His anger was dampened slowly by his realization of what had caused it. She’d told him earlier that he was pushing them too far too fast; like a righteous idiot, he’d been so blinded with lust that he hadn’t paid her words any heed. Apparently, he had a mutiny on his hands, and they’d displayed it in a way that had Rosemary Carney written all over it.
A wry smile came to his face, and he felt as if he’d just been taken out to the woodshed by his father, who had tried repeatedly to soften his damnable pride. He wouldn’t let her get away with this. But whatever happened between himself and that clown-woman, he had to face the fact that tonight’s escapade was a team effort. Leonardo had to have been in on it, as well as the clowns, evidenced by their quick appearance at the first sign of trouble. Yes, he had to change his management techniques, or else he could lose everything.
And as for Rosemary Carney—his smile grew deeper. He was furious at her, but he also felt a reluctant twinge of admiration. She had a brain and a diabolical wit that she was obviously determined to use. And she certainly didn’t give up easily. Everything male within him rose to this challenge, especially after what had taken place between them earlier this evening. Rather than being outraged by her blunt rejection of his lovemaking, he was intrigued.
Rosemary Carney may have won this battle, but there were more to come.
She kept far away from him the following day. In fact, none of the performers or the roustabouts seemed overly anxious to spend too much time in his presence. Word had gotten out about the night’s event to anyone who hadn’t been involved in the actual treachery. Michael could tell the innocent by the curious glances that were cast his way, and the guilty by their choked laughter or obvious anxiety. That made him even more aware that he’d been acting like a tyrant.
The sun had barely set and the first show had just finished when he summoned them all to his tent. Their performance that day had been mediocre, and he was forced to admit that their spirit had been trampled by his attempts to improve the show. And although their bodies were free of the effect of whiskey, their hearts were not with Carney’s. The clowns were not tumbling as exuberantly as they had under Rosemary’s direction, the trapeze performers exerted themselves out of habit rather than enthusiasm, and Biddle’s voice rarely reached the excited pitch Michael had witnessed that first night when he’d come to Carney’s. Much as he hated to admit it, Rosemary was right, and he had to come to terms with his people.
The clowns sat before him, all of them watching him carefully, as if they were little children expecting to be punished. The acrobats and performers muttered, Leonardo trembled, Clara rocked back and forth, and the roustabouts stared at him belligerently. And behind them all, wearing that yellow clown suit, was Rosemary Carney, her hands on her hips as if prepared to do battle, her green eyes mocking him as he stood before the troupe.
“I want to thank you all for coming tonight.” Michael stood at the front of the tent, aware that they all watched him suspiciously. “It seems to me that we have a few problems to work out, and I want to take care of them before they get out of control. Today’s performance was less than stellar, as I’m sure you are aware.”
They glanced at each other in confusion, then returned to stare at him collectively once more. Rosemary glared at him, taking his comment as another criticism, one her people could do without.
Realizing what they were thinking, he gentled his tone but maintained a masterful control of the troupe. “I also want to talk about a little episode that took place in my tent last night. The two incidents are not unrelated, and so I will treat them as symptomatic of our problems. Apparently, a lioness found herself in my tent, and I have no doubt as to how she got there.”
A few of the clowns had the nerve to chuckle, but most looked worried. Some of the performers actually dug into their pockets, counting out their money and preparing to be fired. Rosemary bit her lip and stared him down, her expression hidden beneath her gaudy makeup.
“I’ve given the matter a lot of thought, and I’ve decided to make a few changes. First of all, I’m going to reinstate the whiskey policy. Starting tonight.”
The clowns looked at one another in disbelief. One by one their sad faces turned into incredulity, then happiness as they realized he was not joking. The performers cheered, the roustabouts shouted, and the mystic cackled. Only Rosemary looked suspicious, particularly as he continued in the same polished tones.
“Now, I want you to realize that I’m not doing this just because of last night. It has occurred to me that I may have come down on you too hard. I only want the best for the circus, and I want it to be a success. By following my plan, I think you will all realize a much greater profit at the end of the season than you’ve ever seen before. And that translates into more pay.”
The clowns stared at him in disbelief, and Rosemary openly scoffed. Michael ignored her and continued in the same businesslike voice.
“However, we need to come to terms on a few issues. I can hire more people in order to keep the two rings going, but that will cut into your pay increase. I for one believe you can all do it. Now, which will you have?”
They glanced at one another and grins broke out. A little extra pocket money would relieve some of their needs, and although they didn’t get into the show to make a fortune, they could all use a raise. Reluctantly they had to admit that although the last few weeks had been hard, they had been able to do the extra work. One by one their hands went up, and Michael counted the votes.
“Good, it’s settled. You have your whiskey back, and we’ll stay with two rings.”
“What about the feed?” Zachery shouted, spitting out his weed. “Will the animals get the good feed once more?”
Everyone nodded and looked to Michael expectantly. His reputation as a cheapskate more than outweighed any hope that they had of his turnaround. They were surprised, therefore, when he seemed to consider the matter thoughtfully and then spoke.
“All right, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll supplement the poor feed with good. This will cut down on the problems, yet at the same time we’re not overindulging with expensive food.”
