The Emperor's New Clothes

by Victoria Alexander

  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.

  There wasn’t even the tiniest doubt in Lorelie’s mind that there would soon be a countess in the Matthews family. And as pleasant as that thought was, the title was only the icing on the cake. This woman would make Tyler’s life rich and happy and probably extremely chaotic. Exactly what he needed. Men should always be kept a bit off balance.

  Ophelia would be th
e perfect wife for Tyler.

  And perhaps, with this husband, she’d even manage to remember his name.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You ride like you were born to the saddle.”

  Heat flushed Jenny’s cheeks at the admiration in Zach’s voice. She leaned forward to pat her horse and hide her face. “Thank you. It seems to come quite naturally for me.”

  “I’ve never seen anybody pick it up so fast.” Zach shook his head in disbelief. “Especially somebody who’s never ridden before.”

  “Well, I love it,” Jenny said firmly. She and Zach walked their horses at a leisurely pace alongside a bubbling creek. “I feel like I’m on top of the world when I sit up here. And when we run, it’s like flying. It’s exhilarating and frightening and absolutely marvelous.”

  Zach laughed. “It’s old hat to somebody like me. I’ve been on a horse all my life.”

  “Ophelia doesn’t like them.”

  “Your countess?”

  “No indeed.” Jenny shook her head. “Ophelia hates horses.”

  “Why?”

  “It sounds a little silly.”

  “Oh, come on. I won’t tell.” Zach grinned. “I promise.”

  Jenny eyed him for a moment. He did seem sincere. “Very well. She thinks they’re big and ill-behaved, but most of all”—Jenny drew a deep breath—“she thinks they laugh at her.”

  “I’ve never heard them laugh.” His voice was solemn, but a twinkle glimmered in his eyes.

  “I don’t think they do.” She leaned toward him. “But Ophelia would never believe that. She’s convinced that she’s the laughingstock of every horse that ever came her way.”

  Zach frowned in confusion. “How does she hunt foxes, then, if she doesn’t like horses?”

  “Carefully.” Jenny grinned and reined her horse to a stop. She really had to watch exactly what she said to Zach, but so far, she’d made few mistakes. Any time she’d slipped, she’d always managed to cover it up. They’d spent a great deal of time together, what with Ophelia occupied by the opera house and the Cultural Society. And with every minute spent in his company Jenny thought he was just a little more wonderful. “Why don’t we walk a bit?” she said.

  “All right.” Zach slid to the ground and strode around his animal to help her dismount. He caught her waist, and she slid against him in a manner that was slow and interesting and exciting. She wore an old pair of pants Alma had dug up from somewhere, and the unusual attire gave her a sense of illicit freedom she reveled in. He held her a moment longer than was necessary, and his gaze meshed with hers. Goodness, was he going to kiss her? “Here we are,” he said.

  He released her, and disappointment mingled with relief. Why didn’t he kiss her? Didn’t he want to? Didn’t she want him to?

  “This is one of my favorite places.” Zach nodded at the vista spread before them in a gently rolling valley. The creek gurgled by their side. Far off in the distance, mountains rose like sleeping giants. Here and there, gnarled trees held their own against the wind and weather. “Tye’s too. He showed it to me when I was just a kid.”

  “It’s very pretty.” She leaned back against the rough bark of an oak, and longing surged through her. What a lovely place this was. What a perfect place to live. “I’d love to stay here forever.”

  Zach’s voice was casual, as if her answer didn’t matter. “Why don’t you?”

  “I can’t. Not without Ophelia.”

  Zach was quiet for a moment. “How’s Miz Lorelie coming with that plan of hers?”

  “Plan?”

  “You know. To get Tye married off to your countess?”

  “Oh, yes, that plan.” Jenny smiled. “I’d forgotten about that for a minute. Sometimes, it’s impossible to tell what Ophelia is thinking, but I believe it’s going pretty well. They’re spending every morning together in town at the opera house. And he’s come to the house every evening. It’s funny, though.”

  “What is?”

  “Miss Lorelie. She was so determined to get the two of them together, yet every time Tye tries to get Ophelia alone, Lorelie’s right there coming between them. At least that’s what Ophelia says. It seems to be driving her quite mad.

  “Still, I’m positive she likes him. A lot.” She widened her smile to a satisfied grin. “She shot him, you know.”

  Zach grimaced. “Didn’t know that was a sign of affection.”

  “It certainly is. If she didn’t like him”—Jenny shrugged—“she would have killed him.”

  Zach leaned against the tree. “So, do you like me enough to shoot me?”

  Her heart fluttered in her throat. He was flirting with her. Like a man flirted with a woman. She’d never flirted before. Still, she could act. How much harder could flirting be? She drew a steadying breath and smiled innocently. “I don’t think that’s really the question.”

