The Emperor's New Clothes (5 page)

The evening progressed in a whirl of conversation, and music and dance with musicians specially sent for from Omaha. The only troubling aspects at all were the nephew and the Englishman. It seemed every time she turned around one or the other of them was staring at her: the dark-headed one with a speculative look that unnerved her, the blonde with an equally upsetting gaze that said he was interested in far more from her than she was willing to give.

She laughed with true enjoyment at a comment made by a gentleman who apparently was the town's banker, and wondered briefly if he was also a gambling man. Tonight was not the time to set up anything specific, but it was a good opportunity to gauge the level of possibilities in Dead End.

“We still haven't had our dance.” Tye's voice sounded behind her, and she tensed with a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

“Oh?” She cast him a lofty glance. “I didn't realize I had promised you a dance.”

He quirked a brow over deep, brown eyes the color of fine chocolate. Damnation, she did so love chocolate. “Perhaps, I simply failed to ask,” he said.

She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

He laughed with delight, and the sound seemed to swell inside her. “In that case, Countess”—he swept low in a mock bow—“may I have this dance?”

Refusal was impossible, especially with the crowd around her staring expectantly. But the same natural instinct that had kept her and Jenny alive and well through the years now screamed a warning. This man was dangerous. Exciting and intriguing, but a risk she
dared not take. Still, at this moment, there was no other choice.

“That would be lovely,” she said in as gracious a manner as she could muster. He led her to the floor and took her in his arms, and they moved as one in a surprisingly effortless way.

“So, how are you enjoying Empire City?” His breath brushed against her ear. His hard body pressed subtly against hers, and the intoxicating scent of bay rum and male heat enveloped her.

“Empire City?” What was he talking about?

He smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “We changed the town's name.” He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of dismissal. “It was ridiculous really, but it's what the folks here wanted. They think the new name sounds more respectable and civilized.”

“Is it?” She could barely follow his words. The warmth of his body seemed to sear her flesh even through the gown, and she wanted to melt at his feet. What was happening to her? Lord knows, handsome men were nothing new in her life. One could not avoid handsome men while growing up in the theater. But this bronze god stirred her emotions in a distinctly foreign and unexpected way.

He pulled his brows together in confusion. “Is it what?”

Goodness, his eyes were dark. Dark and deep and forever. “What?”

“What what?” His puzzled expression jerked her attention back to the discussion of—what was it again—oh, yes, Empire City.

She drew a deep breath. “I was merely asking if a minor name change would provide respectability.”

“Who knows?” He shook his head. “But to go along with the new name, we've got a new mayor.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He laughed again, and she steeled herself against its effect on her. “Me.”

“You?”

He eyed her thoughtfully. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.” She shrugged as best she could in his arms. “You don't seem like the type of man who would be interested in politics.”

“This has nothing to do with politics. It's simply a matter of respectability.” He adopted a lofty attitude. “A question of civilization as we know it.”

She laughed at the contrived arrogance of his expression. “Is civilization really that important out here?”

He snorted with amazement. “You wouldn't think so, would you. At least, I never did. But now, all of a sudden, good old Dead End wants to attract people and business and growth. So, for some odd reason, it's important to be respectable and civilized.”

“I see,” she murmured, the tiny seed of an idea taking root within her fertile brain.

“But I guess it's not all bad.” A twinkle shone in his dark eyes.

“Civilization?”

“That's still up in the air.” He chuckled. “But being mayor has a few interesting benefits I hadn't expected.”

“Really? What kind of benefits?”

“Well, for one thing”—he drew his head closer to hers, and the sharpness of his gaze belied the lightness in his tone—“as mayor, I'm pretty much expected to play host to visitors.”

“Oh?” she said faintly.

“And that, Countess, would be you.” That annoying twinkle was back. Was it a promise or a threat? She didn't particularly want to find out. “I plan on spending a great deal of time with you in the next few days.” His
voice was stern, but his eyes laughed. “It's my official responsibility.”

“Well, I wouldn't want to do anything to compromise the duties of your office.” She forced a lightness to her tone that belied the emotions churning inside her.

This man twirling her around the dance floor held an attraction she'd never known before. She'd actively avoided involvement with any male for her own sake and her sister's. Now was not the time to allow anything so fleeting as newly discovered passions to cloud her mind. She was right when she thought Tye Matthews was dangerous. But she was far short of the mark on something else.

The Englishman wasn't the only resident of Dead End she'd have to avoid.

