Ulysses rose on his elbows. "It is only that you so seldom reveal your inner thoughts, and it is rare that I am able to observe them."
"I should be honored that you find them entertaining."
"Nothing of the sort." Ulysses swung his short legs over the edge of the cot. "I am naturally concerned about the well-being of my fellow performers, especially when one of them has sacrificed much to remain among us."
Morgan poured water from a pitcher and drank several glasses in succession. "There is nothing wrong with me. I have no interest in this Athena Munroe."
"Ah."
"Sometimes, Wakefield, your brains get in the way of your sense."
"Perhaps. But your own objectivity is frequently in question, my friend."
"When have you seen me with a woman?"
"Never. But you are not like other men—except, I venture, in one essential manner. Neither man nor wolf is without certain instincts for the preservation of his kind."
"Including you?"
"It would be most inadvisable for me to father children," Ulysses said gravely. "But you have a gift worth preserving."
"I have met Miss Munroe once, and already you and Caitlin have decided that I want her." He laughed. "As if she would have me, crippled though she is. I am not human. Worry about Caitlin, not me."
Ulysses was silent for a time. "I feel that it is incumbent upon me to warn you that you talk in your sleep."
Morgan turned sharply to face him. "What?"
"You have spoken of things… deeply painful. I know you would not wish to share them with outsiders, but I am your friend, Morgan. I will listen, should you—"
"What did I say?"
Ulysses held his gaze without fear. "You spoke of your father. And of prison bars."
Morgan slammed his glass on the sawhorse that served as a table. "I am a convict. Does that change your friendship, Professor?"
"No. It only convinces me that you must speak of these things to someone if you are to put them behind you."
"As you've put your past behind you?" Morgan laughed. "I—"
The tent flap opened and Tamar eased inside. She glanced at Ulysses and ignored him, making straight for Morgan.
"I waited for you," she said.
Morgan eyed her coldly. "I was not aware we planned to meet."
"But you do not wish to spend this night alone."
"You make yourself foolish, Tamar," Ulysses said, the words clipped like a Yankee's.
"I do not care for your opinion, little man."
"Morgan wants no part of you."
"Oh, does the mannequin speak for you now, my wolf?"
She sat on the cot beside Morgan and breathed in his ear. "Is he your master? Or are you in love already with the little girl in the chair?"
Morgan stiffened. "If you want tender sentiments, look somewhere else."
"Ah, but I find love as tedious as you do. We have much in common, you and I. We share only what we wish to share, no more." Her long tongue curled about his earlobe. "Come. Come away, and let me show you."
Morgan's body had begun to throb in a way he had ignored one too many times. This was pain he didn't have to endure, especially when the cure was so free of consequences. He and Tamar could use each other without illusions or expectations.
Ulysses and Caitlin thought he was attracted to Athena Munroe. There was one way of making them see how wrong they were—and purging his own senses of Athena's unsettling effect.
He got up, pulling Tamar with him. "Very well," he said. "We'll give each other what we want. But don't expect a lover. I am in no mood for gentleness."
The pupils of her eyes were large with desire and excitement. "I do not want it." She darted forward and kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. He responded with equal violence, despising himself. As she led him from the tent, she cast a final, triumphant glance at Ulysses.
Morgan did not look back.
Chapter 6
The streets of Denver's business district were everything Morgan hated. He stalked up Sixteenth Street, keeping his eyes fixed on his course, head down against the occasional stares and doing his best to ignore the cacophonous noise and overripe smells of horses, dung, spoiled food, smoke, unwashed human flesh, and the scent of many humans crowded together.
He would rather not have come here at all. The Munroes' boundless generosity had provided the circus's principal performers with lodgings at Denver's finest hotel, the Windsor. Morgan might have been included among those so favored, but he would sooner hang than stay in the city. Visiting it was bad enough.
So he remained on the lot with the roustabouts, crew, and lesser performers, watching the circus come to life again. At the end of the first few days in Denver, French's Fantastic Family Circus was back in trim, busy with practice and preparation for the orphans' performance to be held at the end of the week. Everyone had enough to eat, and new costumes were being constructed by the seamstress to replace those that had worn out or burned in the fire.
Harry supervised the improvements and restorations with even more joviality than before. Caitlin had groomed her horses to a satin sheen of renewed health, Florizel and his cohorts were perfecting a new clown act of which he was inordinately proud, and the jugglers, aerialists, acrobats, and dog trainers went about their tasks with cheerful absorption. Hope wafted in the air like a seductive perfume.
Morgan kept to himself. He did not visit Tamar again. His one night with her had been more than enough to purge him of any desire to share her bed a second time. She was easy to put from his thoughts.
The same could not be said of Athena Munroe. They hadn't met again, yet her eyes and her scent came back to him both waking and sleeping. There was no reason in it, and no sense. On the day that Miss Munroe and her society friends were to have their promised tour of the circus, he made an immediate decision to visit Ulysses at the Windsor and remain there. The only way to rid his thoughts of Athena Munroe was to avoid her as much as possible until the troupe left Denver.
