The Emperor's New Clothes (23 page)

Tye's expression cleared, and a warning growled in his voice. “Ophelia.”

She tossed him an innocent smile. “He was the one dressed like an ass.”

 

“This is it,” Lorelie murmured.

“Are you sure?” Henrietta perched on the seat beside her, the rest of the ladies gathering around them.

“Oh, you can always tell.”

Two more women nodded sagely to each other.

“I couldn't tell.” Anna Rose drew her thick black brows together until they paralleled the ridge of hair above her lips. “How can you tell?”

“Even you can't be that oblivious to your surroundings, Anna Rose,” a rancher's wife chided.

Maize sighed. “I think it's romantic.”

“How can you tell?” Frustration colored Anna Rose's voice.

“Terribly romantic.” The women exchanged dreamy glances.

“He's so wonderfully handsome and she's so very pretty, why it's—”

“—it's like a fairy tale come to—”

“—to life. The Countess and the Mayor.” A wave of sentimental sighs washed around the room.

“How can you tell!” Anna Rose stomped her sturdy foot and glared.

“You can tell by the look in their eyes.” Lorelie's voice was patient. “She's excited and apprehensive at the same time.”

The married women in the gathering nodded wisely.

“And he is more than a touch nervous and just a smidge uncertain.”

Again the ladies nodded their understanding.

“And you all know what that means?” Lorelie cast her gaze over the gathering.

“No.” Anna Rose said helplessly.

“It means,” Henrietta said with a grin, “Lorelie will soon have a countess in the family.”

“Well, of course she will,” Anna Rose said sharply.
“When Jack becomes a count Lorelie will…” Understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, I see. Tyler and the countess.”

“I knew you'd catch on sooner or later, dear.” Lorelie smiled.

“But are you certain about all this?”

Lorelie laughed. “Have you ever seen two people as, well, ready to burst as these two? I've thrown them together and kept them from doing anything about it. And when a man can't satisfy his baser urges, he starts thinking about more civilized methods of getting what he wants.”

“Marriage.” Henrietta grinned.

“And knowing my nephew as I do, I'm confident his thoughts have turned to matrimony. Aside from that”—Lorelie shrugged—“they're in love.”

Anna Rose rolled her eyes heavenward as if already regretting what she was about to say. “How can you tell?”

The gathering heaved a collective sigh and burst into a flurry of explanation.

“It's the way he stares at her, as if she's—”

“—dessert and he's a hungry man or—”

“—the way she wants to be stern with him but—”

“—can't seem to keep the smile from her face or—”

“—how he talks to you but his eyes are trained on her or—”

“—the way everything about her seems to soften when he's in the room and—”

“—how he's exactly the same when she's around.”

“The truly amazing part about all of this, ladies,” Lorelie said with an incredulous look around the gathering, “is that their feelings for each other are so obvious.”

The merchant's sister nodded. “We can certainly see it.”

Lorelie shook her head. “But they can't see what's right in front of their eyes.”

 

“Where are we going?”

This was it. Ophelia struggled to keep her voice unconcerned, but her stomach fluttered uncontrollably. She could well sympathize with Lorelie right now. Ophelia too had something suspiciously like stage fright.

“I think it's about time you saw the prettiest spot in the territory, maybe in the world.” The casual tone in Tye's voice matched her own. “There's a creek that runs through—”

“Where your father taught you to fish?”

He grinned. “You remember.”

“I remember.” How could she forget that night? How the moon spread a touch of magic with its beams. Or the look on his face when he talked about family and land and home. Or the way he'd kissed her for the first time.

“I promised to take you there.” He paused as if selecting his words carefully. “With Jack's ceremony the day after tomorrow, I thought this would be the only opportunity. I hope you don't mind.”

“Mind?” Of course she didn't mind. The moment she'd agreed to come she'd realized this was her last chance to finally be in his arms. To know what it was to be with a man completely and fully. To be with this man. “Not at all.”

“Great.” He smiled, and silence settled between them.

Gad, she was nervous. Of course she'd never seduced a man before, and wasn't quite certain how to go about it. No doubt all she'd have to do was set it all in motion and Tye would take his cue from her. But what if he didn't? What if she had to carry the flirtatious act she'd
practiced on him before to a greater extreme? And the man thought she was a widow. A woman of experience. What would he expect from such a woman? And dear Lord, what if she did it wrong?

With every turn of the carriage wheel, her apprehension grew. Goodness, if this was what every woman went through prior to sacrificing her virtue, well, it was astonishing the virgin population wasn't far greater than it was.

