The Emperor's New Clothes (29 page)

“You.”

She shook her head. “Why don't you just leave me alone?”

“I can't.” Why did he have to stand there looking for all the world like every secret dream and desire she'd ever had but didn't recognize until him?

“We've been all through this, Tye,” she said quietly, trying to hide the desperate longing and temptation to surrender his presence aroused. “I don't love you.”

“A few hours ago you accused me of not being able to recognize manure when I saw it. Well, I sure do rec
ognize it now.” A dangerous spark flared in his eyes. “You don't lie well, Ophelia.”

She sighed in resignation. “I don't lie at all. I act.”

He shrugged. “You can call it whatever you damn well please. The point is I love you.”

“But I don't even like you.” She groaned.

He laughed, and she knew she was lost. It wasn't the laugh of a heartbroken man, or a man ready to give up, or a man who accepted the fact that he was about to fail. No, his was a laugh tinged with success.

“I don't have time for this now,” she said, tossing her head and turning back to the horse. She'd managed to get the saddle on the horse's back, but what in the hell did she do now?

“What are you doing?” His voice sounded beside her ear, and his lips nuzzled her neck.

She jerked and whirled around. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing your neck.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don't know.” His eyes widened with innocence. “Because it's a lovely neck?”

She glared at him, struck by the sure and certain knowledge that she would fall into his arms with the least provocation, and then, no doubt, willingly sacrifice her soul, and eventually become what she'd vowed she never would. Unless…she could buy a little more time.

“I can't discuss this right now, Tye. I have other things to do.” She pivoted toward the horse, but he caught her arm and pulled her back to face him.

“I'm not letting you leave Dead End.” Determination shaded his face. “I love you and you're staying here.”

She pulled her brows together. “Well, I don't love you and this has nothing to do with us. It's my sis—maid. Jenny.”

He raised a brow. “The girl with the speech problem?”

“She's disappeared.” Ophelia shot him a pointed glare. “With one of Big Jack's ranch hands.”

“How do you know that?”

“She left me a note. She said she wanted to stay right here in Dead End forever with this boy Zach. But first they're going to Laramie, to get married. Married!” Fear and panic, forgotten during her battles first with the horse, then with Tye, rushed through her. “I've got to find her.”

Tye's gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “Why?”

“Because I…I care for her. She's my—”

“Sister?”

“Yes, damn it, Tye, she's my sister. The only family I have.” Her voice broke. “And I don't want to lose her.” She sniffed and turned back to the horse. “I have to find her, so if you could help me get this saddle on this brute, I would appreciate it. I think there's something that hooks under here somewhere.” She bent and peered at the animal's belly.

“Ophelia, what are you doing?”

“I told you, Tye.” Impatience rang in her voice. “I'm saddling this horse to go after my sister.” She straightened upright and glared.

What on earth was wrong with him? He furrowed his brow with the oddest expression, and looked from her to the horse and back. Abruptly, his eyes widened and a smile curved his lips. “You don't know the first thing about horses, do you?”

“It's not precisely my biggest accomplishment.”

“Do you even know how to ride?”

She exhaled in exasperation. “Not exactly. But it doesn't look all that difficult.” She shuddered. “Not that I've ever wanted to try. I'm not fond of horses.”

“Sure, they laugh at you.”

“That's one reason,” she snapped. “Other than that, they're big and nasty, they smell and you always have to watch your step when you walk around one.”

“If you don't know how to ride…”

“I'll figure it out as I go along.”

Tye shook his head. “You won't make it as far as the road, and you don't stand a chance in hell of catching up to them. It's a three-day ride under the best conditions for an experienced horseman. Besides, it wouldn't be safe for you alone.”

“Fine.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Then you go with me.”

He grinned. “I would like nothing better than to ride in the moonlight with you, but you'd just slow me down.”

Ophelia narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my love—”

“Don't call me that.”

“—that I'll go after your sister and Zach and bring them back here on one condition.”

“I don't really have much of a choice, do I?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“So what's the condition?”

“You stay put until we get back.”

Well, that was easy. She certainly wouldn't leave without Jenny anyway. “Agreed.”

“And…” He cast her an assessing gaze. “You give me the chance to convince you that I love you.”

She sighed. “Very well. But I don't love you.”