Zachery nodded. It wasn’t as much as he’d hoped, but it was something. He settled back down on the tent floor while the others nodded approvingly.
“Are we in agreement? It’s settled, then. Now, I’m going to start having a meeting once a week, to air grievances and discuss our plans. I hope that will allow everyone the chance to express his opinion without fear of retaliation. And in return, I’ll expect no more lionesses wandering into my tent.”
A few of the clowns looked sheepish, and Leonardo grinned. Rosemary stared at him in astonishment, amazed that he was being so considerate. She beamed at him, especially when the troupe perked up and began to applaud, obviously feeling much better about the entire situation.
“Good. The meeting’s adjourned. I expect tonight’s performance to be back on top.”
The troupe began to file out, murmuring among themselves. Rosemary started to leave with them when Michael stopped her, his hand closing securely about her wrist.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You and I have some things to discuss.”
CHAPTER NINE
ROSEMARY SWALLOWED HARD, but there was no escape. The members of the troupe, satisfied with the outcome of the meeting, didn’t notice her dilemma and sauntered out, leaving her alone with Michael Wharton. The new circus manager stood at the tent flap, blocking the exit. His cool gray eyes mocked her, and his face remained stern. He had never looked quite so handsome, Rosemary decided, nor so daunting. Not even the night after the knife-throwing incident.
“I notice that you seem to take delight in trying to frighten and embarrass me,” Michael began coolly.
“I do not!” Rosemary said defiantly, but Michael’s expression stopped her. He continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Come on, now. First you ran out on me, then you tricked me into providing a target for blind William’s knives…”
“But—”
“And last night you let the lioness in my tent,” he finished, his eyes boring into her.
Rosemary sputtered into silence. She was guilty as charged and knew it was senseless to deny it, especially in the mood he was in. Instead, she braved a smile.
“It was just a joke.” At his expression she wiped away her grin. “I tried to talk to you last night,” she explained quickly. “But instead—”
“We didn’t talk,” he finished for her, watching as a delightful flush of color came to her cheeks. “Let me begin by saying that I understand why you did what you did.”
“You what?” Rosemary stared at him in disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead, he gave her a cool smile and shrugged.
“I was being unreasonable. You did try to talk to me about it, and I, in…let’s say my state of drunkenness and lust, didn’t listen. So you resorted to letting Elsa loose in my tent.”
Rosemary gasped in amazement, then quickly closed her mouth. She still didn’t trust him as far as she could spit, which wasn’t very far.
“Don’t confuse my understanding with the thought that I am willing to tolerate any more of this. I’m not. And as I explained before, I’m not going anywhere, so you can stop trying to frighten me. I’m not some child who will go running home at the first sign of trouble.”
Rosemary nodded. He’d already proved that much.
“So since we agree, I suggest we call a truce. No more games, no more lions, knives, or circuses disappearing into the night. I’ve got to trust you, and you have to learn to trust me. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Rosemary extended her hand, amazed that he was being so lenient. She had fully expected some harsh retribution, and she was so relieved at his thoughtful response that she shook his hand enthusiastically. “That’s very…noble of you.”
He smiled warmly. “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s time we stopped this and worked as a team. I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ve learned from them and want to start over. You may go now. I believe you have to rehearse.”
Rosemary nodded. She had really misjudged him, or perhaps letting Elsa into his tent had proved more beneficial than even she had dreamed. He’d compromised with the clowns, given them back their whiskey, and he’d let her off with an apology. She could scarcely believe her luck.
Whistling as she walked away with a cocky swagger, she fought to keep from giggling. Apparently, the financier decided to quit while he was ahead. Score one for her side.
Michael stared at the closed tent flap, fighting the grin that finally broke out onto his face. Rosemary Carney undoubtedly thought he was the biggest fool walking the face of the earth. It was just as he’d intended.
Oh, he’d get even with her, all right. But the perfect revenge took planning. From what he’d seen of Rosemary so far, it was the only way to win her respect, and the only way to bring her true emotions out into the open. She’d gotten him three times now, and in any game, three strikes meant an out It was time to even the score.
It had taken every ounce of his control not to react emotionally. It would have been so damned satisfying to do just that, yet he knew instinctively that she’d only use such a reaction to her own benefit. No, he had to teach her a lesson, one that she would fully understand but which would leave no doubt as to who was in charge. If it was games Rosemary wanted to play, he’d play them, but he’d make damned sure he’d win.
And when he’d done just that, she’d have to deal with him as a man. It was a pleasure he was looking forward to.
For the next few days Michael kept to his word and seemed to make a genuine effort to work with the troupe. The whiskey reinstatement did much to endear him to the clowns, and he found that instead of grumbling with resentment every time he issued an order, they responded with a bit less sullenness. The performances perked up, and Carney’s began to display some of the spirit that had made the show famous.
Rosemary wasn’t surprised at Michael’s change of heart, knowing all too well that there was a mercenary reason behind it. It simply made good business sense to have the troupe on his side, and if nothing else, she did admire Michael’s business acumen. The stint with the lion must have really hit home. There was no other explanation for his agreeable behavior.