 

Sedge studied Tye and the countess through the crowd of dancers surrounding them. The countess—Ophelia—laughed lightly and gazed up at Tye with an expression of delight. Sedge had seen that look before.

He and Tye had always been attracted to the same women, and in spite of his friend's promise, Sedge knew full well Tye would leap into the battlefield of seduction without hesitation given the right enticement. And Ophelia was definitely the right enticement.

Sedge watched the couple, and a slow grin grew on his face. There was no bloody way he'd allow success to come too quickly to Tye. No, his old companion would have to work for this victory. Ultimately, though, he'd let Tye win the lovely Ophelia. It would serve him right. Teach him a lesson. Pay him back for all the times Sedge believed himself to be in love only to have the female in question end up in Tye's bed. Sedge conveniently ignored the equal number of incidents in which he came out the victor in the battle for feminine hearts.

Sedge chuckled to himself and sipped his champagne thoughtfully. The coming days would be interesting indeed. He looked forward with a sense of wicked anticipation to the contest to win the favors of the fair Ophelia. Even though he already planned on losing.

The couple glided by and he wondered idly when, or even if, Tye would realize the husband of an English countess wasn't a count.

It was an earl.

“…and…” Ophelia threw herself backwards on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “They're planning a fox hunt.”

“A fox hunt?” Jenny's brows drew together in concern. “You don't know anything about fox hunts.”

Ophelia tossed her a rueful glance. “That, my dear sister, is precisely the problem.”

“Didn't Shakespeare write any plays about fox hunts?” Jenny asked hopefully.

“Not that I can recall.” Ophelia sighed and pulled herself to her feet. She stepped to a large wardrobe in the huge room allotted her and flung open the doors. Jenny had unpacked all the countess's clothes, and Ophelia rifled through the rich fabrics and high-quality workmanship. “Did you find a riding habit in all this?”

“I think so.” Jenny crossed the room, studied the hanging garments and selected one. “Here.” She thrust
the wine-colored outfit at her sister. “But I'm not sure it will do you any good.”

“Oh?” Ophelia examined the outfit carefully. Like the gown she'd worn tonight, it would take very little to adapt the clothing to her own figure. Especially for two girls raised with the constant demands of altering ever-changing costumes. “Why not?” Ophelia asked.

Jenny plunked down in an overstuffed chair and smirked. “Because you can't ride.”

“I realize that,” Ophelia said vaguely, still studying the habit. “I don't intend to try.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And just how do you plan on avoiding it? I mean, it's pretty hard to join in a fox hunt if you're not on a horse.”

Ophelia raised her gaze to her sister's. “I know that too. But I can't refuse to take part in this ridiculous excuse for a sport since the only reason they're holding it in the first place is because of my visit.”

“Because of the countess's visit, you mean,” Jenny said pointedly.

“Yes, yes, the countess.” Ophelia waved off Jenny's words with an impatient gesture. “I think a real countess would insist on a sidesaddle for a fox hunt. And since I'd bet there isn't a sidesaddle within a hundred miles”—she grinned triumphantly—“I'll be perfectly safe and firmly on solid ground.”

“I'd like to learn to ride.” A longing look crossed Jenny's face, and Ophelia's heart twinged at the sight.

“Someday, darling, someday soon. We'll have a nice home in a pleasant town and a horse for you and a carriage for me.” Ophelia threw her a confident smile. “But for now, these nice people in this pleasant town will provide us with everything we need, at least for a while.”

Jenny frowned. “Does anyone suspect you're not who you say you are?”

“I don't think so.” Ophelia chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully and considered the events of the evening. “Mr. and Mrs. Matthews strike me as being far too agreeable to distrust anyone without reason, and so far I haven't given them one. There is an Englishman here—”

“Goodness.” Jenny's face paled.

“No, I don't think he'll give us anything to worry about. Surely, if he'd noted a problem in my performance, he would have exposed me.” She shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “He didn't, so I assume we're safe.”

“It does seem to be going well so far.” Doubt lingered in Jenny's voice.

“So far.” Ophelia hesitated to mention the golden-haired, bronze cowboy—mayor—with the chocolate eyes who'd seemed to be everywhere she looked tonight. She didn't want to pass on her unease about Tye Matthews to her sister. Unease that had nothing to do with her deception. As for that, she had few concerns. Oh, the man appeared intelligent enough, but he was still only a mere man and nothing to cause undue alarm. It had been her experience that when it came to women and cards, men rarely saw beyond what they wanted to see, or much past what was already firmly in their hand.

