"What would you call me?" he asked softly. "Dangerous, or reluctant?"
His questions made no sense except as another pointless provocation. That he could be dangerous she had little doubt… though not to her. How could he be? He was only a man—proud, rude, and difficult, but still a man. She could escape his company whenever she wished. And as for reluctant…
"You seem to like riddles, Mr. Holt," she said, "but I prefer to save such amusements for my friends."
They stared at each other. Athena felt increasingly uncomfortable, and the new, phantom tingling in her legs grew more pronounced. No, not in her legs… somewhat above and between them. Her mouth went dry. She thought about calling out to Niall and asking him to take her home, but her throat issued only a whisper.
This was quite ridiculous. Mr. Holt was a challenge, but she had faced such challenges before, from ruthless businessmen and distrustful poor alike. She felt sure that she could win, if not Morgan's liking, at least his respect. It seemed important that she do so, as long as she did not concede too much. It was necessary if she was to help him.
Help him? What had put such a thought into her head? He was neither destitute nor ill, merely ill-mannered.
"I did not mean to be discourteous," she said. "We simply do not understand one another. We are—"
"Too different." A strange expression passed over his face. Had she not known better, she might have thought it wistfulness. Loneliness. But then he laughed, shattering the illusion. "If I ever came to your world, Miss Munroe, you would have to keep me on a leash."
She knew better than to back down. There must be something truly wrong with him—a great bitterness, or some subtle disorder of the mind. And yet, even as she considered it, she knew the explanation was too simple. There was much more to Morgan Holt than met the eye.
His eyes. What was it about his eyes?
The uneasy silence came to a halt with a sudden commotion at the edge of the lot. A string of handsome carriages drew up behind Niall's, and Athena recognized them immediately. She sighed with mingled relief and apprehension. She didn't know who had told her friends about the circus, but she was glad enough of the distraction.
"If you will excuse me, Mr. Holt." She wheeled her chair about, intending to make her own way, but she found herself being propelled forward by strong, sure hands. She knew the touch was not Niall's. In spite of Morgan Holt's surliness, he pushed her chair with skill, avoiding stones and potholes as deftly as if he had been doing it all his life.
Perhaps it was a form of apology. She could scarcely object when her friends were already coming to greet her.
Cecily Hockensmith was in the lead, followed by several of the younger and more adventuresome ladies in Athena's circle. They advanced in a flock, exclaiming and staring at the astonishing sights and smells.
"My dear Athena!" Cecily said, holding out her hands. "We heard about this wonderful new scheme of your brother's, and just had to come and see for ourselves. How clever of him, to hire a circus just for the dear orphans. How very original!"
Suzanne Gottschalk, blond and beautiful, lifted her handkerchief to her nose. "How very… fragrant it is."
Millicent Osborn trilled a laugh. "Of course, silly. Have you never seen a circus before?" She nodded at Athena. "Do not pay any attention to Suzanne. We are all so impressed, are we not?"
"Indeed," Grace Renshaw said, sliding her spectacles up her nose. "Yet another feather in your charitable cap, so to speak. I do not know what the unfortunate of our city would do without you and Mr. Munroe."
Athena hid her pleasure and greeted them all with a smile. "You praise me far too highly. It was indeed my brother's idea, and quite unexpected. I have just arrived myself."
"Then we are not too late for a tour," Millicent said. "It must be terribly exotic. And, of course, we shall want to contribute to the performance—you must allow us to help!" She looked up over Athena's head. "Perhaps this… gentleman?"
Athena was keenly aware of Morgan behind her, of his earthy scent and masculine bulk. And the obvious fact that he was not a gentleman. He was more than likely prepared to insult her friends as he had tried to insult her. She could only pray that he did not.
"Ladies," she said, "may I present Mr. Morgan Holt, one of the performers of French's Fantastic Family Circus."
The ladies fell silent, gazing at Holt. Athena wondered if they were having the same reaction she had, or if they merely found him an uncouth curiosity. Most of her friends did not share her habit of going into the slums to distribute food and clothing. To them, he would not seem much different from the "lower elements" their fathers and brothers warned them about.
