Defiant Rose (8 page)

“What’s wrong with him?” Rosemary peered at Michael and shuddered. He was laying prone on a cot in Zachery’s tent, still unconscious. His face was as white as death, and his eyes had rolled back inside his head. Sweat beaded his brow, and he was drenched with it, his shirt clinging to him and his trousers sticking to his legs.

“He fainted. Must have been the shock of it. Damned foolishness, putting a man like him in William’s act. He’s no performer, for Christ’s sake. Fetch a cold cloth, Rose.”

Rosemary wrung out a towel and placed it on Michael’s head. She had to admire his courage; most of the performers gave out long before he did. Her fingers softly brushed the hair that lay damply across his forehead. Ebony lashes fluttered against his pale skin, and his sharp features were softened, almost childlike in their innocence. This is all my fault, she anguished, knowing she could have stopped him if she’d really tried. What started as a joke and bit of revenge had turned into something more serious, and she felt terribly guilty.

“We should never have let him do this.”

She was speaking more to herself than anyone else. Zach looked at her sharply. “It’s a bit too late to be thinking about that now. Where’s that whiskey? Jesus, is he going to the still for it?”

The boy returned with the bottle, and Zach poured it down Michael’s throat with the same finesse that he treated the horses. Michael choked, then sputtered, but a flush of color returned to his face. He blinked several times, then slowly his eyes fluttered open, and he stared in bewilderment at the odd faces staring down at him.

“What happened?”

“Ye fainted, lad, just like my old Aunt Victoria and her vapors! Ye did a grand job, though. We’re all proud.”

Jake boomed heartily, then poured another draft down his throat. This time Michael drank on his own like a man dying of thirst, and some of the trembling left his limbs. Rosemary wrung out the cloth again and placed it on his head, smoothing the damp skin with her fingers. When he put the empty glass beside him, she rushed to get another. Lifting his head, she helped him to sip from the cup, not caring that the others glanced questioningly at her actions. His eyes met hers, and she blushed, looking quickly away. It was then she saw his cuts, and she nodded to Zach.

“Right behind his left ear. And there’s another, on his shoulder.”

Michael’s eyes closed as Zach bound up the cuts, and the whiskey did the rest. Slowly the tremors ceased racking his body, and sleep overcame him, normal and healthy this time. When Zach had finished, he placed another cloth on the man’s head, then ushered everyone out of the tent. Rosemary indicated that she wanted to stay. Shrugging, Zach nodded, closing the canvas flap behind him, leaving her alone with the banker.

What they had done was wrong, she couldn’t escape that. Rosemary shuddered with guilt as she observed his cuts, reminding herself that she’d tried to stop him but he just wouldn’t listen. And who would have thought he’d faint? She winced as she pictured Jake carrying him out to the heady applause of the crowd, and at the thought of his own reaction when he awoke. He wouldn’t easily forgive this one, of that she was certain.

Michael turned in his sleep and she smiled to herself. Ah, he was a fine-looking man, no doubt about that! And even if he was stubborn, high-handed, and priggish, he didn’t deserve this. The worst part about it was that he could have really been hurt. Then, she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself.

She touched him lightly. Michael Wharton, she thought, smiling sadly. I’ll wager you got more than you bargained for when you took on Carney’s. For your own sake, I hope you’re up to it.

Michael awoke with a throbbing headache. Whiskey still burned on his lips and tongue, and his elegant dinner suit was damp and full of wrinkles. Rising to a sitting position, he saw the cloth drop to the floor, and the events of the evening rushed back to him in a sea of pure rage.

They could have killed him. These circus fools, with their brass and balloons, sawdust and peanuts, had him strapped to a wheel with a blindman throwing real knives at him! Any one of those blades could have pierced a vital organ, for God’s sake. No wonder they couldn’t find anyone to do this job, or to stay, for that matter.

