No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) (7 page)

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and ran lithely down the porch steps, leaving her to gaze after him.

By the next morning Tamara had firmly convinced herself that Brody’s mesmerizing effect on her had been engendered purely by the bizarre combination of events and emotions of the evening. She’d obviously been shaken to the point that her imagination had magnified both his powerful charisma and her own response to it. In the clear light of day, when she had time to assess the violent changes that her calm, orderly existence had undergone, she was quite sure she would regain her cool, businesslike reserve and be able to deal with him in her usual efficient, emotionless manner.

She’d reached this conclusion in the wee hours of the morning after lying in bed mentally berating herself for the docile way she’d accepted both Brody’s so-called bargain and his lovemaking.

Why had she let him bluff her as he had done?
Now that she was away from that bold, magnetic charm, she could see he had no real weapon to use against Aunt Elizabeth. She had no doubt Margaret Bettencourt would vouch for her aunt’s integrity if it came to a confrontation. Though Brody might cause a little unpleasantness if he chose to go to the authorities, she was sure no criminal action could come of it.

No, she’d been so upset by the events of the evening that she’d let him bulldoze her into a commitment that was totally unnecessary. In the morning she’d tell him what he could do with his threats and his blackmail, she thought crossly. With this grim resolve, she forced herself firmly to fall into a sleep that was both restless and short-lived.

She finally admitted that her nerves were too on edge for her to rest properly and dragged herself out of bed and into the shower when the clock on the nightstand read only eight. The cold needlepoint spray brought her to life with shocking rapidity, and she was soon feeling alert and much like her usual cool, confident self as she
dressed in her favorite old faded jeans and a lavender cotton shirt.

She made her way briskly downstairs and into the kitchen, only to find a note from Aunt Elizabeth on the kitchen table, propped against an enormous ebony bowl full of golden irises.

Darling,

I thought I’d let you sleep in after your late night. Mabel asked me to breakfast before church, and I’ll be having lunch with Reverend Potter afterward. There’s tuna salad in the refrigerator for your lunch. Have a good day.

E.

Tamara touched one of the blooms with a delicate finger while she toyed with the idea of going on to church herself, ignoring that the arrogant Mr. Brody had stated he’d arrive at eleven without even asking if it would be convenient for her. No, she would wait for Brody to put in an appearance and give herself the pleasure of telling him off.

She had opened the refrigerator door and was reaching for the pitcher of fresh orange juice when she heard the front door buzzer. With a puzzled frown she closed the refrigerator and hurried down the hall. This couldn’t be Brody yet. It was only eight-thirty and he’d clearly said he’d arrive at eleven.

Celia Bettencourt was standing on the top step dressed faultlessly as usual in designer jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. She started speaking as soon as Tamara opened the door. “I know you have the right to be angry. If it were I, I’d probably slam the door in my face,” she said desperately. “But I’m asking you to listen to me. Will you do that?”

“I don’t think we really have anything to say to each other,” Tamara said coldly. “You made yourself more than clear last night.”

Celia moistened her lips nervously and Tamara noticed she didn’t look at all well. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her mouth was taut and strained. “I want to apologize for that,” she said haltingly. “I know my behavior was unforgivable.” She grimaced. “Even if I wasn’t
aware of it before, I assure you my father let me know in no uncertain terms how disgracefully I’d treated you.”

“I’m not in the mood to be very forgiving at the moment, Celia,” Tamara said. “There are some things that take a good deal of time to forget before—”

“Look, do you think this is easy for me?” Celia burst out. “Do you think I’d be here if there were any way I could get out of it? I have to talk to you, damn it!”

So much for Celia’s abject apology, Tamara thought grimly. “You might as well come in,” she said, moving aside reluctantly. “Though I don’t agree we have anything to talk about now that you’ve done your duty. I promise I’ll let your father know you’ve done the proper thing.”

“My father doesn’t know I’m here,” Celia said, stepping hurriedly into the hall as if she were afraid Tamara would change her mind. “I left before breakfast this morning. I wanted to try to see you before my father called you with his own apologies.”

Tamara shook her head doubtfully but turned
and preceded her into the living room. “Sit down,” she invited curtly, gesturing to the couch while she dropped into the pale blue armchair.