"I declare," Suzanne exclaimed. Millicent giggled, and Grace shushed her.
The back of Athena's neck continued to prickle. "I am sure that Mr. French will be pleased to show us the grounds, but Mr. Holt may have other engagements."
"What a pity," Cecily said with frosty emphasis. "We do not wish to keep you, Mr. Holt."
A gentleman would have taken Cecily's dismissal with good grace and beat a dignified retreat, but Morgan Holt did not move. Instead, it was Cecily who took a step back, bumping into Suzanne and causing a minor disturbance.
"I have no other… engagements," Holt said, faint mockery in his tone. "Should I show you the wolves first, Miss Munroe?"
Morgan stood still and let himself be stared at, as contemptuous as a raven surrounded by chattering sparrows. No, not sparrows, but extravagantly plumed parrots who had ventured from their cages for an afternoon.
The leader of the flock accepted their homage in regal majesty, prim and proper in her wheeled chair and only slightly less gaudy than the others. And he wondered, not for the first time, why he remained with her.
Their meeting had been less than cordial. Even had he not known her identity, he would have pegged her as the kind of woman—lady—who had existed only on the fringes of his life: an engraving in a tattered magazine; a beribboned mannequin on the arm of some overstuffed peacock parading down the dusty main street of a nameless town; a face from the box seats during a performance.
What else should she be? He knew what kind of people she and her brother were. His father had envied and aped them all his life. How many promises Aaron Holt had made, to his wife and children, always beginning and ending the same: "You'll lack for nothing once I make my strike," or "When I'm rich, in just another year or two…"
Athena Munroe came from a world Morgan touched only by rare chance, as alien to him as tea cakes to a timber wolf. The fabric of her gown alone might have seen a poor family through an entire winter. The pearls about her slender neck and in her ears were tasteful and even more costly. She wouldn't have looked at him twice if he hadn't spoken first.
And yet, within the space of a few minutes, he had said more to her than he generally did to his fellow troupers in a day.
And he was afraid.
He knew the reason, though it made no sense. When he had first seen Athena Munroe, when he had looked into her bright hazel eyes, he felt for an instant that he'd found the source of the voice. The voice, the call from the north, the one he had ignored and dismissed that last night in Colorado Springs.
The feeling persisted even when he realized the folly of such thoughts. It certainly was not her beauty that held him rooted to the spot, staring like a boy with his first woman.
Athena Munroe's face was pleasant and even of feature, with slightly full lips and high cheekbones. Her skin was clear, her jaw stubbornly firm. Her hair was an unremarkable brown. What figure he could see was slender. But her eyes…
Her eyes held unexpected depths. They shifted in color with every small motion, from brown to green and back again. They gazed at Morgan with a perplexing combination of vulnerability and defiance, and he had sensed that she was afraid—not of him, but of his pity.
She was a cripple. He could not imagine a fate more awful than to be trapped as she was, unable to run. That was the other, unlooked-for qu
ality he'd seen in her eyes—the abiding sadness of permanent, devastating loss.
Loss he understood. Pity came, and with it the kind of emotion he despised. He had provoked and taunted her, hoping to shatter his unwilling sympathy, to chase her away or incite some pompous remark that would bolster his dislike of her kind.
But she had answered him with spirit, even attempted an apology, and he felt the stirrings of reluctant admiration at her courage. He had remained by her side to help her when he should have walked away. That had been a mistake.
She was not like him. She was a lady—spoiled, protected, used to having her way—and now that he saw her among her own people, he knew that his sympathy had been misplaced.
"Wolves, Mr. Holt?" she asked lightly, not bothering to turn toward him. "I thought you had said that there were no wild beasts in your circus."
He wheeled her chair around. "No beasts, Miss Munroe—only men who act like them."
"Of course. I have already seen an example. Would you not prefer to return to your friends?"
She, like the cold, black-haired beauty among the parrots, was trying to dismiss him. He smiled, showing his teeth. "I am all you have at the moment, Miss Munroe."
