Page 3 of No Red Roses

  "Yes, I went to school with Natalie," Marc admit­ted stiffly.

  "Tamara, you look absolutely fantastic!"

  Tamara turned with scarcely disguised relief at Janie Sutherland's exclamation. Her young sales as­sistant was looking very attractive herself in a spring green gown that set off her glossy brown hair to perfection. She didn't wait for Tamara's response before rushing on eagerly. "I suppose Celia couldn't wait to tell you about the social lion she's acquired in the family. She's going to be absolutely ghastly to be around now that she has a superstar like Rex Brody to flaunt. Not that she was any prize before."

  "Superstar?" Tamara asked, puzzled again. "Rex Brody?"

  Janie's eyes widened in incredulous surprise. "You're not telling me you've never heard of him?" she asked. "Good heavens, the man is world famous! I know you're a classical music fan, but you must have heard about Rex Brody. He was the hottest singer in America before he quit performing four years ago to concentrate on composing. Since then he's won a Tony for the best Broadway musical and an Oscar for the best original song for a motion picture. You must have seen him last year on televi­sion when he accepted the Academy Award."

  "We don't have a television set. Aunt Elizabeth won't have one in the house," Tamara said absently. So that was why Brody had that air of arrogant self-assurance. If he was as famous as Janie indicated, it was no wonder he felt he could just walk in and take whatever he wanted.

  "I've heard Brody's score for Lost Dream," Marc said thoughtfully. "It's an exceptional piece of work."

  Tamara looked at him in disbelief. Marc hated pop music with a passion. In fact, it was their mutual love of the classics that had brought him and Ta­mara together.

  "That's not the only exceptional piece of work," Janie drawled, winking. "The man practically oozes sex appeal. When he announced he was returning to performing and going on tour, his concerts were sold out all over the country six hours after the tickets went on sale. He's supposed to appear in New York day after tomorrow and I've read that the scalpers are already asking two hundred dollars a ticket."

  "Very impressive," Tamara said with a coolness she was far from feeling. Every word Janie was utter­ing was increasing the feelings of trepidation and anxiety that had beset her since Brody had left her earlier. Aunt Elizabeth's situation was far worse than she'd imagined: Brody had power and prestige.

  "I'm surprised Celia didn't tell you about him," Janie said, obviously curious. "She's certainly been boasting about him to all and sundry. Everyone in the room is waiting with bated breath for the great man to arrive."

  "It's not very courteous of him to be late for his aunt's anniversary party," Marc said with a disapproving frown.

  "According to Celia, he had some very important business to take care of and only arrived back at ye old family mansion a short while ago," Janie said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "If he hadn't just arrived in town today, I'd be tempted to wonder if there was a woman involved."

  Tamara could feel the heat rush to her cheeks at Janie's accidental verbal score. She could imagine the gossip that would have ensued if anyone had observed that scene in Aunt Elizabeth's living room.

  "Are you sure you're feeling well, my dear?" Marc asked worriedly. "You're really quite flushed."

  "I feel absolutely wonderful," she lied. "It's just a trifle warm in here." She took a quick and overlarge swallow of her drink and gave him a dazzling smile.

  Rex Brody didn't make his appearance for another forty-five minutes, and in that time Tamara had consumed two more martinis. Unaccustomed as she was to liquor, she found the drinks had the benefi­cial effect of loosening the cold knot of tension in her breast and replacing it with a bittersweet reck­lessness.

  She was dancing with Marc when she heard a stir and then a low rustle of whispering that ran through the room like wind through a wheat field. She didn't even have to look toward the door to realize what had caused the stir. When she did glance over Marc's shoulder, she could only glimpse Brody's raven head because of the crush of people that had surged for­ward to surround him.

  She was conscious of a feeling of relief when she realized she wouldn't have to confront him immediately. From the look of the crowd around him, it would be impossible for him to break free for some time.

  "Pardon me, Marc, may I cut in?" The voice was deep and mocking, and Tamara jerked her head up in surprise.

