TO CATCH A WOLF By Susan Krinard

Athena Munroe’s face was pleasant and even of feature, with slightly full lips and high cheekbones. Her skin was clear, her jaw stubbornly firm. Her hair was an unremarkable brown. What figure he could see was slender. But her eyes…

Her eyes held unexpected depths. They shifted in color with every small motion, from brown to green and back again. They gazed at Morgan with a perplexing combination of vulnerability and defiance, and he had sensed that she was afraid—not of him, but of his pity.

She was a cripple. He could not imagine a fate more awful than to be trapped as she was, unable to run. That was the other, unlooked-for quality he’d seen in her eyes—the abiding sadness of permanent, devastating loss.

Loss he understood. Pity came, and with it the kind of emotion he despised. He had provoked and taunted her, hoping to shatter his unwilling sympathy, to chase her away or incite some pompous remark that would bolster his dislike of her kind.

But she had answered him with spirit, even attempted an apology, and he felt the stirrings of reluctant admiration at her courage. He had remained by her side to help her when he should have walked away. That had been a mistake.

She was not like him. She was a lady—spoiled, protected, used to having her way—and now that he saw her among her own people, he knew that his sympathy had been misplaced.

“Wolves, Mr. Holt?” she asked lightly, not bothering to turn toward him. “I thought you had said that there were no wild beasts in your circus.”

He wheeled her chair around. “No beasts, Miss Munroe—only men who act like them.”

“Of course. I have already seen an example. Would you not prefer to return to your friends?”

She, like the cold, black-haired beauty among the parrots, was trying to dismiss him. He smiled, showing his teeth. “I am all you have at the moment, Miss Munroe.”

“Perhaps we ought to come at another time,” the black-haired woman said.

“No,” Athena replied. “If Mr. Holt is willing to guide us, then let us go ahead, by all means.” She nodded to Morgan. “If you please.”

So she turned her disadvantage around and kept her dignity, putting him in his place again. No, she didn’t need his pity. He planted himself behind the chair and pushed her in the direction of the big tent, pursued by the clacking beaks of Athena’s parrots.

He was debating how best to shock the silly creatures into flight when Athena’s brother strode up to join them. He tipped his hat to the ladies, who simpered in return, and smiled down at his sister.

“Well? Are you pleased, my dear? I did warn you that these people are not what you are accustomed to, but—”

“It is lovely, Niall. Thank you.” She half turned her head, as if she were trying to catch a glimpse of Morgan’s face. “Have you met Mr. Holt? I believe he… handles the animals.”

Niall glanced at Morgan with indifference, and then focused with a hard stare. It was obvious that he had not noticed who pushed Athena’s chair. Morgan’s instincts came fully awake, as they did in the presence of an enemy.

“We have not met,” Niall said. “Mr. Holt, I will escort the ladies.”

“Mr. Holt was about to take us on a tour—” Athena began.

“Mr. French has arranged one for a more appropriate time,” Niall said. His gaze remained fixed on Morgan. “All of you ladies will be welcome, of course.”

The black-haired woman pressed close to Munroe. “I was just telling Athena how very generous it is of you to provide such grand entertainment for the children.”

“I fear that I cannot take credit, Miss Hockensmith. This was entirely Athena’s idea.”

“Niall—” Athena began.

“Please do not deny it,” Miss Hockensmith said, covering Athena’s hand on the chair arm. “You do so much, my dear. We can but admire your dedication.”

Morgan studied the woman. His immediate dislike for her was almost as intense as it was for Niall. She hung on Munroe as if she claimed him for her mate, but his scent revealed no trace of interest.

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