To Catch a Wolf (9 page)

bring tea, coffee, and biscuits. "Was it very successful?”

Niall smiled and sat in his armchair facing the fireplace. "You have never taken any

interest in my business.”

"Perhaps it is time I did.”

"And perhaps it is past time that I take an interest in yours.”

She grew alert. "I am

sorry about our argument before you left—”

"No. You were quite right. I have been too harsh, without understanding.”

Her heart swelled with hope. "That is kind of you, Niall. Nothing would please me more

than if you wished to help.”

"Then I trust you will be pleased with what I have brought you today.”

Athena did not allow herself to show vulgar excitement. Niall often brought her gifts

upon his return from business trips, but never with such pleasure.

"I do not see a package," she said, leaning as if to look behind him. "I cannot imagine

what you can have brought from the mines in the south!”

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"Oh, it will not fit in any sort of box," he said with mock solemnity. "Indeed, you will have

to come outside to see it.”

Alarm stopped the air in her lungs. "Here at the house?”

"It would not even fit on the grounds. You must come out with me, in the carriage, if you

want your present.”

She looked down at her lap and the carefully arranged folds of her gown. "You know

that is not easy for me, Niall.”

"You go out to the orphanage and among the poor.”

"Yes, but that is different—”

"Because they have no right to pity you?”

She flinched at his too-acute observation. For a moment he looked uncomfortable. "I

realize that you do not enjoy going into the city, or even on social calls," he said. "But I

think you will wish to make an exception in this case.”

She met his gaze. There was a hint of a challenge in it, and that was shock enough to

win her full attention. He was so apt to want to protect her, and now he urged her to go

out. There was something special about this, indeed.

"Very well," she said slowly. "If you will take refreshment while I prepare—”

"Nonsense. You are fine as you are." He rang for Brinkley. "Please call Miss Munroe's

maid, and tell Romero that we will be needing the rockaway.”

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Fran appeared to settle Athena's wrap about her shoulders and pushed her chair down

the hall. Only moments ago Athena had been wishing for some new source of

inspiration, and her wish seemed to have run away with her.

Fran, Romero, and Niall bundled her into the carriage and covered her legs with another

wrap. She forced herself to look out the window as they set off, catching glimpses of

several women she knew walking arm in arm, a new mansion going up on Welton, the

streetcar on its way to the business district. Everything about Denver was moving, too

busy to slow down for an instant.

She expected Niall to stop the carriage at any time, but they rattled on out of the better

part of town, past more modest dwellings with livestock kept in dusty yards, and on to

an area near the outskirts of the city. The Munroes owned several empty lots there, and

Niall had often said that he expected the investment to pay off when the city expanded

and required the land for new construction.

Curious despite herself, Athena looked for anything unusual. The carriage made a turn

down a dirt track, and there, spread across a field of autumn grasses, was her surprise.

A circus. She recognized the tents, the colorful wagons, the peculiar folk moving about

with their animals and bright costumes. Niall smiled, pleased at her confusion.

"You wonder why I bring you to a circus?" he asked. "Before I left, you chided me about

my failure to help those in need. You will be pleased to know that I have listened. I have

not only assisted these people in their time of need, but I have engaged them to perform

for your orphanage at my expense.”

Athena stared at him and realized her mouth was agape. "Niall

I am

I could never

have imagined—”

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He signaled Romero to stop at the edge of the lot. "I wanted you to see this for yourself,

and meet those I've hired to entertain your children.”

"Oh, Niall. The children will be so delighted, I know it.”

He reached across the seats to press her hand. "So long as it delights you, Athena.

Shall we?”

He and Romero helped her down, and her chair was taken from its special rack in the

boot. Athena was too busy absorbing the view to notice the bumpy, uncomfortable ride

over the rough ground as Niall pushed her chair toward the tents.

A fat, jolly-looking man with white whiskers came to meet them as they approached the

largest tent, the one she supposed must house the main performances. He was

eccentrically dressed, but quite normal in contrast to a few of the people she had

glimpsed at work or practice on the lot.

"My dear, dear Mr. Munroe!" the stout man said effusively. He pumped Niall's hand and

looked down at Athena. "And this must be your lovely sister!”

"Athena," Niall said, "may I present Mr. Harry French, the manager and owner of

French's Fantastic Family Circus. Mr. French, Miss Athena Munroe.”

"Delighted, delighted beyond words." French beamed at her. "May I say how very

charmed I am to make your acquaintance?”

Athena liked Harry French instantly. She returned his smile and pressed his hand.

"I am glad to meet you, Mr. French. My brother tells me that you have come to Denver

to entertain the children of our orphanage. I know they will consider it the experience of

a lifetime.”

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Harry blushed, his skin contrasting even more vividly with the white of his moustache.

"We shall do our best, indeed we shall. Your brother has done us a great favor. You

see, we had suffered a number of misfortunes, and he offered a solution to our

difficulties. He is most generous. Oh, yes, most generous.”

Niall looked away. "I hope that you will not find it inconvenient to show my sister

something of your establishment, Mr. French," he said gruffly.

"My pleasure. Oh, yes. We are still setting up, but I am sure—ah, there are a few of my

troupers, if you would care to follow—”

He set off at a waddling trot. Niall sighed and steered Athena after him.

