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

better discuss it,” he suggested. “May I come in?”
    He was already in, she thought in annoyance, as Brody shut the door and strode through the arched doorway to the right of the entry hall.
    “Please do make yourself right at home, Mr. Brody,” she said caustically, trailing behind him into the living room.
    “Very cozy,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “All this hominess must be very soothing to your ‘clients,’ Miss Ledford.” There was a caustic barb in the smooth silkiness of his voice and Tamara clenched her fists in fury. Her gaze followed his around the room, noticing as if for thefirst time the faded flowered carpet, the worn spot on the shabby blue couch, and the lace drapes, yellowing with age, at the windows. Why did this arrogant, obnoxious man only have to enter the room for her suddenly to find fault with the only home she’d ever known?
    The room was cozy, she thought defensively. What difference did it make that the furniture was old-fashioned and a bit shabby, and that lace doilies and family miniatures went out with high button shoes? It was all dear and familiar, and had the mellow graciousness of a faded but still beautiful old lady.
    “This is our home, Mr. Brody,” she said archly. “My aunt and I aren’t concerned if the decor isn’t up to your exalted standards.” She sat down on the couch and gestured resignedly. “You might as well sit down.”
    He sat down on the couch beside her, looking bizarrely out of place in the gentle period surroundings. “You’re very much on the defensive, Miss Ledford,” he drawled. “I meant no offense. In fact, I think your aunt is much more clever than Celia Bettencourt imagines.”
    “Celia!” Tamara said sharply. “What does she have to do with this?”
    “Did you actually think you could pull such an obvious scam on Aunt Margaret without her step-daughter tumbling to it?” he asked mockingly.
    “Scam?” Tamara repeated, her violet eyes huge in her suddenly pale face. If Celia was involved in this crazy misunderstanding, then it foreboded serious trouble.
    “Scam, bunko, con game. Whatever you care to call it, it’s still highly illegal, Miss Ledford. I don’t know how much your aunt has bilked Aunt Margaret out of in the last year on these phony psychic readings, but I want it returned double quick, do you understand?”
    Tamara’s chin lifted disdainfully. “I gather you’re Margaret Bettencourt’s nephew, Mr. Brody?” He nodded curtly, and she continued with acid sweetness. “How unfortunate for her. Do you always jump to conclusions without verifying the facts? For your information, my aunt never accepts money for her readings. When she’s asked for help, she gives it without charge.”
    He nodded grimly. “I said she was clever, but not quite clever enough. She may not accept cash, but I think the police would agree that a pretty trinket would be valuable enough to constitute grand larceny.” He gestured to a beautifully crafted Easter egg on the mantel. “I understand from Miss Bettencourt that my aunt gave Elizabeth Ledford this art object two months ago. Do you deny it?”
    “Of course I don’t deny it,” Tamara said hotly. “Mrs. Bettencourt was very grateful to Aunt Elizabeth for her advice regarding some stock investments. She insisted on giving my aunt at least a token gift. It’s quite lovely, but not at all valuable.”
    “Some token,” he said, his lips twisting cynically. “Are you telling me you don’t know that’s a Fabergé egg, and it’s worth a small fortune?”
    “A Fabergé—” Tamara gasped, stunned. She shook her head dazedly. “You’ve got to be mistaken. Why would she give Aunt Elizabeth something so valuable?”
    “Because my Aunt Margaret is basically a very naïve woman,” Brody said grimly. “She musthave been a piece of cake for your aunt to manipulate. There’s no telling how much she’s managed to get out of her in the past year.” His dark eyes were staring