Fury boiled up in him as his thoughts settled blame on one red-haired wench. God, how she must be laughing at him now! He remembered her telling him about the position, knowing that he would rise to the bait like any half-starved flounder, then hook himself neatly. He remembered her in the tent last night, charitably putting cold cloths on his head and sweetly helping him to sip whiskey. Surely she expected him to leave now, tail between his legs, having learned his lesson in the most dramatic way possible.

He clenched his teeth, poured water into the basin, and splashed his face, rubbing as if to take the skin from his bones. She would pay for this, for frightening him, humiliating him in front of all those townspeople and performers. He cringed as he thought of himself dangling from the wheel, fainting like his grandmother. Heat rose in his face, and he combed his hair with a vengeance. God, when he got through with Rosemary Carney, she would rue the day she ever crossed him.

Damned if she wouldn’t.

It was late when he stepped outside, moonlight silvering the encampment. For a frightening moment he almost expected to see the field empty, that the troupe had departed again while he slept. But rows of tents rose up before him reassuringly, along with an eerie silence. Belatedly he realized where they had gone.

To town. Michael remembered that Jake had invited him to come with them later, strictly as a gesture of supposed friendliness. It was another of their damned traditions, that the circusmen painted the town red after a performance. He could just hear their whiskey-laden voices, chortling at the banker who’d nearly lost his life at the whim of William’s knife.

A man moved at the edge of the field, near the animals’ pen, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized Griggs. The silent clown sat on the steps of a wagon, watching as he approached, his perpetually sad face quizzical.

“They’ve gone to town, I take it?” Michael could not keep the caustic tone from his voice and didn’t even try.

Griggs nodded, indicating with a pantomime that the men were drinking. His hands fell to his sides as Michael appeared to grow even grimmer, gesturing toward the tents.

“And Miss Carney? Did she go with them?”

The clown shook his head, then pointed to Rosemary’s tent. Michael turned on his heel and strode toward the tiny canvas shelter, unaware of Griggs’s disapproval or frustrated protest.

He couldn’t have cared less, even if he had seen. He was going to have it out with Rosemary Carney, and a thousand clowns wouldn’t stop that.

Rosemary sat in a round wooden vat filled with hot water and suds. Unable to sleep, her thoughts entirely too turbulent, she had decided to take a bath and soak some of the guilt from her bones.

A moonlit shadow fell across the floor, and she glanced up, the soapy washcloth at her face. Startled, she saw the object of her thoughts walk determinedly into her tent, then take a seat directly across from her. A look of smug satisfaction creased his pale but handsome face, and a strange glitter came to his narrowed eyes.

“You!” Rosemary almost thought her mind had materialized him, but as he crossed his legs, watching her discomfort with glee, she realized he was altogether too human. “What are you doing here?”

Her voice had risen an octave higher than normal, but she couldn’t prevent that, any more than she could prevent the color from rising to her face. She tried to hide behind the washcloth, but the thin square of fabric was not very accommodating.

“I came to talk with you.” His voice was mocking, with an underlying strain she didn’t entirely understand. “It seems we need to get a few things straight.”

“Then leave until I get dressed.” Drawing on her bruised dignity, she gestured to the tent flap.

“Forget it.” Michael smiled, that look in his eyes growing hotter and more amused. “It’s not nearly as much fun having the shoe on the other foot, is it? I mean to lay down the law, and I find your disadvantage immensely satisfying.” He held up the worn and tattered nightgown that lay on the cot nearby and dangled it from his finger. “This time, Rosemary Carney, we are going to talk.”

Rosemary sank deeper into the water, desperate. The bubbles drifted around her knees like a cloud and partially hid her breasts from him, but she was clearly at his mercy and didn’t like it one bit. A single taper illuminated her red hair, which was piled up on top of her head, and made the tiny droplets of water glisten on her skin like tossed pearls. Heat stung her cheeks, and she bit her lip, unconsciously making her mouth redder and more seductive, and her eyes flashed green fire. Her expression was like that of a mutinous child, but her body, enticingly revealed, was anything but juvenile.

