Elizabeth Duke - Look-Alike Fiancee

With a shrug, she pointed Ginger in the direction of the stables...an old two-storey barn which had been there, she’d learned from old photographs they’d found in a cupboard, for as long as the house. The building was in need of repair, like everything else, but provided adequate shelter meantime, and the roomy loft above, when done up, would make ideal accommodation for guests or future stable hands.

Once there, she was tempted to stay put. The stables seemed safer, somehow, than the house, and at least they were under cover, out of the rain. She looked hopefully up at the sky, but there was no sign as yet of any lightening in the cloud cover, or any real slackening in the rain.

‘Are we going to make a dash for the house?’ O’Malley said finally. ‘You should get out of those wet clothes. I’ll stay out on the verandah if you don’t want to invite me in.’

You should get out of those wet clothes...

Her eyes leapt to his. What did she expect to see? A leer? Carnal intent? A lecherous glint as his imagination went haywire, evoking images of her removing her sodden shirt and jeans?

All she saw was cool, dispassionate reason. He was right. Again. As usual.

‘Right,’ she mumbled. ‘P-perhaps you’d like some coffee while we’re waiting for the rain to—’ she nearly said ‘stop’, but that might take hours ‘—to ease off,’ she said instead.

‘Thanks. Let’s make a dash, then,’ he rapped, and they both sprinted towards the house, not pausing until they reached the vine-covered verandah.

She hesitated as she thrust her key in the kitchen door. ‘Do you want me to bring your coffee out to you?’ she asked in a stilted voice. How could she invite him inside? Not only was he dripping wet, but her parents would have a fit if they found out she’d invited a virtual stranger into the house while she was down here alone. He might be the son of a neighbour, but he was still a stranger. And being an O’Malley, a hostile stranger.

‘I don’t suppose you’d have a clothes dryer?’ O’Malley enquired hopefully.

Her throat went dry. ‘Why?’ she asked warily, hoping he didn’t mean what she thought he meant. But what else could he mean?

‘Have you? I can’t imagine the Conways not having all mod cons.’

She sucked in a deep, quivering breath. Another sly dig at the Conways! He just couldn’t resist. She glowered up at him. ‘We have...as a matter of fact. But if you think—’

‘What I’d really like,’ O’Malley cut in, spreading his hands as if to say, Look at me...look at the state I’m in, ‘is a shower...if you have a spare one in a back room or outhouse somewhere. These wet clothes feel damned uncomfortable. You could throw my clothes in the dryer and they’d be dry by the time we’d finished our coffee.’

A suffocating sensation threatened to crush her, to squeeze all the air from her lungs. ‘You—you intend to get undressed?’ She stared at him. Trying not to imagine how he’d look if he did. A sight to behold, she traitorously thought, heat flaming through her.

He’s an O’Malley, she thought wildly. He despises you and everything you stand for. He won’t try anything.

Or maybe that was the very reason he would!

‘It would be difficult to dry my wet clothes without undressing first,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘Naturally, I’d disrobe in private.’ His eyes glinted wickedly, as if he’d read her mind a second ago.

‘I should hope so!’ she hissed, thinning her lips and glaring at him to hide the burning mortification she felt inside. ‘Th-there’s a shower in the washroom...just along the verandah, second door along. You can use that. Wait here and I’ll unlock the door from inside.’

As she kicked off her muddy boots and let herself into the kitchen, he called after her. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d lend me a towel. An old one will do. And maybe...’ amused irony licked through his voice ‘...one of your father’s monogrammed smoking jackets, if that would be less likely to offend your sensibilities.’

She paused, gritting her teeth. She didn’t trust herself to turn round. She knew his eyes would be mocking her, if not openly laughing at her.

‘The chip on your shoulder’s showing again,’ she snapped. ‘Or is it envy? You have a secret longing for a monogrammed smoking jacket? I’ll see what I can find!’ She let the door slam behind her.

A few minutes later she jerked open the outer washroom door. Peeking out, she saw O’Malley patiently waiting on the verandah, lolling against one of the vineclad timber posts.

‘You can come in now.’ Avoiding his eye as he strode towards her, she thrust a bulging sports bag at him. ‘You’ll find a towel and something to wear in here.’ She kept her head down to hide the mischievous glint in her eye.

‘Thanks, ma’am. This is real neighbourly of you.’

Was that another dig? Or an apology of sorts...knowing that his father was less than neighbourly and wouldn’t even speak to them?

‘Throw your things into the dryer,’ she said briskly, ‘and when you’re ready come to the kitchen.’ She would put her own wet clothes into the washing machine later. ‘You know where the kitchen door is.’ Let him come in from the verandah, not through the house. ‘Enjoy your shower!’ She swung away before he could catch the impish smile on her lips.

She raced upstairs to the main bathroom next to her big double bedroom overlooking the vast tree-lined lawn.

Being such an old house, it had no en suites off the bedrooms, though the rooms were large enough to put them in at a later stage. Her father had wanted to modernise the bedrooms and put spa baths in the planned en suites, but she’d insisted the rooms must be renovated in the authentic old Federation style, with old-style en suites to match, and no modern spas. And, since she would be spending the most time here at Fernlea, her father had bowed to her wishes.

O’Malley, no doubt, would see it differently. He’d see it as the pampered daughter getting her own way again. Getting whatever she wanted.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. What a sight! She looked like a drowned bush rat! Where was the pampered socialite now? Socialite! She snorted, her lip curling. O’Malley had a lot to learn!

She showered and dressed in double-quick time, throwing on a clean white T-shirt and her oldest, most faded pair of jeans. She wanted to avoid giving O’Malley a chance to taunt her for wearing expensive designer jeans or a famous-label shirt. Not that she didn’t possess such items...she did...mostly picked up at sales, and only well-cut, top-quality gear that she knew would last better than the cheaper variety.

She pulled back her still damp, shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, securing it with a black scrunchie. She left her face bare of make-up, not even bothering with lipstick. Her lips were full enough and pink enough to get away without lipstick, and her lashes, being as thick and black as her hair, needed no enhancing.

It was just as well she hadn’t been wearing make-up earlier, she mused, or her mascara would have run down her cheeks and her lipstick would have been smeared across her chin! She could just imagine how O’Malley would have teased her about that!

She suppressed a giggle as she ran down the stairs to the kitchen. Now she was going to get her chance to laugh at him!

There was no sign of him as yet She set about preparing the coffee, filling the pot and taking two mugs from hooks on the wall. It was a big old country-style kitchen with cupboards and benches lining the walls and a long table in the middle, with several chairs. She’d recently made new curtains and given the walls a new coat of paint.

She heard O’Malley’s voice at the door. ‘Hullo there.’