Mansfield Lark. Katie Oliver

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.