It could not be soon enough for him. He walked in the street just off the plank sidewalks, preferring the feel of gravel to dead wood, and constant clouds of dust to human contact. He wore shoes, so as not to attract too much attention—that was one of his few concessions to civilization. And he would not embarrass Ulysses.
He slipped between carriages, drays, and wagons bearing every kind of freight. Water tank wagons sprayed the dirt in a vain effort to keep down the dust, and dirty water ran down the ditches on either side of the street. Fetid odors from the river and smelters hung in the still air. Bands of idle boys stood about and mocked passersby, though they left Morgan strictly alone.
He winced at the continual din of sawing and hammering as new construction went up throughout the district.
The tall brick and iron buildings on either side of the street seemed to draw inward a little more with each step he took, as if they intended to crush him. He passed numerous Chinese laundries squeezed between saloons and mercantiles, the Mint with its disintegrating bricks, and the vast Tabor block at the corner of Larimer.
The Windsor Hotel rose a full five stories at the busy intersection of Eighteenth and Larimer, ponderous in heavy gray stone. Morgan stared up at it, all the hairs on his body standing at attention. Men and women, most well-dressed and prosperous, went blithely in and out the door as if the sheer weight of the construction might not topple over upon them at any moment.
"Are you drunk?" someone shouted. "Get out of the way!"
He sprang to the side just as a heavily laden wagon bore down on the place he had been standing. His ears ached with the noise. He could run away from it—either back to the lot or into the hotel.
He stepped up onto the sidewalk and braved the doors. A pair of befrilled matrons, busy with their conversation, bumped into him coming out. They paused to gawk at him and then hurried on their way.
The lobby opened up around him, a glittering cavern of gilded ornamentation, wrought iron, and p
olished brass. Chairs and sofas with velvet cushions were arranged in groupings with potted plants. Laughter and conversation echoed. Morgan caught the smell of freshly cooked food from another entrance, which he guessed must lead to the Windsor's dining room.
He kept close to the edge of the vast space and worked his way to the desk where young male clerks waited on guests with their bags and bundles. Morgan stood to the side while the nearest clerk finished with the elderly couple at the desk, summoned a uniformed bellboy, and noticed Morgan.
"May I help you?" he asked, assessing Morgan with a practiced eye.
"Ulysses Wakefield," Morgan said. "His room."
The clerk consulted a ledger and nodded. "Yes, he is a guest with us. Mr. Wakefield is expecting you?"
"Tell me where he is, and I'll find him."
"I will send a boy to let him know you are here, Mr.—"
"Holt."
"Very good, Mr. Holt." He rang a bell. "Just a moment."
Morgan leaned against the counter, his ears pricking at every sound. Drifts of choking perfume streamed after fashionably gowned women like invisible trains. The artificial fragrances that human females used so freely almost succeeded in covering up their natural scents. Yet one such scent came to him, newly familiar, and he surveyed the room to find its source.
He picked her out from among yet another cluster of prattling females—one of the parrots who had come after Athena Munroe to see the circus. He quickly identified two more of the remaining three ladies as among those who had been with Athena on the lot. Only the black-haired one was missing.
Morgan stepped away from the registration desk to get a closer look. Athena was not among the women, but he heard the name "Munroe" rise above the general conversation.
"Sir?"
Ignoring the clerk's query, Morgan made a sudden decision and started after Athena's friends. No one noted his passage. He followed the women as far as the entrance to the dining room, where an officious-looking man directed them to a large table nearby. Morgan paused to study the room.
It was a much fancier place than any hash house or saloon Morgan had been in before his imprisonment, and there were many women as well as men eating and drinking at the white-linened tables. They sipped their wine and ate their steaks without a care in the world.
The attendant gave Morgan a dubious look, as if he would have liked to direct Morgan to some less high-toned establishment. "Luncheon for one, sir?"
A small, unoccupied table stood fairly close to the ladies'. "Bring a steak to that table," he said. "Rare. And plain water." He showed his teeth. "Don't worry. I can pay for it."
The man opened and closed his mouth. "Very good, sir."
Morgan didn't wait to be shown to his place. He sat down on the upholstered chair, sifting through the interwoven conversations.
"Oh, but really, dear, you did not miss much. We were invited to view a rehearsal today, but I declined."
"And I. Once was quite enough."
The two voices belonged to Athena's friends. Morgan cocked his head without turning it.
"Was this Athena's idea?" a third woman asked.
"So her brother says. And isn't it just like her, bringing an entire circus to Denver for her orphans?"
"Really—it is too ridiculous. She cannot resist trying to surpass what anyone else does, and make herself look like a saint—Oh, I do apologize. I speak too freely."
"You know you are among friends here. And we all agree that Athena—well, how can we help but pity her? How can we but humor her projects, no matter how inconvenient?"
"You can say that, Marie, but you have not been called upon five times in the past month for some new scheme or other. I have had to miss a luncheon and two receptions because of her. And having to look at her, in that chair—"
"Poor thing. She will never be married."
"But she will never be one of us—how can she? If she hadn't been gallivanting about like a street urchin when she was younger, instead of learning proper behavior and decorum like the rest of us, she would not have been crippled. But her father spoiled her and let her run wild. Now she has nothing to do but make herself superior to everyone else."