“Hah!” He pulled her into his arms, kissed her hard and fast and released her. “You're not much of a liar.”

Why did he do that? He damned near took her breath away. “I don't lie, I—”

“I know, I know.” He laughed and turned to leave.
“Whiskey's outside and all ready to go, so you can take the saddle off that horse.”

Ophelia groaned. “But it took so long to get it up there.”

“It wouldn't have done you any good.”

She glared. “Why not?”

“You see the horn, at the end there? It should face the horse's neck, not his rump.” He grinned. “You've got it backwards.” Tye nodded, and stepped out into the night.

The horse gave her an innocent glance, and she stared back at it. Lord, she despised these beasts.

Especially when they got the last laugh.

Where in the hell were they? Ophelia paced across her room, trying to fight her growing exhaustion and despair. What if he couldn't find them? What if she never saw Jenny again?

She'd barely slept at all last night, and here it was evening again. Tye had been gone nearly twenty-four hours. He'd said it was a three-day ride to Laramie. Surely he should have found them by now.

Ophelia flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. What was she going to do? Today's train was long gone, and with it their easiest means of escape. Tomorrow's train would bring that British lord Montgomery had invited for Jack's celebration. She groaned and rolled over on her stomach, folding her arms under her chin. Damnation, she didn't want to be around when the Englishman proclaimed her to be a fraud. Maybe she could sneak on the train while he was getting off? The idea lifted her spirits, but only for a mo
ment. She couldn't go anywhere without Jenny.

Hadn't she taught her sister anything at all in the years they'd been on their own? Apparently not. And definitely nothing about men. Ophelia had been too busy trying to protect Jenny to pay notice to that lack in her education. And too busy trying to protect herself. She should have suspected Jenny would fall for the first man to come along. But Ophelia had never dreamed
she
would as well.

Right from the beginning, Tyler Matthews had inched his way into her heart. Why, she'd even considered the existence of love at first sight the very night they'd met. Maybe it was fate. Or destiny. Or just plain bad luck. And she'd certainly had her share of that lately. Not exactly a good position for a gambler to be in. But it sure seemed appropriate for a woman stuck in a town called Dead End. She should have run hard and fast in the other direction the moment she saw the name.

First, she'd come up with this brilliant idea for getting the money she and Jenny needed, thanks to a silly fairy tale. It had seemed so simple, so easy, so effortless. Hah! How had it become so incredibly complicated? From the something-water title that wouldn't stick in her mind, to the name of her dead husband, dear, dear, dead whoever, the plot had snowballed out of control. Add to that the farce of a fox hunt, building an opera house, gambling the afternoons away with the Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society and for a finale, readings from Shakespeare and a ceremony to mark the crowning, if that's what you'd call it, of Big Jack Matthews as a count, and you had a disaster that came nowhere close to “happily ever after.” She had a grim suspicion that the tailors in that damn story had probably ended their days in the emperor's dungeon after he'd sent troops
to haul them back by their ears.

What would Lorelie and Big Jack and everyone else do when they learned the truth? That Ophelia was no countess. That Big Jack would never be a count. And that Lorelie would never have a castle to call home. Ophelia sighed. She hated the thought of how disappointed all the very nice people of Dead End would be tomorrow. She'd always been so proud of the fact that she'd never steal from orphans. Now she'd add very nice people to that list of exceptions.

Very nice people, very nice town, very nice mayor.

Why can't we stay?

What a treacherous thought. The reasons were too numerous to list. Big Jack and Lorelie and all the other residents of Dead End would no doubt never forgive her for deceiving them. And even if they did, she couldn't run the risk of trusting her heart to Tye and believing in that fickle emotion she'd seen destroy women time after time.

But what if he really loves me?

She propped her chin on her hand. She had no way of knowing if his declaration was true, and more to the point, if it would last. This whole love-and-marriage nonsense called for trust in the emotion, in the future and in the man. And trust was one thing she simply couldn't fake, no matter how good an actress she was.

No. It was still better this way. If Tye got back with Jenny in time, she'd take her sister and the two of them would sneak on that train and hide until it pulled out of Dead End and left far behind the nice people in the nice town with the very nice mayor.

And left behind, as well, her heart.

 

Dawn came and went, and the late morning sunshine crept across the kitchen floor. And still no word.

