No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) Read Online Free Page A

left where Walter, Margaret, and Celia Bettencourt formed a receiving line to greet their guests.
    Walter smiled with genuine pleasure as he took her hand in his. “Tamara, how good it is to have you here, my dear. You’re looking positively radiant tonight. You should wear red more often.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Bettencourt,” Tamara replied warmly. “You’re looking very dashing yourself.” She spoke only the truth. Walter Bettencourt was in his early fifties, but his vigorous, athletic body was fit and lean and his featureshad a blunt cragginess that was very attractive. “And Mrs. Bettencourt looks absolutely ravishing,” she added.
    Occupied for the moment with greeting another guest, Margaret Bettencourt didn’t hear the compliment, but her husband beamed proudly at his attractive brunette wife in her peach silk gown. “She certainly does. How do you suppose a staid old businessman like me got so lucky?”
    Just then Margaret Bettencourt looked up and smiled with a warm kindness that lit her charming face. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Tamara,” she said. There was a flush of color on her cheeks and her gentle gray eyes were glowing with excitement. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
    Walter Bettencourt slipped an arm about his wife’s slim waist and said with an indulgent chuckle, “That’s what she’s been saying to everyone. Personally, I think this nephew of yours is just a myth. You’ve been telling me about the man since the day I met you and I’ve yet even to see this paragon.”
    His wife cast him an affectionately reprovingglance. “I explained that Rex has been in London for the past sixteen months. You would have met him early this evening if he hadn’t suddenly been called away on business.”
    Some business, Tamara thought grimly. Attempting to harass a helpless old woman! “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you speak of a nephew, Mrs. Bettencourt,” she murmured.
    Margaret Bettencourt made a wry face. “I guess it’s become a way of life over the years to keep a low profile where Rex is concerned. The poor boy has so little privacy I’ve always been a bit overprotective, I’m afraid.”
    “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Walter Bettencourt said, his eyes twinkling. “You didn’t even tell Celia that we have a celebrity in the family until today.”
    “Celebrity?” Tamara frowned in puzzlement. Margaret Bettencourt began to explain when Celia’s dulcet voice chimed into the conversation.
    “Tamara, darling, how utterly fabulous you look. What an interesting gown.” Celia’s smile was saccharine sweet.
    For interesting read bizarre, Tamara thought dryly, as the pencil slim blonde scanned the crimson gown with barely concealed envy in her limpid brown eyes. Celia herself was gowned with svelte sophistication in a black strapless dress that hugged her slender figure with frank boldness. Her ash blond hair was piled high in a fashionable crown of curls on top of her head, and her elaborately applied makeup gave her delicate features a doll-like prettiness.
    “Thank you, Celia,” Tamara replied quietly. “How very kind of you.”
    “I was just telling Tamara she should wear bright colors more often, Celia,” her father said heartily. “Doesn’t she look stunning?”
    “Yes, quite stunning,” Celia echoed hollowly. She turned abruptly to Marc Hellman, who’d been quietly complimenting his hostess, and smiled brilliantly. “How are you, Marc?”
    At least Celia was behaving with a surface civility, Tamara noted with relief. Perhaps she’d expended all her troublemaking potential for one day with that last imbroglio she’d provoked by her malicious tale-bearing to Brody.
    It was another few seconds before they could break away and Tamara breathed a sigh of relief when Marc, a hand beneath her elbow, gently propelled her across the crowded ballroom to a quiet corner. He deftly commandeered two drinks from a passing waiter.
    “Quite a