The Emperor's New Clothes (15 page)

She glared at the silent moon. “And I don't care…” Her voice faltered. “I don't care one whit about the desire in his eyes when he talks about his home and his family. And when he looks at me.

“He is the most infuriating, maddening man in the world. I hate him.” The moon stared down at her, mute and accusing. “Very well, perhaps I don't hate him. But I don't love him. I could never love him. And I don't especially like him. Not even a little.”

Why hadn't she ever paid much attention to the shadows on the moon? Shapes and shades that looked very much like a face. A smugly smiling face. A male face. “All right, maybe a little.” She leaned her forearms on the windowsill. “Maybe a lot.”

Did the moon's grin widen? “But it doesn't matter. Not at all. I know all about the Tyler Matthews of the world. And I won't let him break my heart.” She sighed. “No matter how exciting the breaking might be.

“Besides,” she said with a shrug, “he thinks shooting your brother is an appropriate response to a little deception. Lord knows what he'd think about selling land one doesn't own. The man may well be a scoundrel when it comes to women, but I'd wager he has a horribly honest streak a mile wide.

“No.” Resolve pulled her upright. “There is no place in my life for Mr. Matthews. Especially not the life his uncle's money will so comfortably provide.” She threw a final, firm glare at the moon. “So you can go cast your magic somewhere else. Venice, perhaps. I have no use for you here.”

She nodded and strode from the window, throwing
herself into her bed and yanking the coverlet up around her ears. First thing in the morning she had that horrible fox hunt to avoid; then she could try to figure out how to get her money out of that nice banker's vault and come up with a way to circumvent Big Jack's insistence on an official ceremony complete with Her Majesty's representative. How did the tailors in Jenny's book ever manage to juggle all the annoying details of selling something that didn't exist? Gad, this was actually work. Hard, exhausting work.

Still, she thought as she smiled and snuggled deeper, it was satisfying. And she was so very close to success. So very close to Jenny's heart's desire and her own. She'd tell her sister everything in the morning. Well, everything regarding the money and how well their scheme was progressing, anyway. She shut her eyes tight and willed for sleep to come. But once again her treacherous body betrayed her, and through much of the long night slumber lingered just out of reach. And when, exhausted, she finally escaped her earthbound bonds, even then oblivion eluded her.

And she dreamed of floating on a Venetian canal under a laughing moon and a supper of chocolate and wine.

The day dawned bright and beautiful with scarcely a cloud in sight. Damn. She could use a cloud, or preferably a cloudburst, perhaps a downpour, even a flood. At this point the end of the world was far more inviting than the sight unfolding before Ophelia.

A crowd of about thirty or so residents of Dead End mingled just off the steps of the Matthewses' porch. Most of the women wore skirts split in the middle, looking very much like oversized pants with a bit of feminine style. The men more or less wore what they always seemed to wear out here: denim pants, cowhide vests, boots and hats. Ophelia, of course, was attired in a fashionable English riding habit, complete with boots just a shade too big. It seemed everything about the real countess, from her waist to her feet, was a tad larger than Ophelia. She was perhaps a bit overdressed for the rest of the company, but she was a countess, if a bogus one, and did have to keep up appearances.

She hesitated at the top of the steps and studied the scene. Here and there, those she'd been introduced to smiled and waved, and Ophelia responded. They were such very nice people, after all. But they were not alone.

Dispersed among the crowd were—she shuddered—horses. She realized there was probably only one horse per person, yet it seemed the crowd of four-legged creatures was far greater than the gathering of two-legged ones. Perhaps it was just that the horses were so incredibly huge. She stared at the beasts and, one by one, they seemed to stare back. Gad, even their eyes were big. They inclined their heads toward one another, nodding like gossiping biddies, and she could have sworn they were talking about her.

Not that she cared. No indeed. Regardless of their size, they were still just ignorant animals. She gave the one nearest, that nasty brute of Tye's, a glare of defiance. The horse stared for a long moment, then pulled its lips back and snickered. Again. Just the way it had when Tye had nearly kissed her. The creature snickered once more, and the sound seemed to wash around the other horses like a wave. In seconds, they were all snickering. Every single one of those beastly, terrifying creatures was laughing at her. And not one other single human being here seemed to notice.

“Morning, Countess.” Tye strode into view at the bottom of the steps. “Sleep well?”

She stared. He couldn't possibly know how very little she'd slept and how her slumber had been fraught with dreams of him. She squared her shoulders and smiled sweetly. “Quite well, and you?”

“Like a baby.” Something flickered through his eyes, and she knew with a sure and certain instinct that he hadn't slept any better than she. Good. If he was going to invade her nights, the least she could do was create
havoc with his slumber as well. Still…did she fill his dreams the way he had filled hers? Odd how very much she hoped she didn't like him. Not even a little.