Ophelia jumped up from her chair every few minutes, and paced or stalked to the window and peered into the distance, far too restless to be still. Alma bustled around in a quiet manner, and Lorelie sat silently embroidering, her hands busy, her gaze darting to Ophelia with every step the younger woman took. If Lorelie or Alma considered it at all odd that a countess was so concerned with the welfare of a servant, neither showed it. Ophelia gritted her teeth. Why did they all have to be such nice people?

Ophelia stared out the window. “Why aren't they here yet?”

“They'll be here, dear,” Lorelie said. “You can count on Tyler.”

“Can I?” Ophelia said softly.

“He's a good man, Ophelia.” Lorelie dropped the needlework in her lap and fixed her with a steady stare. “He's honest and loyal and steadfast—”

“Add housebroken and he'd sound like a puppy,” Alma muttered.

Lorelie ignored her. “I've never seen him hurt anyone deliberately.”

Ophelia sighed. “It's not deliberately that I'm worried about.”

“What are you worried about?” Lorelie's voice was soft.

“About what happens next.” She swiveled to face Tye's aunt. “About what happens when his passion fades and I'm no longer something he wants but simply something he has. I will not give my heart to anyone only to see it discarded like an extra card. I will not become one of those women who have sacrificed their lives and their souls for a man's declaration of love.” She squared her shoulders. “And I will not accept, on blind faith alone, a promise of love from a man.”

“But my dear”—Lorelie's eyes widened—“blind faith is the very essence of love.” She studied Ophelia for a
moment. “How do you feel when you're around Tyler?”

“He makes me ill, deep-down-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach sick. And he scares me.”

“Excellent.” Lorelie beamed.

“I don't love him, if that's what you're thinking,” Ophelia said sharply.

Alma snorted in disbelief.

Lorelie smiled knowingly.

“All right.” Ophelia sighed. “Perhaps, just perhaps, I might possibly love him. But if I did, it would only be a little.”

“If you love him at all,” Lorelie said gently, “you have to have trust.”

“Then I must not love him.” Ophelia's voice rang dangerously high. “Because I certainly don't trust him or any other man.”

Lorelie grinned. “And well you shouldn't, dear. Trust any man, that is.”

“No indeed,” Alma said. “That would be just plain stupid.”

Ophelia stared in confusion. “But you just said—”

“What I said, Ophelia, was that you had to trust, not necessarily trust
him
.”

Was this another one of Lorelie's convoluted philosophies of life? “I don't understand? What do you mean?”

“It's really quite simple. You'll never know Tyler, or any other person for that matter, as well as you know yourself. Ophelia, the Countess of…of…” Lorelie raised a brow.

Ophelia shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“Well said.” Lorelie rose to her feet and stepped toward her. “Don't trust his words, don't even trust his actions, but trust yourself. Look at your own feelings, deep within you. I think you already know the kind of man Tyler is. And you're the only one who'll know,
really know, if you can trust your heart to him.”

“But what if I'm wrong?” Fear colored Ophelia's words.

“You won't be.” Lorelie took Ophelia's hands in hers and stared into her eyes. “I don't know where you came from, Ophelia. I don't know where you've seen these women you're so frightened of becoming. But I do know the only one you can trust in this life is yourself. Trust in yourself and in your heart, and you'll know if what you feel for Tyler and what he feels for you is real and true and lasting.”

“I don't know if I can.” Ophelia stared at the older women helplessly. “I'm scared.”

Lorelie laughed lightly. “Why, dear girl, we are all scared. There's no more frightening thing in this world than the relationship between a man and a woman. Goodness, it's the sheer terror of love that makes it so thrilling. And so very wonderful.”

A choked, strangled cough came from Alma's direction.

“They're home.” Big Jack burst into the kitchen, followed closely by a sheepish Zach, a defiant Jenny carrying her old carpetbag and an exhausted Tye.

“Jenny!” Relief flooded Ophelia, and she rushed to throw her arms around her sister. Jenny's rebellious expression stopped her in her tracks. “Jenny?”

“Why did you have him haul us back here?” The girl slammed the bag down on the table, crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

“She wasn't real pleased to see me,” Tye said as he stalked across the room to accept a cup of coffee from Alma's outstretched hand. “And she let me know just how unhappy my presence made her all the way back here.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes at Tye, but directed her
words at Ophelia. “You should have killed him when you had the chance.”

