Mansfield Lark. Katie Oliver

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