The Emperor's New Clothes (17 page)

No!

The word screamed through her head in a final effort to affirm all she'd ever been or wanted to be or refused to become. She would not be like those women who hung on her father's every move, or the pathetic creatures who waited at clandestine late-night suppers for actors who swore undying love and fealty. She would not be the plaything of any man. Not even a man who made her body ache and her heart sing.

Not even Tyler Matthews.

“Tye.” She gasped, and her arms flailed out at her sides in a desperate attempt to sit up. He seemed not to notice or not to care, and she realized with a newly sharpened instinct he was as overcome as she was, or at least, as she had been a moment ago. Her hand hit the washstand beside the bed, and she fumbled with the drawer until it slid opened.

“Tye,” she said again. “Stop. Please.”

“You don't mean that, Ophelia,” he murmured.

“But I do.”

Tye raised his head and his eyes widened, passion fleeing in the wake of surprise and possibly amusement. She aimed her derringer at a point right above, and a few mere inches away from, the bridge of his nose, smack dab between his eyes. His delicious, chocolate eyes.

“I suspect this means you're feeling better.” A wry note colored his words.

“Yes, thank you.” There was an annoying breathless quality to her voice, and she fought for control.

“Your hands are trembling,” he said calmly. “Perhaps if you'd point that a bit to one side or the other, it won't discharge accidentally and shoot my head off.”

“I assure you, Mr. Matthews, I won't shoot you by accident.”

“Ophelia, I told you last night you were a bad liar.”
He heaved a sigh of regret and straightened up. “The way you're shaking, that gun could easily go off at any minute. And even as small as it is, it would probably kill me, and I can't believe you really want that.”

She pulled herself up to a sitting position, all the while keeping the barrel leveled in his direction. “You don't know anything about what I want.”

“Oh, but, Ophelia, I do.” His gaze trapped hers, his eyes simmering with a need she shared, his voice low with a truth she could deny to him, but not to herself. “I know exactly what you want,” he said.

“And what do I want?”

He reached forward and gently clasped her shoulders, ignoring the gun now pointed straight at his chest. Did he really believe she wouldn't shoot? Or was he the biggest fool she'd ever met? “You want to lose your senses and your mind in my arms” he said. “You want to feel sensations and emotions you've only begun to explore. You want to surrender to the ache crying inside you for release.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

“And what do you want?”

“I want you, Ophelia.” He pulled her to him—the gun in her hand pressed against his heart but he ignored it—to crush his lips to hers. How could he trust that she wouldn't shoot him right here? Right now? The answer sank into her like a stone. He was right. She did want him and everything he offered. But heaven help her, she wanted more.

“Ophelia!” Jenny's indignant voice sounded from the doorway.

Instinctively, Ophelia and Tye sprang apart. The derringer jerked and fired. Ophelia stared in horror.

“You shot me!” Tye's voice rose with disbelief.

Blood oozed from the top of his shoulder.

“Damnation, Ophelia, did you kill him?” Jenny cried.

“Don't curse,” Ophelia said without thinking, and winced at the red stain spreading across his shirt. “Of course I didn't kill him. If I killed him he wouldn't be sitting up.”

“You almost killed me!” He glared accusingly.

“I did not. Honestly, it's not even serious. If it was serious it would be spurting. It's just, sort of”—she wrinkled her nose in disgust—“flowing. A trickle really.”

“A trickle? It doesn't feel like a trickle. It feels”—he paused dramatically—“fatal.”

“Well, it's not. It's a trickle. And it appears to be stopping at any rate.” Now that the initial shock had passed, she realized he was scarcely hurt at all. “Here.” She snatched up a towel from the washstand and tossed it at him.

It slapped across his face and he glared, clamping it on his wounded shoulder.

“And look.” She pointed to a small nick in the wall near the ceiling. “See? Right there? That's where the bullet hit. It just grazed you.”

His mouth dropped open as if he couldn't believe her apparent disregard for his injury. “It hurts!”

“Are you sure you didn't seriously injure him?” Jenny asked anxiously.

“Of course she seriously injured me. She shot me. That's serious.” Tye stared at Jenny. “Who in the hell are you?”