  "Hello, Todd," she said coolly, as Marc politely relinquished her and left the dance floor. She was glad now she'd had those martinis. Todd Jamison, Celia Bettencourt's fiancée, was looking down at her with an openly hungry look that was mixed with active dislike. As they began to dance, Tamara noted how attractive Todd's tall, athletic form was in eve­ning clothes. His carefully styled blond hair and classical features, together with that intriguing cleft in his chin, had always been devastatingly appeal­ing to women. It was no wonder he was spoiled. His good looks and his father's money had always gotten Todd exactly what he wanted.

  No, not always. He hadn't gotten what he wanted that night at O'Malley's Roadhouse, and his malice had marred Tamara's relationships in all the years since.

  "Lord, you're gorgeous tonight," he breathed hoarse­ly, as they moved slowly around the floor. "You're like a flame burning out of control in that gown."

  "I assure you I'm quite in control, Todd," she said icily, looking up at him. "Which is the only reason I'm dancing with you now. You knew I wouldn't want to cause a scene in the middle of the dance floor."

  "You always were a bright girl, Tamara," he said, his lips tightening. "I knew you wouldn't be too crazy about dancing, with me, but I didn't give a damn." His arms tightened around her as he dragged her closer.

  "You've got to be either drunk or crazy, Todd Jamison," she hissed straining to get away from him. "Let me go! I've had enough problems with that charming fiancée of yours today without your adding to them. Go dance with Celia, for heaven's sake!"

  "I've had a few drinks," he admitted, burying his face in her hair. "You always smell like gardenias," he said thickly.

  He'd had more than a few drinks, Tamara thought grimly. As monumentally self-centered as Todd was, he was usually more discreet in his advances. She should know; she'd been fending them off for years.

  "Why don't you give up, Todd?" she said, trying to keep her voice even. "You know I can't stand you. I despise you more than anyone I've ever known. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

  "Do you think I don't want to?" he asked bitterly.

  "Sometimes I think I really hate you, but it doesn't seem to matter. I've wanted you so long that it's become like a sickness. Half the time I want to stran­gle you, and the other half I want to drag you off to bed."

  "That's hardly new, is it, Todd?" she asked causti­cally. "Since when have you ever wanted to do any­thing else? You always did reach out to grab what you wanted, and you never gave a damn who you hurt. I learned that lesson a long time ago."

  An angry flush stained Jamison's face and he frowned sulkily. "How many times do I have to apolo­gize for that night? So I got a little carried away and got a little rough. I told you I've always been crazy about you. What could you expect when you led me on and then turned me down at the last minute?"

  Despite her resolve to retain her composure, Tamara could feel a swift surge of rage electrify her. "I was sixteen years old and green as grass. I hadn't a clue about what it even meant to 'lead a boy on, she flared, her violet eyes flashing fire. "And if you call attempted rape 'a little rough,' I'm afraid I can't agree with the euphemism."

  "Everyone at school knew what went on at O'Malley's," Jamison said belligerently. "Yet you agreed to go there that night without even an argument. Naturally I expected you to put out."

  "I didn't know what kind of place it was, and you knew very well I didn't." Her lips curved in a bitter smile. "All I knew was that the wonderful, popular football hero, Todd Jamison, had asked me for a date." She shook her head wonderingly, her eyes sad as she looked bac
k on that naive, starry-eyed teenager. "Green as grass."

  There was a flare of hope in Todd's eyes. "You admit you had a yen for me once," he said eagerly. "I can teach you to feel like that again. Let me take you home tonight, Tamara."

  Her eyes widened. "Do you really think I could forget everything you did to me?" she asked. "There's a remote possibility I may be able to forgive you for attacking me, but not for what you did afterward. Do you know what misery you caused me with all those lies? You nearly destroyed me, damn it!"'

  "You hurt my pride," he defended, with the arro­gant egotism of a spoiled child. "All the guys were hot for you, and when I told them you were going with me to O’Malley's, they were jealous as hell. I couldn't tell them you'd run out on me. They'd have laughed at me."

  "So instead you made me out to be the hottest lay in town and certainly the most promiscuous," she said scornfully. "You must have been very convincing, Todd. I couldn't even go to the malt shop with a boy without him trying to drag me to the nearest motel. It became the thing for every boy I dated to claim he'd slept with me."

