'Just as long as you realise what you're doing,' Emma sighed tersely, suddenly realising it was a waste of time trying to make Blanche see sense.
'We've been through all this before, Emma,' Blanche pleaded, after an uneasy pause during which she made an almost visible attempt to control her angry impatience. Her voice harsh with effort, she begged, 'Please, just put on a dress and stop arguing.'
'I don't have a dress.'
'What?' Emma might have dropped a bomb without its effect being so shattering. Blanche's fury increased as she believed Emma was being deliberately obstructive. 'When you came here you had several,' she exclaimed. 'Any one of them will do.'
Scornfully Emma lifted her chin. 'Your mother took them. I didn't ask what she did with them. I only have one, which she didn't think was worth bothering about. It was one I had at school for some event, if I remember, when I was fourteen.'
Blanche had the grace to colour, but there was no apology in her voice as she snapped, 'They were ridiculously expensive models from Paris—what good would they have been to you here? The moths would only have got into them, and you cost us quite a lot of money, one way and another. It was the only way we could get any of it back.'
'It doesn't matter now,' Emma assured her briefly, indeed finding it almost impossible to believe she had once owned quite a few evening gowns, each worth many hundreds of pounds. In some things her father had always spoiled her, perhaps because he had liked showing her off. All his possessions had had to measure up to a certain standard, his daughter included, young though she had been.
As no amount of retrospection would solve tonight's problem, Emma sighed and pushed it to the back of her mind. 'You could let me borrow one of your dresses,' she suggested to an angry, frowning Blanche.
'Mine wouldn't be much good,' Blanche glared at her, 'except for a laugh. I'm much taller than you, you'd only look silly, and you look bad enough as it is. No, you'd better wear your old one, if you can find it.'
'Won't you mind if I look even worse than usual?' Emma asked dryly.
'Who's going to notice you when I'm around?' Blanche snapped derisively.
It wasn't until later that Emma realised how true this was. No one had noticed. Swallowing to relieve a surprising tightness in her throat, she tried to relax in Rex Oliver's arms as they circled the dance floor of the night club they had found. As she had walked downstairs, covered from chin to toe in prim grey sateen, to join the others in the hall, if there had been anything in Rick Conway's eyes it had only been a faint amusement. It had been painfully obvious that outdated styles and a profusion of fair hair tied hastily back from an even more hastily powdered face left him quite indifferent.
As it was the first opportunity she had had of speaking to Rex alone, she was determined to make the most of it. 'Why do you keep on seeing Blanche, Rex? You know she's engaged.'
Rex groaned lightly, glancing down into her indignant eyes with a hint of disappointment on his good-looking but rather weak face. 'Don't spoil it, Emma!'
'Spoil what?'
'Well,' he grinned suddenly, 'you may be a plain little thing, but you dance like an angel. For your dancing alone I could love you.'
'Stop being so silly and evasive, Rex!' She could have stamped her small foot that he wasn't apparently inclined to take her seriously.
Again his mouth twitched, then he sobered, his eyes narrowing as he studied her upturned features. 'Do you know,' he frowned, 'I do believe you have distinct possibilities.'
'Oh, for goodness' sake, Rex, we're not discussing me! Besides, what you suggest is ridiculous. I expect,' she stared at him almost belligerently, 'you're just trying to put me off.'
'No,' adamantly he shook his head as he went on studying her, 'I'm too used to assessing raw material, if you'll forgive the pun, to dismiss you out of hand. I'm suddenly convinced I could turn you into something outstanding. If you ever need a job, Emma…'
'I don't,' she cut through what looked like becoming a definite offer, abruptly, wondering why men liked to tease when something important was at stake. 'We're talking about Blanche.'
'You are,' he corrected smoothly. 'You've implied that I'm corrupting an innocent young girl. Well, let's get one thing straight. True, Blanche is engaged, but she is neither innocent or a young girl like, you any more. She stopped being either years ago.'
'But all that's behind her now,' Emma insisted hollowly. 'She's going to settle down, I'm sure of it. And she'll have Rick to help her.'
