She did not like Tamara Wyatt. More precisely, she did not like the way Tamara looked at Emmett when she thought no one was watching. The speculative gleam in Tamara’s gaze reminded Lydia of the way Fuzz looked when he peered at the pretzel jar. As if he was willing to devote a lot of thought and energy to a consideration of ways and means of removing the lid. Tamara was sleek and polished, with an indefinable edge of glamour that would set her apart in any room. Her dark hair was bound up in an elegant chignon that accented her aristocratic cheekbones and fine jawline. A fortune in gemstones sparkled at her throat. She wore amber set in gold in her ears. The deep décolletage of her gown stopped just short of being indiscreet. Lydia had realized when they had arrived an hour and a half earlier that Emmett had met both the Wyatts previously. Mercer and Emmett had greeted each other with polite civility. But something else had been going on between Tamara and Emmett just beneath the surface.
