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 tete-a-tete."

Celia Bettencourt nodded. "Goodbye, 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 emotioned 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 ail from her cocoon? Yes, she would definitely go with Brody and let that wild eagle show the butterfly how to fly.

She certainly should have no qualms about making use of him after his blackmail attempt. But it probably would be much wiser not to let Brody know she actually wanted to go with him now. Yes, she'd let him think he'd bulldozed the poor little small-town girl into going with him. It would fortify her position and she guessed she might need that strength with a man as forceful as Brody.

There was a smile of infinite satisfaction on her lips as she opened the door of the greenhouse.

Some time later Tamara looked up absently from the pot of bay leaf she was transplanting into larger pots as the door was thrown open. Rex Brody stood in the open doorway with a frown of angry impatience on his face. When he caught sight of Tamara on her knees, contentedly working with her plants, the impatience turned to positive fury.

He kicked the door shut with his foot before striding forward to tower above her intimidatingly. "Do you realize I've been ringing your bell and banging on your door for the past ten minutes?" he grated between clenched teeth. "Since there was a car parked in the driveway I was afraid something had happened to you, so I let myself in. I search all over this Victorian monster of a house, and I finally find you playing in the dirt like a seven-year-old!"

She stared up at him belligerently, striving not to notice how the black jeans hugged with loving detail the solid line of his thighs. His blue shirt was open at the throat, revealing the start of the springy dark hair on his muscular chest. "I didn't hear you ring," she said defensively.

"I'm aware of that. How could you hear me when you were out here making mud pies?" he said caustically. "Why in hell weren't you inside waiting for me?"

Tamara slowly picked up a towel and wiped her muddy hands on it, wishing it were his immaculate chambray shirt. "I'm not in the habit of sitting in the front parlor waiting meekly for visitors like a Victorian miss," she said coldly. "And I'm not making mud pies. I happen to be working. I didn't notice the time, or I wouldn't have been so discourteous as to keep you waiting."