But over the past few months he had remembered what it was to have friends, to not be alone. He recognized a fellow outcast, no matter how different from him. And Athena did not know she was an outcast.
Every negative characteristic he had expected to find in Athena lay exposed in these women: arrogance, derision, the shallow desire for comfort and ease. Yet Athena was helping the unfortunate, whatever her motives, and these fine “ladies” mocked her efforts. If she was not one of them, what was she?
He got up and, remembering the steak, threw several coins onto the table. He did not go to find Ulysses. He walked past the officious man and out the door, across the lobby and into the afternoon sunshine. He had begun to see that it was pointless to question the impulse that drove him; it was instinct, to be obeyed as human reason could not.
Instinct had led him to the circus. It had given him friends when he had not wanted them. Now instinct pulled him back to the lot.
To Athena Munroe.
As undignified as it might seem, Athena could scarcely contain her excitement as Harry French welcomed her once more to French’s Fantastic Family Circus.
He had taken charge of her chair right at the carriage, chattering all the while as he took her across the lot and pointed out the various features of the circus: the midway, with its sideshow and concessions, the cookhouse, the tent and wagon quarters of the crew and roustabouts who made the circus possible—and, of course, the “big top,” bright and new. Every portion of the lot was filled with activity, as if the troupers expected a huge crowd of paying customers rather than an audience of orphans.
It was just as well that no other guests would be present at today’s rehearsal to witness Athena’s childish enthusiasm. Although she had invited her friends and fellow supporters of the orphanage, every one of them had offered some excuse or apology. Ordinarily Athena might have been troubled by so many refusals, but she was too flustered to dwell on them for long.
She had not intended to look for Morgan Holt. He had been undeniably rude during their one previous meeting; some might have said that he behaved in a positively unnerving manner, with his hard stares and utter lack of propriety. He, like the woman Tamar, had been the only circus trouper she had met who did not offer a genuine welcome.
But Athena had not been afraid—not of him. That was the strange part; if anything, she had sensed a need in him that spoke to her innermost heart.
What could such a man need, especially of her? He was neither an indigent, a drunkard, or an orphan. He seemed to resent the very idea that he or his friends might require the assistance of a patron, no matter how well-intentioned or what the cause. He had gone out of his way to show himself immune to human frailties.
Yes, that was it—he had needed to prove something. But why to her? Morgan Holt could not know very much about her, except by hearsay.
She recalled everything about him, in perfect detail: his eyes, the thick mane of black hair, the lean muscle and natural grace with which he moved. The warmth of his strong, bare hand, hot enough to set her gloves afire. The way he had stayed with her and pushed her chair, as if they had known each other for years rather than minutes.
And the way in which he had defended her against the snake charmer. Tamar was one of his own kind, yet he had warned her away with grim resolve. For just that moment, he had seemed as gallant as any gentleman protecting his lady.
What had put that thought into her head? She was not his lady. The mere notion was ridiculous.
She and Morgan Holt had nothing in common. Yet in spite of the huge differences that separated her from the circus folk, she liked Caitlin, Ulysses, and Harry French. Yes, she liked them very much.
“Here we are,” Harry said, pausing at the entrance to the big top. It was the size of a very large doorway, wide enough to admit several people abreast. “This is what we call the front door, Miss Athena. The performers usually come in the back door—that is the entrance from the backyard, where our troupers prepare for their acts.”