The Emperor's New Clothes (20 page)

Her body stiffened with surprise, then relaxed, and her arms wrapped around his neck, her response eager and without reservation.

Abruptly he pulled back and grinned. “I'm going to go build your opera house now.”

“Wonderful.” A blush shaded her cheeks, and bemusement tinted the emerald of her eyes.

This time when he turned away he couldn't keep the
satisfied grin from his face. Damn, this was going well. And lust, for a woman, just might be the first step to love. Of course she'd made it easy for him.

His step faltered. Too easy. Obviously, this was a woman skilled in the art of enticing men. She did it extremely well. He didn't quite believe that widow nonsense, but he was certain she was an experienced woman. He drew his brows together in a troubled frown. Just how experienced was she? He didn't like the question or the possibilities.

Did it really matter?

No, of course not. Ophelia was the woman he loved regardless of how many men had come before him. After all, it wasn't as if she was the first woman to have fallen. And he himself was scarcely virginal, although he had rather expected that quality in a wife.

No, he could be noble about this. He could forgive her transgressions.

It was just one more thing about her he'd have to reform.

 

Throughout the long morning, she tried not to stare at him. But it seemed everywhere Ophelia's gaze fell, there was Tye. He'd catch her eye and smile, a secret, private smile that fluttered her stomach.

Well, this was what she wanted, wasn't it? Confidential glances and mysterious smiles? She'd brought it on herself, of course, and quite well too. Whoever would have thought flirting would require that much effort? The actresses and other women she'd watched in her youth had always made it seem so easy and natural. Perhaps it was for women with experience. She shrugged to herself. She would never know.

Tye was the only man who would ever share her bed. She knew it with a certainty that shocked her in its steadfastness and strengthened her resolve. It was ob
viously fate that drew her to this one man in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Odd how strangely life worked. Ever since her father had died she'd wanted to come to Wyoming, not for her sake but for Jenny's. Ophelia suspected Jenny's true parents lived in the territory somewhere, but she'd never managed to get here before now. And here and now there was Tye.

She couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from his strong, tall figure. His shirt was open nearly to the waist, and she caught glimpses of hard, bronzed chest. The fabric strained across his back in a caress of broad muscle and taut strength. The hot Wyoming sun gilded his hair into a golden halo. He worked on the open framework of the building, looking for all the world like the master of everything he surveyed, like a king or a god. He was magnificent, and if her determination to have him was wrong in the scheme of her life or her future, well, it was, very likely, worth it.

“‘Think you there was or might be such a man as this I dreamt of,'” she said under her breath.

“Pardon me, my dear?”

“
Anthony and Cleopatra
.” Her manner was absent, her thoughts intent on the golden figure in the sun.

“He is a handsome man, isn't he?”

“Um-hum.”

“He'll make someone an excellent husband.” The words and the voice finally penetrated Ophelia's thoughts and snapped her attention from Tye to the woman beside her.

“No doubt he will.” Ophelia paused for a moment. “Just out of idle curiosity, mind you, Lorelie, tell me, why isn't Tye married?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Lorelie heaved a sigh of forbearance. “I've wondered that myself on occasion. Lord knows, he's had plenty of opportunity. Women have always thrown themselves at Tyler.”

“My goodness.” Ophelia struggled to hide her sarcasm. “What a surprise.”

“Do you think so?” Lorelie raised a curious brow. “I don't. Tyler's just the type of man I would have found attractive in my younger days. Why, just look at him.” She nodded toward her nephew, and Ophelia's gaze followed hers. “He's tall and nicely shaped, quite dashing really, with all that blond hair and those brown eyes, dark as—”

“Chocolate,” Ophelia murmured.

“Chocolate! What a delightful comparison.”

“I love chocolate.”

“Most of us do, dear. It's no wonder he's usually had his pick of women.” Lorelie leaned toward her in a confidential manner. “He's always been something of a rogue when it comes to the fairer sex.”

“But he never found someone to marry?”

“Not yet, but I'm certain he will someday. He just needs to find the right woman.”

