A Prince for Jenny (2 page)

"Will this time next week do?"

"Tomorrow. Once I start a project, I like to work straight through."

"Miss Williams took a turn for the worse when she saw your menagerie, so I'll have to get someone else to bring them back."

"I hope it's you."

In spite of her stunning candor, she looked completely artless, and for a heady moment he felt like some damned hero. He decided there were things in her dossier that had been left out. Not only was she the best portrait artist in America, she was the best actress.

"I'm a busy man, Miss Townsend. I don't have time to waste sitting on wicker chairs in flower gardens."

"I'm so sorry," she said, looking for all the world as if she meant it.

Daniel was close to cursing, but some foolish sense of nobility kept him from doing it in front of her.

"You'll have the children this time tomorrow." He didn't even say good-bye, but hurried toward the house as if demons were on his tail. He supposed they were, the twin demons of passion and fear.

"Come again," she called after him in that sweet, halting voice.

Who was she, this woman who had so easily pierced his armor and gone straight to his heart? He intended to find out, but he had no intention of coming again. Once was enough to suffer over a woman who claimed innocence, then cut out your heart with a dull butcher knife.

He collected the children and their nanny, then dropped Miss Williams off at her house and drove to his office. He'd send someone for her car.

 o0o

"Daddy, can I have a guinea pig?" Megan bounced up and down on the sofa in his office, her dark curls bobbing.

"We'll see."

"That means no," Patrick piped up. He was sprawled on the carpet with his coloring book, his handsome little face screwed up in concentration.

"It does not," Megan shot back.

"Does too."

"Children, don't argue. We'll talk about a guinea pig when we get home." There should be a mother at home waiting to help with that conversation. "Daddy has some work to do right now."

"Promise?" Megan tilted her head to one side and looked up at him with a pretty pout on her lips. Daniel's gut clenched. She was so like her mother that it was all he could do to keep from getting into his plane, flying out to Atlanta, and dragging Claire back by the hair of her head.

"I promise, sweetheart."

Satisfied, she plopped beside her brother and took up her crayons.

He stood watching them for a while, filled with such pride and love, he couldn't bear to turn away. At least Claire hadn't asked for custody of the children. He'd have seen her in hell before giving them up.

Turning away, he got a thick sheaf of papers from his desk drawer and began to read. Jenny Love-Townsend. Thirty-four years old. Natural daughter of Sarah Love Townsend and adopted daughter of Jake Townsend, the publishing magnate. Portrait artist of presidents and kings.

Nothing new there. He'd read it before he'd sent his children to her. Like all powerful, wealthy men, he trusted his children to no one who failed to pass his strict and careful scrutiny.

A vision of Jenny touching the yellow rose on his lapel came to him. He put his hand on the wilted rose and stood looking out the window. The sun was setting over the city, shading it with purple and turning the river to gold. He felt once again the whisper of Jenny's skirt against his legs.

With a muttered curse, he jerked the rose off and tossed it into the garbage can, then he turned his attention back to the dossier. There must be something he'd missed.

He skimmed the information about schooling and religious and political preferences. Suddenly he stilled. There it was. There. A tiny asterisk, referring to a footnote on the back page.

Daniel turned to the final page and honed in on the footnote. It was one line. Jenny Love- Townsend was born special.

He put the dossier into his desk drawer, then sank into his chair and bowed his head.

"Daddy?" Megan's little arms went around his neck. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm all right."

He had to be, for how could he explain heart- sickness to a little child?

Chapter Two

Jenny stood in her flower garden long after Daniel Sullivan had departed. If she took one small step, she'd be standing exactly where he'd stood.

She pressed her hand over her trembling lips, then glanced toward the window to see if Gwendolyn was looking. There was no sign of her.

Jenny took the step and then stood with her toes curled under. Excitement coursed through her, and the heady sense of having found something she'd been looking for all her life.

Daniel Sullivan had worn a yellow rose. Somehow she'd known he would.

Her one and only hero, the man she loved best in all the world, had appeared in her backyard long ago bearing a yellow rose. She'd been four at the time, and she'd loved Jake Townsend from the minute he'd handed her the rose.