  "And did they?" Jamison asked hoarsely, his arms tightening around her. "It used to drive me crazy listening to them bragging about all the things they'd done with you, and not knowing whether they'd really scored when I couldn't."

  "You've got to be the most contemptible lowlife on the face of the earth," Tamara said. "Doesn't it even matter to you that you're engaged to Celia?"

  He shook his head. "I told you that you were almost an obsession with me," he said huskily. "If you crooked your little finger, I'd drop her in a minute and come running. Do you know that I dream about you at night?"

  "I can imagine what kind of dreams," she said disgustedly. "Well, don't be in any hurry to sacrifice that Jamison-Bettencourt merger, Todd. It will be a cold day in July when I encourage you to do anything but leave me alone."

  There was a touch of cockiness in Jamison's smile as he drawled insolently, "If I'm patient enough, I'll get what I want. You won't hold out forever, Tamara.

  Anyone can tell by just looking at you what a hot number you are. Do you think anyone's been fooled by that demure air you put on? They still remember those stories you're so eager to live down. You should hear them talk about you in the locker room at the country club. Every man in town knows you're just playing it cool until you nab Marc Hellman." He pulled her still closer. "You'll get tired of Hellman. And when you do, I’ll be there waiting."

  Before she could reply to this outrageous statement, the music ended. She broke away from Todd's hold and stalked away feeling as if she were aflame with rage.

  "Tamara?"

  She whirled to face Marc Hellman, her face stormy, her violet, eyes shooting sparks. Gazing challengingly into his thin face, she asked tersely, "Marc, what do you see when you look at me?"

  He stared at her blankly. "I beg your pardon?" He frowned worriedly. "Tamara, I think I'd better take you home. You've been quite unlike yourself this evening."

  She laughed recklessly. "Really? Perhaps I should rephrase the question. What kind of person do you think I am, Marc?"

  "Why..."He gestured helplessly.” You’re intelligent, dignified, and gentle. You have a quiet charm and are very discriminating." He shook his head. "Why are you behaving this way, my dear?"

  She stared at him in sad amazement. She had thought that Marc knew her better than anyone in Somerset, yet the person he had described was no closer to her own personality than Todd's assessment. Did everyone see only what they wanted to see? She suddenly felt terribly alone.

  "Perhaps because the woman you've just described has all the characteristics of a victim," she replied huskily. "And I find I'm tired of acting a part to you to gain approval from people who couldn't care less about who I really am. I've been trying to conform to Somerset's idea of what a lady should be since I was sixteen. I've been as discreet and colorless as a little brown wren for years, but I'm still looked upon as some kind of scarlet woman."

  "You're speaking wildly, Tamara," Marc said in a firm, fatherly voice.

  She shook her head, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

  The emotional shocks that had followed one upon the other had shattered the cocoon Tamara had woven around her feelings, and she was flooded with a wild euphoria that made her peculiarly light-headed. Not that the three cocktails she'd consumed earlier hadn't contributed to that state, she thought ruefully. Whatever the cause, it resulted in the banishing of her inhibitions and she found the new Tamara Ledford to be bitterly amusing.

  If no amount of discretion was going to change anyone's opinion of her, why should she attempt the impossible? Why not enjoy herself and give everyone what they expected of her? Since they thought of her as some sort of Femme Fatale, then she'd show them just how vampish she could be if she put her mind to it.

  She found it ridiculously easy. All it took was a slow, seductive smile or an alluring sidelong glance and her partners responded as if she'd pushed the ignition button on a rocket. She soon had a small court of eager males around her, vying for her favors. She was aware of the whispers and coldly disapprov­ing glances she was receiving from the other women in the room, but that didn't really matter until she looked up to meet the eyes of Celia Bettencourt.

  The blonde was standing only a few yards away. She was holding Todd Jamison's arm with possessive intimacy, but her attention was fixed with ma­levolence on Tamara and her circle of admirers. Her voice was light but meant to carry clearly to the people in her immediate vicinity. "Isn't it amusing to see the little bastard try her hand at social climbing? But then who could blame her after living all her life with that crazy old witch of an aunt?"

