response, she glared at him, turned on one well-shod heel, and stalked away.
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
