Defiant Rose Read Free Page B

go on, no matter what, and without her guidance there would be no circus.
    The music from the calliope drifted up from the rear, the soft strains carried on the wind, and it lured children for miles. Rosemary glanced up, noticing the thunderclouds. She’d have to hurry. Shaken out of her thoughts, she called to the men. The roustabouts hitched the horses for the parade, the animals bedecked in gold braid and satin ribbons. The trapeze girls, beautiful in their sparkling costumes and feathered headpieces, slipped gracefully onto their mounts while the clowns tumbled into line, carrying paper flowers and polished derbies. The lion tamer cracked his whip, and the gaming acts juggled balls and flipped hoops. It was a beautiful world, whimsical and bawdy, daubed with brightly colored greasepaint. A world she was lucky to rule.
    Rosemary took her place at the front of the line and grinned at Griggs, who was watching her with an odd understanding in his eyes. Taking up a handful of bright red balls, Rosemary juggled them expertly, warming up for the townspeople. Someday she would have time to be just Rosemary, to discover the woman buried beneath the canvas and sawdust.
    But today she would lead the parade.
    Damned beast! Michael limped down the tree-canopied road toward the circus grounds, aware of the ever-blackening sky and the unrelenting strains of the calliope as the parade passed. He could see the gaudy costumes as the performers lured townspeople like the Pied Piper toward the tents. He ignored the crowd and stalked determinedly toward the circus grounds. The parade simply wasn’t enough; he wanted to see Carney’s in full action, not just the warming up.
    He stood on his injured foot and instantly yelped as a blistering pain shot through him. Grimacing, he recalled that the groom and the farming people seemed oddly unsurprised when he’d returned shortly after being thrown from that horse, that animal from the depths of hell. No sooner had Buttercup gotten the bit between his teeth than he had charged toward the muddy river and disposed of his rider on the firm mossy banks.
    At first he could hardly believe it. He, Michael Wharton, who’d been riding since he was in shoe leather, was dumped by a farm horse who decided drinking was more to his liking than obeying the expert commands of his rider. And when he tried to get back up on the beast, Buttercup waited patiently with a cunning he didn’t think any horse possessed, and then had bucked, tossing him onto the banks again.
    Michael returned the animal, refusing the groom’s offer of a gentler mount, and ignored the snide snickers of the farmers, who no doubt thought him a worthless citified dandy. Now there was nothing to do but walk, and walk he would. Thankfully, the fairgrounds were not as far away as he’d thought. Armed with a bottle of the Gilded Cage’s best brandy, a pitiful apple-flavored brew that was long on potency and short on subtlety, he hobbled toward the bawdy circus music, ignoring the sharp red pain in his ankle.
    The fury that had been building inside of him was close to exploding. He cursed his father, cursed Percy Atwater and his damned wager, cursed his own existence and that of this third-rate circus. Drinking down a generous portion of the burning brandy, he felt the pain lessen in his leg and was grateful for that. He couldn’t wait to get this thing over with and return to civilization. He missed Philadelphia, his expensive carriage, his good horses, fine whiskeys, and feather beds. Yes, he couldn’t wait to get back, and the sooner business was accomplished here, the better.
    Nothing could have made this trip any worse. Yet even as he completed the thought, thunder clapped overhead, and a flash of lightning split the sky. Michael glanced up and saw the swirling clouds beginning to take shape. No, it couldn’t, he thought. No God would be this cruel…
    But today he wasn’t so sure.
    Michael arrived at the circus grounds, drenched