The Emperor's New Clothes (12 page)

“It will take some time to arrange everything,” Randolph said.

“And you will want to stay for the ceremony,” Big Jack added.

Ophelia raised a puzzled brow. “What ceremony?”

“Why, the ceremony making me a count, that's
what.” Big Jack frowned. “Isn't there some kind of official ceremony?”

Montgomery nodded, amusement glimmered in his eye. “I should think there would be something on that order.”

Big Jack shook his head. “I'm afraid without a ceremony I sure won't feel much like a count.”

“And we hate for you not to feel like a count,” Tye said.

Ophelia stared. They wanted a ceremony now? One would think a title, let alone a castle, would be more than enough. She clenched her jaw. Fine. She could whip up something, anything, to make them happy. It would only delay her for a few days.

“Shouldn't the Queen be the one to make Jack a count?” A worried expression crossed Lorelie's face and she tilted her head at Montgomery. “Isn't that the way these things are done?”

Montgomery shrugged. “I would imagine it would depend on the circumstances. But certainly it would be well within the purview of Her Majesty to bestow a title.” He smiled a wicked smile. “And from what I've heard, she has always enjoyed creating new lords. Especially counts.”

Ophelia groaned to herself. “I don't think the Queen—”

“Would we have to go to London?” Lorelie said. “Or would we have the Queen come here?”

“Oh, by all means,” Tye said wryly, “let's have the Queen of England come to Dead End.”

“Empire City,” Randolph said.

Ophelia tried again. “I don't think the Queen—”

“How does one entertain a Queen?” Lorelie said. “I shouldn't think cards would be quite in order.”

“She doesn't travel much, you know,” Montgomery said in an aside to the banker and the sheriff.

“Can't say I blame her,” the sheriff said, the banker nodding his assent. “If I had my own country, I'd be hard-pressed to go anywhere else either.”

“Indeed.” Montgomery nodded. “What would be the point?”

“Still,” Lorelie said, her brows pulled together thoughtfully, “travel is so broadening and terribly educational. Why, look at everything Tyler learned when he traveled. And I'm sure Ophelia has learned a great deal as well.”

“Yes, Countess.” Tye pinned her with a firm stare. “Just what have you learned in your travels?”

“What have I learned?” Ophelia's gaze skimmed over the expectant faces surrounding her. Her fist clenched on the precious slip of paper in her hand. “Well, I suppose I've learned not to judge a town by its name.”

“We told you.” The banker nudged a disgruntled-looking Tye and grinned.

“And I've learned how very helpful beginner's luck can be.”

The men at her table chuckled.

“But most importantly, I suppose…” She shrugged and smiled weakly. “I've learned never, ever lose your…luggage.”

Silence fell for a moment. Then the gathering burst into laughter, with the notable exception of Tye, whose face resembled nothing short of a threatening thunderstorm. She shivered at the sight. He'd surely expose her if she stayed in this town much longer.

“However.” She held up her hand. “I do not believe it's even remotely possible to get the Queen to come to America, let alone Wyoming. Perhaps a prince or a duke or”—she shrugged—“someone else, but definitely not the Queen.”

“Oh, dear.” Lorelie sighed. “Are you quite certain?”

“Quite,” Ophelia said firmly.

“Well, in that case…” Disappointment flooded Lorelie's face.

“I would like to have some kind of ceremony, though,” Big Jack said. “It's not every day you become a real count.”

“No,” Tye said, “it's not.”

“What about an ambassador or another emissary of the crown?” An innocent light shone in Montgomery's eye. What was the irritating man up to now?

Ophelia gritted her teeth. “I really doubt that—”

“That's a great idea, Sedge.” Tye raised a brow. “What about it, Countess? Can you get some kind of representative of Her Majesty here?”

She struggled to keep her annoyance in check. “I wouldn't think—”

“I have met various British diplomats assigned to this country on occasion,” Montgomery said. “I could write to them and—”

“No,” Ophelia said sharply. “I'll do it. I mean”—she smiled at Big Jack and Lorelie—“it would certainly be my pleasure to request the presence of the Queen's spokesman at the…official ceremony.”

“Now that's respectable.” Big Jack grinned. “An official ceremony.”

“And civilized.” Lorelie beamed.

“I think this calls for some of that champagne.” Big Jack gestured to one of the servers hired for the evening.