“Are you ready for Dead End's version of a fox hunt?” he asked.

She raised a brow. “I had heard all attempts to find a fox had failed, so I assumed this particular event would be canceled.”

“Canceled? Countess, this is the most interesting thing to hit Dead End in a long time. Why, folks are downright delighted at the chance to chase a fox, or anything else they come up with, through the county.”

“But without a fox…” Hope sounded in her voice.

Tye grinned. “We'll just have to go after a coyote.”

“That's what Mr. Montgomery said but it sounded so…so…”

“Insane? Ridiculous? Stupid?”

“Well”—she shrugged weakly—“yes.”

“That's Dead End for you.” Tye laughed, and the sound shivered through her and weakened her knees. “Of course, we'll all be a lot smarter when we get used to calling this place by its new name.”

“Empire City.”

“Right. Still and all, when it comes down to it”—his eyes sparked, dark and dangerous with a secret promise—“‘what's in a name?'”

“Stop it, Mr. Matthews, stop it right now.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the porch floor.

His eyes widened with innocence. “What? It's just a little Shakespeare, that's all.”

She clenched her teeth. “I know what it is and I know what you're doing.”

“And am I doing it well?”

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Yes, you irritating man, you do it extremely well.”

“And are we still talking about Shakespeare?”

“Well, what on earth would we be talking about if…” Ophelia stared at his knowing grin. Lord, she had to get out of this town and away from those eyes and those lips and that strong, solid body before she threw any sense of self-preservation to the winds and leapt into his bed. She struggled to get her rampaging senses back under control, and tossed him a pleasant smile. “Shakespeare aside, I suggest we get this little performance under way,” she declared.

He nodded in the midst of an obvious battle to keep a straight face. She wanted nothing more than to smack him. Or shoot him. But once again she'd left her gun in her room. It was within handy reach in the top drawer of a washstand by the side of her bed in the case of midnight intruders, but damned inconvenient when it came to the ever-present need to shoot Tyler Matthews.

Shooting him would regretfully have to wait. Right now she had to escape from the ersatz fox hunt. But that was easy.

Ophelia took a single step toward the porch stairs, stopped and gasped, as if she'd just remembered something crucial. She clapped her hand to her cheek in dramatic dismay. “Oh, dear.”

“What's wrong?” Concern flashed across Tye's face.

“I'm afraid I won't be joining the rest of you after all.” She heaved a deep sigh of regret. Lord, she was good. Sarah Bernhardt had nothing on her. “I had completely forgotten where I was. I simply can't ride on one of those.” She gestured at a saddle. “I'm afraid I'm accustomed to a sidesaddle. And I'm certain you don't—”

“Oh, I have one.” Montgomery sauntered up to stand beside Tye.

“Mr. Montgomery.” Her heart sank to the pit of her
stomach, but she forced a tight smile. “I didn't see you arrive.”

Montgomery shrugged. “No matter. I am indeed present and, anticipating the needs of a noble Englishwoman, brought along a sidesaddle.”

“I'll be damned.” Tye grinned in admiration. “Where did you come up with a sidesaddle?”

“I've had it for years. It's a souvenir of sorts. I, um”—amusement gleamed in Montgomery's eye—“shall we say won it? Its previous owner, due to a series of unforeseen events, found herself in a rather remarkable situation and I simply offered, after a unique and completely memorable evening of previously unknown—”

“Never mind, Mr. Montgomery,” she said quickly. “I scarcely think it's necessary to go into extreme detail over how you acquired the saddle.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Tye's drawl was slow and sultry, and she wondered if everything he said had a double meaning. “Sometimes the details are the best part.”

“Well, I for one don't wish to hear them,” she snapped.

Montgomery leaned toward Tye. “Later, old man.”

Later, she'd be on a vile horse, all because of that annoying foreigner, unless she could figure a way out of this mess and fast. There was no way in this world or any other she was going to climb on one of those creatures. Not now. Not ever. And definitely not with an instrument so obviously designed for sheer torture as a sidesaddle. But how…She drew her brows together and groped for an idea, any idea, that would keep her firmly on solid ground.

“Ophelia?” Tye quirked a brow. “Are you ready?”

“Certainly.” She clenched her fists by her side and stepped forward, her boots slipping with her walk. Hell. She thought they'd fit well enough to handle this. She would likely kill herself right here on the ground
and save the blasted horses the trouble. She'd trip and fall flat on her face if she didn't watch out, no doubt cracking her skull or breaking a limb or twisting an ankle….

Twisting an ankle?

She winced at the very idea of pain and hesitated, but one glance at the snickering beasts, obviously prepared to damage far more than a mere ankle, convinced her. While there might well be another method of escape, she had absolutely no idea what it was.

“As ready as I'll ever be.” She smiled brightly, drew a deep breath and took a broad step off the first stair and into…nothing.