She cast him a surreptitious glance. What if he brought up the topic of marriage again? And his vision of the mayor's wife? She'd just have to distract him, that's all. Divert him away from any noble intentions regarding marriage, and appeal to the lustier side of his character. A side she had already sampled in the most intriguing manner. A side she was fully prepared to explore in a most thorough and satisfying way.

No, she was determined to enjoy this afternoon in the arms of the man she loved—no—wanted. Tomorrow at this time she'd be on the train out of town. Leaving Dead End and Tyler Matthews forever. It was a good plan. Damn near a perfect plan. And she really had no other logical choice.

So why did the very thought hurt?

 

This was it.

Why was his throat so damn dry? He couldn't even seem to swallow. He slanted her a quick glance.

Ophelia sat looking straight forward, her manner as relaxed as if she had the world at her feet. What he wouldn't do to give her just that.

Odd how life worked. When he first met her, it was her fiery beauty that attracted him. Now, there was much more that pulled him to her. So many little things that added up to love. Why, look at the way she'd helped with their opera house. Or the way she'd been
so friendly to the ladies of Dead End. And Lord knows, only a saint would put up with the torture of their performances day after day.

He chuckled to himself. Ophelia was no saint. Good. He didn't want a saint. He wanted a flesh-and-blood woman. This flesh-and-blood woman. He wanted her naked body, hot and demanding, next to his. He wanted her to gaze at him as if he were the only man in the world. And he wanted her forever as his wife.

But first, he'd get the truth out of her. Not that he cared any longer about the details of whatever it was she was up to. It was more to satisfy his own curiosity than anything else, because who she was or what she wanted no longer really mattered. But once he had the truth, she'd have to marry him.

It wasn't as if she didn't want to. She obviously loved him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. No doubt it was the simple matter of her fraudulent masquerade that prevented her from giving into feelings he was confident were as intense as his own. Well, he had all afternoon to break down her defenses and win her hand and her heart.

He laughed softly under his breath, and she tossed him a curious glance. Yes indeed. First he'd get her confession, and then he'd offer her his own admission of love and proposal of marriage. He grinned. No doubt about it.

This was definitely it.

“You were right. It's beautiful here.” Ophelia extended her hand, and Tye helped her out of the buggy, holding on a moment longer than necessary. Her gaze locked with his, and her breath caught at the dark emotion she saw in his eyes. Was it simple desire that smoldered there or something more?

“Beautiful.” His gaze raked over her. He smiled and released her, turning back to the carriage for the basket Alma had prepared. Ophelia stepped away, as much to avoid his glance as to admire the scenery.

He hadn't exaggerated.

The scene spread before them was every bit a banquet for the eyes as Alma's provisions were for the body. They stood on a slight rise. A long, low valley fell away so gently, it was almost impossible to discern any drop at all. The plains stretched on and on until they faded to mountains in the distance, so far off they were little more than a suggestion. Tye's creek danced and
laughed through a stand of trees—oak, she thought, the only real shelter to be seen anywhere. Trees were apparently few and far between in this country. But their lack only added to the stark beauty. There was an air of serenity here that seemed to seep inside her soul. She drew a steadying breath. She could certainly use all the serenity she could get.

“Would you help me with this?” Tye held out a scarlet blanket.

A blanket?

“And what are you planning to do with that?” Her voice rang a shade higher than normal.

“I'm planning on laying it on the ground—”

“Just as I suspected.” She glared indignantly.

“—so that we have something to sit on when we eat.”

“Exactly! And…and…” A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Had a woman actually ever died from embarrassment? “A fine idea it is too.” She grabbed the edges of the blanket and stretched it out over the grass.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

She busied herself smoothing wrinkles from the coverlet to avoid his gaze, but she couldn't miss the smile in his voice.

“Why, sit on it, of course.” Ophelia struggled to keep her tone light and innocent, but she wanted to rage out loud. At herself. How could she forget
she
was the one whose schemes included seduction, not him. And even if his intentions did match hers, well, so much the better. It would, no doubt, be far easier to accomplish if he was as willing as she. It was just that she was so damned nervous.

“You look like you're about to bolt at any minute.” Tye lounged on the blanket, a smug smile on his face. “Sit down, Ophelia, I won't bite.”

Perhaps it was the smile that did it. Perhaps it was the indulgent tone in his voice. Perhaps it was simply
the total picture of confidence the man presented, as if he had the world and everyone in it firmly under his control. His arrogant expression abruptly quieted her overwrought nerves like a brisk wind snuffing out of flickering candle. This was her seduction, her performance, and damn it, this man was not going to upstage her!

She was Ophelia Kendrake, daughter of the theater.

She was the Countess of…of…of wherever, with a lovely castle and a charming estate, imaginary though they may be.