'Oh, Conway doesn't mind her the way she is. I'm not saying she isn't delectable, but in another year or two, when the glamour wears off, what will he be left with?'
Emma shivered as she recognised the truth of this. In the mornings, Blanche with a hangover and without make-up could easily pass for a woman years older. 'That's not the point, though, is it?' She wasn't sure whether she was arguing with herself or Rex, but there had to be some way out of what she sensed was impending disaster.
'Never mind about the point, child,' Rex's arms tightened irritably. 'Blanche is quite capable of sorting out her own problems, and I never interfere unless I'm asked.'
That was part of the trouble! Everyone, including Blanche, thought she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but was she? Wasn't there such a thing as having too much faith in one's own infallibility? No one appeared to realise Blanche could need help, and here was Rex, who Emma was certain Blanche might listen to, refusing to even consider giving it!
Unhappily Emma's eyes wandered to where Blanche was dancing with Rick Conway. She appeared to have made an extra effort this evening and her appearance was scintillating. So was her dress—what there was of it! As she watched broodingly, Emma's eyes widened as she saw Rick's hand caressing Blanche's waist, which the low back of her dress left bare, then, to her disgust, he drew Blanche even closer and his hand slid upwards into the brief bodice, where Emma considered no man's hand had a right to be.
Suddenly, as if he sensed an audience, Rick's eyes lifted from the sophisticated girl in his arms to meet the open scorn in Emma's directly. As she flushed but was unable to look away, his mouth curled contemptuously. 'Yes, take a good look,' his mocking expression seemed to say, 'No man's going to admire you enough to want to possess you.'
Feeling utterly humiliated by a message she received only too clearly, Emma almost refused to dance with him when he asked her later. And though she sensed his surprised pleasure in the perfect unison of their limbs she hated him too much to forgive him. He didn't talk much, but he did ask if she had known Rex Oliver long.
'Quite a long time,' she replied cautiously, trying in vain to remember when it was that Blanche had first brought Rex to the house.
'Are you sure's he's your type?' Rick continued bluntly. 'Now wait a minute!' he threw up a quick hand as Emma started and stared at him resentfully. 'So far as I can make out you've no one to advise you. Or perhaps I should forget about trying to be diplomatic? Blanche was just saying how you won't listen to advice.'
'Why, of all—all the…'
'You wouldn't be prepared to listen to me either, I suppose?' he asked coldly, ignoring her outburst which had petered out in such a way as seemed to proclaim her guilt.
'Why should I listen to you, or anyone?' Emma drew a deep breath, her voice icy. 'Give me one good reason!'
'Why, indeed?' Suddenly his mouth relaxed in faint irony. 'Apart from giving you a hand with Daisy, I haven't done much to endear myself to you, have I? I waded in with a heavy hand regarding your appearance, putting your back up immediately. I guess I forgot I wasn't talking to my young sister.'
'I don't think you did.' Emma felt a tremor run through her as his arms tightened unpredictably at that.
'Astute, as well as a good cook and an astonishingly good dancer,' he quirked, 'to say nothing of being a competent farmer. Perhaps if you were to advertise your talents more, a man wouldn't notice—other things?'
'Strangers don't usually wade in with insults,' she retorted coldly, r
efusing to be impressed by a few flattering words—if that was what they had been.
'That's not how I'd have described a few straight remarks,' he drawled. 'And I can hardly be classed as a stranger.'
'We'd only met once,' she exclaimed.
'Perhaps that was where I made my first mistake. I should have made more of that opportunity, but you didn't give me much encouragement. You just stood and stared at me out of those great condemning eyes and disliked me on sight.'
'How could I do that?' Was she asking him or herself? 'I didn't even know you. I do recall wondering why you'd chosen Blanche—I mean, after all the other girls you must have met nearer home.'
'Maybe none of them would have me.'
'We both know that couldn't be true.'
His eyebrows rose so sardonically she flushed. 'Don't tell me you think me handsome enough to attract any number of women?' he teased, with a sober insolence which somehow got under her skin.
'Perhaps it's your bank balance more than you,' she replied stiffly, but felt a flicker of triumphant malice as she saw his mouth tighten. When it came down to it, Rick Conway would enjoy being married for what he had no more than the next man.