"Perhaps we ought to come at another time," the black-haired woman said.
"No," Athena replied. "If Mr. Holt is willing to guide us, then let us go ahead, by all means." She nodded to Morgan. "If you please."
So she turned her disadvantage around and kept her dignity, putting him in his place again. No, she didn't need his pity. He planted himself behind the chair and pushed her in the direction of the big tent, pursued by the clacking beaks of Athena's parrots.
He was debating how best to shock the silly creatures into flight when Athena's brother strode up to join them. He tipped his hat to the ladies, who simpered in return, and smiled down at his sister.
"Well? Are you pleased, my dear? I did warn you that these people are not what you are accustomed to, but—"
"It is lovely, Niall. Thank you." She half turned her head, as if she were trying to catch a glimpse of Morgan's face. "Have you met Mr. Holt? I believe he… handles the animals."
Niall glanced at Morgan with indifference, and then focused with a hard stare. It was obvious that he had not noticed who pushed Athena's chair. Morgan's instincts came fully awake, as they did in the presence of an enemy.
"We have not met," Niall said. "Mr. Holt, I will escort the ladies."
"Mr. Holt was about to take us on a tour—" Athena began.
"Mr. French has arranged one for a more appropriate time," Niall said. His gaze remained fixed on Morgan. "All of you ladies will be welcome, of course."
The black-haired woman pressed close to Munroe. "I was just telling Athena how very generous it is of you to provide such grand entertainment for the children."
"I fear that I cannot take credit, Miss Hockensmith. This was entirely Athena's idea."
"Niall—" Athena began.
"Please do not deny it," Miss Hockensmith said, covering Athena's hand on the chair arm. "You do so much, my dear. We can but admire your dedication."
Morgan studied the woman. His immediate dislike for her was almost as intense as it was for Niall. She hung on Munroe as if she claimed him for her mate, but his scent revealed no trace of interest.
Athena gently withdrew her hand. "You are too kind, as always."
"Not at all. But surely you tire yourself, dear Athena. We should all go back, as your brother has advised."
Morgan tightened his grip on the chair handles, recognizing what he was seeing. Athena was the lead female of her pack, and Hockensmith coveted her place. Among wolves such competition could lead to injury, even death. But these creatures were more likely to squabble and peck than rend and tear. He watched Athena to see how she would respond.
But he was denied the chance to find out, for Harry and Caitlin reappeared, Tamar a few yards behind. Caitlin stopped several feet away from the society ladies. She looked at Niall Munroe, and he looked back. The scent of attraction was unmistakable.
Munroe and Caitlin? As likely a pairing as himself and Munroe's sister. But he was not the only one to have noticed that mutual stare. Miss Hockensmith's dark eyes were narrowly centered on Caitlin. She all but snarled.
Harry bustled up to Athena's chair, a trio of rolled posters in his hands. "Ah, Mr. Munroe, Miss Munroe… ladies! I had thought them all burned in the fire, but I have managed to salvage several of our papers. You may find them amusing." He handed one to Niall, one to Athena, and the third to Miss Hockensmith. "We would normally have many more printed in advance when we are to play in a town, but since this is a performance for your children, Miss Munroe, that will not be necessary."
Niall Munroe tucked his poster under his arm without unrolling it, and Miss Hockensmith did likewise. Athena glanced at it and smiled up at Harry.
"I'm sure the children will enjoy seeing this. Thank you, Mr. French."
He nodded and glanced at Morgan. "Ah, Morgan, my lad. Perhaps Mr. Munroe has told you that we plan a tour and rehearsal for Miss Munroe and her friends in a few days' time. We wish to be at our best, do we not?"
Morgan understood the hint, if not Harry's reason for giving it. He stepped away from Athena's chair. Unexpectedly, Athena pivoted to face him and smiled as she had at Harry.
He forgot whatever had been in his mind. Speech failed him.
"Thank you, Mr. Holt, for offering to escort us," she said, extending her hand. "We shall meet again."
He took her hand without conscious thought. It was small and warm in his, and her glove did not lessen the firmness of her grip. Why should a pampered rich girl be so strong?
