Elizabeth Duke - Look-Alike Fiancee

‘Watch out!’ rasped Mike. ‘There’s a car coming.’

‘I can see it!’ she hissed, slowing down as the two cars drew closer. She reached down to switch her headlights on, just in case the oncoming driver hadn’t seen her. At once the other car’s lights sprang on too, as if the driver had had the same thought.

‘Who is it? Your father? It’s obviously someone who knows you, since he’s heading for Fernlea. Unless it’s someone who’s lost his way. It does happen around these parts.’

‘We’ll soon find out.’ She brought the Land Cruiser to a halt as far to one side of the road as she could—making sure the wheels were still on the solid ground—and opened her window to signal to the other driver to pull up too.

Mike gave a soft whistle as the other car, a sleek red sports car, pulled up a few metres away—not too close, as if the driver was wary of strange four-wheel-drive vehicles that might scratch or muddy his beautiful car.

‘Well...it’s obviously a friend of yours,’ Mike murmured. ‘Porsches don’t often appear in these parts. Or didn’t until the Conways moved in down here.’

A Porsche! Taryn’s stomach lurched. She only knew one person who drove a red Porsche. Rory Silverman...polo-playing playboy son of Rex Silverman, the mining tycoon. The Silvermans owned a huge property the other side of Warragul, less than ten kilometres from here. She’d met Rory at an equestrian function, and he’d rung her a few times since to ask her out. So far she’d had a ready excuse each time—he was far too smooth and full of himself for her liking—but he hadn’t taken the hint.

The last time he’d called her he’d told her that he might pop over to Fernlea one day to see her. ‘We must catch up with each other, Taryn,’ he’d purred, ‘before I go off overseas again.’

She’d hoped he’d forgotten. Or had been too busy. Or had already gone overseas.

Obviously not. No such luck.

‘You stay here,’ she rapped at Mike. ‘I’ll go and speak to him. I know who it is.’

She grabbed an umbrella from the back seat where she always kept one, and clambered out, snapping it open as she strode over to the Porsche.

The driver wound down his window. ‘Taryn...it’s you!’

Good-looking, tawny-haired, suave... Yes, it was Rory Silverman all right.

‘Rory! I...I hope you weren’t coming to visit me?’

What she really wanted to know was what, precisely, he’d had in mind. She compressed her lips. Why would he call on her at this late hour of the day, in this appalling weather...unless he was hoping to stay the night?

His long-lashed grey eyes peered up at her. ‘I called you before I came,’ he told her in his well-cultivated, smooth-as-silk voice, ‘but there seems to be something wrong with your phone. I knew your parents would be back in town—they’re going to the same dinner as mine—so I thought I’d better rush over and make sure you were all right.’

I’ll bet, she thought, unconvinced at his display of concern. He’d seen an excuse to make a move on her, more like. Rory Silverman had a reputation for chasing and bedding good-looking women. Obviously, he saw her as an easy target. The Conway girl on her own, miles from anywhere.

‘Yes, my phone is out of order,’ she conceded. ‘I don’t suppose you happened to report it for me?’

‘Uh...no. I didn’t think. Sorry. I was just thinking of you.’

Oh, sure, she thought, unable to see Rory Silverman as the gallant knight-to-the-rescue type. From what she knew of him, he didn’t have a caring, heroic bone in his svelte body! He was just out for what he could get. A woman. The richer and more glamorous the better.

Not that he’d find any glamour here today. Far from it.

‘You look different.’ Rory ran expert eyes over her, apparently not caring that he was keeping her standing in puddles of water, with rain dripping from her umbrella onto her shoulders. His gaze lingered a second or two on the curves revealed by her white T-shirt, before flicking back to her face. His brow puckered. ‘You look younger. Or something.’

Her mouth twitched. ‘I guess you’ve only seen me in my glad rags, with all the warpaint on.’

He looked startled for a second, as if he’d never thought of her in terms of warpaint. ‘You’re still gorgeous, even without make-up,’ he assured her, recovering his aplomb. ‘With those lovely dark eyes of yours and that stunning black hair...’ But it was obvious he preferred her all dolled up and dressed to kill, with her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, rather than tied back in a girlish ponytail.

‘Er...’ his gaze veered to the Land Cruiser ‘...just on your way out, are you?’ He squinted through the drizzle at the blurred windscreen and the male shape behind, as if trying to see who was with her.

‘I’m—’ She stopped. She’d been about to tell him she was just running a neighbour home, but caught back the words in time. If Rory knew that, he might insist on driving on to Fernlea and waiting there until she came back.

If it had been anyone other than Rory Silverman, she would have welcomed some friendly, amenable company to come home to, after putting up with Mike O’Malley’s cynical gibes and patronising taunts. But she certainly didn’t want to come home to Rory Silverman. She wouldn’t enjoy his company, for one thing, and she wouldn’t be able to trust him to take no for an answer. Or to go home when she asked him to.

‘Yes, afraid so...sorry.’ She gave a shrug of her shoulders. She didn’t want to sound too regretful and encourage him to try another time. ‘You’ve come all this way in the rain for nothing. Your lovely car will be a mess.’

He winced. ‘Never mind,’ he muttered, ‘a car wash will fix it.’

If she’d told him the truth about Mike and asked him to wait for her at Fernlea, his answer might have been different. Something smoother, along the lines of, Never mind, you’re worth it. But she hadn’t, and he was plainly anxious now to be on his way. With as little wear and tear to his precious car—his plaything, his status symbol—as possible.

‘Look...um...’ She glanced round to make sure Mike O’Malley wasn’t advancing on her to blow sky-high her story about being on her way out with him. ‘Why don’t you drive on to Fernlea, Rory, and turn around there? It’ll be too dangerous trying to turn around here on this narrow road. You don’t want your nice car to get bogged.’ Having to help him out of the mud would be the last straw. It was getting late enough already.

‘I sure don’t,’ Rory said emphatically. ‘OK, I will...thanks.’

‘I think there’s just room for you to get safely past the Land Cruiser,’ she told him. ‘You go ahead... I’ll wait till you’ve gone past.’ If Mike thinks Rory’s going to Fernlea to wait for me, she thought, let him. If he thinks I’ve invited Rory to stay the night, let him think that too. He’ll chink the worst of me anyway.

‘Right.’ Rory nosed the Porsche forward, snaking his head round as he crawled past the big four-wheel drive to take a peek at her passenger. As Taryn sprinted back to the Land Cruiser with water squelching in her shoes, she saw Mike give a facetious wave.

Rory ignored it, or pretended not to notice. He wouldn’t relish being cast aside for another man. That mocking wave would only rub it in.

‘Sorry about that, Mike,’ she said airily as she closed her dripping umbrella and tossed it into the back of the vehicle, before hauling herself up into the driver’s seat. It was the first time, she realised, that she’d called him Mike. The name had come surprisingly easily to her lips.

She revved the engine. ‘We’d better get a move on.’ Chatting to Rory had wasted precious daylight.