“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.
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.”
Chapter 5
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 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.