well, continue to focus your efforts on Liam, darling. I forbid you to have anything to do with Rupert Locksley.’

Bibi smiled non-committally and said goodnight, then went upstairs, her thoughts churning.

Despite herself, she couldn’t get Rupert – or, more to the point, Dominic Heath – out of her head.

He was indeed awful. According to the tabloids, he liked fast cars and faster women. He was inappropriate and oversexed. He was absolutely everything mummy and daddy had ever warned her about.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

More to the point, she couldn’t stop imagining his… Well, what he’d got in those Cavalli trousers of his. What must it be like, she mused, to sleep with a man like that…

One wouldn’t get much sleep; that much was certain.

She paused outside her younger sister’s bedroom door and glanced in. Leigh wasn’t in evidence; the bolshie little shit was spending the weekend with one of her school friends, thank God. Her room, as always, was a tip.

Bibi was just turning away when she spotted an assortment of tabloids and NME magazines strewn atop her sister’s bed. Curious, she went inside, stepping over a pile of discarded clothes littering the floor and nearly tripping over a stack of Bliss and BritTEEN magazines.

She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the Sun, her attention caught by a photo of Dominic Heath and his current girlfriend, Gemma Astley. Bibi wrinkled her nose disdainfully. Gemma was a pretty, pneumatic redhead from Essex whose IQ probably matched her bra size.

To think that Liam’s brother Rupert had led a double life all this time as Dominic – a truly appalling rock star, if these publications were anything to go by – well, it was scarcely to be believed.

As someone who despised rock music – she preferred Glyndebourne to Glastonbury – Bibi knew very little of Rupert’s alter ego, Dominic. Apparently, his favourite pastimes included chasing women, drinking Chivas Regal…and wearing outrageous clothes – snakeskin trousers, fringed scarves, leopard-print ascots and tinted aviator sunglasses.

‘I forbid you to have anything to do with Rupert Locksley.’

Her mother’s words came back to her, and Bibi chewed her lush lower lip thoughtfully. She hated to be told she couldn’t do something.

She was beyond tired of the ‘suitable’ men her social-climbing mother kept pushing at her. Most of them were young, with wealth and titles but nary a brain in their heads. Or they were boring. Or eccentric. Or – even worse – they were old.

Although Dominic was certainly dreadful, and although she suspected he thought her a proper bore, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Dominic was fun, irreverent, and sexy.

And that, Bibi decided as she stood up, was exactly what she wanted.

He was a challenge; there was no question of that. But she loved a challenge. She’d make him over into the perfect English country gentleman – one with the proper clothes and the proper pastimes – hunting, racing, polo. She would turn him back into Rupert, the well-born aristocrat he was meant to be…not the dreadful rock star he’d become.

She stood and eyed the music magazines thoughtfully. With Rupert back, there was no need to chase after Liam. She’d break it off with him first thing tomorrow. Besides, everyone knew he only had eyes for Julia Allchurch… Pretty girl, and wealthy, but her parents worked for a living, for God’s sake.

No, she’d set her sights on Rupert instead, convince him to marry her, and gain herself a title. It’s what Mummy wanted for her, after all. For what good were pots of money without a proper title? And with her generous dowry, Rupert would have the financial resources to restore Mansfield Hall to its former glory. Together they’d host sumptuous hunt balls, races, and shooting parties; and on the weekends, their friends would come and stay at the Hall.

And as for what she would gain from the marriage…

Bibi’s lips curved upwards. She would be the prim and proper Lady Locksley by day… and she’d share Dominic Heath’s bed every night. It was the best of both worlds.

Sex and suitability…

What could be a more deliciously perfect combination than that?

Gemma threw aside the latest issue of Heat as Dominic returned to the hotel room. ‘At last! Did you see your father? How did it go?’

‘Yeah, I saw him.’ Dominic tossed his keys aside. ‘I nearly ran him over with my car, in fact – so I think it’s fair to say that it didn’t go well.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘Oh, yeah, he’s fine. Not a scratch on him.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Dom replied. ‘I talked at him. I don’t think he heard a word I said.’ He flung himself down on the sofa next to her and slumped back against the cushions. ‘And he still hates me.’

Gemma linked her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. You’re his son, after all. It must’ve been a shock, seeing you after so many years. You can’t expect him to just throw his arms wide and welcome you back.’

‘No. I suppose I’m lucky he didn’t set the hounds on me, or shoot out my tyres with his hunting rifle.’

‘What about your mum? Did you see her? Or your brother?’

‘Yeah. Liam was in the car with my father. He didn’t say much, except “nice wheels” – and that was said very grudgingly. Mum was the only one who made me feel remotely welcome. And the housekeeper, Mrs S,’ he added. ‘She was more chuffed than anyone.’

‘Well, tomorrow’s another day,’ Gemma comforted him. ‘You’ll feel better after a bit of sleep.’

‘Yes, tomorrow… that reminds me,’ Dominic said, choosing his words carefully as he sat up. ‘Mum wants to meet you.’

Gemma’s face brightened. ‘Does she? That’s good, then.’

‘She’s coming here tomorrow, so we can all have lunch in the tearoom together.’

There was an infinitesimal pause. ‘Here? At the hotel? But I thought the plan was to take me along with you to Mansfield Hall so I could meet your family properly.’

‘Well, yeah, that was the plan,’ Dominic hedged, ‘but plans change, you know?’

‘You mean your mother doesn’t want you bringing me round to Mansfield.’ Gemma eyed him narrowly. ‘Does she?’

‘That’s not true! She’s dying to meet you.’ He paused. ‘She thinks – and I agree – that my father’s got enough to cope with, what with me back home again, to deal with anything else.’

‘Oh. Well, that makes sense, I suppose.’ Mollified, Gemma stood. ‘I’d best choose an outfit, then. I think I’ll wear the pink suit.’

The pink suit, Dominic knew, consisted of a short jacket and shorter skirt and had come from a high street shop. She usually wore it with strappy black booties that looked like something a dominatrix would wear.

His mum would hate it.

‘Why don’t you wear that nice Chanel suit instead?’ he suggested. ‘The one Nat’s mum gave you. It’s pink.’

‘You mean the one,’ Gemma said with disdain, ‘that looks like something the Queen Mother might have worn?’

‘That’s it. Throw on some pearls and a nice pair of brogues, and you’re there.’

‘And a couple of Yorkies and a walking stick, as well?’ Gemma glared at him. ‘What’s wrong with the way I dress?’ she demanded. ‘Are you saying I look like a tart? You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you? Not posh enough, am I?’

‘No, of course not! I mean – yes, you’re plenty posh!’ Dominic felt as if his head might explode. ‘Look, babes, I love your look. But mum’s another story. You want to make a good impression, that’s all I’m saying.’

Gemma hesitated. ‘You’re right. Sorry. I just feel so…lacking, when I think of meeting your family. My dad’s a plumber, and I barely made it through the local comprehensive. I’m sure your parents want better for you. Someone…educated. Someone posh.’

Dominic’s thoughts flashed to Bibi, with her long legs and imperious manner, and he felt a flare of sympathy for his poor brother Liam.

‘Screw all that.’ He stood as well and took her in his arms ‘You’re what I want, babes, and that’s all that matters. We don’t have to meet my family at all, if you don’t want to.’

‘No, I want to meet them.’ She looked at him, her green eyes determined. ‘I’ll make them like me. You’ll see.’

Dominic grinned. ‘I believe you will.’ He kissed her. ‘Now let’s turn in, it’s been a long day and I’m for bed.’