The room buzzed with eager anticipation. Here and there she heard excited comments about “sprucing up the town” and “getting ready for this shindig” and “the biggest thing to happen since the railroad.” Oh, well, how long could this nonsense take anyway? A few weeks at best. Surely Ophelia could continue her masquerade that long. At least as long as she could keep her distance from Tye Matthews and that Montgomery
person. Especially Tye Matthews.

She rose to her feet and cast a gracious smile around the table. “If you will all excuse me, I believe I need a breath of fresh air.”

“Please.” Montgomery offered his arm. “Allow me to accompany you.”

Ophelia started to decline, but the look of annoyance on Tye's face changed her mind. She took Montgomery's arm. “Very well.”

He led her out the doors, onto the wide front porch. Self-satisfaction at leaving Tye's simmering anger behind brought a smile to her lips. There was no doubt at all that the man didn't trust her, but his suspicions hardly mattered now. She had her money, and she'd be out of Dead End long before Tye managed to prove anything. She and Jenny would be far, far away with more than enough to pay for a fresh start and a new life.

As for his wanting her…that too was obvious, and he'd fail on that count as well.

Montgomery escorted her to the edge of the veranda, and she noted that the moon shone full and golden, casting a glow on the night. It was a beautiful moon, bursting and bright. No doubt as splendid as any moon ever seen in Venice. A moon worthy of artists…or lovers.

She gazed at the orb hanging in the endless sky, and pushed away a vague pang of disappointment that brought an odd realization.

For some obscure reason, she hated to see Tye Matthews fail.

“You can't do this, Jack!”

“I do believe, Tye,” Big Jack said with a grin, “I already have.”

The two men were alone at the table; the other players had drifted off to refill empty glasses or mingle with guests and thoroughly discuss and dissect the impact of Dead End's having its very own count.

Tye raked a hand through his hair and expelled a frustrated sigh. “I've never seen you go into a business deal as shaky as this thing is. You're buying a pig in a poke, Jack.”

“You think so, Tye?” Jack raised a casual brow.

Tye struggled to keep his irritation in check. “You don't know anything about this woman or her land or her title.”

Jack shrugged. “I know all I need to know.”

Tye glared. “Well, I'd sure like to hear what.”

Jack studied his nephew for a long, thoughtful mo
ment. “Tye, I was doing business long before you were even a spark in your dear daddy's eye. Back when folks were saying cattle was the way of the future, I knew it'd take more than beef on the hoof to build the kind of life I wanted for my family. I took a hell of a lot of risks back then with long-shot investments and risky gambles, and damn near every one of them paid off. I know what I'm doing, son.”

“Jack.” Tye leaned closer. Surely it wasn't too late for his uncle to get out of this. He had to convince the man how foolish this deal with that woman was. “Just take a good, hard look at this so-called countess.”

“Awfully pretty, I'd say, with that red hair and that spark of fire in those green eyes. And aside from Lorelie, of course, I've always liked 'em tall. Tall women mean long legs.” Jack cast him a wicked smile. “What about you, Tye? Do you like 'em tall?”

“Well, sure, I appreciate—” Tye pulled his brows together in annoyance. “Don't change the subject, Jack. We were talking about the countess.”

Jack pulled a cigar from the pocket of his vest and rolled it between his fingers. “That's who I was talking about, all right.”

“Not about her looks—”

“Damn fine-looking woman, I'd say.”

“—but about her character.” Tye gritted his teeth. When had Jack become so thickheaded? “I don't think she's who she says she is. I don't think she's a countess. I don't think she has a dead husband.”

Jack's eyes narrowed. “You think he's alive?”

“No, I don't think he's alive, I don't think he exists!” Exasperation washed through Tye. How on earth could he get through to this stubborn old mule? “I don't think she has an estate or a castle or anything else. I think she's a fraud, Jack, plain and simple. And she's taking you for all you're worth.”

Jack struck a match on the underside of the table and lit the cigar, his manner unconcerned and casual. He puffed once, twice, three times, blowing a plume of blue smoke into the air. Finally, he gazed at his nephew. “If I didn't know better, Tye, I'd think you were accusing me of being some kind of idiot.”

Tye blew a long breath. “I'm not saying that, Jack. I admit, she's clever, she's very clever—”

“I always liked 'em smart too.”

“—but she's a fake. I'd bet everything I own on it.”

Jack drew another puff on the cigar. “So…prove it.”

“What do you mean ‘prove it'?” Tye cast him a suspicious stare.