“Who am I? Who are you? Who
is
he?” Jenny planted her hands on her hips and glared.

“This is my sis—my maid, Jenny.” Ophelia gestured at her.

“Oh.” Tye brightened. “You're the one Zach was talking about.”

“Who is
he?
” Ophelia pulled her brows together.

“He's one of the hands,” Tye answered. “Actually, he's lived here at the ranch since he was about fourteen, when his dad died.”

Ophelia stared in confusion. “I thought the Matthewses raised
you
.”

“They really are nice people, you know,” Jenny said to Ophelia.

“We've established that. It's the best part,” Ophelia said under her breath. “Do Big Jack and Lorelie take in all the homeless waifs in the area?”

“Not really. Just me and then Zach.” Tye laughed, then cringed. “Ouch. I'm really in a great deal of pain. Are you going to do something about this?”

“You must be Tye.” Jenny smiled shyly. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“How do you know this Zach?” Ophelia scrambled off the bed.

“I think I'm bleeding to death,” Tye said, craning his neck to peer at his shoulder.

Jenny shrugged. “He's teaching me to ride.”

“Yep.” Tye heaved a heavy sigh. “I'm dying, all right.”

“A horse?” Ophelia gasped.

“My life is flashing before my eyes,” Tye said.

“Of course a horse. What else?” Defiance colored Jenny's voice.

“I'm getting weak.” Tye groaned.

“But horses, Jenny.” Ophelia shook her head. “They're vile, nasty creatures. Big and huge and always laughing.”

Tye pulled his brows together. “I've never heard them laugh.”

“Well, they do,” Ophelia snapped.

“I really don't think they laugh.” Jenny said.

“Nope,” Tye said. “They definitely don't laugh. They're good and loyal beasts. For example.” He stood
and clasped his hand to his shoulder. “Your horse would never shoot you.”

“She would if you were trying to seduce her.” Ophelia glared.

Jenny gasped. “He tried to seduce his horse?”

“Not his horse.” Ophelia released an irritated sigh. “Me.”

“But I don't understand. Then why was the horse laughing?” Jenny shook her head as if to clear it.

“Horses do not laugh!” Tye's voice boomed through the room. “And I was not seducing you!”

“What would you call it?”

“Well…” Tye's gaze darted around the room as if looking for an answer. “All right, I was seducing you. But you weren't resisting.”

“I shot you.” Ophelia squared her shoulders. “I'd say that's resistance.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You said it was an accident.”

“My goodness! What's going on here?”

Lorelie stood in the doorway, eyes wide, hand clasped to her cheek, shock coloring her face. At once Ophelia realized how very odd the scene must look. She and Tye screaming at each other about laughing horses and seduction and—

“Countess, I would suggest…” Lorelie nodded discreetly at the front of Ophelia's riding habit.

“Ophelia!” Jenny rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

“Good Lord!” Ophelia grabbed the edges of her blouse, pulled them together and frantically tried to get the buttons in their tiny, little holes. Damn. She had completely forgotten how horribly exposed she was when the gun went off. She glanced up to meet Tye's gaze. Surely the man was not amused by all this? “You must accept my apologies,” she said. “Lorelie, I was—”

“Don't give it a second thought, my dear.” A weak
smile touched Lorelie's lips as if she really wanted to mean what she said but couldn't quite manage it. “These things happen.”

Tye gave Ophelia a smug smile. “I'm glad to see you can walk.”

“I'm glad to see you're not dead!” Ophelia said sharply.

He snorted in disdain. “No thanks to you.”

Ophelia gritted her teeth. “It was an accident. However, given further consideration—”

“Countess—Ophelia! Tyler!” Lorelie's voice snapped with the uncompromising tone of a mother chastising bickering children. “That is quite enough. Ophelia, you can continue to disrobe and get in bed. Whether you can walk or not, you took quite a tumble. I daresay you'll be stiff and in pain by evening. And as for you.” She stepped in front of Ophelia and turned her glare on Tye. “I can't imagine what you were thinking, forcing your attentions on a guest in my home. Such behavior indeed!”

“She shot me.” His voice rang with indignation.