Wisely she’d stayed well away from him. She didn’t want to test the limits of his newfound patience. He’d let her off too easily, and she knew it. As a prankster, she knew when she’d pushed someone too far, and Michael should have gone over the edge a long time ago. That morning at breakfast she had caught him staring, and the expression in his eyes made her especially cautious. He wore a tantalizing half smile, as if he’d figured out some part of her secret and was just trying to determine how to use that knowledge. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel half dressed, and she blushed, turning back to Rags with a joke as if Michael had not been there at all. But after the kiss they’d shared, she knew better than to tangle with him too closely.
She was thinking about all this as she walked toward the animals’ pen, to help Zachery with their feed. A soft muffled noise from Clara’s tent distracted her, and she frowned, concerned. Clara hadn’t been to breakfast, nor to dinner the previous night. The last time she’d seen her was at the previous show, and even then she didn’t seem herself. Worried, Rosemary entered the canvas shelter, breathing deeply of the incense-laden air.
As one of the few other women in the circus, Clara had been her confidant since she was a child. She had also been an odd sort of mother image, counseling Rosemary with her cards and crystal ball on everything from business matters to the facts of life. Out of necessity the childless woman and the motherless child were closer than many blood relations.
Standing inside the tent, Rosemary smiled. It was like coming home. Crystals of every color imaginable, rose and topaz, black and silver, twinkled from the ceiling, sending little prisms of light to the floor. A calico cat chased the dancing lights, scampering over the dirt as if they were prey. Potions bubbled from a small stove, sending clouds of pink and purple into the atmosphere, while condensation sprinkled back to the earth like raindrops.
Clara lay in the center of the room on a small cot. Her face was still, her hands clutching her cards. Parchment eyelids opened as soon as Rose entered, and Clara’s fierce blue eyes stared out at the little clown.
“It’s me time again, Carney,” Clara croaked. “Will you be fetching the priest, dearie?”
Rosemary nodded, hiding a smile. Clara had been dying regularly since she could remember. Her father had always indulged the older woman, preparing the services and a real Irish wake each time Clara thought the angels were coming for her. She had already received the last rites, so the priest’s coming was a comfort more than anything else.
“I’ll go right now. Do you want anything special this time?”
“Flowers would be nice,” Clara said cheerfully, and then looked worried. “But the show! I have to tell fortunes this night.” She fumbled at her tarot cards.
Rose smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll cancel like we always do. We can do the show tomorrow.”
“No.” Clara shook her head weakly. “We canna’. That boy won’t allow it. We have already sold the tickets, and Carney’s canna’ afford to be paying them back. We need to get someone to stand in for me.”
Rose nodded. It was true, the tickets had been sold in advance, and the last thing she needed was to acquire more debt in paying them back. And Clara was right. Michael Wharton would never understand. “Perhaps Belinda could do it in between the trapeze acts.”
“Bah!” Clara lifted her head, angry color flushing her face. “That colleen has sawdust where her head should be. I didna’ build up me good name to have it ruined. Besides, she has her own act to perform.” Clara sank back into the pillow, her face wrinkling like old lace. “No, ‘twould have to be himself.”
Rosemary sighed. “Michael.”
Clara nodded. “He’s the
only one who doesna’ have to perform. And he has a brain, lass. A good one. You don’t have to love the lad to see that. He would insist anyway, as new manager. You know that. He’s not bad in a pinch. Remember how good he did before he found out the knives were real.”
That much was true. Rosemary recalled the thunderous applause Michael had received as a stand-in. “But that was different,” she said doubtfully. “He didn’t have to do anything but hang there. We did the rest. For this he would really have to perform.”
“You can help him. Since he has not the gift, you can put Griggs outside like we used to. He can give you the signals.”
“Me?”
“Aye, he’ll need an assistant. Now, now. Don’t look at me like that. It isna’ good for your face. I know you canna’ abide the man, but that won’t matter for one night. You will help him, give him Griggs’s signals, and cover his mistakes.” Clara gave Rosemary a pleading look that the clown-woman could never resist. “I was hoping I could count on you.”
Rosemary’s protests died. Clara really didn’t look well, and if Rosemary was needed to help, even with Michael, she’d have to do it. After all, nothing mattered more than Carney’s.
“All right, I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Clara grinned toothlessly. “Now, look in the trunk. I have an assistant’s dress.”
Rosemary rummaged through the trunk and pulled out a glittering gown. “This?” Even in the dim light threads of silver and gold gleamed on a black background, making one think of spells, incantations, and magic powers. Rosemary shivered as she held the sheer and sultry creation up to the light. “You don’t mean I have to wear—”
“Ah, that’s the one.” Clara sighed in satisfaction. “You’ll look lovely in it, dearie.”
“I can’t wear this!” Rosemary exclaimed as she pictured herself, clad in this ludicrous outfit, working in the same tent as Michael. Something about the implication of all that made her pulse race and her breath quicken, but she cringed as she envisioned his possible ridicule. No, she couldn’t let that happen. Rosemary just wasn’t secure enough to take such a risk, especially with him.
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