“I mean, I'll take that bet.” Jack aimed the cigar at him. “If you can prove she's a fake, I'll stop this deal dead in its tracks.”

“I'll prove it,” Tye said grimly.

“Maybe, maybe not. But I'll give you fair warning, son.” Jack's gaze pinned his, and for the first time in his life Tye glimpsed the businessman behind the loving, fun-filled uncle. “I've never been wrong about a horse, a steer or…a woman.”

“You're wrong about this one.”

Jack reached out and picked up Ophelia's bid, still lying on the table. He unfolded the paper and eyed the figure. A satisfied smile quirked the corners of his lips. “Don't count on winning too soon, Tye.”

“I'll win.” He rose to his feet. “Mark my words, I'll get the truth out of her sooner or later.”

“You do that, Tye.” A twinkle danced in Jack's eyes. “And I'd start right now if I were you. She's out on the porch with Sedge. In fact, you might need to spend quite a bit of time with the woman to wring the truth from those lovely lips of hers.”

“I'll do what I have to.” Determination colored his voice.

“And here, take these.” Jack pushed the deck of cards across the table. “Beginner's luck or not, she's a damned fine player. But even good players have bad nights. And many a man's been known to confess all kinds of things better kept secret after a losing hand. Who knows? You might just need that kind of help.”

“I doubt it,” Tye muttered. Still…he picked up the deck, shoved it in a pocket and started toward the door, his uncle chuckling behind him. What did Jack think was so funny about all this? He was about to lose a considerable amount of money.

Jack was right about a few things, though. Her lips were lovely and meant for kissing, or more likely, pillaging. Her hair was the color of a Wyoming sunset, and if freed from the pins that held it in place would surely sweep across shoulders soft and ivory and delicious. And her legs, no doubt, went on forever. The kind of legs a man wanted wrapped around his waist.

He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear the delightful vision from his mind, reached for the doorknob and pulled up short, halted by an intriguing realization.

It had been his experience that the best way to get the truth from a woman, the one sure method to get her to talk, was to take her to the only place where a woman ever seemed to speak freely and without reservation. To bed. His bed. He rarely failed with women, especially when he'd managed to get Sedge out of the picture. How could Ophelia be any different? He turned, strode to a serving table and selected two glasses and a bottle of champagne. Once again he headed toward the door, grinning all the while. She didn't have a chance.

And his bet wasn't the only thing he'd win.

 

The countess stared off in the distance, apparently lost in her own thoughts. Sedge studied her silently. Lord, she was lovely, even in the moonlight. Perhaps, he chuckled to himself, especially in the moonlight. But she was not a countess. He doubted if she was even English. She was, however, extremely clever.

Sedge drew his brows together in a thoughtful frown. When the only issue to consider was seduction, he had no qualms about keeping his suspicions about the fair Ophelia to himself. Now, however, there was Big Jack and Lorelie to keep in mind. Mr. and Mrs. Matthews had been welcoming and gracious to him since his arrival in this new, and completely foreign, western land. They had, in fact, been quite like family—not his family, of course, but a real family. The kind one reads about in storybooks as a child. Sedge did not want to see them hurt in any way.

“Did you wish to say something to me, Mr. Montgomery, or were you simply planning on staring for the remainder of the evening?” Ophelia's words were aimed at him, but her gaze was still fixed on the open countryside, shimmering in the moonlight.

“Sedge,” he said with a laugh. “Call me Sedge. We are in America, after all.”

“I suspect that would be ill-advised, in America or anywhere else.”

“You don't trust me?”

She turned to face him, answering his question with one of her own. “Is there something you wish to ask me?”

He laughed again. She was brazen and delightful. “I was merely curious as to whether we had any acquaintances in common.”

“Somehow, I rather doubt that.”

“One never knows. The beloved British aristocracy
tends to be quite a self-contained society.”

She raised a curious brow. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm,
Mr. Montgomery?
”

“Sarcasm?” Sedge chuckled softly. “I daresay any number of things about the land of my birth would engender that emotion these days. But no, at the moment I was merely stating a fact, nothing more.”

“Very well, then.” She sighed as if resigned to his intrusion on her thoughts. “The count, my late husband—”

“Alphonse?”

For a moment, a puzzled frown creased her forehead; then her expression cleared. “Yes, of course, dear, dear, dead Alphonse. At any rate, he was not particularly given to social activities.”

“Quite a bit older than you, perhaps?”