He was about to speak when the music stopped, and Emma was relieved, as she guessed the nature of the few terse words he had been about to deliver. She was glad he wasn't given another chance to reprimand her as Blanche and Rex happened to be beside them.
Rex claimed Emma for nearly every dance after that, and for all she disliked him she began to enjoy herself.
Never having danced since she left school, she hadn't realised how much she had missed it.
Rex, strangely enough, was enjoying himself, too, and as he and Emma sparred lightly the habitual boredom seemed to leave his face. Once, when Emma said something which amused him greatly, he laughed aloud and hugged her appreciatively to him. She was aware that Rick had noticed and, as before, didn't conceal his contempt. Blanche frowned, as she and Rick danced past, not bothering to hide hers, either, as she saw Rex's amusement.
Later, when she and Blanche were in the cloakroom together, Blanche insisted that there was no need for Emma to overdo things.
The grey dress was so cumbersome and hot, Emma was having to hold her thin wrists under the cold tap to try and cool down. When Blanche spoke she stared at her blankly. 'I thought you wanted me to pretend Rex is my boy-friend?'
'All right, so I did,' Blanche snapped, 'but I didn't ask you to go as far as you're going!'
Soon afterwards they left to return to the farm, where both Rex and Rick departed within minutes of each other. To Emma's surprise Rick went first, but he did arrange to return the following evening to finalise plans with Blanche.
The whole of the next day went with unusual slowness for Emma. Everything dragged, and whereas before there had never seemed to be enough time, now there was too much. It maddened her, too, that she couldn't stop thinking of Rick Conway. Why was it, when she had danced with him, she had experienced those strange sensations again? It must have something to do with the antagonism they felt towards each other. It could be nothing else. A girl might be well advised not to trust him, though. Emma shivered when she recalled the dark look in his eyes when she had defied him and the curious cruelty around his sensuous mouth as his glance had flickered over hers.
As Rick was taking Blanche out to dinner and Aunt Hilda was dining out again with friends, Emma decided she would wait until they had all gone and enjoy the luxury of a bath instead of making do with a shower. For once she had managed to finish early and was busy washing the dishes which were still in the sink from lunch, when she heard the doorbell ring. Fancying that no one had answered it, she hastily removed the last of the dishes from the soapy water and quickly dried her wet hands.
Flinging open the kitchen door, she was startled and embarrassed to find Rick Conway slowly removing his mouth from Blanche's, in what had obviously been a very pleasurable kiss. He had his arms about her and was kissing her in a lazy, teasing fashion, while again his hands caressed her bare back. Emma gulped, feeling her face go red. No man had ever touched her like that. There was something very intimate in the way Rick's fingers were moving over bare flesh. What did he think he was doing?
Her cheeks so hot she could scarcely bear them, Emma hid her punishing discomposure beneath scorn, letting it show clearly in her cool grey eyes as they clashed with Rick's.
Lifting his head, he met Emma's silent disgust head on. Anger flared for an instant in the darkness of his face and his hands tightened until Blanche, not realising the cause of it, squealed in protest.
Without waiting to say hello, Emma turned quickly, stumbling back into the kitchen. As she did so she heard Blanche say coldly that she didn't like being mauled and would go upstairs and fetch a coat.
Emma, feeling irrationally, like someone who had ran a great distance and was quite out of breath, was about to collapse weakly on to a chair when the door behind her snapped open and two hands yanked her ruthlessly to her feet. Swiftly she was turned to face the man who held her. 'Don't ever look at me like that again, young lady!' Rick snarled, pulling her without warning towards him.
She saw his mouth swooping downwards, but could do nothing to avoid it. It took her unawares and her last breath away with it. His hold on her was savage, renewing her former suspicions that he enjoyed hurting her, but this time he used actions as well as words, which hurt even more. Although his hands didn't stray his mouth did. She could have sworn that for all his ferocious beginning he had meant to treat her lightly, but when he drew back, after touching her lips briefly, his mouth suddenly descended again, this time to crush hers relentlessly.
