Why hadn’t she ever asked herself that question before? Maybe because the answer had always seemed obvious.
But it didn’t now.
If anything, her quest seemed hard to justify. The hours she’d spent spying, the accident that had cost two cars and a concussion—that was quite a price to pay for self-indulgence.
The thought made her grimace.
No. It wasn’t self-indulgence. It couldn’t be. She had a right to see her baby, hadn’t she?
She caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Maybe not.
Considering how badly she’d bungled everything so far, who knew what might happen if she did locate her child? Could it be that she would only bring suffering and confusion to her daughter and to the man and woman who loved her?
Could she risk that?
Was she really that selfish?
What would it accomplish? Not just for her, but for her baby and the people who loved her?
Jennifer turned on her back, then flung her arm across her eyes.
Suddenly, everything that had driven her during the past months seemed blindly egocentric. It was as if the blow to her head had driven sanity into it. Herself, that was all she’d considered, and never mind anybody else—not even her child.
She had to stop her search.
Tears rose in her eyes.
There was nothing to be sad about, she told herself. Her little girl had a happy life somewhere. She was sure of it.
But the tears flowed anyway, and she
buried her face in the pillow and cried until, finally, there were no tears left.
And then, for the first time in months, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
* * *
When she awoke again, the room was filled with sunlight. There was a dull throb in her temple, but she felt rested and she knew it was as much because of the decision she’d reached during the night as anything else.
Carefully, making no sudden moves, she inched herself upright against the pillows.
What she wanted right now was a shower.
She looked at the bell on the nightstand. Ring if you need anything, Roarke had said. But the en suite bath was just across the room; surely she could get that far on her own.
She pushed back the covers, swung her legs to the floor and counted to ten, then rose to her feet.
“So far, so good,” she said aloud—and then the room shimmered as if the sunlight had suddenly exploded all around her.
She grasped the bedpost and clung to it with both hands. A chill beading of sweat rose on her forehead, and she glanced again at the bell. If she rang it, would Constancia answer? Or would Roarke? Somehow, the thought of Roarke helping her, of his arms going around her and supporting her, was unsettling.
Images flashed into her mind again, but this time they were only of Roarke.
His hard face bent over her as she moaned with pain.
His strong arms supporting her as she leaned over a basin.