Celia gazed curiously about the room, and she looked no more at home than Brody had with the mellow period furnishings. Tamara stiffened defensively, expecting some caustic comment, but she was startled to see a curiously wistful expression on the other woman’s face. “This is nice,” Celia said softly. “It’s almost like a Norman Rockwell print.”

“You like Norman Rockwell?” Tamara asked, surprised. She wouldn’t have thought a woman as worldly-wise as Celia would embrace Rockwell’s down-to-earth hominess.

But Celia was nodding. “I have several in my room,” she said absently. Then she sat up arrow-straight, her thin figure tense. “I want you to go away,” she said abruptly.

“I beg your pardon?” Tamara’s eyes widened in shock.

“I have some money I inherited from my mother’s estate,” Celia said, moistening her lips nervously. “It’s not a great deal but it’s enough
for you to resettle comfortably in another town. Perhaps if you’re careful you’d even have enough to open your own boutique.”

This was the second time in twenty-four hours she’d been offered a shop of her own, Tamara thought wryly. If it hadn’t been so insulting, it would have been a little amusing. “I think you’d better leave, Celia,” she said, a thread of steel in her voice.

Celia ran her hand through her hair, disturbing her elaborate crown of curls. “Oh damn, I knew I’d make you angry,” she said and, incredibly, her brown eyes were glistening with tears. “Look, I know you must hate me as much as I do you, but you’ve got to listen to me. Can’t you see what an opportunity this would be for you?” She bit her lip as Tamara continued to gaze at her without speaking. “All right, give me just a year. Go away for a year and you can still have the money.”

“I don’t want your money, Celia,” Tamara said, shaking her head in bewilderment. “And I don’t hate you.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “After
last night, I can’t say you’re on my list of favorite people, however.”

“I went a little crazy last night,” Celia admitted hesitantly. “I saw you dancing with Todd and the way he was looking at you, and I guess I drank a little too much.”

“That makes two of us,” Tamara said. “I wouldn’t have responded quite so readily to your charming little remark if I hadn’t had more than I could handle.” She shrugged. “Let’s just try to forget about it, Celia.”

“I can’t,” she said, her lips trembling. “I can’t take any more. Won’t you please go away?”

The woman was actually pleading with her. Where was that brittle, sophisticated façade with which Celia Bettencourt usually faced the world? She looked more like a desperate little girl with those big brown eyes swimming with tears. Here was a Celia Tamara had never seen before.

“This must mean a good deal to you,” she said slowly, her gaze fixed on the other woman’s face. “You don’t have to worry about Todd and me, you know. There’s really nothing between us.”

“Yes, I know that.” Celia smiled bitterly. “I also know that Todd wants you. It was clear to everyone at the party last night. You only have to reach out your hand and gather him up as you do all the other prizes.”

“Prizes?”

“Even when we were children in school, you were always the bright little star pupil who won all the blue ribbons in sight,” Celia said. “And when Daddy hired you after you graduated, he could never stop raving about you. I thought after high school I’d go right into the store but Daddy sent me to Switzerland instead.” She drew a deep, shaky breath. “Then when I came back you were even more deeply entrenched.”

Good Lord, how close Aunt Elizabeth had come to the truth, Tamara thought with a touch of remorse. Why couldn’t she herself have seen beyond that hard stinging exterior to the hurt that lay beneath the surface?

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Celia asked impatiently. “Why don’t you say something?”

“I was just thinking that there’s so much more
to all of us than what appears on the surface,” Tamara said quietly. “And how seldom we make the effort to see beyond the superficial. Do you really love Todd Jamison, Celia?”

“Yes, I really do,” the other woman answered simply. “And I can make him love me. Give me a year and he’ll forget you ever existed.”

“And my job at Bettencourt’s?”

“At least I’ll have a chance to prove myself to Daddy without standing in your shadow.” Her face brightened hopefully. “You’re considering it, aren’t you? You’re going to take the money?”

Tamara shook her head. “No, I don’t want your money,” she said as she rose to her feet. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t get what you want. I’ll think about it, Celia.”

