Authors: Colleen Quinn
His smile grew thin as he thought of Rosemary’s reaction. He’d have a fight on his hands, but it wouldn’t be the first time. And he had the power of his convictions behind him. This time he was going to be boss, whether Rosemary Carney liked it or not.
The pain was explosive. Rosemary fought consciousness, sensing the sharp agony that waited for her like a thousand jabbing needles in her brain. Forcing her eyes open, she saw that everyone was in her tent and realized that she hurt like hell.
Frightened, her mind struggled to remember what had happened. She was on her horse, had done most of her act, and was about to complete her backflip when Shamrock stumbled. Good Lord, she’d fallen! The implication of that struck her fully, and she shivered in fear.
Many men had become seriously injured or paralyzed from a bad fall. She’d seen their twisted bodies as they abdicated their role as the star, to become ticket collectors and peanut salesmen. Her heart always went out to them as she realized what they’d lost, but in her youth she never equated such a possibility to herself.
Frantically she moved one leg, and then the other. Thank God, everything seemed all right. There was a tingling in her limbs that was reassuring, and her fingers and hands moved without effort. She blinked against the dim light.
The murmurs of the clowns and crew ceased, and they stared at her in surprise. Feeling abashed and somewhat foolish, she glanced from one face to the next. Biddle and the clowns broke into broad smiles, then rushed to her exuberantly.
“My God, Rose, you had us scared! Came right down off that horse!”
“It was the backflip, wasn’t it? A rare shame, lass, you had them in the palm of your hand.”
“Does it hurt anywhere?”
Rosemary nodded as Biddle leaned over her, sharing concern with Griggs. “My head is killing me, but other than that—” Suddenly a look of panic crossed her face. “The baby! Is it all right, did I—”
“Our child appears to be fine,” Michael answered her sternly. Startled, Rosemary glanced up, surprised to see him standing directly beside the cot. He appeared calm and in control, but something about his face made her cautious, though he continued in the same businesslike tones. “Now, if you will all clear out, I think Rosemary and I need to talk.”
The clowns stood their ground, uncertain that they wanted to heed any of his wishes. Biddle nodded, then gently urged them all out, including Clara, who screeched indignantly.
Rosemary slid beneath the covers, wishing she had one of Clara’s incantations that would make her disappear. Her head throbbed painfully, and she fought the urge to sleep. Attempting a smile, she tried to quickly explain.
“Look, I know what you are going to say—”
“You don’t have the faintest idea of what I’m thinking,” Michael said firmly. “Rosemary, it’s time we came to an understanding.”
Rosemary was instantly wary. She knew he’d be angry, but she didn’t like the decisive look in his eyes. It was just like the time he’d decided to be manager. “Michael, my head really hurts. Do we have to—”
“Yes. I’ve done a lot of thinking while you were unconscious, and I realize that I’ve been to blame for a lot of this. The way I treated you, my lack of concern about the child, my anger over the wedding. I didn’t like being forced into a position that was not of my own choosing, so I took my anger out on you. Do you understand?”
That part she had very little difficulty relating to—she’d felt the exact same way about the wedding, and they didn’t even use guns on her. She nodded.
“Good. In any case, I have come to several conclusions. You cannot go on living here in your present condition. You deserve better than that and so does the child. Your work load is too hard and your responsibilities are unceasing. There is but one solution.”
The pain throbbed in her head, and she stared at him in sick confusion. “And what’s that?”
“You’re coming home with me.” He spoke quietly, forbidding any defiance, as if the matter was a foregone conclusion.
Rosemary burst into startled laughter as though it was the best joke she’d heard in ages. “Ouch,” she said ruefully as the pain came back to haunt her, and she was forced to hold her head.
“Fortunately, you are in no position to argue,” Michael continued calmly, as if she hadn’t laughed in his face. “I’ve already sent for your ticket. We will be leaving in the morning.”