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

‘Can you get it, Dominic? I need to run our bath.’ Gemma wound her arms round his neck and added huskily, ‘I brought lots of bubbles – as in soap, and champagne. And there’s room for both of us in that enormous whirlpool tub. So don’t be long.’

Dominic groaned. ‘How about we don’t bother with the door, and go straight on to the bubble bath bit?’

The knock came again, louder this time.

‘You’d better get it.’ Gemma backed away and began, slowly, to unbutton her shirt, revealing a lacy blue bra. ‘So you can get this…’

‘Hold that thought,’ he growled as he tore himself away to answer the door.

Dominic flung it open with a scowl. ‘Yeah, what is it—?’

His brother Liam stood there.

Liam scowled back at him. He sported a dark mop of hair and his face resembled Dominic’s (although Liam was, if Dominic were completely honest, much better looking).

‘Well, don’t just stand there in the hallway,’ Dominic said, and opened the door wider. ‘Come in. What brings you here?’

‘This.’ And without another word, Liam drew back his fist and punched Dominic in the jaw as hard as he could.

Chapter 5

Dominic staggered back, stunned. Blood spurted from the corner of his mouth. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ he demanded. ‘Are you fucking mental?’

‘What’s going on?’ Gemma, alerted by the commotion, rushed into the sitting room with a towel clutched round her.

‘Is this one of your birds?’ Liam enquired. His eyes roved insolently over Gemma’s curves. ‘Nice.’

‘Shut up, you rude little twit,’ Gemma snapped. ‘Who are you, anyway? And what’ve you done to Dominic?’

‘Liam, this is Gemma,’ Dominic said through the discarded T-shirt he held against his mouth. ‘Gemma, meet my brother Liam, who just punched me…for no apparent reason.’

‘Oh, I have a reason.’ He regarded Dominic resentfully. ‘You can’t just swan in here and take over. You left. You turned your back on Mansfield, on us. So you can just piss off back to London.’

‘Listen to me, you little wank.’ Anger darkened Dominic’s expression. ‘I left, but I had good reason. And what makes you think I don’t care about Mansfield? It was dad I left behind, not you. Besides – I’m still the oldest. Like it or not, there’s this pesky little thing called primogeniture—’

‘That doesn’t mean shit,’ Liam snapped, ‘if dad disinherits you. And he will do. He’s right – you’re a disgrace to the family! What with your women and drinking and fast cars—’

Dominic flung the bloodied shirt aside. ‘Women, cars, drinking-? You’ve just described most of the toffs hereabouts. Married, all of ’em, too,’ he added. ‘At least I’m single. So you can take your judgment and stuff it up your arse.’

They glared at one another.

‘Why don’t you fix Liam a drink, Dominic?’ Gemma suggested. ‘Talk to each other. That’s the only way to settle this.’

Liam glanced at her. ‘Sorry. Not for hitting Rupert…but for being rude earlier.’

‘Never mind.’ Gemma shrugged. ‘You’ve got a temper, like your brother. Just promise you won’t hit him again.’

Liam snorted. ‘No promises. But I’ll try.’

‘So what have you been doing since I left?’ Dominic asked Liam as Gemma returned to the bedroom and shut the door. He poured them each a whisky. ‘When you’re not punching people in the face.’

Liam took the glass his brother handed him. ‘I finished at St Andrews last year. And Dad’s grooming me to run the estate.’

‘Oh? And how’s that going?’

He scowled. ‘The boiler won’t last through the winter. As it is, we can see our breath at dinner. And when it rains, it takes every pot, bowl, and soup tureen we’ve got to catch all the leaks. The estimate to fix the roof is £18,000. The floorboards in the library are rotting, and the crumbling plasterwork in the drawing room ceiling can only be restored by an expert—’

‘Shit,’ Dominic muttered.

‘–that’s why dad wants me to marry Bibi. She’s very rich.’ He said this last with scorn, as if being rich were a disease, something to be avoided at all costs.

‘Ah yes, I met her in the garden at Mansfield this afternoon.’ Dominic didn’t elaborate on the circumstances of their meeting; he had no desire to exchange further blows with his brother. ‘Mum says you don’t want to marry her.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Liam knocked back the rest of his whisky. ‘I have someone else in mind altogether.’ He thought of Julia Allchurch, so beautiful and well bred, and felt a familiar, painful squeeze of his heart.

Too bad she didn’t return his feelings.

Liam set his glass down on the coffee table. ‘Look, why don’t you marry Bibi? It’s the perfect solution. You’ll get a rich wife, Mansfield Hall can stay in the family, and I’ll get dad off my back.’

‘Sorry, but I have a girlfriend already, mate. Gemma’s the only one for me. I’ve had my fill of high-maintenance birds. Besides, I’ve dosh enough of my own to save Mansfield. That’s why I came back – to offer my finances to fix the place up. So there’s really no need for either of us to marry Bibi.’

Liam stood up. ‘Good luck. Dad will throw your offer straight back in your face. Mansfield might be falling down around his ears, but he has his pride.’

‘Pride won’t pay the bills, will it? I’ll talk him round. I can be quite persuasive.’

Liam’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know what happened between you two, but whatever it was…he hasn’t forgotten.’ He paused. ‘If you want my advice, you’ll forget about trying to buy our father’s forgiveness, and go straight back to London as fast as that fancy car of yours will take you.’

‘I’m not feeling the love, brother.’ Dominic stood as well. ‘My issue’s with him, not you.’

Liam shrugged. ‘Either way, he doesn’t need your help – or your money. And don’t think you’ll get your greedy mitts on Mansfield Hall…because you won’t. You gave all of that up when you walked away.’

And with that, Liam stalked to the door, and slammed out of the room.

Holly James opened the cartons of Chinese takeaway and took down plates from the cupboard. As she dumped the Szechuan green beans, brown rice, and crispy beef into bowls and yanked the silverware drawer open in search of serving spoons, she wondered if there was any diet soda in Alex’s fridge.

But a quick hunt unearthed only a half-open bottle of flat champagne and two bottles of stout. Good thing she’d ordered a couple of bottles of ginger beer along with their meals.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ she called out. The sound of explosions and gun blasts in the sitting room stopped abruptly as Alex switched off the TV and wandered, barefoot, into the kitchen.

‘Yen Ho’s,’ he said as he picked up a spring roll and bit into it, ‘or Dim Sum Palace?’

‘Neither. It’s Buddha Garden.’

As Alex sat down and dished out rice and crispy beef, he glanced over at Holly. ‘Remember when we were dating, and you actually used to cook for me?’

‘Remember when we were dating, and you actually used to spend time with me?’ she shot back. ‘We’d spend an entire evening together, just the two of us.’ She pushed some green beans and a tiny bit of rice onto her plate. ‘Imagine that.’

‘We spend time together,’ Alex said, defensive. ‘In fact, we could’ve spent Friday evening together at the club, but you begged off at the last minute. Again. That’s hardly my fault.’

‘I had a long day, Alex. I was tired. And I didn’t feel like listening to you and your friends drone on about due diligence and compos mentis, okay?’

‘On the contrary, I do understand. Because that’s exactly the way I feel about spending time around your friends.’ He speared a piece of crispy beef and thrust it in his mouth.

‘What’s wrong with my friends?’ Holly demanded. ‘They’re fun. Certainly more so than yours.’

‘Fun?’ Alex laid his fork aside and raised his brow. ‘Well, if you consider conversations about BB Cream and shooties and Gok Wan to be the apex of intelligent discussion, then yes, your fashion friends are quite scintillating.’

She dropped her own fork with a clink and glared at him. ‘Fashion is my life.’