And above all else, whether she could recall her lines or not, she was an actress. If her sojourn in Dead End had taught her nothing else, she'd learned she was a better actress without a script than with one. How difficult could seduction be anyway? Why, men did it all the time.

“Do you promise you won't bite?” She smiled in what she assumed was a provocative manner, and sank down on the blanket.

“Of course.” He raised a brow as if curious about her abrupt change of attitude, then lifted the cloth covering the basket and rummaged through the contents. His words were muffled but unmistakable. “For now.”

She pretended not to hear.

“There's a feast in here, Ophelia.” Tye pulled out a napkin-wrapped plate. “There's chicken and biscuits and one of Alma's pies.”

“Goodness, we'll never eat all that.”

“And”—he held up a bottle of champagne and grinned—“a bottle of Jack's champagne.”

She tilted her head in feigned surprise. “Imagine. That Alma. She certainly did think of everything.”

“Didn't she, though?” It was his turn to look innocent. He popped the cork and fished around in the bottom of the basket until he found two crystal flutes.
He poured the wine like an expert, and presented a flute to her with a flourish. “Countess?”

“Thank you,” she said primly, and drew a deep swallow. While she had a firm grip on her outward appearance, inside she remained as taut as a violin bow. With any luck, the champagne would relax her. She took another sip, and noted with surprise the glass was already nearly empty. “I do so love champagne.”

“Do you?”

“I do.” She held the crystal up to eye level and studied the sparkling wine. “It's the bubbles, I think.”

He nodded with the wisdom of an experienced man. “Tickles your nose, doesn't it?”

“Why, I hadn't really considered that, but I suppose it does. No, I like the way it feels going down my throat. So delicate and pleasant.” She tossed him a dreamy look. “Like a smile or a laugh. That's it, a laugh. A very light laugh turned to liquid.”

“A laugh?” He chuckled.

“A laugh.” She nodded firmly. “It definitely feels like a laugh going down, and then, right here”—she placed a hand over her stomach—“it turns to a delightful warmth that spreads straight through you from your head to your toes.” She drained the rest of her drink, and held her glass out to him. He obligingly refilled it, and she took another sip.

“Is that what women usually say about champagne?” she asked.

“Is what what women usually say?” Confusion colored his face.

“About it tickling their nose?”

“Oh, that. Well, in my experience—”

“Have you had a great deal of experience?”

He shrugged. “I imagine that depends on how you define experience.”

“For goodness sakes, Tye, you know exactly what I
mean.” She stared in exasperation, and quickly drew another swallow of the wine. “Experience with women and champagne. Together or separately.”

He laughed, a full-bodied, male sound that reverberated in her soul. “Why do you want to know?”

“I like to know exactly who I'm dealing with, that's all.” She raised her chin in a lofty manner.

He stared at the wine, and his voice was soft. “Do you?”

“Indeed I do.”

“Is that important? To know who you're dealing with, I mean?” There was an odd undercurrent to his voice, as if his words had a deeper meaning she couldn't quite comprehend.

“Of course it is.” She glanced down at her glass, surprised to find it empty. Odd, she didn't remember drinking it all. Perhaps she had spilled it. Of course that's what happened. After all, Ophelia never had more than two glasses of champagne. She held her goblet out to him. “Who am I dealing with, Tyler Matthews?”

He refilled her wine and smiled. “I thought you knew.”

“Refresh my memory.” She hiccupped and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Pardon me.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “Well, let me see. I'm the mayor.”

She raised her champagne in a jaunty toast. “And I'm the countess.”

“Are you?” His voice was casual.

“No, no, no. None of that.” She wagged her finger under his nose. “I most certainly am.”

He laughed again and shook his head. “Very well, where was I?”

She took another swallow. “You were the mayor and I was the countess.”

“Of course. I went to school back East—”

“Where you met that terribly attractive but horribly annoying Englishman.”

“Sedge?” He raised a brow.

“What kind of a name is that anyway? Sedge.” She snorted. “Rhymes with hedge or wedge or bedge.”

“Bedge?”

“Bedge.” She drained her glass. “It's a silly name. Not like Addicus.”

“One of your husbands?” Was he laughing at her?

“Yes indeed.” She sighed. “Dear, dear, dead Addicus. So sweet, so young.”

“I thought you told Sedge he was an older man.”

“Well, of course he was older eventually.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. Why was the man having such a difficult time understanding the slightest detail? “But he was young first.”

“I see.”

“Now, go on.” There was a drop left in the bottom of her glass. If she stretched her tongue just so, she could probably reach it. An odd, strangled sound came from Tye. She glanced up at him. Why did he look so strained? She waved her free hand. “Tell me more.”