It should have been so easy. A simple little step off the porch. A tiny stumble. A mild, moderate drop and success. But Ophelia misjudged the exact width of the stairs and the tendency of just about anything to bounce. She tumbled down the stairs, hitting the wooden planks once—twice—three times. Panic and pain surged through her. Finally she came to rest in a bruising heap of ripped fabric, disheveled hair and sheer humiliation. There had to be a better way.

“Ophelia!” Tye was at her side in a flash, genuine concern in his eyes. Eyes that seemed to see right into her soul. For a moment the world receded and even her aches disappeared. “Ophelia? Are you hurt?”

“I…don't know.” It was, for once, the truth. Her plan had worked far too well.

“Is she all right?” Montgomery crouched down beside Tye.

Lorelie and Jack ran toward her, followed by the others.

“Countess, darlin', can you move?” Big Jack cast his gaze over her with the practiced eye of a man experienced in the injuries of ranch hands or livestock.

“Oh, dear.” Lorelie eyed her with an anxious gaze. “I
very much doubt if she'll be able to ride after this.”

Triumph surged through Ophelia. Thank goodness. Any minor pain was well worth it to avoid those horses.

“Pity,” Montgomery said, “you'll have to cancel the hunt.”

“Nobody much wanted to hunt coyote anyway.” Jack shrugged. “Once we couldn't find a damned fox, it seemed kind of pointless and—”

“Stupid?” Tye said.

Lorelie planted her hands on her hips and glared down at him. “There was nothing stupid about it, Tye. It was our way of making the countess feel at home. And it sounded like a great deal of fun when the idea came up.” She cast an accusing glare around the crowd. “If those of you who had volunteered to find a fox in the first place had done their job, we wouldn't—”

“Wait just one minute there, Lorelie,” an indignant voice rang out from the crowd. “It ain't easy to find a fox when you want one.”

Ophelia craned her neck to see who was talking. Not an easy task. Only Tye and Montgomery were beside her on the ground. Everyone else stood towering over them. And everyone else seemed, more or less, to forget all about the injured countess at their feet.

“Tye's right anyway,” another man called out. “This was stupid. Trying to be something we're not.”

At once the air above her filled with flying comments and accusations and charges, with everyone throwing in their own opinions and doing so at the top of their lungs.

“This whole Empire City thing is ridiculous and—”

“It is not! It's a great—”

“—needs civilization and respectability any—”

“—my opinion, it's all a load of—”

“—the price you pay for progress! I think—”

“—and I think you're a load of—”

Tye and Montgomery exchanged knowing grins.

“What on earth is going on?” Ophelia stared at the two men.

Laughter glittered in Tye's eyes. “Town meeting.”

Ophelia stared with disbelief. “Shouldn't somebody do something? It sounds like they're about to kill each other.”

“She's right, old chap,” Montgomery said. “Somebody should do something.”

“What about you?” Tye said.

“Me? I'm not the mayor.” Montgomery shook his head in an overstated gesture of regret. “I hardly think I should get involved. I'm practically a stranger. You grew up with these people.”

“No, he's right.” Ophelia said, glaring at Tye. “You're the mayor. Do something.”

“You think I should?” Tye quirked a brow at his friend.

“Good question,” Montgomery said thoughtfully. “But I daresay you can't let it go on. Sooner or later the good citizens of Dead End—”

“Empire City,” Ophelia murmured.

“—will come to blows. Possibly even gunfire. And before you know it”—Montgomery choked in an obvious effort to restrain a full-fledged laugh—“any possibility of respectability and civilized behavior will be gone.”

“Dead in its tracks,” Tye said solemnly.

“Along with one or two of its citizens, I expect,” Montgomery added.

Ophelia gasped. “Mr. Matthews! Tye!”

Tye voiced a long-suffering sigh. “Well, we can't have that.”

“No, indeed,” Montgomery agreed.

Tye sighed again. “I guess I'll have to do something.”

He rose to his feet, and the crowd parted around him but ignored his presence, their scathing comments still littering the air. With a swift sure move, he bent and swept her into his arms.

“Ow!” Pain shot through her. “Hell and damnation.”

Montgomery leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “I believe you mean ‘bloody hell.' Hell and damnation are far too American for a countess.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, and glared at Tye. “And just what do you think you're doing?”

He grinned down at her. “Something. Just like you told me.”

“I didn't tell you to pick me up like a sack of flour.”

“Can you walk?”

“Well, of course.” What was she about to admit? “Of course not.” She shook her head vigorously. “No, no, I think I've hurt something. Possibly my ankle. Very likely my ankle. Twisted, no doubt.”

“Put your arms around me,” he said softly.

“Mr. Matthews, I really don't think—”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

“Very well.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Where are you taking me?”