‘And the law is mine,’ he returned tightly. ‘I’m sorry if you find my interests – and my friends – so tedious.’

Holly reined in her temper. ‘It’s not that I don’t like them, Alex. I do. Well enough,’ she amended. ‘But your friends and I have nothing in common. We’re chalk and cheese.’ She took a sip of her ginger beer. ‘And then there’s Camilla.’

‘What about her? She’s made every effort to be friendly.’

Holly said carefully, ‘I’m sure she has. But when you and she start talking about constituents and surgeries and by-elections, I feel completely left out. And I hate it.’

‘Oh.’ Alex was taken aback. ‘I hadn’t realized. I suppose it is a bit dull for you. All right – I promise to curb the legal talk when you’re around, fair enough?’

‘Thanks. More rice?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll skip the Groucho on Friday, and we’ll go out to dinner instead. Just the two of us, like we used to do.’

‘I’d love that.’

‘You decide where you’d like to go, and I’ll make the arrangements,’ he promised, then added, ‘On one condition.’

Holly paused, a forkful of rice halfway to her mouth. ‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘No fashion talk allowed,’ he said firmly. ‘Not a word about Gok Wan, or quilted handbags, or platform sneakers.’

‘I promise,’ Holly said. ‘Oh, Alex – time alone is exactly what we need.’ She leaned forward and took his hand. ‘I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us.’

He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘And I’ve missed you.’ He kissed the back of her palm and released her hand, then reached for his ginger beer and lifted it up. ‘Here’s to an entire evening without a single mention of Jil Sander.’

‘Or the PM,’ Holly added, lifting her own bottle and clinking it to his.

‘No Magic Lifting Creams.’

‘No by-elections.’

‘No spring collections.’

‘No Camilla Shawcross,’ Holly finished, and stood. ‘Now help me clear up.’

‘Leave it,’ Alex ordered, and pulled her into his arms. ‘I’ve just proposed an amendment to the bench that states we should make wild, passionate love, right here, right now. And the dishes be damned.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Holly murmured.

‘Let’s adjourn to the bedroom, shall we?’ So saying, Alex swung her up into his arms and carried her off, giggling, to his bed, where he threw her down and did exactly as he had promised.

And Holly thought that perhaps the law wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Chapter 6

The Jaguar’s engine juddered, heaved a sigh of profound regret, and died.

Natalie Dashwood clutched the steering wheel and stared in consternation at the various instruments on the Jag’s dashboard. Although the car was new and meticulously maintained, it made the odd noise now and again. And it was doing it now…again!

She’d told Rhys, her fiancé, about it; but of course the bloody car didn’t make the bloody noise whenever he drove it.

She eased the Jag off the road. Not only was the engine making odd ticking sounds; it refused to take her any further. She stared at the instrument cluster in dismay. This couldn’t be happening.

But of course it was happening, and of course it would do when she was smack in the middle of nowhere in sodding south Warwickshire. The sun was a rapidly sinking, orangey-red ball on the horizon. Mum’s house was an hour behind her, and there was nothing around for miles but the ribbon of roadway, and fields dotted with cow parsley and sheep.

Bad enough she’d been unable to land the wedding reception venue she’d wanted. She’d left it too late, and now every decent venue in London was booked up. Now, this.

Oh, well…there was nothing for it but to call Rhys to come and fetch her. She chewed her bottom lip. It was Sunday night and he worked tomorrow, plus she’d interrupt the football on TV, so he’d be put out, to say the least. Natalie rummaged in her handbag until she unearthed her mobile to ring Rhys.

No service.

Crikey. She must be in the middle of a dead zone, or something. Perhaps if she got out of the car and walked for a bit, the phone might pick up a signal. She eyed her platform pumps doubtfully and wished to hell she’d put on the jeans and trainers she’d worn on the trip from London up to Mum’s. But she’d wanted to look nice for Rhys when she got back home tonight…

…which she wouldn’t do, now. Bloody hell.

She slid out of the driver’s seat and stood up, mobile phone clutched in hand. It would be dark soon. She had perhaps forty more minutes of daylight before the sun, like the bloody car engine, gave up the ghost.

Right, she told herself nervously, don’t even think about things like ghosts, or you’ll run screaming into the cow parsley, never to be seen or heard from again…

She began to walk rapidly – well, as rapidly as her shoes would allow – northward along the edge of the road. Not only did her mobile refuse to connect to a transmitting tower; after a moment it, too, blinked and died.

Shit! Bloody technology, you could never depend on it when you needed it the most—

Suddenly Natalie realized that she’d not charged her phone last night at mum’s. She’d been so busy catching up on family gossip, and so gobsmacked by the news of her mum’s newfound romance with the local vicar, that she’d completely forgotten.

She groaned. She could just imagine what Rhys would have to say about this latest oversight of hers. Shit, shit, shit…

Perking up as she saw a signpost up ahead, Natalie quickened her steps. ‘Shipston-on-Stour, 8 km,’ she read out loud. Well, that was no help. There was no possible way she could walk eight kilometres in these shoes. She felt tears of frustration well up, and in a fit of pique she hurled her mobile phone into a patch of cow parsley.

Immediately regretting the move, she dived into the cow parsley and retrieved the phone. As she stood there, dusting the screen off with her sleeve and picking off bits of grass, she noticed a low, crumbling wall running alongside the edge of the road. It was made of stone and was obviously very old.

And then she remembered that Dominic’s ancestral home was in Warwickshire, somewhere hereabouts, as a matter of fact… and it was surrounded by a low stone wall exactly like this one. Her heart quickened. Could it be…? If her ex-boyfriend’s family pile was indeed nearby, she could walk up to the house and ask to use the telephone. Surely they’d have a phone.

Curious, Natalie began to follow the wall. Where there’s a wall, there’s a way…

Unfortunately, this wall seemed to run on forever. After twenty minutes and a couple of turns to her ankles, she was ready to give up. Darkness was gathering. Natalie’s irritation gave way to an uneasy fear, and she resisted the impulse to sit down and sob uncontrollably only through sheer effort of will.

As her gaze swept despairingly over the length of the wall in the fading light, she realized her steps had taken her – very gradually – away from the road, and up to what looked like the entrance to a drive. The drive was made of packed dirt, and racked with ruts and ridges, but it obviously led somewhere.

Mansfield Hall, Natalie realized.

Tired now, and dusty as well, she trudged up the drive. Gradually the hedgerows and trees that crowded the lane thinned out, until she could see, at last, the roofline of the house.

Natalie paused. Mansfield Hall was just as she remembered it – large, imposing, but with a rackety Elizabethan charm. She could almost see herself and Dominic – Rupert, as he was known then – running with the dogs across the fields. He’d kissed her for the first time under that gnarled old tree over there.

She’d got bird crap in her hair, from the tree trunk. Rupert called her ‘Poo’, and the nickname stuck for the rest of that summer.

It was a perfect metaphor for her failed relationship with Dominic – romantic, crazy, and fun while it lasted; but destined to end in shit.

As she came closer, signs of neglect met her gaze. The grass, once neatly trimmed, needed mowing; the stone steps that led up to the front door were cracked and sunken, and partially separated from the foundation; even the brass door knocker was tarnished and peeling.

It was a shame, Natalie reflected as she lifted the knocker and let it fall. Despite the neglect, Mansfield Hall was still such a lovely old place, romantic and picturesque—

Her eyes widened and she let out a gasp of excitement as the idea, fully formed, occurred to her. It was perfect. It was inspired. It was brilliant!

She’d have her wedding reception here, at Mansfield Hall.

