Mansfield Lark. Katie OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
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,