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“I’ll be fine.”
The woman smiled. “I think that is the truth. We will see you at lunchtime, then. I will make you a salad and an omelet, and some flan, perhaps.”
Jennifer laughed. “Either a salad or an omelet, please, and definitely not the custard. As it is, thank you for laundering my clothes, but they barely fit after only two days.”
Constancia paused at the door. “You are too thin,” she said promptly. “A little weight will not hurt.”
The housekeeper fussed over her like a mother hen, partly out of her own concern, partly because of the orders Roarke had handed down before he’d flown off in a helicopter a couple of evenings ago.
But at least there were ways to get around Constancia’s well-meant interference.
When Roarke returned tonight, things would be different.
Roarke Campbell was an arrogant, imperious bastard.
Yes, he’d taken her in, but he hadn’t really had much choice—and he never let her forget it.
As for that moment in his arms, when the earth had fallen away—well, she’d had plenty of time to think during the past two days.
What had happened was completely understandable.
She had a concussion and her reactions and emotions were all skewed. Roarke knew it. And he’d taken full advantage of her fuzzy state to impress her with his power over her.
She had been fuzzy. Very. So much so that for a crazy little while, she’d not only melted in his arms, she’d even imagine that the child she’d heard crying was hers.
But it wasn’t.
It hadn’t taken any clever detective work to come up with that information, either. She’d simply walked into the kitchen, taken a deep breath, and asked Constancia straight out if the señor’s little girl was adopted.
The housekeeper had looked at her as if the blow to her head had affected her intelligence.
“Adopted? La chica? No, señorita. Certainly not. She is very much a Campbell.” Sadness had softened Constancia’s dark eyes. “The poor little one. It is sad to come into this world so unwanted.”
Jennifer leaned back in her chair and sighed.
It certainly was sad.
The baby had been deserted by her mother and as far as Roarke Campbell was concerned, the child was invisible. Jennifer had not heard her except for that first day, and there’d been no sign of her since.
Clearly, the nanny was very efficient.
The only real mystery about Roarke Campbell’s daughter was why his wife had abandoned her.
Constancia drew the line at talking about that part of her employer’s life.
Whatever the reason, it was sad to contemplate, but such things happened all the time.
Sunlight played on the tangle of bougainvillea that grew along the perimeter of the terrace.
Whatever was going on here, Jennifer knew it had nothing to do with her. She had to concentrate on getting well enough to convince Roarke that he could safely let her go in another few days—and not go crazy while she waited for the time to pass.
A flock of parakeets swooped overhead suddenly, their plumage as brilliant as jewels. They were beautiful birds, and her first sight of them had brought her great pleasure. Now they brought only a wistful tug to her heart. Juan, Roarke’s elderly gardener, had explained the flock’s origins to her.
“It was Señor Campbell who had them brought to Isla de la Pantera, señorita.”
“They’re not native to the island, then?” she’d asked. The old man had shaken his head. “But what keeps them here? If they’re not really from this place, I mean. Why don’t they fly away?”
Juan had looked at her as if she were a foolish child. “The island is beautiful, no?”