After all, there was plenty of room for the wedding guests, all four hundred of them, and endless parking, and as for loos – she frowned. Loos might be a problem. Oh well, she’d sort that detail out later—

The door opened and a squat housekeeper eyed her. ‘Yes?’

Natalie looked down at her dusty clothing and ruined shoes and back up at the housekeeper. ‘I know I look like cat sick at the moment, but my car’s broken down, and I wonder if I might use your telephone.’

‘I’m sure you might, miss,’ the housekeeper sniffed, ‘if we had a telephone, that is. But we don’t. I’m sorry.’ And so saying, she closed the door firmly in Natalie’s face.

Chapter 7

Natalie stared at the closed door with a mixture of surprise and indignation. Why, the rude, cheeky cow! She narrowed her eyes and raised her hand to knock again, when the door suddenly swung open.

‘I’m sorry,’ a slim, dark-haired woman in jeans and Wellies said crisply, ‘but if you’re looking for Dominic Heath, young woman, you won’t find him here.’ She moved to shut the door, and paused. ‘Natalie?’ she said, surprised. ‘Oh, my word – Natalie Dashwood, is that you?’

‘Lady Mary!’ Natalie exclaimed, equally surprised. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ She smiled as Dominic’s mum engulfed her in a hug. ‘I apologize for my appearance, but I’ve just had the most awful run of bad luck. My car’s died, my mobile’s dead as well, and I’ve been w-walking for what seems like hours…’

‘Oh, you poor girl! Come in, please, and we’ll soon get everything sorted.’

Natalie felt her lower lip begin to quiver and her eyes filled with tears as Lady Mary ushered her inside. ‘I thought I’d have to spend the night outside, huddled under a hedgerow,’ she said with a sniffle. ‘S-sorry.’

‘Do stop apologizing!’ Lady Mary scolded. ‘You’ve been through a ghastly ordeal. One can scarcely blame you for being upset. Well, if it had to break down, I’m very glad your car chose to do it here! Come along into the sitting room, darling, and I’ll get you a nice tumbler of whisky.’

Natalie followed her across the tiled entrance hall. Everything looked exactly as she remembered – the black-and-white tiles, the pedestal table in the centre of the hall – all of it a bit the worse for wear. Crumbling plasterwork, patches of mildew on the library wall, pots and bowls set out here and there to catch leaks… Crikey, the Locksleys must be in more dire circumstances than she’d thought.

‘You do realize, of course,’ Lady Mary said briskly as she led them into a sitting room furnished with two faded chintz sofas, a cheerfully burning fire, and random piles of books and newspapers scattered throughout, ‘that the garage in the village is closed. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay the night and get your car seen to in the morning.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly trouble you any further,’ Natalie protested. ‘If I could just borrow your phone, I’ll call my fiancé to come and get me—’

‘Nonsense. I’m sure he won’t relish driving out from London to Warwickshire at this hour. Besides, we got rid of our landline.’ She cleared space on one of the sofas, moving a stack of magazines to the floor, and patted the cushions. ‘Sit, darling, and I’ll get you that drink.’

Natalie gratefully sank down onto the chintz-upholstered cushions. ‘So you haven’t a telephone?’ she asked as Lady Mary poured them each a generous measure of whisky.

‘No.’ She handed Natalie a glass and sat down beside her. ‘Charles and I have mobiles now. You’re more than welcome to use mine–’ she leaned forward and picked up a mobile phone from the coffee table ‘–if you’d like to call your young man and let him know you’re all right.’

‘Thank you.’ Natalie rang Rhys and got his voicemail. She left a quick message and rang off. ‘I don’t want him to worry.’

‘Of course you don’t. By the way, I’m sorry if I was rude when I answered the door. We get so many girls, traipsing up to the hall looking for Dominic. They use every pretext in the book – they need to use the loo, their car broke down, and so forth, and it gets very tiresome. Charles gets quite put out.’

‘I can imagine. How is his lordship?’ Natalie asked politely. She’d always been petrified of Dominic’s father, truth be told.

Perhaps, she thought uneasily, he’d mellowed with age.

‘He’s fighting the good fight – trying valiantly to keep Mansfield in the family, you know. It’s a heavy burden to bear…like tilting at windmills.’

Natalie set her drink aside and leaned forward. ‘Have you thought about renting Mansfield Hall out for wedding receptions and films and such? It can pay quite well.’

Lady Mary arched her brow. ‘I looked into it recently and the county council charge a £2,000 fee just to apply for a licence. Why do you ask, dear?’

‘Well, Rhys and I are getting married in a few months. I’ve left it too late to blag a decent venue for the reception, and now everything in London is booked. Even Mum’s house is under renovation. And I refuse to make do with a marquee in the back garden.’ She met Lady Mary’s eyes. ‘I’d really love to hold the ceremony and reception here, at Mansfield Hall.’

‘Oh! Well, it’s a lovely idea in theory, darling – but we’d need a licence to host a wedding reception here…which would require fire exits, parking, and public loos…’ She paused and added, ‘Then there’s my son to consider.’

‘Do you mean Dominic?’

‘Well, whatever Rupert’s calling himself these days,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘He won’t welcome the idea of your getting married here, you know.’

‘Why wouldn’t he? We broke up ages ago! Besides, he’s with Gemma now.’

‘That may be, but he won’t relish seeing you tie the knot with another man here at Mansfield. Rather like rubbing salt in a wound, I should think.’

‘Oh. Oh, I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ Natalie looked at her in dismay.

Lady Mary leaned forward and patted her knee. ‘Not to worry, my dear. As it happens, I’m having lunch with Rupert tomorrow, to meet his new girlfriend. I’ll ask him about it then.’

‘Dominic and Gemma are here?’ Nat squeaked, wide-eyed.

‘Yes, they’re staying at a hotel in the village. I thought it best to get Charles used to the idea of having Rupert back in the family fold before I spring any more surprises on him.’

‘Oh…yes. Yes, of course,’ Natalie agreed.

‘Well,’ her ladyship pronounced as she set aside her drink and stood up, ‘I’m sure you’re tired, so let’s take you upstairs and get you settled. I had one of the guest bedrooms readied earlier for Gemma…that should do nicely.’

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Natalie said as she followed Lady Mary back down the hallway and across the foyer to the stairs. ‘You’ve been more than kind.’

Her ladyship paused on the landing and turned to face her. ‘Why, you’re like family, Natalie! I’m terribly fond of you.’ She frowned and murmured, ‘After all, it ought to be you, not someone else. I’ve always thought so.’

‘I’m sorry - me?’ Natalie echoed, puzzled.

‘You were good for Rupert. He was happy with you.’

‘But we were horrible together,’ Nat blurted.

She didn’t add that Dom had cheated on her – repeatedly – and broken her heart six ways to Sunday, because she didn’t wish to hurt Lady Mary’s feelings or tarnish her high opinion of her son. ‘He and Gemma are perfect for each other. Gemma’s wonderful, and she loves Dominic very much.’

‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ Lady Mary said firmly, ‘but I still believe that you and Rupert ought to be the ones getting married here at Mansfield.’

‘How do I look?’ Gemma asked Dominic the next morning.

Dominic bit back a groan. If there was ever a more loaded female question, he didn’t know what it was. The only worse question was ‘does my bum look too big?’ No matter what answer he gave, Gemma wouldn’t believe him. And if he didn’t answer, she’d accuse him of hating her outfit…and of thinking her bum was too big.

Which it was, actually; but he liked her bum just as it was.

‘You look lovely. Perfect. Can we go now, babes?’