“I probably would have shot you too,” Lorelie said.

“It was an accident,” Ophelia said. Why wouldn't the irritating man accept that?

“Hah! Some accident!” he said.

“If I did it on purpose”—Ophelia grinned at him from behind Lorelie—“you'd be dead.”

“Ophelia!” Jenny clapped her hand over her mouth.

Tye's gaze slid from Ophelia to Jenny and back. “So this is your maid?”

“Yes,” Ophelia said cautiously.

“So why does she call you…Ophelia?” Triumph flickered in his eyes.

“It's her name?” Jenny said helpfully.

Ophelia groaned to herself. Why was it every time she turned around there was some annoying little de
tail that had completely slipped by her? She didn't recall the tailors having this much problem with the emperor. She glared at Tye. He had a conceited smile plastered on his face. It was a good thing he hadn't worn that look when she still had her gun in her hand.

“Well?” he prompted smugly.

She should have killed him. “Well…she calls me Ophelia because…”
Why? Why? Why?
Of course! Gad, she was good. “Because she has a speech difficulty and she can't pronounce ‘countess.'”

“Poor little thing,” Lorelie murmured.

Tye laughed. “Oh, come now. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“It's true.” Ophelia turned to Jenny. “Say ‘countess.'”

Panic flashed through Jenny's eyes; then she pulled herself up to her full, if tiny, stature and said, “C-c-c-c-c-”

“Very well.” Tye clenched his teeth. “What about ‘my lady.'”

Ophelia shrugged. “Jenny?”

Jenny lifted her chin defiantly. “M-m-m-m-m-”

“This is ridiculous.” Tye snorted in disbelief. “You're telling me the only words this child can't say are ‘countess' and ‘my lady'?”

“I have a problem with ‘Bridgewater' too,” Jenny said sweetly.

“Ah-hah!” Tye pointed at Jenny. “Caught you! You just said—”

“That's quite enough.” Lorelie glared at her nephew. “You have thoroughly embarrassed this child and I refuse to let you continue.”

“But—”

“No buts, Tyler Matthews. You get right down to the kitchen and let Alma take a look at that little scrape of yours.” Lorelie hustled him out of the room. “And
Countess, you get some rest.”

He stopped in the doorway and glared at Ophelia over his shoulder. “You're lying to me again. And I still say you don't do it well.”

“Come along now, Tyler.” Lorelie nudged him down the hall.

“I do not lie,” Ophelia said in a haughty manner, adding under her breath, “I act.”

“She shot me, you know.” Tye's voice trailed after him down the hall.

“I know, dear,” Lorelie replied faintly. “You'll live.”

Jenny turned wide eyes to her sister. “I can't say ‘countess'? You are good.”

“Thank you.” Ophelia bit back a smile. “I rather liked your addition of ‘Bridgewater.' Did you see his face when you pronounced the word you said you couldn't?”

Jenny grinned. “I've never seen anyone look quite so—”

“Shocked? Confused? Victorious?”

“Actually, I was going to say silly.”

The sisters stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. They tumbled onto the bed in the throes of hysteria until tears ran down their cheeks and their sides ached.

“Goodness.” Ophelia wiped her eyes, propped her head on her hand and stared at her sister. “That was funny. I really didn't mean to shoot him.”

“He'll no doubt realize that.” Jenny grinned. “When he heals.”

“It won't take him long. It's not much of a wound.” Ophelia chuckled. “I could have done some real damage, but this was, of course, an accident.”

The sisters fell into a companionable silence. What would have happened if Jenny hadn't come in when she did? Would Ophelia now be a fallen woman? Re
gret battled with relief. Not that it really mattered. She was past the point when most women married. Goodness, she was already twenty-three and well on her way to being a genuine spinster. Why, when it came right down to it, what was she saving herself for?

The feelings Tye aroused in her were at once wonderful and frightening. A sudden thought struck with a surprising clarity: Why couldn't she relinquish her virtue, give in to her own desires and still remain true to herself? There was no reason why she had to sacrifice her soul in order to experience the bliss Tye so eloquently offered her body. Still, could she really separate one from the other?