The Emperor's New Clothes by Victoria Alexander Read Free Book Online Page A

“The count is dead.”
    Abruptly, he released her and frowned with sympathy. “I am sorry.”
    She placed the back of her hand against her foreheadand sighed deeply. “The count, dear, dear, dead Alfred, passed on a year ago. I do miss him so.”
    â€œOnly a year?” Montgomery frowned. “And you’re already out of mourning?”
    Ophelia glanced down at the deep sapphire gown she wore. Thankfully, the real countess had a figure only a little fuller than she, and a few nips and tucks were all that were needed to make the dress fit as if it was made for her.
    â€œDid I say a year?” she said innocently. “I meant two years.” She gazed at Tye through downcast lashes. Overly dramatic perhaps, but effective nonetheless. “It is so difficult at times to carry on alone.”
    â€œI can well imagine.” Tye stared down at her with a bemused expression, and triumph trickled through her. Lorelie’s nephew was a man well used to dealing with featherheaded women. British accent aside, this was obviously the way to keep him in line. And keep him at a distance. He was far too attractive for her own good. As for the Englishman, she’d better avoid him altogether.
    â€œTye, aren’t you going to introduce us?” A short, stocky woman with the full-blown bearing of an operatic diva bore down on them, a taller, distinguished-looking man a mere step behind. “We’ve been simply beside ourselves with anticipation.”
    â€œCome now, Tye,” her escort said, “you can’t keep the countess all to yourself, you know.”
    Tye threw her a glance that said he’d like to do precisely that, and an odd ache stabbed through her. But she had no time to wonder what exactly this new sensation was. The introduction of the eager couple before her seemed to open the floodgates for the rest of the guests. Within moments, they surrounded her with excited greetings and enthusiastic remarks. Ophelia quickly learned she had to actually say very little to thisgathering. An occasional comment, astute tilt of the head and polite but sincere laughter were all that was required. It was a surprisingly simple effort and a role easy to enjoy.
    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.
    â€œWe still haven’t had our dance.” Tye’s voice sounded behind her, and she tensed with a strange mix of anticipation and dread.
    â€œOh?” 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 shedared not take. Still, at this moment, there was no other choice.
    â€œThat would be lovely,” she said in as