Gemma hesitated. ‘Do I have on too much slap?’ she asked Dominic anxiously as she leaned closer to the mirror. ‘Is my lippy too bright? Perhaps I should wear a different shade—’

He took her firmly by the arm and dragged her towards the hotel room door. ‘Your lippy’s fine. You’re only meeting my mum, after all. Come on, or we’ll be late.’

‘Your car needs an alternator,’ the garage mechanic told Natalie as he wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘Have to send over to Todenham for the part. It’ll be here by Wednesday morning.’

‘Wednesday morning!’ Natalie said, dismayed. ‘But it’s only Monday! What am I to do in the meantime?’

‘You can get a hire car in the village,’ he replied, already turning away. ‘We’ll call when your car’s ready, love. Oi!’ he shouted as one of the mechanics backed his van out of the work bay and nearly ploughed into a Citroën. ‘Watch it, you muppet!’

Lady Mary, who’d walked with Natalie to the garage, said reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, darling – of course you must stay at Mansfield until the car’s ready.’ She tucked her purse under her arm. ‘You’re welcome to join us for lunch.’ She rather liked the idea of having Natalie along when she met Rupert’s new girlfriend.

‘Thank you,’ Natalie said, ‘but I think I’ll pop over to the high street and buy a few things. I’ll meet you back here in–’ she consulted her wristwatch ‘–an hour and a half?’

‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’ So saying, Lady Locksley strode off to the hotel to meet her son’s new girlfriend with the gleam of combat in her eye.

Chapter 8

The Locksley Arms Tap Room was all but deserted at 11:45 as Gemma and Dominic sat down at the bar to wait for Lady Mary.

‘Whisky for me, mate,’ Dominic told the bartender, ‘and a Bloody Mary for the lady, please.’

‘Make it two Bloody Marys,’ Lady Mary called out as she joined them at the bar. She laid her clutch down and added, ‘A rather appropriate drink, under the circumstances, isn’t it?’

‘Mum!’ Dominic stood to give her a quick embrace and turned to Gemma. ‘Gemma, this is my mother, Lady Mary Locksley. Mum, this is Gemma Astley.’

Gemma smiled and extended her hand – her nails were newly manicured and painted ‘Foxy Fuschia’ to match her suit – to the slim older woman in the elegant tweed suit. ‘It’s nice to meet you, your, erm… ladyship,’ she stammered.

‘Oh, Lady Mary, please! No need to stand completely on ceremony.’ She seated herself on the barstool Dominic held out for her and crossed one slim leg over the other. ‘Have you been waiting long? I thought I was a bit early.’

‘No, we only just got here,’ Dominic answered as the bartender placed their drinks on napkins in front of them. ‘Where’s my father? Getting off some target practice with my picture on the bullseye?’

‘He’s with your brother, overseeing the shearing.’ She stirred the celery stick round in her glass and added, ‘I do wish you’d make a tiny effort not to discuss family matters, Rupert – especially not in front of—’ she paused ‘–outsiders.’

‘Gemma’s not an outsider,’ he snapped.

‘I only meant that she’s not a member of the family,’ his mother responded, unperturbed.

‘It’s okay,’ Gemma said, and laid a quelling hand on Dominic’s arm. She turned to Lady Mary. ‘I know all about Dominic and his dad,’ she informed the older woman. ‘I told Dominic, ‘It’s not right not to get on with your dad. Your family’s everything.’ I convinced him to come here and try and patch things up.’

‘How commendable.’ Lady Mary gave her a chilly smile and turned back to her son. ‘Did you know that Natalie is here?’

‘Natalie Dashwood?’ He set his whisky down abruptly. ‘Here in the hotel – or here in the village?’

‘She’s staying at Mansfield. Her car broke down last night and she needed a telephone.’

‘That’s bad luck,’ Dominic said. ‘Is the car being fixed?’

‘Apparently the part’s been ordered but won’t arrive until Wednesday.’ Lady Mary took a sip of her Bloody Mary and added, ‘I invited her to stay as long as she likes. We adore Natalie, you know,’ she told Gemma airily. ‘She’s a lovely girl. She and Rupert have known each other for yonks, they practically grew up in each other’s pockets—’

‘That was ages ago, Mum.’ Dominic’s voice was low but firm. ‘Nat and I are through.’ He put his arm around Gemma’s shoulders and squeezed her reassuringly. ‘I’m with Gemma now.’

Lady Mary pressed her lips together. ‘Yes, I can see that. Tell me, Miss Astley–’ she turned an enquiring, guileless gaze on the girl ‘–where exactly is your family from?’

‘Essex,’ Gemma said.

‘I would never have guessed,’ her ladyship murmured.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Dominic demanded.

‘Oh, nothing,’ his mother said with an arched brow, ‘it’s just common knowledge, isn’t it, that most Essex girls like flashy designer clothes, gaudy jewellery, and fake tans. Of course, Gemma’s nothing like that.’

Dominic locked eyes with his mother, but was spared a reply when the maître d’ appeared.

‘Your table is ready, Lady Locksley.’

‘Thank God,’ Dominic muttered to Gemma as they rose, drinks in hand, and followed the maître d’ and Lady Mary into the dining room.

‘Your mum hates me!’ Gemma hissed in his ear. ‘She thinks I’m a tart who’s after your money.’

Thankfully Dominic was spared a response as the maître d’ – who looked uncannily like Basil Fawlty – seated them in a small, private dining area. ‘Monsieur Heath will not be disturbed by the paparazzi,’ he said with a sniff.

‘Thanks,’ Dominic said. ‘Appreciate it.’ When the maître d’ left, he leaned forward and hissed, ‘Since when did the Locksley Arms become French? Poncey arsehole.’

‘Oh, Rupert, I’ve missed you,’ his mum said with a smile. ‘Now,’ she added briskly as they opened their menus, ‘what shall we have for lunch?’

‘We’re losing money,’ Liam Locksley admitted, his expression glum as Joss Devlin led one of the Cotswold sheep into the shearing shed. ‘It costs more to shear the sheep than we make back in profit on the fleece.’

‘Well, if it’s profit you want,’ Joss said over the hum of the shearers, ‘breed for the meat, not the wool. Cotswold mutton’s the best – even those who don’t like lamb, love it.’

Julia Allchurch wrinkled her pretty nose. ‘And kill all those darling sheep to make roasts and lamb sausages?’ She looked at Liam in dismay. ‘You mustn’t.’

‘They’re sheep, Julia, not pets.’ Liam smiled at her indulgently. ‘You grew up in Warwickshire, just like Joss. You know not to get attached to the animals.’

‘I do,’ she sighed, ‘but I can’t help it. And we only have cattle. Cows are so much less adorable than sheep.’

As she wielded the clippers and sheared the ewe, seventeen-year-old Joss resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why were boys always so taken in by the prim, ooh-don’t-hurt-the-cute-little-lambs type of girl? She’d never understood it.

Joss sighed. Although the Locksleys had taken her in after her mother died, and although she’d lived at Mansfield since she was six, Joss wasn’t one of them, and she never would be.

She glanced over at Liam as she finished and handed off the shorn sheep’s halter to her brother Rory.

Liam was completely smitten with Julia Allchurch. Too bad his mum was pushing him to marry that awful Bibi Matchington-Alcester. It was plain enough that Liam didn’t love her.

But Bibi was gorgeous, Joss had to admit, in that long-legged, posh-girl way of hers.

Of course – Joss looked down with misgivings at her overalls and moccasins – she wasn’t very appealing at the moment. Julia, on the other hand, was effortlessly perfect. Her hair was dark and glossy, her skin flawless and blooming with health—

Rory called out impatiently, ‘Are you planning on throwing me that fleece anytime today, Joss?’