"Do you think this is the right circumstance for introductions?" Athena asked. "Perhaps it

would be better to invite them to our home instead.”

"You astonish me, Athena," Niall said. "One doesn't invite such people to one's home.”

She could not argue. From all she had heard, circus folk were deemed little better than

vagrants, dirty and ignorant. They were not the sort of people she usually dealt with—

neither needy and dependent, nor wealthy and cultured.

But surely it was a matter of finding the right way to speak to them. The troupers Harry

French had mentioned were standing in a group looking at the large tent, talking

amongst themselves. Athena noticed the new look of the canvas, without so much as a

scuff or tear. Many of the other tents had a worn appearance, as did the wagons.

"Miss Munroe," Harry said, waving her and Niall forward, "I am pleased to present to

you my troupers, whom I feel I may boast are among the finest in our nation." He rocked

back on his heels and swept out his arm in a grand gesture. "Caitlin Hughes, our

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graceful Lady Principal or equestrienne; Ulysses Marcus Aurelius Wakefield, also

known as the Little Professor, genius and prognosticator; Tamar the Queen of the

Snakes, and Morgan, our—”

"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Munroe." The girl French had introduced as Caitlin

stepped forward, began to hold out her hand, and dropped it awkwardly. She was pretty

in an unusual, impish way, very small in her circus costume of tights and short skirt. She

glanced at Niall. "Harry told us that we'll be performing for the orphans you care for. It is

very kind of you and Mr. Munroe to help children who don't have a home.”

Athena smiled. The girl could not be very well educated, and certainly was not refined,

but Athena warmed to her as quickly as she had to Harry French. "Good afternoon,

Miss Hughes. I know that I will look forward to your performance.”

Caitlin blushed as red as her hair and stepped back. The small man beside her bowed

to Athena.

"Ulysses Wakefield, your most obedient servant," he said with a soft Southern drawl. "I

trust that you will find our humble company worthy of your highest expectations.”

How strange it was to look upon another person who carried a physical burden so much

greater than her own. Here was a gentleman, by his clothing, manner, and speech, yet

though she was seated he could meet her gaze while standing straight on his own two,

short legs. His face was handsome, and he carried himself as if he were of average

height. But he, like Athena, must often face a world that could not understand.

She offered her hand. "I know I shall not be disappointed, Mr. Wakefield," she said. He

kissed the air above her knuckles, leaving her feeling unaccountably flattered. She

looked up at the third person and lost any sense of comfort.

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Tamar was tall, voluptuous, and beautiful, but her black eyes were devoid of warmth.

Her lips remained flat and unwelcoming. A darting, reptilian head thrust out from under

her dark wrap.

"Miss Munroe," she said, her voice low and heavily accented. "I hope you do not find it

inconvenient to come here.”

"No. Not at all, thank you." Athena kept her hands folded in her lap and held Tamar's

gaze, resolved not to let her unease show. It was clear she would receive no friendlier

greeting from the Queen of the Snakes. But an even more disturbing sensation

centered on her temple, seeming to emanate from the direction of the man Harry had

not quite finished introducing.

She turned her head. Her eyes met those of the last man. She could have sworn that

even her legs felt the impact of that golden gaze.

"Oh, yes," Harry said, bumbling up beside them. "How remiss of me. Miss Munroe,

please meet Morgan Holt.”

So strong was the sense that they had met that Athena almost asked him where he had

been and how he had fared over the years.

She caught herself before she made an embarrassing mistake. They had not met

before. He was a stranger, though her heart insisted otherwise. A stranger who

compelled her to stare in defiance of all good manners and propriety.

Morgan Holt was tall, though not quite so tall as Niall. He was broad through the

shoulders and lean through the hip in the way of a natural athlete. While the others wore

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coats and wraps against the autumn wind, he was dressed in an open-necked cotton

shirt and simple trousers, and his feet were bare.

But his face made such oddities insignificant. Oh, he was handsome enough—not in the

conventional way preferred by the women in Denver society, but undeniably attractive.

"Rugged" was the word that came to mind. He was clean-shaven, making no

concession to the fashion for long side-whiskers and moustaches. His black hair fell to

his shoulders, like an Indian's, and his brows were dark slashes above piercing golden

eyes. Yet something in his face, in his expression, held a fascination for her that went

far beyond looks.

Secrets. His face was full of secrets, a calm surface over hidden currents that bubbled

and boiled. Utter fearlessness. Fierce independence. All the things she wished she

possessed.

Morgan was a man who would never beg for a place in the world. Never have to prove

anything. No one would pity him.

He blinked like a cat in the sun. She came to herself abruptly and realized that he was

giving her the same methodical examination to which she had subjected him. His eyes

grew hooded as they tracked from her face to her lower body and the chair with its

special wheels. And then he met her gaze, and she saw what she had dreaded

and

expected.

When men looked at her, they did not see a woman. They saw a cripple, a girl never

permitted to grow up, a creature to be protected and pampered but never loved. Not as

a man loved a woman, as her father had loved her mother.

Most of the time she was able to ignore masculine discomfort with her affliction. Most of

the time she didn't allow herself to think of Niall's business partners, or her friends'

brothers, as men at all. That entire part of her being remained safely locked away.