"Would you like to see my little pet, Miss Munroe?" Tamar pushed between them, stretching one of her snakes toward Athena's face. The serpent probed the air, tongue flickering. Athena flinched and held very still.
"Tamar," Harry said, "I do not think that Miss Munroe—"
"Oh, do not worry. He is quite harmless." Tamar stroked the scaled head tenderly. "Harmless to my friends."
"Tamar." Morgan grabbed her arm. "Take it away and leave her alone."
She let herself be pulled aside. "Of course, my darling wolf." She smiled at Athena. "I am certain that we will become better acquainted. I have many other little companions eager to meet you."
Niall took a step toward Tamar, looked at Morgan, and clenched his jaw. "Mr. French, I trust that you will make sure that no dangerous animals are allowed to run loose on these grounds." At Harry's hasty reassurance, he assumed his position behind his sister's chair. "Come, Athena. I'll take you back to the carriage. Miss Hockensmith, ladies."
He tipped his hat with one final, telltale glance at Caitlin and set off at a rapid stride before Athena could speak again. Most of her adoring flock went with them, and Tamar stalked away toward the tents.
Miss Hockensmith lingered. She dismissed Morgan with a glance and subjected Caitlin to a long, slow examination.
"Are you one of the performers, dear?" she asked. "What a very daring costume. If you go into the city, I do hope you will wear something less… provocative."
Caitlin glanced down at her tights and skirt. "I—"
Morgan saw with astonishment that Caitlin's sharp tongue had gone as mute as his own. He turned on Miss Hockensmith. "Caitlin has a reason for what she wears. You dress like that"—he indicated the woman's elaborate gown with a jerk of his chin—"to make males sniff after you."
She stared at Morgan, her lips parted in utter shock. "How dare you."
"He dares… quite a bit," Caitlin said, finding her voice. "I would not annoy him."
No insult quite fitting enough came to Miss Hockensmith. "I… I see that Mr. Munroe has been taken in by… by… I shall have to tell him—"
Morgan growled. Not a small growl from deep in the throat, but the kind he would use on a lesser wolf who came too near a challenge. Miss Hockensmith paled and took several hasty steps back, almost tripping on her ridiculousl
y confining skirts. Without another word she spun around and hastened after the others.
Caitlin let out an explosive sigh. "That was not a good idea, Morgan."
"They are all alike, Firefly. Do not trust them."
"I don't think you follow your own advice."
"What?"
"I saw the way you looked at Athena Munroe."
For the second time in a handful of minutes she astounded him. "And how was that?"
"The way I've never seen you look at a woman before."
"You had better cut your hair, Firefly. It's getting in your eyes."
She shook her head. "You have a good poker face, Morgan, but you're a terrible liar. What was it about her? Her pretty voice? Her fine manners?" Caitlin's expression was uncommonly serious. "You have better taste than I thought. I liked her."
"And you never liked outsiders," he said harshly. "Until today."
"Niall Munroe is a gentleman. This is his doing, after all. He didn't have to be so generous."
"What is it about him, Firefly? His fine suit? The fancy way he talks? Most females would consider him handsome."
"The way his sister looked at you, she must think you're pretty handsome yourself."
The hair behind his ears bristled. "I am no gentleman."
"And I am no lady. Still—" She shrugged. "My feelings have been wrong before. Maybe they are this time."
He didn't ask her what particular "feelings" she referred to. If she chose to moon after the cold-blooded Niall Munroe, it was her privilege—so long as she did not expect others to have such feelings. Him least of all.
Caitlin yawned with exaggerated indifference. "Well, I am off to bed. It will be dawn soon. You should rest too—even wolves need sleep." She set off for her tent, and after a moment he headed for the one he shared with Ulysses.
The little man was lying on his cot, arms pillowing his head. He opened his eyes when Morgan walked in.
"Something is disturbing you," he observed. "I noted it when we met the Munroes."
"Everyone is interested in my feelings tonight," Morgan growled.
TO CATCH A WOLF Page 7