‘Sorry.’ She tossed the newly shorn fleece over to Rory so he could skirt it, making sure the wool was free of brambles or any other imperfections before he rolled it up, and went to fetch the next sheep from the pen.

‘Who owns the red Maserati?’ Julia asked Liam later that morning. ‘I couldn’t help but notice it when I came over.’

‘It’s my brother’s.’ Liam offered nothing further.

‘Your brother’s?’ Julia echoed, surprised. ‘Do you mean to say Rupert’s come back to Mansfield Hall after eleven years?’

Liam didn’t answer, but a scowl descended on his face and he stalked out of the shed.

Julia, her own face set in determination, followed him and caught at his arm. ‘Liam – tell me what’s going on.’

‘There’s nothing to tell, Julia. He was gone; now he’s back. End of story.’ He made his way over to the low stone wall that ran the length of the drive and sat down.

She sat next to him. ‘But why did he decide to come back? He’s a rock star now, isn’t he? Has he made peace with your father? When can I meet him?’

‘Shit, Julia!’ Liam snapped. ‘You ask more questions than a bloody reporter! I don’t know why he came back. And no, he hasn’t made peace with dad – in fact, quite the opposite. Just because he’s Dominic Heath, he thinks he can swan in here and do what he likes.’

‘Well perhaps,’ Julia ventured, ‘he and your father will finally mend their fences.’

Liam snorted. ‘Don’t count on it. After all, why should he show up after all these years, offer a few words of apology, and be given Mansfield Hall, just because he’s the eldest?’

‘Well,’ Julia said reasonably, ‘as you said, he’s the eldest. He’s next in the line of succession, after all.’

‘But I’m the one who’s spent hours learning about sheep and pasture rotation, not to mention trying to find a way to make this place sustain itself,’ Liam snapped. ‘I’ve poured everything into Mansfield. And now Rupert’s come to take it all away, and he doesn’t even know – or care – about any of it.’

‘Poor Liam.’ Julia put her arms round him and held him close. ‘It really isn’t fair, is it?’

Liam revelled in the feel of Julia’s slender arms around him, and the scent of her hair against his face, and he scarcely dared to breathe. He loved Julia Allchurch, desperately and completely; but she was oblivious.

And unless he could figure a way out of it, he’d end up married to Bibi Matchington-Alcester, the Heiress from Hell, very soon.

‘No,’ he agreed after a moment, relishing Julia’s proximity. ‘It’s not fair at all.’

Chapter 9

‘Your lunch, mesdames et monsieur.’

As the waiter set down their plates with a flourish, Lady Mary leaned forward. ‘Rupert, there’s something we need to discuss.’

He bit back a groan and grabbed his glass of Sancerre. After a long, fortifying sip, he said, ‘Are you sure it’s something we can talk about in front of Gemma?’

‘Natalie made a suggestion last night…a very good one, actually. The more thought I’ve given it, the more I think it’s a brilliant idea.’

Dominic popped a piece of roast beef in his mouth. ‘And what’s Nat’s brilliant idea? Do enlighten me.’

‘Don’t speak with your mouth open, Rupert,’ Lady Mary scolded him. ‘Manners still matter. Well, everything’s contingent on getting the proper licence from the council, of course, and persuading your father to agree to the idea—’

‘You can forget it, then,’ Dominic muttered.

‘–but once those requirements are met, Natalie would very much like to hold her wedding reception at Mansfield Hall.’

‘Wedding reception?’ Dominic all but choked on his beef and had to be slapped on the back, rather forcefully, by Gemma. ‘At Mansfield?’

Lady Mary nodded as she speared a piece of lobster. ‘Yes, she wants to marry Rhys Gordon, and Mansfield Hall is her venue of choice.’ She paused. ‘Well? What do you think, darling?’

‘What do I think? I think it’s a bloody mistake, that’s what I think!’ Dominic erupted. ‘If Nat wants to ruin her life by marrying that foul-mouthed twat, let her. But she’s bloody well not doing it at Mansfield bloody Hall!’

And with that, he thrust his chair violently back and stormed out of the dining room.

After lunch, Dominic and Gemma rode up the lift in frosty silence and returned to their hotel room. Gemma, more than a little put out by Dominic’s violent reaction to news of Natalie’s upcoming wedding, refused to speak to him.

As Dominic opened their door, a flood of water and a partially collapsed bedroom ceiling greeted them. ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed. ‘Good thing I didn’t bring the Strat along.’

‘Never mind your guitar,’ Gemma snapped, ‘what about my clothes? They’re ruined!’

And indeed, water had burst from the sprinkler system overhead and had soaked the clothing Gemma had left strewn all over the bed and floor earlier. Her shoes were filled with water, and her handbag was beyond redemption.

There was a discreet knock on the door behind them. ‘Excuse me,’ the bellboy said, ‘but the sprinkler system’s malfunctioned. We’re asking our guests to vacate until we can get the pipes repaired. It might take a couple of days.’

‘Vacate?’ Gemma shrilled, and rounded on him. ‘And where are we to go, exactly? The very least this poxy hotel can do is put us up somewhere else, all expenses paid! And while you’re at it, I want every piece of clothing that your fucking frozen pipes have ruined replaced!’ Then she burst into noisy tears.

Terrified, the bellboy muttered an apology, said he’d look into the matter at once, and fled.

Dominic put his arms around her. ‘It’s okay, babes,’ he soothed her. ‘I’ll buy you new stuff. And we can crash at Mansfield for a couple of days, no problem.’

She pushed him away. ‘Don’t touch me! You made it very clear at lunch today that you’re still in love with Nat, the way you went on about her wedding—’

‘What?’ He stared at her in consternation. ‘I’m not “still in love with Nat”,’ he protested, ‘because I never loved her in the first place! We’re good mates, Nat and I, and that’s all. I just don’t want her getting married at Mansfield, that’s all.’

‘Why not?’ Gemma asked, still unconvinced. ‘If you don’t love her, why do you care if she gets married there?’

‘I can’t stand Rhys Gordon, that’s why. And the feeling’s mutual. But Mum’s got this bee up her arse to start having weddings and things at Mansfield to drum up a bit of cash.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t like it, but she’s right. It makes sense…financially speaking, anyway. But I still hate it.’

She sniffled and allowed him to draw her back in his arms ‘Your mum hates me,’ she said, her voice muffled against his chest. ‘I told you she wouldn’t like me.’

‘She’ll come around, don’t worry. In the meantime–’ he lifted her tear-streaked face and tenderly kissed the tip of her nose ‘–let’s leave this soggy crap behind and go shopping.’

Dominic and Gemma descended on Mansfield Hall late that afternoon with dozens of bags and assorted piles of brand-new luggage in tow.

‘We’ve been shopping,’ Gemma explained as Lady Mary descended the staircase. She hugged Dominic’s arm and smiled at him adoringly. ‘Dominic practically bought out the high street for me.’

‘Yes.’ Lady Mary glanced at the proliferation of bags in their hands with disapproval. ‘I can see that.’

‘The pipes burst at the hotel,’ Dominic informed her. ‘Ruined our stuff, and we’ve been thrown out until the problem’s fixed. You won’t mind,’ he added with a gleam of challenge in his eye, ‘if we pitch up here for a day or two, will you?’

‘No,’ his mum said stiffly. ‘We’ll sort out your rooms later. Leave your things here for now and join us for drinks in the drawing room.’ She produced a tight smile and went off to inform Mrs Sutton – and Charles, who would not be pleased – that there would be two extra for dinner. And possibly for breakfast, as well…

Lady Mary had no sooner disappeared through the baize door leading to the kitchen when Liam arrived, along with an attractive young woman, and a young man and a teenage girl, both wearing overalls.