"That is true, Suzanne. Those expensive French gowns are wasted on her. How can she display them properly when she cannot stand, let alone dance? And she is so good. I feel a positive ogre in her presence."
"She must try even harder to be perfect when she has such a very great… defect."
One of the women lowered her voice to a whisper. "Let us not forget the rumor that her mother…"
"Millicent! Remember where you are."
"Let us also not forget that her brother is a very important and eligible man in our city," said the first woman in a droll voice. "It would not be wise to snub his sister." She paused to sip at her drink. "We must face facts, my dears. Athena is our charity case, and we must accept that burden."
There was a murmur of agreement, and the discussion turned to the menu. Morgan stared at his hands, clenched on the table.
So these were Athena's friends. These were the ones who had seemed so deferential and filled with praise when they were with her, the companions Athena looked upon with obvious trust. They spoke of her as if she were an object of disdain, not admiration.
Morgan tried, and failed, to understand his seething emotions. Athena Munroe was not even present, and yet she created a storm in his belly and heart that would not let him rest. The pity he had felt the first time he saw her returned, triple what it had been before.
Why? Why should one brief meeting have done this to him? What power did she hold, she who lacked even the honest respect of her own packmates? All he knew of Athena was what he had observed and what her critics had said of her—and what he knew of people like her. This was not his world, nor these his kind. What they did among themselves was meaningless to him.
But over the past few months he had remembered what it was to have friends, to not be alone. He recognized a fellow outcast, no matter how different from him. And Athena did not know she was an outcast.
Every negative characteristic he had expected to find in Athena lay exposed in these women: arrogance, derision, the shallow desire for comfort and ease. Yet Athena was helping the unfortunate, whatever her motives, and these fine "ladies" mocked her efforts. If she was not one of them, what was she?
He got up and, remembering the steak, threw several coins onto the table. He did not go to find Ulysses. He walked past the officious man and out the door, across the lobby and into the afternoon sunshine. He had begun to see that it was pointless to question the impulse that drove him; it was instinct, to be obeyed as human reason could not.
Instinct had led him to the circus. It had given him friends when he had not wanted them. Now instinct pulled him back to the lot.
To Athena Munroe.
As undignified as it might seem, Athena could scarcely contain her excitement as Harry French welcomed her once more to French's Fantastic Family Circus.
He had taken charge of her chair right at the carriage, chattering all the while as he took her across the lot and pointed out the various features of the circus: the midway, with its sideshow and concessions, the cookhouse, the tent and wagon quarters of the crew and roustabouts who made the circus possible—and, of course, the "big top," bright and new. Every portion of the lot was filled with activity, as if the troupers expected a huge crowd of paying customers rather than an audience of orphans.
It was just as well that no other guests would be present at today's rehearsal to witness Athena's childish enthusiasm. Although she had invited her friends and fellow supporters of the orphanage, every one of them had offered some excuse or apology. Ordinarily Athena might have been troubled by so many refusals, but she was too flustered to dwell on them for long.
She had not intended to look for Morgan Holt. He had been undeniably rude during their one previous meeting; some might have said that he behaved in a positively unnerving manner, with his hard s
tares and utter lack of propriety. He, like the woman Tamar, had been the only circus trouper she had met who did not offer a genuine welcome.
But Athena had not been afraid—not of him. That was the strange part; if anything, she had sensed a need in him that spoke to her innermost heart.
What could such a man need, especially of her? He was neither an indigent, a drunkard, or an orphan. He seemed to resent the very idea that he or his friends might require the assistance of a patron, no matter how well-intentioned or what the cause. He had gone out of his way to show himself immune to human frailties.
Yes, that was it—he had needed to prove something. But why to her? Morgan Holt could not know very much about her, except by hearsay.
She recalled everything about him, in perfect detail: his eyes, the thick mane of black hair, the lean muscle and natural grace with which he moved. The warmth of his strong, bare hand, hot enough to set her gloves afire. The way he had stayed with her and pushed her chair, as if they had known each other for years rather than minutes.
And the way in which he had defended her against the snake charmer. Tamar was one of his own kind, yet he had warned her away with grim resolve. For just that moment, he had seemed as gallant as any gentleman protecting his lady.
What had put that thought into her head? She was not his lady. The mere notion was ridiculous.
She and Morgan Holt had nothing in common. Yet in spite of the huge differences that separated her from the circus folk, she liked Caitlin, Ulysses, and Harry French. Yes, she liked them very much.
"Here we are," Harry said, pausing at the entrance to the big top. It was the size of a very large doorway, wide enough to admit several people abreast. "This is what we call the front door, Miss Athena. The performers usually come in the back door—that is the entrance from the backyard, where our troupers prepare for their acts."
Athena smiled up at him. "All these interesting terms. I believe you could hold entire conversations amongst yourselves, and no one outside the circus would understand a word!"
Harry chuckled. "That is the idea." He drew himself up in sham pomposity. "You are greatly favored, my lady, to be privy to our secret language."
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