When she saw that he wasn’t smiling, incredulity filled her. He was serious! He actually thought he could just command her to leave and she would obediently follow him like a puppy that he couldn’t decide if he wanted or not. Michael Wharton hadn’t learned much in the past few months, she thought ruefully. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going anywhere with you,” Rosemary said sweetly. “After all, you’ve made it very clear that you don’t love me, you don’t want this child, you don’t even want me. Just because I took a fall, it doesn’t change anything.”
“Rosemary"—Michael struggled to maintain his patience—"I know I deserve your scorn. I’m sorry for the way I acted. But we can’t let personal differences matter now—there’s more at stake.” A glimmer of a smile came to his lips, and he stared her down, his beautiful gray eyes shining with a secret mirth. “As your new husband, I believe what I say goes. The decision has been made, and that’s the end of it.”
“It is not!” Rosemary couldn’t believe the nerve of this man. “This isn’t the caveman days, when you could drag a woman off whenever you feel like it! And you are not my husband! Didn’t you say you were going to get a lawyer and—”
“Get an annulment?” he supplied helpfully. “I haven’t done it yet, so technically, just as your friends intended, you are my wife. Legally wedded. You aren’t thinking of starting off our marriage by disobeying me, are you?”
He’d lost his mind. Surely, that was the only explanation. She returned his stare and even with her throbbing head managed to think quite clearly. “Michael, I don’t want to go. What will you do with me when we get there? I know you don’t intend staying married, so where does that leave me and the child?”
That seemed to shake his composure a little, but not as much as she’d hoped. “Why don’t we just wait and see how things work out? Back home, I can see that you get enough rest. The best doctors. A nice room and plenty of food. Once the child is safely born, if you still want to leave, we can discuss that.” His smile disappeared, and he looked at her with something in his eyes that confused her completely. “Rose, I just want to help you. I…you’ve come to mean something to me, and I can’t just leave you like this. Not after today.”
It was the child. Rosemary turned her head, fighting the tears that threatened. She wouldn’t let him see her cry, not now, not ever.
He wasn’t concerned with her—only his own offspring, the continuation of the Wharton line, his own progeny. He didn’t want to risk harm coming to his child, and as for her…she was merely the receptacle for his baby, which, by necessity, had to be taken care of.
That hurt worse than anything he’d done to her in the past. Gathering up all her Carney strength, she met his gaze once more, assaulting him visually.
“Thank you, anyway, but I’d much rather have my child here, with my family. And after all, I’m sure you’d never live down the disgrace of having a clown bear your child at your Philadelphia estate.” She smiled grimly. “I’ll spare us both that embarrassment. You are free, just as you wanted. You should be relieved.”
He looked as if she’d struck him. When he spoke, his voice was strained, as if he was exerting all the control he possessed. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no other choice. There will be no Carney’s Circus if you disobey me. And if I have to spell it out for you, I will.” He leaned closer, his voice deceptively calm. “If you don’t leave with me, willingly and agreeably, I’ll close it down, call in my debt, and you’re out of business. In either case, I don’t have to worry about you doing any more backflips. Which way do you prefer?”
She gasped, the breath leaving her lungs. She forgot the pain as she sat up, forcibly reminded as her head stabbed unmercifully, but this was too important. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, knowing his answer even before he gave it.
“I absolutely would,” he stated simply. “You’re coming with me to Philadelphia, and you might as well get used to the idea.”
“C
OME ON
, R
OSE
, one more walk around the grounds.”
The man was a slave driver. Rosemary glowered at him as he hoisted her toward the tent flap. She dug in her heels like a recalcitrant five-year-old and protested indignantly.
“But my head hurts! I can’t believe the doctor meant this!”
“The doctor said you had to stay awake for the next few hours to avoid concussion,” Michael reminded her. “We’re leaving shortly, and I want to make sure you’re all right.”