Liam eyed Dominic. ‘I thought you’d gone back to London.’

‘Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere.’ Dominic met his brother’s glare. ‘We’re crashing here for a day or two. We’ve been put out of the Locksley Arms.’

‘And why’s that?’ Liam asked. ‘Acting the rock star, were you? Throwing TVs out the window, smashing up your room?’

‘The pipes burst,’ Gemma told him coolly. ‘Throwing TVs out of windows and smashing up rooms seems more your style.’

Liam’s scowl deepened, but he made no reply.

Dominic extended his hand to the young brunette woman standing uncertainly next to Liam and introduced himself.

‘Hullo, I’m Rupert Locksley, eldest brother and resident black sheep of the family. Thought I’d do the honours, since Liam seems to have forgotten his manners,’ Dominic added.

‘Julia Allchurch,’ Julia replied, charmed. She turned to the young man and woman. ‘This is Joss and Rory Devlin. They just sheared 200 sheep. And an amazing job they did, too.’

‘I’m sure,’ Gemma murmured, aware as she clasped Rory’s hand of the smell of woolly damp emanating from him. His eyes, dark with amusement, met hers, and she was sure he read her thoughts.

Joss pulled a burr out of her long blonde braid. ‘I’ll run up and change before dinner. I’m not fit company in these overalls. C’mon, Rory. You can change in my room.’

‘You both live here at Mansfield?’ Dominic asked, puzzled.

Rory shook his head. ‘Joss does. I live in Rose Cottage with my dad. I’m saving up for a farm of my own.’

‘Lady Mary took me in after our mum died,’ Joss explained. ‘Dad could barely cope with three boys, much less a six-year-old girl. So…I stayed here.’

‘It must’ve been after I left,’ Dominic said.

Joss nodded. ‘Your mother’s been very kind to me.’

Dominic’s mobile phone rang and he excused himself to take the call. ‘Yeah, Max, what is it?’ he asked his agent with a trace of impatience. ‘We’re just about to go in to dinner.’

‘Sorry,’ Max replied, ‘but it’s important. Bit of bad news, I’m afraid.’

Dominic frowned and stayed behind as the others drifted off to the drawing room. ‘What’s happened?’

‘You know your nice, lucrative contract with Maison Laroche, the one that keeps you in Maseratis and ’57 Strats?’

‘What about it?’

‘It’s over, Dominic. They’ve dropped the campaign for their men’s cologne, Dissolute. And they’ve dropped you, as well.’

Chapter 10

‘What?’ Dominic erupted. ‘You can’t mean it! Those ads bring in a shedload of cash, Max – not just for me, but for Maison Laroche! Why’ve they dropped the campaign?’

‘Well, there’s a couple of reasons,’ Max said carefully. ‘There’s a lot of negative publicity because of Klaus—’

‘Klaus,’ Dominic said contemptuously. ‘I can’t stand that snooty German arse—’

‘–so they’ve decided to pull the ads. They might, er…retool them, later.’

‘Oh.’ Mollified, Dominic noticed a stain on the coffered ceiling overhead. It was shaped exactly like Gemma’s bum. ‘So they’ll probably need me for some new ads, later on. Right?’

There was a lengthy pause. ‘Well, as to that—’

‘Are you coming, Dominic?’ Gemma asked as she returned to the foyer. ‘We’re going in to dinner now.’

‘Yeah, okay, babes.’ Dominic said goodbye to Max and rang off.

The dining room table, which seated thirty, easily accommodated nine that evening. Lord and Lady Locksley sat at either end, with their guests ranged along each side of the table. The tall, mullioned windows reflected sullen skies as they took their seats, and the wind quickened and whipped at the branches.

‘Looks like we’re in for a nasty storm,’ Rory observed. ‘Good thing we finished up the shearing.’

Charles frowned. ‘As to that, I think one of the ewes is taking ill. She didn’t eat much and seemed a bit listless.’

‘I’d suggest you call the vet tomorrow if she doesn’t improve,’ Rory suggested.

‘Well!’ Lady Mary interjected a shade too brightly. ‘Isn’t this lovely, Charles? We’ve got all our family here tonight.’

Lord Locksley glowered down the table at Dominic and muttered something unintelligible into his salade frisée.

‘It’s lovely to be here,’ Natalie offered, ‘and it’s really lovely to see Dominic and Gemma again. London’s such a big place, and we’re all so busy that we rarely see each other.’

‘I got the most fabulous pair of shoes today, Nat,’ Gemma told her. ‘Black satin pumps.’

‘Ooh – not Louboutins?’

Gemma snorted. ‘On my salary? You must be joking! No, but they’re still gorgeous. Come upstairs after dinner and I’ll show you.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘And I’d like to make a toast.’ Lady Mary raised her glass of Montrachet and smiled at Dominic. ‘To Rupert, for making us a family again… Welcome home, darling.’

Liam snorted. ‘Arsehole,’ he muttered, but only Dominic – seated across the table – heard him.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Dominic ignored his brother and sipped his wine to a chorus of ‘hear, hears’. He nearly choked. The bottle must’ve come from deep in the recesses of the family wine cellar – the Montrachet tasted like vinegar chased with cobwebs. He’d had cooking sherry that tasted better than this swill.

‘Thanks for letting us stay here, Lady Mary,’ Gemma said as she set her glass aside and admired the Georgian chandelier and hand-painted wallpaper. ‘This is a fabulous old house.’

‘Thank you,’ Lady Mary replied. ‘Mansfield may not be Grade 1 listed, but it has an intriguing history nonetheless.’

Gemma leaned forward, fascinated. ‘Oh?’

‘Don’t encourage her,’ Liam warned. ‘She’ll go on all night about ghosts and Elizabethan courtiers and Lady Eleanora.’

‘Mansfield has ghosts?’ Gemma squealed in delight. ‘Right, you’ve got to tell us about them, Lady Mary.’

Natalie, seated next to Dominic, touched his arm. ‘D’you remember the time you lit the bonfire for Guy Fawkes, and it refused to catch? It kept going out.’

‘Wet wood tends to do that,’ Liam pointed out. ‘My twit of a brother doesn’t know how to lay a proper fire.’

‘I know how to lay a fire,’ Dominic retorted. ‘The wood was as dry as melba toast. Something – or someone – didn’t want that fire to stay lit.’

‘Who, then? Guy Fawkes?’ Liam scoffed.

‘No,’ Julia said, and leaned forward with an impish smile. ‘It was obviously the Bride in Black.’

‘The Bride in Black?’ Gemma echoed, her expression avid.

‘She’s our resident ghost,’ Lady Mary explained, enjoying their attention. ‘Lady Eleanora was engaged to a young Prussian officer, Captain von Graf. The two had never met; so when the wedding day neared, there was great excitement here at Mansfield as the bride and her family awaited the groom’s arrival.

‘The house was filled with flowers and the table was laid with a feast. But time passed, the fires sank down to embers, and the captain hadn’t arrived. Late that evening, a horseman galloped up and broke the news to the family that Captain von Graf and his party had been ambushed, attacked by robbers in a mountain pass. Von Graf was killed.’

‘How awful,’ Gemma murmured, stricken. ‘Poor Eleanora.’

‘What happened to her?’ Rory wondered.

‘She was terribly distraught, of course,’ Lady Mary replied, ‘and changed from her wedding dress into mourning clothes. She wore only mourning for the rest of her life.’