Absently, she clutched the riding habit tighter. No, it wasn't the possibility of exposure that kept his teasing eyes and knowing smile on her mind. She could, somehow, cope with having her true identity revealed. Lord knows, they'd escaped from tighter spots. But how would she handle the odd sensations flooding her when he so much as quirked a dark brow or laughed with a sound that warmed her blood and caught her breath?

Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?
The Bard's immortal words thundered through her head.

“Damnation,” she said under her breath.

It couldn't be. It was impossible. She'd spent her entire life avoiding just such a fate. Love was nothing more than a convenient excuse for men to use to get what they want. Why, she'd watched her father break the hearts of dozens, possibly hundreds, of women through the years, all willing victims sacrificing themselves in the name of that fickle emotion. And he wasn't unique. Throughout her childhood she'd been surrounded by men, mostly actors, all smooth-talking charmers who used and discarded women like so much rubbish. Ophelia Kendrake refused to join their ranks.

Resolve lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Regardless of Shakespeare's words about it, she did not believe in love at first sight. Not now. Not ever. Not even if it came disguised as a seductive god of the sun. Tye Matthews might well consider himself irresistible to other women, but as far as she was concerned, he was an obstacle, plain and simple, and nothing more than another player in her little drama. She could handle him. And the emotions he aroused were probably best attributed to an approaching illness, the sniffles perhaps or possibly a plague, both preferable to that dire fate called love.

“When is this fox hunt?” Jenny asked, interrupting her wandering thoughts.

“Day after tomorrow.” Ophelia tossed the habit on the bed and turned back to peruse the offerings in the wardrobe. “But we have to select clothes for tomorrow. Big Jack is going to show me around his ranch. And his wife is planning a small dinner party.” Ophelia smiled with satisfaction. “I believe they said something about a friendly evening of cards.”

Jenny groaned. “You're going to try to take their money, aren't you?”

“Of course, darling, that's what we're here for.” Ophelia selected a brilliant yellow gown and a second in a deep green. “These two should do quite nicely.” She tossed one to her sister. “If you'll take care of the day dress, I'll work on the evening gown.”

“I still don't understand why you get to be the countess and I have to be the maid.” Jenny rose to her feet and flounced into the tiny room that adjoined her sister's far more spacious quarters, leaving muttered comments strewn behind her like so many feathers from a flustered fowl. “I can act as well as you can. I could play the countess, you know, or better yet a princess. I would be a great princess.”

“This scene doesn't call for a princess, dear.” Ophelia struggled to hide her amusement. “Just a countess…and her maid.”

“Hah!” Jenny stomped back into the room, her carpetbag in hand. “Only because you say so.”

“Jenny.” Ophelia raised a superior brow. “I am, after all, the director of this little farce.”

Jenny glared. “I just hope you make that perfectly clear when it's time for someone to play the part of jail inmate.”

A delighted laugh bubbled through Ophelia. “No one's going to end up in jail. Besides, we really haven't done anything wrong.”

“We haven't?” the girl said skeptically.

“No indeed.” Ophelia shook her head for emphasis. “We didn't come into town claiming to be someone we weren't. Why, it was that charming gentleman at the train station who assumed I was the countess. If you look at it properly, this entire escapade is his fault.”

“It is?” Doubt furrowed Jenny's forehead.

“Oh, my, yes.” Ophelia crossed her arms over her
chest and pinned her sister with a steady stare. “And even if I do manage to win enough to finance, at the very least, tickets out of town and hopefully far more than that, it's not as if I were stealing.”

“It's not?” The doubt lingered.

“Jenny.” Ophelia pulled herself up ramrod straight and stared regally downward, a towering vision of righteous indignation. It was one of her best roles. “I do not plan to cheat.”

“Of course not. I just thought…I mean you have…it isn't as if…” Jenny shrugged helplessly and sank down on to the bed.

“That you would even think such a thing.” Ophelia covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head in a convincing display of mortification.

“Oh, Ophelia, I'm so sorry.” Jenny leapt from the bed and threw her arms around her sister. “I didn't mean to upset you, truly I didn't.”

“Apology accepted,” Ophelia said with a lilt to her voice, and Jenny stepped back abruptly.

“You were acting again, weren't you?” Sparks flew from the younger girl's blue eyes, and she pointed an accusing finger at her sister. “I can't believe you'd do that to me.”

Ophelia lifted her shoulders in a gesture of dismissal. “Call it rehearsal.”