Rosemary glared at him. It wasn’t like Michael to be so…caring, for God’s sake! She reminded herself that it was the child’s welfare that concerned him and not her own, but still his behavior rankled.
Clara cackled, placing their trunks beside Michael’s. “We’d best make haste, dearie. I don’t want you getting some third-rate seat on that heathen train because we’re late.” She eyed Michael like a hawk contemplating her prey. “You did get good tickets, did you not?”
“Yes,” Michael grumbled. This was a complication he hadn’t foreseen. But when Clara insisted upon coming with Rosemary, he realized that the gypsy’s presence might make Rosemary feel more at home, and he just couldn’t deny her. But the thought of being sequestered with Clara, who obviously couldn’t stand him, was not a pretty one.
Rosemary sighed. Between these two incongruous allies, she was outmaneuvered. Fighting the pounding headache, she forced her feet to move forward, all the while muttering to herself and giving him less than grateful looks.
The troupe and the miners were all waiting near the rented coach. All of them looked horribly hung over, for between celebrating their wedding and the subsequent relief at Rosemary’s recovery, a generous quantity of whiskey and ale had disappeared from the coffers. For once, Michael couldn’t blame them and felt more than a twinge of sympathy as they waited to say goodbye to Carney.
Rosemary stumbled forth, her head pounding, her smile askew. But when she saw them all waiting there, Zachery and Biddle, Griggs and Leonardo, William and Jake, Rags and the rest, something inside of her broke. It was Biddle who grabbed her and folded her into his arms, his voice losing its brisk resonance.
“We’ll miss you, Rosie. But something tells me this is right, this is what you need. I think he will do well by you, much better than we ever did.”
Rosemary choked, fighting the tightening in her throat. She gave Biddle a grin, wiping at the tears that threatened to spill forth.
“What are you talking about? There is no better than this.” She smiled through the haze of tears and hugged the ringmaster. “God, how I’ll miss you.”
Rags snorted and whipped out a huge clown handkerchief to wipe his nose. Then all of them claimed her for a hug and a kiss, each one conveying in their own way what she’d always known—that they loved her back.
“Ah, Carney. You be a good girl in the big city.”
“You’ll come back soon, won’t you? And write us letters. I always wanted to get real mail.”
“Of course she’ll come back—she’s a Carney, for Christ’s sake. Don’t worry, Rose—we’ll take care of everything.”
Even the miners looked emotional, and Black Jack spat to hide the way he felt while the others hugged her exuberantly.
“Don’t forget us, Rose. And if you’re ever in trouble, you send for us.”
The pain in her head was nothing compared to that in her heart. She tried to smile bravely, but she felt as if she were being torn in two. How could she leave them all? This was her life….
“Come, Rose, the carriage is waiting.”
Leaving their embrace was like the time her father died. She never felt so empty and alone, yet she had no other choice. She couldn’t let Michael close them down, and she had no doubt that he would do as he’d threatened. She refused to look back as Clara, understanding her dilemma, shooed the clowns, then helped Rose into the coach. One by one the performers and crew turned away, each of them chiding the other for the tears in his eyes, but all of them were in silent agreement.
Carney’s would never be the same without Rosemary.
“Why don’t you move out of me way? I have all me bags, you know, and they won’t fit in that little stowaway.”
Michael glared at Clara as the old gypsy fortune-teller jostled him inside the train compartment. She brought in bag after bag, all of them bulging with decks of cards, crystal balls, and the other tools of her trade. She flopped down in the center of the seat, placing her bags on either side of her, cackling in her contentment.
Rosemary took the seat near the window, looking pale, beautiful, and disconsolate. Michael’s heart went out to her as she sniffled quietly, valiantly fighting the tears that he knew were just below the surface. She tried so hard to be tough, to act like one of the boys, and the restraint was telling.
“Rose, I know you must be really upset. You can cry if you want to—here’s my handkerchief.” He handed her the square piece of immaculate linen while Clara balked.