She had run to Denver to demand the truth of Niall, and all the while she had been running away from the truth of her heart. The truth she was still afraid to feel. Because of her weakness Niall lay sprawled on the polished floor, waiting for a mortal blow. As Morgan waited to give it.
Morgan had followed her. She should have known he would. She should have known he’d endanger himself to protect her from her brother… and take his revenge.
He had looked at Athena but once since she had entered the room—met her gaze like a stranger, as emotionless as she. The man she had loved was gone, replaced by a coldblooded killer. And only she could stop him.
She, and Caitlin. The equestrienne knelt beside Niall at the same instant Athena placed herself between Morgan and her brother.
“You cannot hurt him, Morgan,” Athena said. “You know you can’t.”
The stranger’s merciless eyes hardly touched upon hers. “He will destroy you, as he destroyed your mother.”
“He did not kill my mother,” she said. “He drove her away, but he says he didn’t kill her. I believe him.”
Though she had not lifted her voice, Morgan flinched as if she had struck him. The frightening, alien mask dropped away, replaced by naked pain. Pain that cut through her own detachment and left her raw and defenseless.
“You believe him,” Morgan said. He looked down at Niall and took a step back, his muscles loosening from their posture of threat. “You still trust him.”
“Yes, Athena. You must trust me.” Niall got to his knees, his attention on Morgan. “I know the truth about this man. He is a convict and a murderer.” He raised his voice to reach the farthest corners of the ballroom. “Morgan Holt killed his own father.”
A collective gasp rose from the onlookers. Several women appeared on the verge of swooning, and no few of the men looked about for possible weapons. Athena ignored them all. Morgan’s anguished eyes had become her world.
“It is true,” he said, speaking only to her. “I killed my father. I served nine years in prison. And I would have murdered your brother to protect you.” He held up his hands and turned them palm up, flexing his fingers into fists. “Maybe he speaks the truth. I am a killer at heart. You were right to leave me.”
Like a dam bursting under the weight of a raging spring flood, her heart gave way. Everything she had been holding inside, every doubt, every unbearable image was dislodged by the deluge until she was scoured clean and bright and new.
“No,” she said. “I was wrong. I said I would listen, and trust you, but I was deceiving myself.” She glanced at Niall with profound sorrow. “I came after my brother because I couldn’t face the one who mattered most. Niall was an enemy I could conquer. My feelings for you were not. I was afraid that Niall was right, and that I had loved a murderer. I would rather have lost you forever than find such a crippling flaw within myself.”
Morgan shook his head. “The only flaw is in me.”
Athena held out her hand. Morgan gazed at it, unmoving. She kept her hand in place, fingers extended, offering him the forgiveness he refused to permit himself.
“I will tell you what I believe,” she said. “I believe that whatever crime you committed was done only because you had no other choice. I believe that you paid in full for your mistakes. I believe that there is great good in you, Morgan Holt, and someone must make you see it.”
“You’re the only one who can,” Caitlin said, restraining Niall with a hand on his shoulder. She gave him an apologetic glance and lifted her voice to address the crowd. “Morgan has had two chances to kill Mr. Munroe, and he could easily have escaped. But it was Niall who left Morgan for dead in the mountains. Morgan chose to feign death rather than be forced to kill his enemy.”
“As he was forced to kill his father.”
Athena turned toward the cultured tenor voice, recognizing it at once. Very little had the power to shock her now, and all she felt was gratitude and heartfelt joy as Ulysses Marcus Aurelius Wakefield and Harry French walked into the ballroom.