‘But why would Eleanora want to put out the bonfire?’ Gemma asked Julia, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I can answer that,’ Joss chimed in. ‘They say she stood watch every night at her window with a candle, waiting for her groom to return.’ She paused. ‘One evening, her sleeve caught the candle flame. Servants heard her screams and managed to douse the fire before it engulfed the bedroom, but it was too late. Eleanora died.’

Just then, a rumble of thunder ruptured the sky, followed by an ear-splitting crack of lightning, and as rain began to pelt against the windows, the lights flickered and went out.

Gemma let out a shriek and clutched Dominic’s arm, petrified.

Liam laughed. ‘Eleanora’s showing off tonight.’

Lord Locksley stood. ‘There’s no need to panic, Miss Astley, we lose power quite often.’ He fixed a cold eye on his younger son. ‘Come with me to fetch the candelabra, Liam, and stop trying to frighten our guests.’

Chastened, Liam rose and followed his father out. Ten minutes later they returned with a pair of candelabras and set one at either end of the table. Soon the warm glow of candlelight held the darkness at bay.

‘I’m afraid the drive is blocked by a tree,’ Lord Locksley informed them as he returned to his seat. ‘That last lightning strike must’ve taken it down.’

‘Shit,’ Dominic exclaimed, and made his way to one of the windows. ‘I hope my car isn’t smashed.’ Especially since he didn’t know when he might be able to afford another…

Liam joined his brother at the window. ‘Your car’s fine.’ He surveyed the giant oak blocking the drive. ‘But Dad’s right. No one’s going anywhere tonight.’

‘Not to worry,’ Lady Mary said briskly, ‘we’ve plenty of room to accommodate you all. Mrs Sutton will make up a few extra beds in the guest wing.’ She smiled expectantly at Charles. ‘This is rather fun, isn’t it?’

He grunted and poured himself another glass of wine.

Dominic couldn’t help but notice that his father hadn’t addressed a word to him. No surprise there, he supposed. He waited as Mrs Sutton trundled in with a large tureen – this one containing soup, he hoped, and not rainwater – and a basket of rolls.

Crikey, if you harnessed all the rampant sexual undercurrents racing round the table, they’d be strong enough to power the entire house. Liam couldn’t take his eyes off of Julia; Joss toyed with her food and mooned over Liam; and Rory, Dominic noted with irritation, was deep in conversation with Gemma about the spring lambing season.

‘Your hands are so soft!’ she was saying to Rory in awe. ‘Do you use a special hand cream?’

‘Nope,’ he said, and smiled. ‘It’s the lanolin from the wool. Keeps my skin soft as a baby’s.’

‘I keep telling him we ought to bottle it up,’ Joss joked. ‘We’d make a fortune on the high street.’

Natalie leaned forward. ‘Dominic,’ she said in a low voice, ‘Rhys and I are getting married soon, and I’d love to hold the wedding here at Mansfield. I know you told your mum no,’ she hastened to add as she saw a mulish look descend on his face, ‘but it’d be perfect. And it’d mean so much to me.’ She played her last, most important card. ‘And we’ll pay whatever you like.’

Dominic hated the thought of Nat marrying Gordon here at Mansfield Hall. He and Rhys despised each other, and had done from the first time they’d met.

But he had to be realistic. Losing the Dissolute contract, even temporarily, would cost him a lot of money. Playing host to weddings, film crews, pheasant shoots and rock festivals was exactly what Mansfield needed – a way to keep the estate in the family, and keep it in better nick for future generations.

He did a quick mental calculation. The fee for one wedding reception alone would cover the cost of a new boiler and replacement of the crumbling Robert Adam ceiling…

‘Okay,’ Dominic said, grudgingly. ‘If my parents agree, I don’t see why you and that twit Rhys can’t get married here.’

Lady Mary’s laser-like gaze settled on the two of them. ‘What’s that, darling?’

‘Nat wants to get married here at Mansfield. If it’s all right with you lot–’ he didn’t look at his father or Liam ‘–it’s all right with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ he said as he stood and tossed his napkin down, ‘I’m not hungry. Goodnight.’

And with a face like one of the thunderclouds outside the windows, Dominic left the dining room and disappeared into the blackness of the hallway.

Chapter 11

‘Dom, wait!’ Gemma, panicked at the thought of traversing those dark, shadowy halls to find her way alone up to their room, pushed her chair back. The story of Lady Eleanora and her bridegroom had unnerved her more than she’d realized.

But Dominic was gone.

‘Don’t worry,’ Rory reassured her, ‘I’ll be happy to take you upstairs.’ He laid his hand reassuringly atop hers.

Gemma sank back in her seat. ‘Thanks.’ Bloody Dominic. She glanced at Rory, who smiled back at her. Joss’ older brother was actually quite attractive, once you got past the sheep farmer thing…

‘I think I’ll call it a night as well.’ Natalie thanked Lady Mary and Charles once again for their hospitality and stood up. ‘It’s been a long day. Goodnight, everyone.’

The others rose as well, and as Charles and Lady Mary led the way with candelabras in hand, they made their way across the hall and up the stairs to their rooms, and bed.

The storm continued unabated until sometime after midnight. Dominic found sleep impossible. He didn’t know if it was the narrowness of his old twin bed, or the wind whistling round the corner, or the fact that Gemma was once again pissed off at him.

She’d told him in no uncertain terms that she preferred to sleep alone and that he could spend the night ‘dreaming of Natalie’. Then she’d walked down the hall with Rory, giggling at his jokes like a schoolgirl, until they turned the corner.

Dominic scowled. Gemma was probably sharing that sheep farmer’s bed, right this very minute. He threw back the covers and got up. There was no way he’d sleep now; he’d make his way back downstairs and find the kitchen.

He needed a big bowl of Cocoa Pops and a think.

Natalie couldn’t get warm. She’d forgotten how cold these old houses were at night, particularly when there was no power and not nearly enough blankets. She missed Rhys. She’d gotten used to the warm expanse of his back against hers at night, and she missed the smell of him in her pillows and blankets.

She looked forward to their wedding. Although she’d kept her flat, she spent most of her time at Rhys’s house on Endell Street, choosing curtains and rugs and fairy lights for the terrace. Rhys found her domesticity amusing.

It must be the result, Natalie decided as she threw back the covers, of those years spent with Dominic, living out of a tour bus and never having a place to really call her own.

She wanted to make Rhys’s house into a home…their home.

Natalie groped amongst the bedcovers for her robe and slipped it on. What she needed was a nice warm cup of cocoa and a good book. There were thousands of books in the library; surely somewhere amongst the treatises on history and dusty first editions she’d find a mystery novel, or a Jilly Cooper, or perhaps a book about Lady Eleanora Locksley…

No, scratch that, Natalie decided hastily. She wanted a dull, anodyne book to help her drift off to sleep, not one that would keep her up half the night, biting back a shriek every time a floorboard creaked or a branch tapped against her window.

But first, she decided as she took up the candle Lady Mary had left flickering by her bedside, she’d go downstairs to the kitchen and fix herself a lovely mug of hot cocoa.

Dominic took down the box of Cocoa Pops and rummaged until he found a mixing bowl, then dumped half the box of cereal in. After adding a generous splash of milk, most of which ended up on the counter, he settled himself at one end of the trestle table and began, morosely, to eat.

He didn’t hear Natalie come into the kitchen over the crunching of his cereal.

‘Dominic?’

He let out a startled yelp and flung his spoon and bowl aside. Milk and cereal exploded across the counter. ‘Nat?’ he exclaimed as he stood up, wild-eyed. ‘What the fuck

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