Forbidden Surrender. Кэрол Мортимер

thought to be you,’ he added dryly.

      ‘Oh, Dominic!’ Marie pouted prettily.

      He turned to look at Sara, his eyes once again registering his shock at her likeness to his fiancéee. ‘I really must apologise for my behaviour yesterday evening.’ His voice was stilted, his manner haughty. ‘You must have thought me very strange.’

      Sara flushed. ‘And you must have thought me even stranger.’

      ‘Not really,’ he shook his head.

      Marie gave a tinkling laugh, her long blonde hair brushed free about her shoulders. ‘Dominic has this mad idea that I keep going off with other men.’ She looked up at him through dark, silky, lashes. ‘Don’t you, my jealous darling?’

      Sara found Marie’s clinging behaviour where Dominic Thorne was concerned rather uncomfortable to watch. The reason for this feeling was easily explained; it was like watching herself—and she knew she could never act that way with this arrogant man.

      But maybe Dominic Thorne had reason to be suspicious of Marie. The man in Soho had certainly been more than a friend to her.

      ‘I’m sure Miss Hamille isn’t interested in what I do or do not think,’ he said curtly. ‘Now don’t you think we should make our presence known to Cynthia?’

      It was a deliberate snub, but not one Marie seemed about to endorse. ‘I can’t lose sight of my double now. Just think of the fun we could have, Sara,’ her eyes lit up with pleasure. ‘We could play some terrific tricks on people!’ She turned Sara towards the mirror that adorned the wall behind them. ‘It’s incredible,’ she said breathlessly, staring at their reflections.

      And it was incredible, the likeness was uncanny. Sara’s hair was possibly a little lighter in colour, bleached by years under the Florida sun, and her skin was a more golden colour against Marie’s magnolia colouring, but other than that they were identical—the same height, the same features, even the same slender fingers, but a huge diamond ring sparkled on the third finger of Marie’s left hand.

      ‘I think unbelievable is a more apt word.’ Dominic Thorne came to stand between them. ‘Have you always looked like this, Miss Hamille?’ The question was almost an accusation.

      She flushed at his tone. ‘Are you implying I’ve had plastic surgery to make me look like Marie? Because I can assure you I haven’t,’ she said indignantly.

      ‘No, she hasn’t,’ Pete cut in, indignant on her behalf. ‘I can spot that sort of thing a mile away. Sara was born with that face.’

      ‘Well, I can assure you I haven’t had plastic surgery, Dominic,’ Marie told her fiancé.

      ‘Considering I’ve known you since you were ten years old I would say that was obvious,’ he scorned. ‘But there has to be some explanation for this.’

      ‘I can’t think of one,’ Marie dismissed. ‘Come on, Sara, we’ll go and show Cynthia you aren’t a liar at all.’ She took Sara by the arm and led her away.

      Sara was fuming, aware of the fact that Dominic Thorne didn’t like her, distrusted her. Plastic surgery indeed!

      ‘You mustn’t mind Dominic.’ Marie seemed to read her thoughts. ‘He’s suspicious by nature.’

      Sara couldn’t dismiss him so easily, although she did her best as Marie led her from group to group, the other girl loving the sensation they were causing.

      ‘I really must get back to Pete,’ Sara insisted at last, having noticed that he was having extreme difficulty conversing with the taciturn Dominic Thorne, those steely blue eyes never leaving Marie and herself.

      Marie looked regretful. ‘And I suppose I should get back to Dominic.’ The smile she gave him was radiant, her hand once again through the crook of his arm as she looked up at him affectionately.

      ‘I think we should be going now,’ Sara told Pete.

      ‘Surely not?’ To her surprise it was Dominic Thorne who made the objection. ‘I was just going to ask you if you would care to dance.’

      Sara loved to dance, although Pete had assured her that he was absolutely tone deaf and so hopeless at dancing. But despite her love of dancing she didn’t relish the idea of being relatively alone with Dominic Thorne.

      ‘I really think we should be leaving now.’ She put as much regret in her voice as she could in the circumstances.

      Those hard blue eyes remained fixed on her face. ‘One dance isn’t going to delay you too long, surely?’ he persisted.

      ‘I——’

      ‘Oh, go on, Sara,’ Pete encouraged. ‘Five minutes isn’t going to make that much difference.’

      ‘It never pays to argue with Dominic,’ even Marie added her argument in favour of the dance.

      Sara gave a resigned shrug. ‘Very well, I’d love to dance, Mr Thorne.’

      ‘Dominic, please,’ he could be heard saying as he manoeuvred her on to the space that had been cleared for dancing, some of the couples around them doing more than dancing as the alcohol they had consumed hit their bloodstream. Sara was quite embarassed by some of the things that were going on. ‘Ignore them,’ Dominic advised, seeing her shocked expression.

      ‘I—That’s a little difficult,’ she gasped as she saw one man blatantly touching the bare breast of his dancing partner.

      Dominic saw it too, not bothering to dance any more but taking her hand and leading her out of the double doors that led to the garden.

      Sara snatched her hand away, eyeing him warily. ‘Is it always like that?’ she asked disgustedly.

      ‘It gets worse,’ he derided.

      Then thank goodness she was leaving. And thank goodness she hadn’t actually got to dance with this man. Even in the brief moment he had pulled her into his arms she had been aware of his masculinity, of the sensual air that surrounded him. Not that she felt any safer completely alone with him out here, where the noise of the party sounded strangely muted. And she soon realised why—he had closed the doors behind them.

      He took a packet of cigars out of his breast pocket, lighting one with a gold lighter. ‘You’ve obviously never been to one of Cynthia’s parties before,’ he mocked.

      Sara moved restlessly, wishing he would stop staring at her with those curiously intent eyes, as if he were trying to see into her very soul. ‘No,’ she confirmed nervously.

      ‘Have you been in England long?’ The query sounded casual, and yet Sara had the feeling it wasn’t any such thing.

      She shrugged. ‘A few days.’

      He nodded. ‘Are you here with your parents?’

      ‘They were both killed in a car accident six months ago,’ she said jerkily.

      ‘I see. I’m sorry,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘So you’re over here on holiday?’

      ‘Yes.’ No point in mentioning that she was slowly recovering from her own injuries in the car accident, it wasn’t of interest to this man.

      ‘So Mr Glenn is a relatively new acquaintance?’

      ‘Very new.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand the reason for these questions, Mr Thorne.’

      He shrugged. ‘You didn’t seem surprised by Marie’s likeness to you, and as you are obviously an American and have only just arrived in England I wondered how you’d learnt of Marie’s existence.’

      Sara stiffened. ‘I’m not sure that I like your tone, Mr Thorne.’ He sounded almost accusing, as if he suspected her of something but hadn’t yet stated these suspicions.

      ‘I’m sorry if you take exception to what I’ve said.’ But he didn’t