MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS by LYDIA STORM Read Free Book Online

neat, white trim around the windows. Red geraniums spilled
out of window boxes and sat cheerfully in large cast iron pots by the front
door. John rang the bell and waited.
    The door was promptly
answered by an Asian woman in a pale blue maid’s outfit. She looked sleek and
elegant and smiled graciously. “You are Mr. Monroe,” she informed him.
    “Yes, I am,” agreed
John.
    “Mr. Rossmore is not
home yet. He said to tell you he would be a little detained, but Miss Veronica
is waiting for you upstairs if you’ll follow me,” she said, with a polite bow.
    John wasn’t sure if
he should bow back so he just kind of inclined his head a bit. “Thanks.”
    The maid led him through
the small but beautifully decorated entrance. It contained a mahogany hall-tree
on which several rumpled tweed jackets and an old trench coat were draped.
These were clearly good quality but in desperate need of a pressing, perhaps
even retirement. A few stray hats and mufflers left over from the winter and a
pile of books on ancient Egypt were also stacked on top of the antique table
beside the hall tree. The floor was worn but highly-polished black-and-white
marble squares. Poised on a small table across from the doorway, a blue and
white porcelain Chinese vase overflowed with an arrangement of fresh cut
flowers which filled the room with the scent of roses and springtime lilacs.
    They made their way
up a narrow staircase to the second floor landing and into an old-fashioned
parlor with sliding pocket doors. The room had warm wood paneling and a
pale-green stained-glass Belle Epoque chandelier. Books lay around everywhere
in neat piles and a giant periwinkle-blue Victorian sofa was positioned under the
bay window that looked out onto the quiet street. Ancient maps, yellowed and
fragile looking, lined the walls. The bust of an old Roman bigwig rested on the
mantle of the black marble fireplace, which boasted a cheerful blaze though it
wasn’t the slightest bit chilly out.
    “Would you like some
jasmine tea?” the maid asked, indicating a beat-up leather club chair for him
to sit in.
    “Oh, no thanks,” said
John, trying to get his bearings.
    “You might as well,”
said a low feminine voice as an expensive-looking brunette swept into the room.
She was dressed in a white halter dress with a simple, formfitting cardigan.
It was difficult to tell if she was tall or not, because she wore high strappy
shoes that showed off her pearly toes with their soft polish. Her hair was
pulled back behind one ear to reveal a pair of dark blue eyes, lined with a
faint trace of black. Her cheekbones were high but not severe, her skin glowed
like an alabaster lamp, and her softly curved lips shone with pale pink gloss.
She had a timeless face, a beautiful face, but there was something guarded and
unapproachable in her expression. The elegantly old-fashioned scent of L’Heure Bleue trailed after her in
tantalizing wisps. She barely looked at John as she slid into a chair by the
fire. “I’m having some and my father won’t be home for a bit.”
    She didn’t seem to
want to look at him, but he was sure getting an eyeful of her. It had been a
while since he’d felt such a primal physical attraction to a woman.
    He barely noticed as
the maid slipped discreetly out of the room.
    “Well, you must be
Veronica,” said John.
    She looked up, her
eyes sweeping over him in a cold, detached appraisal. He flashed his brightest
smile, complete with dimples and wickedly sparkling green eyes. She didn’t seem
impressed.
    “Oh, don’t you tell me ,” she said, with an arch of her perfectly manicured brow.
Turning back to the fire, she put her hands out in front of the blaze.
    This isn’t getting off to a good start.
    “I’m John Monroe,”
John rose to shake her hand.
    “You don’t have to
get up. I know who you are.” She picked a bit of invisible lint off her
cardigan and tossed it into the fire.
    Annoyed, John sank
back down. “I’m assuming you’re