  “It’s not?” His voice was a lazy drawl.

  “No indeed. The question is”—she angled her head in a teasing manner and glanced up at him—“if I shot you, would I kill you?”

  His blue eyes simmered, and her stomach somersaulted. He tilted her chin up with a tanned finger. “And would you?”

  Goodness, he was going to kiss her! How could she possibly kiss him back? At this moment she could barely breathe. Or talk. Or sigh. “No.”

  He touched his lips to hers gently, more a whisper than a kiss. Her heart thudded against her ribs so hard she marveled that it didn’t burst through her skin. He gathered her closer and she went willingly, far too caught up in truly delightful and completely unique sensations to protest. Not that she wanted to. No indeed. What she wanted…was more.

  He deepened his kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed and her knees weakened. Tentatively, she snaked her arms around his neck. He pulled her tighter against him, and she could feel the long, taut length of his body against hers.

  A man’s body.

  She’d never been this close to a man before, a hard, solid man. She’d never been kissed by lips so warm they seemed to melt something deep inside her. She’d never been held by arms that were at once strong and yielding. Goodness, this was confusing and odd and more exciting than she ever would have imagined. If kissing was this exhilarating…She tightened her arms around his neck.

  Zach pulled back and stared down at her. She’d never seen desire before, but surely that was the look in his eyes. “Jenny, I—”

  “Kiss me again, Zach.” She aimed her lips toward his and closed her eyes. She waited for a long moment, but nothing happened. She opened one eye. “Well?”

  “Well what?” A slight smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

  She opened the other. “Well, aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  “I did kiss you.”

  “I mean again.”

  A shudder ran through him as if he were struggling for control. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea.” Gently, he unwrapped her arms from around his neck.

  She planted her fists on her hips and glared. “Why not?”

  “Because.” He clasped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “You are as luscious as one of Alma’s pies and as pretty as an angel, and if I start kissing you I’m afraid I’ll never stop.”

  “Good!” She threw her arms back around his neck, closed her eyes, thrust her lips forward and waited. And waited. She opened one eye. “Well?”

  “Well…um…” A kind of queasy embarrassment shone on his face.

  “Well what?”

  “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

  “Is that all?” Relief washed through her. “I thought it was something of importance. No, never, but I am willing to learn.” Once again she closed her eyes and lifted her lips toward his. Once again she waited. And once again she opened one eye. “What now?”

  He heaved a regretful sigh. “I’ve never done this before either.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise, and she released h
im. “You’ve never kissed a girl before?”

  “Well, sure, oh, yeah, I’ve kissed a girl, plenty of girls, I…” His shoulders slumped and he looked like nothing so much as a chastised puppy. Jenny had always wanted a puppy. “Once. I kissed a girl once.”

  “But you know how, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “Everybody knows how to kiss. It just kind of comes naturally.”

  “Excellent. Then I don’t think there’s a problem.” She threw her arms around him and closed her eyes. This time she refused to open them. “You’re not going to kiss me, are you?”

  “No,” he said softly.

  “We could learn together?” There was a hopeful note in her voice.

  “Jenny.” He groaned with some emotion she couldn’t quite define.

  She sighed, opened her eyes and stepped back. “I don’t understand why you won’t even try.”

  “I like you, Jenny, I really like you a lot.”

  “And I like you,” she said eagerly. “A lot.”

  “But, well…” He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. “It’s like this.” He took her hand and sat on the hard-packed ground beneath the tree, pulling her down beside him. “Miz Lorelie says there are two kinds of girls in the world. The kind that are free with their favors—”

  “You mean like kissing.” She leaned forward and nuzzled his neck. My, he smelled wonderful. Just like horses and leather and a warm, spicy man.

  Zach swallowed. “Yeah.”

  “And what’s the other kind?” Could she reach his lips from this angle? And even if he wouldn’t kiss her, why couldn’t she kiss him?

  “The kind you marry.”

  She froze. “Which kind am I?”

  “I’d kind of hoped you were the first.” He stared into her eyes. “But I’m afraid you’re the second.”

  “The kind you marry?”

  “The kind I want to marry.”

  “You want to marry me?” Her voice rang with a strange, tense squeak.

  Zach nodded solemnly. “Yep. I sure do.”

  “Nobody’s every asked me to marry them before.” She shook her head in astonishment.

  “I’m asking now.” Earnest sincerity rang in his voice. He clasped her hands in his. “Jenny, I’ve known from the moment I saw you in Alma’s kitchen, and that was nearly two weeks ago, that we were meant for each other. We’ve been together nearly every day, whenever you could get away from the countess, and I haven’t changed my mind yet. You sit a horse like no woman I’ve ever seen. And you’re pretty and you’re kind of smart and I love you.”