“What kind of woman do you think would be right for him?” Ophelia said with a casual air.

“Idle curiosity again?” Innocence rang in Lorelie's voice, and Ophelia slanted her a quick glance. The older woman still studied her nephew.

Ophelia shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“I suspect if you asked Tyler, you'd get a completely different answer, but I think, and Jack agrees with me, my nephew needs a woman who's as intelligent as he is.” Lorelie shook her head in resignation. “But you know how men are. They are more than likely to prefer a pretty face and a fair figure to attributes that are more lasting. And then there are those moral qualities men seem to insist on in women—well, women they marry, at any rate—that they don't feel at all compelled to abide by themselves.”

“Moral qualities?” A weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Yes, indeed. Let me see.” A thoughtful frown creased Lorelie's forehead and she counted the items on her fingers. “There's loyalty. Men do seem to insist on that in their horses and their dogs and their wives. There's fidelity. A man can sow his wild oats when and where he pleases, but women are expected to confine their amorous activities to just one man. Not that I mind, not at all, but it does seem dreadfully unfair that what's good for the gander isn't allowed for the goose. And there's honesty.”

“Honesty?” The weight grew heavier.

“Men are a real stickler for honesty.” Lorelie paused. “Although there are ways to skirt the issue.”

“What kind of ways?”

“First and foremost, never volunteer information. Take the Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society, for example. There would be, well, quite frankly, hell to pay if Jack or any other man in this town knew we were playing poker. And my gracious, if they had any idea of the stakes”—Lorelie clucked her tongue—“I wouldn't even want to imagine how the scandal would rock this community. There would be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.” A wicked twinkle sparked in her eye. “And the women would get upset too.”

Ophelia laughed. “So, you're saying—”

“What I'm saying is extremely simple. No one ever said, ‘Lorelie, my love, have you and the other ladies of Dead End been playing poker with stakes that would have a riverboat gambler shaking in his boots?' And if the question isn't asked, you can't answer with a falsehood, thereby avoiding an outright lie. And there you have it.” Lorelie spread her hands out in a gesture akin
to a magician showing nothing up his sleeve. “Honesty.”

Ophelia stared in complete admiration. That was perhaps the most convoluted piece of logic she'd ever heard. Yet somehow, it made perfect sense. “That's amazing.”

“Thank you,” Lorelie said modestly.

“But let me ask you something else.” Ophelia narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “What if, say, just as a for instance, a person wasn't actually lying? That is, she—or he—hasn't told a fib to a direct question. But what if that same person—”

“She or he?”

“Right. Was, say, hiding something important about themselves. Maybe, even, pretending to be something or someone they weren't.” Ophelia's light tone belied the anxiety within her. For some unknown reason, this fascinating little woman's answer was important to her.

“My dear.” Lorelie leaned toward her and placed a hand gently on her arm. “We are all pretending to be something or someone we aren't. We're women.”

“I see.” Again, Lorelie's explanation was positively frightening in its twisted rationale. And yet it was also so sensible and practical and liberating.

“I can't believe you haven't considered any of this before,” Lorelie said. “I can't imagine your own husband—what was his name?”

“Aloysius.”

“Yes, well, I should think Aloysius would have inspired much the same philosophy in you that Jack has in me.” Lorelie tapped her bottom lip in a considering manner. “Unless, of course, life really is that much different in England than it is here.”

“That's it,” Ophelia said gratefully. “Life is ever so much different in England.”

“Dear me.” Lorelie heaved a mournful sigh. “In that case, I'm not at all certain I'll like being a countess.”

“Oh, you'll like it.” Ophelia threw her a confident smile. “And everyone will like you. I have no doubt you'll be a wonderful Countess of Bluewater.”

“Thank you.” Relief brightened Lorelie's face. “And what of you, my dear? You're a young woman. Why haven't you remarried?”

“Me?” Ophelia cast around for an answer and a name. “Why, I haven't even considered it. I…um…my marriage to—”

“Adolf?” Lorelie suggested helpfully.

“Yes, Adolph. Was so very—”

“Happy?” Lorelie nodded as if she already knew the answer.