Celia also stood up. “I suppose I should be grateful you haven’t given me an outright refusal,” she said, attempting to smile. “I can’t lie and tell you I’ll like you any better if you do this for me. You’ve been a thorn in my flesh far too long for me to promise that.”

“You haven’t made my life exactly a bed of
roses either,” Tamara said dryly, as she followed Celia to the door.

“I felt I was entitled to get a little of my own back,” Celia defended herself. “That’s why I turned Rex Brody loose on you last night.” There was a ghost of a catty smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted to see how you’d cope with a man the caliber of Brody. I even told him you’d only gotten the job at Bettencourt’s because you’d had an affair with my father.”

“Charming,” Tamara said sarcastically. “I think perhaps you’d better leave while you’re still ahead.”

“I didn’t really mean to cause—”

“Good-bye, Celia.”

The other woman shrugged as she opened the door. “You’ll let me know what you decide?”

“Somehow,” Tamara answered. “But I don’t think either one of us would really enjoy another
tête-à-tête
.”

Celia Bettencourt nodded. “Good-bye, Tamara.” The door shut quietly behind her.

Tamara shook her head ruefully as she turned and slowly walked through the house and out
the kitchen door, instinctively heading for the familiar haven of the greenhouse. There had been a flicker of triumph in Celia’s face before she’d closed the door that caused Tamara to bristle instinctively. She doubted if it would ever be possible for her to really like her employer’s daughter. Despite the surprising vulnerability Celia had revealed today, there was a little too much of the feline in her demeanor for her to be very appealing. She had an idea Celia would be very disappointed if she realized just how grateful Tamara was feeling toward her at the moment.

As she walked slowly through the garden, she paused for a moment to watch a gorgeous orange and sable butterfly flitting among the marigolds bordering the red brick path. So lovely. So graceful and free as it spread its brilliant wings in the sun.

Flitting. Tamara’s lips curved in an involuntary smile. That was how Aunt Elizabeth had described her mother when she’d first explained Tamara’s illegitimate birth and her mother’s desertion. Carla Ledford had been like a beautiful
butterfly that flitted from flower to flower, only pausing to drink the nectar before continuing dizzily on its giddy flight. It wasn’t the nature of the butterfly to ponder and worry or to stay in one place, Aunt Elizabeth had told Tamara gently. So one mustn’t blame either the butterfly or the flower, but accept it as the nature of things. For years after that explanation, whenever Tamara had seen a butterfly she’d thought of her mother, and the simile had relieved her of any corrosive bitterness she might have harbored.

Aunt Elizabeth saw everything with such clarity and honest simplicity. Tamara had been raised to face life with strength and that same honesty, but now she was forced to acknowledge she hadn’t even been honest with herself. As she’d sat watching Celia and thinking how seldom people and actions were what they really seemed to be, she’d suddenly realized what had provoked the scene at the party.

There had been a growing restlessness within her for years that had culminated in that explosion the night before. She must have been mentally rebelling for some time against the
emotional and physical strictures she’d placed on herself. Why else had she let Celia’s petty shrewishness prey on her nerves after a lifetime of ignoring it? And why had she worn that crimson gown after years of dull anonymity? Now that she looked back on it, her actions had been as smooth and consistent as if she’d formulated them. Celia, Todd, and Brody may have acted as catalysts, speeding up the process, but they were only that … catalysts. She was responsible. She
wanted
to break free.

Tamara shook her head in wonder, her gaze still fixed absently on the butterfly. Freedom. It was all so clear now. She’d never have acceded to Brody’s blackmail threat so readily if she hadn’t subconsciously wanted to go with him. He’d suddenly appeared on her horizon like a bold eagle and she’d instinctively recognized and desired the freedom he represented.

Perhaps there’s a little butterfly in the most sedate of us, she mused, as she once more started toward the greenhouse. We hide in our little cocoons until it’s time to shrug off the protective
confines and try our wings. Going with Brody on his tour might be considered a bit reckless for a fledgling butterfly like herself, but she suddenly knew there was no question that she would do it. The challenge he’d thrown at her was just too tempting to resist. Why shouldn’t she begin her new, more colorful existence with a brief, dizzying flight that would break her free once and for all from her cocoon? Yes, she would definitely go with Brody and let that wild eagle show the butterfly how to fly.