Jenny closed her eyes, letting the feel of being near Daniel seep through the soles of her feet and all the way up to her heart. She could see his face as clearly as if he were standing beside her.

Daniel Sullivan. Her hero.

She stood where he had a while longer, holding on to the delicious sense of wonder, then she got her sketch pad from beside the easel and sat on the wicker love seat. Bent over so that her hair brushed against the paper, she captured Daniel Sullivan with quick, deft strokes— his square jaw, his noble nose, his bold eyebrows and fierce dark eyes, his shock of wild black hair that looked as if he'd just climbed down from a mountain and couldn't be bothered with a comb, his mouth ...

Her pencil stilled, and Jenny gazed across the yard at the pink roses climbing the trellis behind the swings. His mouth was beautifully defined, mobile and generous, with a full lower lip. Just thinking about it made Jenny's breath catch.

His mouth was so beautiful, she wasn't sure she could ever get it right on paper. Her hand trembled as she touched pencil to paper once more.

"Jenny?"

Startled, she looked up. Gwendolyn had come into the yard, carrying a tray of lemonade and cookies.

"I thought you might like a snack." Her oldest and dearest friend sat on the love seat and leaned over to look at the sketch. There was no mistaking the likeness, and Gwendolyn was nobody's fool. She pursed her lips over the drawing, then glanced up to study Jenny's face.

A robin hopped across the grass looking for worms, and a pair of cardinals landed on the willow tree and set the branch to swaying. Jenny reached for a cookie.

"Is that a preliminary sketch for a portrait?"

"No. I just wanted to draw him."

"You've captured him to a tee." Gwendolyn munched on her own cookie. "He's not pretty, but there's something powerful and magnetic about him. Dangerous, I'd say." She shot a sly look at Jenny.

"He's a nice man."

"You don't know that, Jenny."

"I do. I know it in here." Jenny put both hands over her heart.

Gently Gwendolyn took one of Jenny's hands in hers and caressed the long, slender fingers. "You're sheltered, honey. You've always been surrounded by people who are kind and loving ... your mother, your sister and two brothers, me, Jake.... God knows, Jake Townsend would kill anybody who wasn't kind to you."

"Daniel will always be kind."

The stillness in the garden was absolute, broken only by the call of the cardinal and a deep sigh from Gwendolyn.

"Jenny... Jenny." Gwendolyn squeezed her hand. "I don't want you to be hurt."

With her fingertips, Jenny traced the penciled fines of Daniel's face. Megan had said her mother ran away. How could any woman run away from a man like that?

Her hand lingered over the sensual lines of Daniel's mouth. She'd never been kissed, but from the time she'd peeked around the nursery door and seen Jake kissing her mother, she'd known it must be something wonderful.

Oh, she knew she was different. Inside her mind, everything worked fine. She just had a hard time getting it all out. Normal men like Daniel didn't kiss women like her, and they certainly didn't fall in love. But that was all right.

All she wanted to do was love. She didn't expect to be loved back.

"Dreaming won't hurt, Gwendolyn."

"As long as you know it's only a dream."

 o0o

Daniel sat at the head of the carved dining table that had belonged to three generations of Sullivans before him. His children sat on either side of him, dressed for dinner as he always insisted. Candles gleamed on the long expanse of polished walnut, sparkling rainbows on the crystal that had belonged to his grandmother.

Three was a lonely number at a table designed for fourteen. Daniel tried not to think about it.

"Can we talk about the guinea pigs now, Daddy?" Megan asked. "You said right after dessert."

"So I did." He leaned back in his chair and studied his children over his steepled fingers. "Why do you want a guinea pig?"

" 'Cause Jenny has one," Megan said.

"That's not a good enough reason."

Patrick regarded him with solemn eyes. " 'Cause Mommy runned away."

Guilt smote Daniel... and pain. He'd failed to give his children the one thing they needed most—a stable home with two loving parents.