“All right, what do you want?” Embarrassed beyond reason, she was forced to stay beneath the water while he grinned, enjoying every moment of her discomfort.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last few hours. It’s strange, how having your life threatened by a blind knife wielder to provide amusement for everyone else changes your perspective.”

“I tried to tell you!” Rosemary protested, rising partway out of the water. She didn’t notice his fascination with the way the water swirled around her thrusting breasts, threatening to reveal her beauty at any moment, or the way the droplets clung to her shapely knees. “You wouldn’t listen!”

“You barely tried at all.” His voice was calm but didn’t disguise the emotion he sought to conceal. “I could have been killed.”

“No, Jake would have helped. But you shouldn’t have changed the costume—”

“I wouldn’t have, had I realized what was going on. You all must have had a good laugh, picturing me impaled like a moth with one of William’s knives. I should have all of you arrested for attempted murder.”

Sinking back into the water, her own guilt overcame her. She shrugged apologetically, though her expression was sincere. “Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

“It might.” He gazed at her seriously, his voice thick with irony. “Are you?”

He was enjoying this, enjoying humbling her, but there was nothing she could do. She owned up to the truth. “Yes. I never meant for it to go so far. I just thought—”

“You didn’t think. It was enough to humiliate me, to scare the hell out of me. Don’t think I’m stupid enough not to realize what you’re doing. You want me out of your life, away from Carney’s and the circus. But it’s not going to happen—you might as well understand that now.”

He’d gotten up from the chair and stood over the tub while Rosemary sank lower inside. The water was up to her chin. She had nowhere else to go, no place to hide. In her folly she’d made a mistake, and now she had to protect her people. No matter what it took.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her eyes stinging. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Good.” He lightly touched her cheek, then pulled her chin up so she had to face him. Mortified, the suds swirling around her, Rosemary forced herself to stay where she was and fight the urge to dash free. There was something compelling in his eyes, something altogether too bewildering about his presence, so close and intimate to her like this.

She swallowed hard again, her hands tightening on the sides of the tub. Lord, why was he affecting her this way? She’d worked with men all of her life, played with them, drank with them, and none of them had ever made her head buzz or her blood flow hotter the way it was doing now. Guilt, it had to be, that Irish Catholic guilt. She felt bad for her part in tricking him, and she was being punished. It was as simple as that.

“I’ll tell you how you can make it up.” His voice lost some of the coldness and sounded surprisingly hoarse. His face was just inches from hers, his lashes black against his skin— Good God, why was she thinking that now? For a heated moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he physically pushed himself away from the tub and stepped back a few paces. His hands on his hips, as if forcing himself not to touch her, he glared at her as if she’d done something else to anger him.

“You will travel with me when we leave. I want to know everything. Schedules, work load, expenses, duties. I want to know the performers, their names, their personalities, who they like, and what they hate. I want to know about the animals, the acts, the programs, and the towns you have scheduled. In short, I want you to teach me everything about this damned circus. And so help me, if you try any tricks—”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” His eyes traveled down her once more with something akin to pain in them. He tossed her the nightdress, smiling in that smug way as she scrambled up out of the water to fetch it. He had a brief glimpse of her slender body before she snatched the gown on, outraged at his high-handed manner.

“Good night, Miss Carney. I’ll expect you within a few hours?” He grinned, some of the anger leaving his eyes. “I believe you like to get an early start.”

Michael chuckled as he made his way back to his tent. Lord, but it felt good to get the upper hand once more, and he was determined not to lose it again.

The look on her face when he’d entered her tent was almost worth it all. Obviously, Rosemary Carney was quite used to getting her own way. He had already noticed the unquestioning loyalty she commanded from the men, the way they rushed to do her bidding as if intimidated by this little slip of a girl. Sean Carney must have put the fear of God into them, for otherwise, he couldn’t see how she, a mere woman, could have accomplished this.