“Brief, actually, I was going to say brief. We didn't have much time together.” A sorrowful note sounded in her voice.

“You and Austin.”

“Austin?” Who?

“Your husband?”

“Of course, Austin, dear, dear, dead Austin.” She shook her head sadly.

“I'm certain he'd want you to carry on.” Lorelie's voice held a note of encouragement.

Ophelia sighed. Gad, this dead husband was a lot of work. “I do try, but sometimes it's so difficult.”

“He'd probably want you to go on with your life, find someone else. Remarry.”

“Possibly.”

“You would want to find the right person.”

“Naturally.”

“Now that I think about it,” Lorelie said, “we have a significant number of eligible men in this area.”

“How very interesting.” Ophelia's offhand manner matched the other woman's.

“Several area ranchers are looking for wives, most of them quite wealthy.”

“Wealth is always a nice touch.”

“Yes indeed. We have ranchers and merchants and even”—Lorelie's tone was nonchalant—“an occasional mayor.”

“A mayor?” Ophelia shot a startled look at Lorelie. “You mean Tye?”

“He is the only mayor we have.”

“I don't think…I mean I haven't…it's simply not…”

Marriage? To Tye?

The very idea was absurd, ridiculous. She had no intention of marrying this man or any man. Seduction yes; marriage, absolutely not. Why, she didn't know the first thing about being a wife. And while Tye was obviously more than willing to share her bed, she had no doubt that sharing the rest of her life was the last thing he'd want. The realization brought an odd stab of pain.

“Never mind, dear.” Lorelie's voice was bright. “It was just a random suggestion. Don't give it a second thought.”

“Consider it forgotten.” Ophelia forced a light-hearted laugh and turned the subject back to the opera house and the planned afternoon with the Cultural Society. But the idea of marrying Tye refused to go away. It would mean pretending to be a countess for the rest of her life. Not an insurmountable problem.

But sooner or later, Tye was sure to learn the truth about her. For good or ill, the man was not stupid. He had a college education, no less. And once he learned the truth, wife or not, he'd be certain to cast her aside like a low card in a good hand. And she'd be just like all the other women she'd ever seen who'd sold their souls for love and ended with nothing but misery.
And there was no question about it: It would take very little for her to love him.

No, seduction was definitely less of a gamble with Tye than marriage. The most she'd lose with lust was her virtue. With love the stakes were much higher.

With love she'd lose her heart.

 

Ophelia stood laughing with Tyler, and Lorelie smiled with satisfaction. She and the countess would have a bite to eat at the cafe down the street, and then proceed to the Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society meeting. It should be an excellent afternoon. Why, look at how well the morning had gone.

Tyler had actually kissed Ophelia right here in public for anyone and everyone to see. It seemed as if Lorelie's matchmaking plan was working without any effort on her part at all. At least up to now.

She'd been greatly encouraged by that little incident in Ophelia's room after the ill-fated fox hunt, although it was a shame Ophelia had had to shoot him. Men didn't always take kindly to being shot. But Tyler had seemed to handle it well—it was such a very minor wound after all—and he was still in obvious pursuit of the lovely countess.

It was apparent he wanted her, and equally apparent she wanted him. Perhaps neither realized it yet, but they were perfect for each other. And there was something in his eyes when he looked at her, something reflected back in her own gaze, something very special. If Lorelie could see it, why couldn't they?

Honestly, people rarely saw what was right in front of them. They were always too busy looking for what they should see, or worse, what they expected to see. Love was definitely in the air in Empire City, even if Lorelie was the only one who knew it.

She frowned to herself and studied the couple. They made such a nice-looking pair. But now that the sparks of desire had smoldered, it would not do to let them burst into flame. At least not yet. No, she must do all she could to throw Tyler and Ophelia together without letting them be, well, too together. What was it they said about the horse and the barn door? Lorelie had always believed that lust denied, or at least delayed, was a sure and certain path to marriage and love. It was such a very small step from lust to something far more lasting and certain. Especially with someone willing to give a push in the right direction.