You're selfish
, Claire had screamed at him when he'd gone after her to bring her back.
I don't intend to spend the rest of my life waiting for you to come home from your almighty job.

He'd flagellated himself for months for neglecting a woman so beautiful, so attentive, so innocent... until he'd discovered her in the arms of another man.

Even so, he still sometimes wondered if he could have done something different, something to make her want to stay.

He cleared away the lump in his throat, but he couldn't clear that last twisted image of Claire wrapped in the arms of her lover.

His son's words hung in the air, and the three of them were trapped in the ugly web he and Claire had woven. It was Megan, the peacemaker, who broke the spell.

"That's okay, Daddy, 'cause we got you." Megan grinned, then skipped around the table and hugged his neck "I want two guinea pigs, 'cause Jenny says animals need friends just like people, and I'll call mine Mable and Patrick can name his Charles, and we'll take really, really good care of them and hug them every day and give them lots and lots of food and they won't ever leave, and now can I please be excused? I have to go to the bathroom."

"You may." He'd been wrapped around his daughter's finger ... as always. He smiled at his son.

"Someday your sister is going to strike fear in the hearts of that stodgy old board at Sullivan Enterprises."

"Are you soggy, Daddy?"

"The word is 'stodgy,' Patrick It means ..."

"Will you sing the Irish songs to me?" Patrick came around the table and climbed into his lap, then cuddled his downy cheek against Daniel's.

Megan popped her head around the door. "Not till I get back." She danced up and down on one leg. "I'll hurry."

Daniel wondered if he'd ever be adequate to the task of bringing up his children alone.

When his daughter got back, he sang "Too-ra- loo-ra-loo-ral" and their favorite, "Danny Boy," the song his grandmother used to sing to him. After she'd sung, she would hug him close and say, "I love you, my Danny boy." Her love was the only constant he'd had. So far away and so long ago.

When the last notes of "Danny Boy" died, he kissed his children and whispered, "I love you, Megan and Patrick."

Did they understand that his love was real and that he'd never go away and leave them? He hoped so.

Afterward the children played quietly until bedtime, then Daniel carried them both up the stairs and tucked them in. He could easily have afforded for the nanny to live in, but he wanted their lives to be as normal as possible. He couldn't take the place of a mother who had abandoned them, but he could try.

He took one last look at the precious faces of his children, then went to his downstairs study and poured himself a brandy.

With his glass in his hand, he stood at the window and watched the shadows of the moon in the front yard. The stone face of the angel in the water fountain gleamed soft and silvery, her smile haunting and almost real. Suddenly Daniel remembered another face, another smile.

Jenny. With eyes impossibly blue and innocent voice lifted in Irish melody. Beautiful Jenny, fatally flawed in the eyes of the world, calling to him in a voice so sweet, it brought tears to his eyes.

Come again ... come again.

He'd be a fool to listen, for he understood all too well the consequences of folly.

 o0o

"The blue or the green?"

Gwendolyn looked up from the coffee she was making. Jenny stood in the doorway holding two dresses, one the color of spring leaves and the other the exact shade of her eyes. The morning sun slanted across her hair, turning it to spun gold. Soft color bloomed on her cheeks and in her lips.

"Don't you think those dresses are a little too fancy to paint in?"

"I want to look nice for Daniel."

Gwendolyn's heart was so full that she couldn't speak. She busied herself pouring coffee into two mugs. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Jenny standing in the doorway with that look of bright expectancy on her face.

"He's a busy man, you know, head of that big company, and all. He might not come."

Jenny laid the green dress across the back of a chair and, holding the blue one close, whirled around and around the room, bumping into chairs. When she was near the window, she steadied herself on the windowsill, laughing.

"I think I'll wear the blue. Daniel likes blue."

"How do you know?"

"I know in here." She covered her heart with her hand.

Oh, Jenny. Jenny
. Gwendolyn sank into her chair and took a sip of coffee. She was too old for this job.

Jenny took a sip of her coffee, then drifted back up the stairs, holding on to the party dresses. Gwendolyn pressed her hand over her massive bosom.

Dreaming won't hurt
, Jenny had said.