“I call it rotten.” Jenny glared and grabbed her bag, rummaging through its paltry offerings with an irritated air. “Where in the hell is that damn needle and thread.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes heavenward. She had to find them a decent, wholesome place to settle down and soon. It was one thing for Ophelia to use such language, but quite another for Jenny to do so. Jenny had a future and a much better life ahead of her. Ophelia would see to that.

“I know it's in here somewhere.” Jenny shook the bag, and a shower of odds and ends tumbled onto the bed, tiny tokens of Jenny's unique childhood. Here rested a yellowed playbill from a long-ago Edwin Kendrake performance in a town since forgotten. There lay a bedraggled hair ribbon, a souvenir of a holiday celebrated when Edwin was alive and Ophelia's role was simply that of daughter and sister, not provider and protector. Ophelia shook off the sense of nostalgia triggered by her sister's mementos. Now was not the time for sentimentality.

Jenny pawed impatiently through the items scattered on the bed, pushing aside the rag doll she'd carried in one hand when Edwin had found her and the child's storybook she'd clutched with the other. Ophelia glanced at the meager remnants of her sister's real family. Both were worn and tattered with years of loving. The doll bore Jenny's name in fine needlework on its skirt, and the book was the story of
The Emperor's New Clothes
. Ophelia's gaze slid past the display, then jerked back as if pulled by an invisible string.

The Emperor's New Clothes
.

“Jenny,” Ophelia said slowly, fighting to control the excitement rising inside her. “Hand me your book.”

“My book?” Jenny snatched the precious volume off the bed and held it tightly against her. “Why do you want it?”

“Just an idea.” She gestured impatiently. “I won't hurt it.”

“You'd better not.” Reluctantly, Jenny passed the worn edition to her sister. Ophelia couldn't fault the girl for her protective nature regarding the book, but at this moment, the volume might have a greater significance for the future than the past.

Ophelia paged through it quickly. She used to read the tale to Jenny nearly every night, but their evening
routine had fallen off years ago. The story was just as she'd remembered.

“What are you planning?” Jenny's voice rang with suspicion.

“I'm not exactly sure,” Ophelia murmured, her gaze darting from one page to the next. “Not yet anyway.”

Jenny shook her head. “I don't see why you're so interested in my book all of a sudden. What are you looking for?”

“I don't know. I wonder….” She widened her eyes, and the thought simmering in the back of her mind blossomed into a full-fledged idea. A brilliant plot. One worthy of Shakespeare himself. She snapped the book shut and stared at her sister. “This is it!”

“What is it?” Jenny's voice rose in confusion.

“The answer to all our problems.” Ophelia hugged the book to her chest and twirled around the room, laughing with sheer exhilaration. “Don't you see?”

“No.” Jenny shook her head helplessly.

“Think about it, darling sister.” Ophelia spun to a stop and held the book out before her. “Tell me the story,” she demanded. “
The Emperor's New Clothes
. What's it about?”

“You know what it's about,” Jenny said cautiously.

“No!” Ophelia slapped the book's cover with a resounding smack. “
You
tell me.”

“Well,” Jenny said slowly, “first, there's an emperor who loves fine clothes.”

“He wants the very best, doesn't he?”

Jenny nodded.

“Go on.”

“All right.” Jenny pulled her brows together thoughtfully. “Two tailors come to town claiming to be have the most wonderful material in the world. Magnificent fabric, worthy of the emperor himself.”

“But not everyone can see it, correct?” Ophelia prompted.

“Correct. Only people who were very clever and—what was it?” Jenny paused for a moment. “Oh, I remember, those who were worthy of their positions.”

“And?” Ophelia said eagerly, waiting for Jenny to get to the point of the story.

“And”—Jenny shrugged—“no one did see it.”

“Because?” Goodness, didn't this child see what was right in front of her?

“Because…it didn't really exist. Nobody would admit they couldn't see the cloth because they didn't want to look stupid. The tailors made the whole thing up to get money, or no, maybe it was jewels, from the emperor.” Jenny's eyes widened, and she stared at her sister with realization. “Oh, no, Ophelia. You can't! You wouldn't!”

“I can and I will.” Determination underlay her words. “It's a marvelous scheme, a perfect plan.”

“We'll go to jail,” Jenny wailed.

“Nonsense.” Ophelia flicked her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “We won't go to jail if we aren't caught. And I have no intention of getting caught. Besides”—she tapped her fingers on the volume's cover—“there's only one real emperor around here.”