  At the blatant insult, rage shot through Tamara like a lightning bolt. She'd taken just about enough from Celia for one day. There was a look of embar­rassed shock on the faces of most of the crowd surrounding them. The rudeness had been too obvi­ous for even Celia's most devoted sycophants to accept. It was clear Tamara was meant to be hurt and humiliated by the comment, and that only served to increase the tide of anger flowing through her. She might have tried to ignore an insult to herself, but there was no way she was going to take Celia's sniping at Aunt Elizabeth without retaliation.

  Her eyes narrowed as her gaze moved thoughtfully to Todd Jamison. Judging by the flush on his face and the slight sway of his body as he returned her look hungrily, he'd clearly been imbibing heavily since she'd seen him last. For a moment she hesitated. What she was about to do went much against the grain, and she almost surrendered the idea at its birth. Then Celia followed her remark with a burst of scornful laughter.

  What had Todd said earlier? Oh yes, that he would come to her if she so much as crooked her little finger. Well, he was about to be put to the test, she thought grimly.

  She smiled, putting every bit of voltage and appeal she possessed into it. Then,’ raising her hand, she languidly beckoned Jamison to come to her. At first she thought he was ignoring the gesture. He didn't move and there was a dazed, blank expression on his face. Then he brushed Celia's hand from his arm as if she didn't exist and started eagerly forward.

  "Todd!" Celia's exclamation was charged with in­credulity and outrage, but he acted as if he hadn't heard her. He was so soused he probably hadn't, Tamara thought wryly.

  Then suddenly there was a sound from Celia that was a cross between a snarl and a shriek as she rushed forward, pushing Todd Jamison out of her way, to halt before Tamara. She was breathing hard, her doll-like face suddenly not pretty at all, her eyes glazed with fury.

  "Damn you!" she hissed, and her hand swung out to connect with a sharp crack on Tamara's cheek.

  For an instant Tamara couldn't believe it had happened. Even Celia wouldn't cause such a scene at her father's anniversary celebration! But she'd done it, as was evidenced by the sudden, shocked silence of the guests.

  "If you'll excuse me, please," Tamara said formally. She raised her chin proudly and with a slow, regal dignity glided through
the silent crowd to the French doors that led to the terrace.

  Three

  As Tamara closed the doors, she heard the sudden outbreak of conversation behind her. She leaned back for a moment, the cool breeze stroking her hot cheeks like a caressing hand. The reckless gaiety and daring that had sustained her through the evening had abruptly subsided, drowned in the shock and embarrassment she'd felt in that terrible mo­ment when Celia Bettencourt had attacked her.

  She felt only a deep depression now as she straight­ened slowly and wandered despondently to the deco­rative stonewell bordering the flagstone terrace. She gazed blindly out over the formal rose garden as silent tears ran slowly down her cheeks.

  "Well, you're certainly well versed in the art of raising hell, sweetheart," Rex Brody drawled behind her.

  Tamara whirled to face him, her stance as defensive as an animal at bay.

  Brody leisurely closed the French doors behind him and moved toward her with lithe grace. The moonlight flooding the patio illuminated his tuxedo- clad figure in dramatic, black and white relief, and if anything he appeared more magnetic than ever in the formal attire.

  She didn't answer, afraid he would detect her mo­mentary weakness in the shakiness of her voice. She turned hurriedly away again, not daring to wipe her eyes. The blasted moonlight was almost as bright as the noon sun and she'd be damned if she'd reveal to Brody how vulnerable she felt at this moment. He was already dealing from a position of power with­out her weeping before him like a woeful child.

  He halted next to her, gazing down at the dark silkiness of her averted head. "You ought to be spanked, you know," he said grimly. "After you move in with me, I’ll break your little neck if you pull anything like this again."

  "I deserve to be punished!" she exploded indignantly, only hearing those first outrageous words. "I'm the one who was slapped by your dear cousin-in- law in front of an entire room of people. I'm the one who was insulted. Don't you think she should reap a bit of the blame?"