Instinctively, as molten flames began pouring through her, she tried to push him away, but his arms merely tightened about her, putting a decisive end to her struggles. She could feel the heat emanating from him and her whole body went limp with shock, yet when she put her hands up to push him away, she found them clinging instead to the hard strength of his broad shoulders. His voice was deep as he muttered incomprehensibly against her throbbing lips, and she felt her senses flare with what she refused to acknowledge as something very like desire. Shuddering beneath his brutal expertise, she tried to stop thinking, but as his determined assault continued her fair head was bent back, until she feared her slender neck might break before he released her.
For a long, hateful moment, when he did, they stared at each other, and she saw his eyes had changed and darkened while his breath came harshly.
'A man's hands are rather tied when it comes to punishing a woman,' he said curtly, 'but you asked for that.'
'No, I didn't!' Regaining a little composure, she hit back. 'I didn't like the way you were pawing Blanche and I wasn't going to pretend that I did!'
'My God!' his eyes were hard and scornful, 'you're a fine one to talk! You're scarcely in any position to sit in judgment on me. Your friend Rex Oliver told me too much last night, while you and Blanche were upstairs getting ready.'
'You talked about me?' Emma's blood ran cold. 'You had a nerve!'
'It wasn't exactly me who did the talking,' Rick snapped, 'it was your boy-friend, your lover, the man you want to marry but who is—and he swears you know it— trying to shake you off. Hence the reason why he was deliberately late last night. It had nothing to do with Blanche.'
Emma felt her cheeks grow white. 'Rex didn't? He couldn't say that!'
'Oh, come off it, Emma. No need to look so horrified. You're no innocent virgin and could be older than you look. I've been enlightened. There's no need to put on an act for me. Poor Blanche, no wonder she's been trying to save you from yourself. Rex, I believe, hasn't been the only man.'
Emma stared and winced. She could do nothing else, yet was puzzled that she didn't denounce Rex and Blanche right away. But her hands were tied, weren't they? If she tried to defend herself there wouldn't be a wedding. It was as simple as that, and the repercussions of such a cancellation would be on her own head. Why not let
Rick Conway believe what he had been told? After the wedding she needn't see him again, so what did it matter what he thought of her? It probably wouldn't make any difference to her reputation. Plenty of girls slept around these days and no one appeared to think anything of it.
'I can look after myself,' she said at last, lowering tormented eyes so he wouldn't see her pain.
'I realise you can, if to begin with you had me fooled,' he returned tightly. 'If Rex hadn't spilled the beans it would have dawned as I danced with you. I knew then you were no prim teenager. The way you moved against me was provocative, to say the least. It had every bone in my body crying for release. If I'd had the chance, there and then you'd have been under me.'
Infuriated, Emma shot her hand out to slap his leering face hard. 'You're—oh, I can't find words bad enough!' she cried helplessly. 'No man's going to speak to me like that. I could be a—a tramp!'
'That's the impression I got,' he grinned contemptuously, as he turned on his heel and left her.
Emma didn't see Rick again before he departed for Australia. For once she was grateful to be left out of the family's social activities. As soon as she heard he was gone she told both her aunt and cousin she had no wish to attend the forthcoming wedding. Hilda, obviously thinking this would mean less expense, replied smoothly that it might be as well, as someone would have to stay and look after the farm. They couldn't all be away.
The calculating swiftness with which Hilda provided her with an excuse might, at any other time, have hurt, but Emma was only aware of relief. She had no wish to see Rick Con way married, to her cousin or anyone else— not after all he had said and done! Not only had he treated her badly, he had spoken to her as she suspected no man spoke to a woman for whom he had any respect.
Every nerve in her body still trembled with resentment each time she remembered. If she had been able to give herself the satisfaction of straightening him out, it might have been worth it, if only to have seen his face. This she had to deny herself, both for Blanche's sake and, Emma was secretly ashamed to admit, her own. To get rid of Blanche, not to have her constantly around with her spiteful tongue and endless commands, was surely worth a little sacrifice of pride and self-respect. Somehow she managed to ignore the whisper inside her which suggested the cost was too great. What did she care what an arrogant sugar plantation owner thought of her? She'd be the biggest fool on earth if she did.
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