in the morning.’
‘What is it you want me to do?’ Natasha asked her. ‘Kidnap this Luke and keep him out of sight until after the wedding?’ she suggested facetiously.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Emma said severely, making Natasha reflect that her cousin had changed a little. Time was when she would very probably have suggested just such an outrageous solution to her present problem. ‘No, all I want you to do is to pretend to be me—that is, I want you to pretend that it was you Luke saw leaving Jake’s house. After all,’ she continued, warming to her theme and ignoring the stunned look in Natasha’s eyes, ‘we do look alike. We’re both blonde and we both have grey eyes; we’re both around the same height—’
‘We’re cousins, not twins,’ Natasha interrupted her drily, ‘and we don’t look anything like that similar. I’m taller than you for one thing, and—’
‘Tasha, please listen. Luke doesn’t know me all that well. He only saw me briefly.’
‘He saw you wearing the same dress you had worn for your engagement party,’ Natasha reminded her very firmly. ‘Emma, love, much as I want to help—’
‘No, you don’t,’ Emma interrupted her bitterly. ‘You want to stay nice and safe in your own cosy little world. I bet you think just like Luke really, that I don’t deserve someone like Richard. Everyone knows that, if Richard had to marry into our family, Mrs T would have much preferred to have you as a daughter-in-law. After all, before you went off to university you and Richard dated for a while.’
‘I like Richard as a person, I’m delighted that the two of you are in love, and as for being like this Luke…’ Natasha began, determined to nip any further emotionalism in the bud. ‘What exactly does he do, by the way?’
‘He’s an artist,’ Emma told her truculently, totally stunning her. ‘He paints landscapes. He’s quite well known, apparently.’
‘Luke Templecombe? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.’
‘You won’t have done, he uses another name—Luke Freres.’
‘Luke Freres? The Luke Freres?’
‘Tasha, please help me. My whole life’s happiness could depend on it,’ Emma added theatrically.
‘What do you want me to do? Wear a placard tonight saying, “It was me you saw leaving Jake Pendraggon’s house, and not Emma”?’
‘That’s not funny. I just want your permission, if Luke does say anything, to deny it by saying that it wasn’t me and that it must have been you. After all, what does it matter to you?’ Emma pleaded when she saw her cousin’s face. ‘It isn’t as though there’s anyone in your life at the moment.’
‘And so my reputation doesn’t matter, is that it?’
Emma looked cross. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, must you be so old-fashioned? Honestly, Tasha, you’re archaic. You must be the only twenty-seven-year-old virgin left.’
‘A situation which you want me to claim I tried to rectify via a night in Jake Pendraggon’s arms,’ Natasha derided, ignoring the jibe. ‘Come on, Emma. There might be certain similarities between us, but Luke Freres is an artist. Do you honestly think for one moment he’s going to believe he saw me when he saw you?’
‘It doesn’t matter what he believes, only what Richard believes,’ Emma told her fiercely. ‘But, of course, I should have known you would refuse to help. After all, you don’t want to lose your reputation as Miss Pure-and-goody-goody, do you?’ she added nastily. ‘Oh, no, you’d rather Richard broke our engagement and my heart.’
‘Stop being so dramatic. I don’t think for one moment that Luke Freres will say anything to Richard. Not at this stage, but in the unlikely event that he does—’
‘You’ll do it! Oh, Tasha, thank you. Thank you!’
Natasha grimaced. She hadn’t been about to volunteer to do any such thing, merely to advise her volatile cousin to put her trust in Richard and tell him the truth, but Emma was on her feet, dancing round the attic workroom of the four-storey building which housed Natasha’s home, office and work-place, blowing extravagant kisses at her as she headed for the door.
‘You don’t know what this means to me. I knew you’d help me. I’m so relieved. Let Luke do his worst—he can’t hurt me now. Oh, Tasha, I’m so relieved!’
‘Emma, wait,’ Natasha protested, but it was already too late.
Her cousin had opened the door and was hurrying downstairs, calling back, ‘Can’t, I’m afraid, I’ve got a final fitting for the dress and I’m already late. See you tonight at home.’
‘Tasha, where on earth have you been? You know everyone’s due at eight. It’s half-past seven now.’
Natasha stopped on the threshold of the bedroom which had been hers all the time she was growing up and which she still used whenever she had occasion to stay at Lacey Court overnight.
Emma was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a fetching confection of satin and lace, delectably designed to show off the prettily tanned curves of her breasts and the slenderness of her thighs in a way that was just barely respectable.
‘If you’re planning to wear that for dinner, then I think you’re making a mistake,’ Natasha told her thoughtfully, eyeing the camisole and its matching French knickers consideringly.
Emma grinned at her. ‘Don’t be silly—as though I would.’
‘No? Am I or am I not talking to the girl who appeared at her own eighteenth birthday party wearing a basque and little more than a G-string?’
‘That was for a dare,’ Emma pouted, ‘and, anyway, it was years ago.’
‘A millennium,’ Natasha agreed drily, adding, ‘But, if you don’t want Richard’s parents to catch you wearing such a fetching but highly inappropriate outfit, I suggest you go back to your own room and finish getting dressed.’
‘Not yet. I wanted to see you first, and besides, my dress is silk and will crease if I sit down in it. Listen, I’ve been thinking—tonight you’d better wear your hair like mine, and if you could wear this as well…’
She reached behind her back and lifted something off the bed, holding it up in front of her.
‘That’s the dress you wore for your engagement party,’ Natasha recognised.
‘Exactly. I thought if you wore it tonight it would help to convince Luke that it was you he saw and not me.’
‘But, Emma, he must know that you were the one wearing it the night you and Richard got engaged. And, besides, it won’t fit me. I’m at least five inches taller than you, and two inches wider round the bust.’
‘Yes, it will—the top was very loose and skirts are being worn shorter this year.’
‘Not that short, and certainly not by me.’
‘But you promised,’ Emma began, and, to Natasha’s
