She did not allow him to see her flinch. Who in heaven’s name did he think he was? He did not know her, or anything about her. She held on to her temper, bewildered by her growing anger. She had almost forgotten what real anger was. It distressed her far more than anything Morgan Holt had said.
“I can see that my activities would not interest you,” she murmured. “I do not tame dangerous beasts, merely persuade reluctant ones.”
“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.”