Tye took a sip of the steaming liquid and grimaced at the heat. He nodded at Ophelia. “She reminds me a lot of you.”

“But you did find them before…” Ophelia bit her bottom lip.

“They're not married,” Tye said. “I caught up to them about halfway to Laramie.”

Ophelia sighed in relief. “I can't believe you wanted to get married. Married! Of all things.”

Jenny shrugged. “Married sounded like fun.” She grinned at Zach. “You know, kissing…and such.”

Tye groaned.

Big Jack rolled his eyes.

Zach blushed.

Lorelie and Alma exchanged glances.

Ophelia gasped. “And such? What do you mean, ‘and such'?”

“You know, Ophelia.” A wicked gleam sparkled in Jenny's eyes. “And such.” She nodded at Tye. “I bet he'd be willing to show you ‘and such.'”

Tye snorted in an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh.

“There wasn't any ‘and such,' Countess, um, Ophelia,” Zach said. His eyes were wide in frantic defense. “Honest.”

Jenny scoffed. “And whose fault was that?”

Tye cleared his throat. “There was no ‘and such,' Ophelia.”

“Thank goodness.” Ophelia ran a weary hand through her tangled hair. “Why, Jenny? Why did you go?”

“Love,” Jenny said staunchly. “And I didn't want to leave here.”

Ophelia shook her head. “Here? You mean Dead End?”

“Yes, I mean Dead End.” Jenny stared up at her. “You've always talked about how we'd find a nice town someday with nice people and we'd stay. Well, look around, Ophelia. This is a nice town.” She gestured at the gathering in the kitchen. “And these are nice people. Far too nice for you to do what you've—”

“Jenny!” Ophelia said sharply.

“Honestly, Ophelia, Zach knows everything, and I'll bet Tye does too. Don't you?” Jenny jerked her head at Tye.

“I like to think so,” Tye said in a casual manner.

Jenny nodded. “And you like it here too, Ophelia, I know you do.”

Ophelia shook her head helplessly. “Jenny, I—”

“And you like him, as annoying as he is.” Jenny flicked a disgusted wave in Tye's direction. “In fact, I'd bet you even love him.”

“I don't love him.” Six faces turned toward her. Six pairs of eyes pinned her. Six expressions of total disbelief. “Well, I don't.”

“Well, whether you do or don't, and we all think you do”—Jenny set her lips in a straight stubborn line—“I'm not leaving Dead End. If you want to go, you have to go without me.”

“Jenny!” How could her own sister do this to her?

“You won't make me go, will you?” Jenny turned to Lorelie.

“I'm afraid I'm just a bit too confused to answer that, my dear.” Lorelie pulled her brows together. “I need to sort some of this out first, but I suppose you can stay. After all, Ophelia is only your employer.”

“Sister,” Tye said.

“Sister? Oh, my.” Lorelie shook her head. “That makes it a tad different, doesn't it?”

Ophelia reached out and took Jenny's arm. “Come upstairs with me and we'll talk”—she rolled her gaze
toward the ceiling—“about whether we stay or go.”

“Ophelia!” Jenny threw her arms around her sister in a quick hug. “You'll see. You'll love living here.” She twirled around the kitchen with sheer delight.

“I only said we'd talk about it.” Ophelia heaved a resigned sigh. Maybe it would be best if she confessed everything right now, and took her chances that these very nice people would forgive her, and then accepted Tye's offer of marriage and profession of love, and wrapped up the day by becoming a permanent member of the Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society and Theater Troupe. Or maybe she could pick up the tattered threads of her deception and try to sneak out of town. Or maybe she could simply hide under a bed and hope everything and everyone would go away and leave her in peace.

Jenny's arm swept her bag off the table, and it clattered to the floor, spilling out the possessions of her lifetime.

“Damn,” Jenny said.

“Jenny,” Ophelia snapped.

“Oh, my goodness,” Alma gasped.

“No, really,” Ophelia said quickly, “she's trying not to curse.”

“Jack?” Lorelie clutched her husband's arm, and stared at the scattered contents of Jenny's bag.

Crumpled clothes lay under a yellowed playbill. A frayed hair ribbon curled between a rag doll and a child's storybook:
The Emperor's New Clothes
.