“Indeed.” She nodded as if pleased with his insight. “He much preferred the quiet life of the country to the excitement of society.”

“I can certainly understand that—in an older man, of course.”

“It's not as if he were in his dotage, mind you,” she said quickly.

He shrugged. “I would not presume to suggest such a thing.” My, she was good. One would almost think her indignation was legitimate. But just how far would she, could she, continue? “Since the moment we met I've been wondering about something.”

Ophelia stilled. Her expression was guarded and a cautious note rang in her voice. “Yes?”

“I have been searching my memory but for the life of me, I simply could not place the location of your estate and…Bridgewater Castle.”

“Oh?”

Tension seemed to pulse from her, and he was hard-pressed to keep his amusement under control. Lord,
this game of cat-and-mouse was stimulating.

“Indeed.” He nodded vigorously, enjoying the tiny gleam of apprehension in her eyes. “And then it came to me.”

“It did?”

“Most certainly.” He kept his voice deliberately casual as if he was stating a simple fact instead of a complete fabrication. “It's in Leicester, isn't it?”

“Leicester?” she said weakly.

“I knew it.” He cast her a triumphant grin. “Wait, hold on now.” He clapped his hand to his forehead. “How could I have made such a mistake?”

“A mistake?” Did the lovely Ophelia look just a shade green around the edges?

“Of course. I didn't mean Leicester, I meant Warwick.” Sedge held his palms up and shrugged. “I always have gotten those two counties confused. Surely you can see how that could happen?”

“One does make mistakes now and then.” A subtle note of relief sounded in her voice. No doubt Ophelia thought if he wasn't sure where her castle was located, she was safe.

“I mean with both counties so similar. Still, I do apologize.”

She waved away his comment. “Nothing to apologize for. A simple error. Let's leave it at that, shall we.”

“You must miss it a great deal.” He stared thoughtfully. “The country here is completely different from what you're used to.”

“That is why one travels, you know.” Her tone was light. “To experience the unfamiliar.”

“Indeed, but Wyoming is so very far from the sea.”

Confusion played across her lovely face. “Yes…well, I daresay that's part of its charm.”

“Do you miss the sea?”

“The sea?” Her words were measured and controlled,
but the woman was obviously trying to grasp his meaning. Sedge could barely keep a straight face. “It's always hard not to miss the sea,” she said. “The, um, waves and salt and such…”

He nodded in solemn agreement. “I have always thought the waves crashing against the cliffs of Warwick to be one of the most impressive sights in the world.”

Her expression cleared as though she abruptly understood, and Sedge imagined he could see the workings of her mind like the gears and wheels of a fine Swiss timepiece. “It is magnificent.”

“I wonder, Countess, if you—”

“Mr. Montgomery—”

“Sedge.”

“
Mr. Montgomery
.” Annoyance simmered in her voice. Had Ophelia finally reached the limits of her patience? “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Well, that's something of a long story.” He leaned against the porch rail. “When I returned to England, after completing my education, I—”

“I didn't mean—”

“I shot my brother.”

“Your brother?” Her eyes widened with surprise. “How? Why?”

“Why does one usually shoot one's brother?” He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant manner. “Treachery. Betrayal. Deceit.”

“Deceit?”

“Especially deceit.” He quirked a brow. “I'm certain you'd find it a fascinating story. Shall I continue?”

Uncertainty flitted across her face; then she squared her shoulders in a gesture so slight he might have missed it altogether. “Please, do go on.”

“Very well.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. It wasn't as if the tale hadn't been retold over
and over again in his head like a discordant melody that haunts one's nights and fills the silent moments of the day. It wasn't the action itself that brought the taste of bile to his mouth. It was the aftermath.

“My father is the sixteenth Earl of Russelford, my older brother his heir. I am the second son, and have always been something of a trial to my parents. You know I went to school in this country with Tye. Surely you must have wondered why, given that England boasts some of the finest universities in the world?”

“It was rather curious.”

“My family insisted I pursue my education as far away as possible. Even as a boy I possessed something of a penchant for mischief.”

“Hard to believe,” she said under her breath.

He pretended not to hear. “Following the completion of our schooling, Tye was sent on a grand tour—”

“I have already heard about his travels.” Was there a note of irritation in her voice?

“—and I returned home. In the ensuing months, I found myself betrothed to a young woman who, while not of my choosing, was still quite acceptable as a wife.”

“An arranged marriage? How antiquated.” Ophelia stared with disbelief.