He swallowed and took a deep breath. “After school, I toured Europe.”

“And Venice.” She held out her goblet. “Tell me again about the moon in Venice and the artists and the…lovers.” She cast him an alluring gaze. At least she hoped it was alluring. This business of seduction was definitely easier than she'd expected. Maybe it was time for a kiss? Certainly she was more relaxed about the entire endeavor now than she'd been when they'd arrived. Or perhaps it was the champagne? It really didn't matter. She just wished she wouldn't keep spilling it.

“Didn't you tell me you never have more than two glasses of champagne?” He refilled her glass with a
hand that didn't seem quite as steady as before.

She shook her head. “Nope. Never.”

“But this is your fourth.”

She leaned toward him and whispered, “I don't drink them, I just spill them.”

He whispered back. “The only place you've spilled it is right down your throat.”

“That's silly.” She bent closer and kissed him on the nose. “In fact, right now you look rather silly.”

“Do I?”

“Yes indeed.” She sipped the wine and gazed at him thoughtfully. Perhaps a kiss on the nose wasn't quite enticing enough to launch a seduction. “You look confused—”

“Hard to believe,” he said wryly.

“—and you look…” She narrowed her eyes. “Somewhat determined. Yes, that's it, determined.”

“I am.” His eyes echoed the warning in his voice. She ignored it.

“And you look, oh, I don't know.” She chewed on her bottom lip and his gaze drifted to her mouth, and even a woman as inexperienced as she was knew with an unerring instinct that he wanted her. How perfect. Her voice softened. “Like a starving man contemplating his first real meal.”

His gaze shot to hers and locked. “Is it that obvious?”

“It is to me.”

“Ophelia, I—”

“Kiss me, Tye.”

“My pleasure.”

He leaned forward, across the blanket, and touched his lips to hers, carefully, as if she was a delicate flower or a piece of Venetian glass. She sighed beneath his touch and her mouth opened, her breath mingling with his. Gad, she would surely melt with the sheer sensation of his lips on hers. She strained forward to press
her lips harder against his. Her heart raced. Her blood pounded. Her breath stilled.

She hiccupped, and a giggle escaped her.

“Oh, dear.” She pulled back and clapped her hand over her mouth.

Tye's deep eyes simmered, and he heaved a heavy sigh. “Excellent timing, my dear.”

“Thank you.” Lord, she had certainly shattered that moment. Well, it was perhaps all for the best. Now that his lips, his wonderful, warm, intoxicating lips, were no longer against hers, sanity returned. And so did her anxiety. Any effect from the champagne vanished. Maybe seduction was more difficult than she thought after all.

She scrambled to her feet. “So, is this the creek where your father taught you to fish?”

He stared at her for a moment, as if wondering whether to pull her back down beside him or join her. With obvious reluctance, he plastered a smile of resignation on his face, unfolded his long body, and pulled himself to his feet. “Yep, this is it.”

She walked toward the creek and stared at the rushing water. “Would you teach me to fish?”

His brows pulled together. “You want to learn to fish?”

“Not really.” She drew a calming breath and caught his gaze with hers. “I'd just like you to teach me.”

He stepped closer and cupped her chin in his hand. His eyes drew her deeper and deeper until she thought surely she could see his very soul. “Would you?” he murmured.

“I would,” she whispered.

He stared silently, and she wondered—no—she wanted him to kiss her again. And more. Perhaps he would ravish her right here and she needn't bother seducing him at all. What a glorious idea. She leaned
toward him in blissful surrender.

“Excellent.” He released her chin, and she nearly staggered forward. “First”—he stepped away, his gaze skimming the ground beneath the trees—“you have to find a nice, straight stick.”

“A stick?” She could barely choke out the words. “What do you need a stick for?”

He cast her an innocent glance. “For a fishing pole, of course.”

“A fishing pole?” She glared in frustrated indignation. “What about a kiss?”

“Ophelia.” Condescension rang in his voice. “You can't catch a fish with a kiss. Won't work.” He turned and continued his search. “I suspect it's been tried. Fishermen will try damn near anything. But I think a stick for a pole and a nice, fat, juicy worm would work better.”

She stared in disbelief. Here she was all prepared to seduce him, or better yet, allow him to ravish her, and all he could do was talk about fish and worms.
Worms!

“This will do nicely.” Tye held up a stick and grinned like a little boy.

Didn't he understand that when she gazed into his eyes and whispered for him to teach her, the very last thing she wanted was to learn to fish?

“Now.” He walked toward her pulling a jackknife from his back pocket. “I think it works best if you shave the bark off and shape it up a little.”