She had known that Morgan would refuse her invitation to return with her. She had known that she risked nothing in asking him, that there was no question of breaking her bargain with Niall.
She could have told him all her reasons for declining his offer to take her with him. But when he had made his accusations, pride had left her mute. Let him believe such things of her. Let him go back to his wild life and freedom.
She did not let Niall see her weep.
Passage through the mountains was difficult because of the depth of the snow, and they stopped to change horses and stay overnight in a hotel in Golden. By the time they reached Denver on the evening of the second day, Athena had made herself numb to all feeling.
Cecily was at the house to greet them as if she had known exactly when they would arrive, and instructed Brinkley to see to their comfort with presumptuous confidence. Once they were settled in the sitting room, she fawned over Niall—elegantly, of course—and acknowledged Athena with a brief nod. She did not mention the ball, though it was only four days away.
Athena hadn’t the heart to ask. For the first time she saw something in the older woman she neither liked nor understood. She had assumed that Cecily was her friend and confidante, but Niall had said she’d warned him about Athena “taking on too much” some time before. How long had Cecily been talking behind her back? Did she see Athena as a hindrance to her social ambitions—the crippled sister who would only be in the way?
Athena had misjudged so many people. Could she have been so wrong about Cecily’s friendship? And if she had been wrong about that, how much else had she also misjudged? How would her society friends respond to her ability to walk again? Would they be happy for her? Would they welcome her as an active, mobile member of their elite circle?
She had always been safe in the assumption that she was one of them, regardless of her inability to shop or take luncheon at the Windsor or waltz at a dance. Not merely one of them, but a leader, an impeccable hostess able to persuade the wealthiest Denverites to attend her gatherings, join her charitable societies, and donate liberally to her causes.
She should have been eager to resume her work and her place as founder of one the grandest balls of the year. Yet all the things that had once seemed so important had become more duty than pleasure, responsibilities that must be seen to no matter how much she wished she could crawl into a cave and hibernate until the heartache had passed.
Morgan had become a part of her. It was more than love, more than any longing she had ever suffered. She could almost feel him across the miles, sense his anger and confusion and pain, as if their very emotions had merged into one. One heart, one being, one soul. A soul denied any hope of solace.
Niall’s raised voice drew her out of the pit into which she had fallen. He was still speaking to Cecily, and his expression told Athena that he had heard some news he did not like. He looked up and stared at her as if she were Morgan himself.
“Niall? What is it?”
He jerked his head aside and gave Cecily a terse command. She nodded, glanced at Athena with a too-blank expression, and left the room.
“I am returning to Long Park at once,” he said, as soon as they were alone. “You will remain here in Cecily’s care. I have asked her to make certain that you are confined to the house this time, and will instruct the servants accordingly. Remember that if you break your promise—”
“Returning?” She gripped the armrests of her chair so hard that her fingers ached. “Why? I have done what you asked—”
“You do not need to know my reasons. Do as Miss Hockensmith tells you—she has the wisdom and experience you so obviously lack—and I may explain when I come back to Denver.”
“No.” She tensed the muscles in her legs, preparing to face him on her feet. “That is not good enough, Niall. Your reasons may have bearing on our agreement, and that gives me the right to know.”