Shannon's Daughter

by Karen Welch

  A long glass case behind the door was populated with at least three dozen exquisitely crafted porcelain dolls, fairy tale characters, princesses and witches side by side with fairies and nutcrackers. A two-foot-tall ballerina stood poised on point beside a bride in lace, her hands full of silk roses. Once again, all he could manage was “Good lord!”

  Peg giggled. “I suppose it’s a little bit shocking the first time.”

  Nodding solemnly, he studied the dolls a moment longer. “I’m pretty sure the unspeakable is out of the question now. I wouldn’t dare touch you, not with all these eyes on me.”

  Grinning, she approached the window and opened it wide. “We’ll see. Right now, I want to introduce you to someone.” He watched from just inside the doorway as she went to the doll cabinet. “You can sit down. Take the armchair. I’m not sure the little chairs would hold you.” Pointing to an adult-sized overstuffed chair near the miniature dining set, she took a key from the top of the cabinet. “I used to lock them in because I was afraid in the middle of the night they’d get out and hurt themselves. I believed that when no one was watching, they came to life.”

  Moving to the chair, he sat cautiously. The room made him feel large and clumsy, as though he’d entered an enchanted dollhouse. “Was this really your nursery when you were a baby?”

  “Oh, yes. I had a nanny, who slept right through there.” She indicated a door at the far end of the room. “I only slept here until I started school. But I’ve probably spent more time in this room than anywhere else in the house. I still like to come up here to read.” Turning to him, she said ceremoniously, “Kendall Gregg, meet Sir Galahad.”

  The doll, about eighteen inches tall, was dressed in velvet tunic, tights and what looked to be fine leather boots, with a bejeweled sword belted around his waist. He was dark haired with blue glass eyes, his handsome features set in a distinctly noble expression. “Ah. Delighted, I’m sure.”

  Peg knelt at his feet, the doll held gently to her chest. Her mood changed visibly as she took a moment to straighten its clothes and smooth the impeccably styled hair. “I got him when I was ten. I wasn’t sure about a boy doll then. I never even named him. He was originally just ‘Prince Charming,” or something silly like that. But when I got back from Ireland that summer, he became my favorite. He made me think of you, and he’s been Galahad ever since.” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “When Dad got sick, I spent most of my time in here. He was in the hospital for weeks. No one could tell me if he was going to be all right, and I could see how worried everyone was, so I just hid out up here. If it hadn’t been for Galahad, I don’t know who I would have talked to.” She finally looked up, her gaze distant and thoughtful. “I would imagine you coming to take care of me. I guess for the first time I understood how alone I would be if something happened to my father, and you were the only one I could think of to turn to.” She looked down at the doll again. “If he could talk, he’d tell you. I spent a lot of time pouring my heart out to him. . .to you.”

  In a moment of startling revelation, Kendall saw the young girl he’d known, understood her isolation in this grand house and her precarious situation without Michael Shannon. Deep in his chest, something began to swell, altering his breathing and sending him to his knees on the floor beside her. Carefully, he took the doll from her hands and laid it aside. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I wondered about you, but I never asked. Selfishly, I needed to think of you as safe and happy. After you left, it took me months to stop worrying about you. When I finally did, I refused to admit that your life could be anything but privileged and perfect. I was sure I had no right taking an interest in you. And in spite of what’s happened here, I still haven’t that right.”

  She touched his face, her gaze following her fingers as they traced along his jaw. When she lifted her eyes to his, he had to look away. That swelling in his chest had become an almost unbearable ache. “But I’ll always have this, the time we’ve spent together. You’ll never really leave me now.”

  When she came into his arms, he knew this time would be different. What had been between them, the desire and the excitement, had become something far more important. Their lovemaking now would not merely satisfy a momentary urge but create a sustaining memory. When Peg’s fingers began to work their way downward, tugging at his shirt and fumbling with buttons, he caught her hands firmly in his.

  “No. Today we take our time. We have all afternoon, right?”

  She nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Yes. But I want. . .”

  “I know what you want. But you must let me give it to you slowly. I want to show you there’s more to making love than tossing off our clothes and racing to the finish.”

  Her impatience was tangible. Her hands balled into fists on his chest. “All right. Show me.”

  At one end of room was a narrow bed made up with simple white linens and piled with ruffled pillows. Getting to his feet, Kendall pulled her up beside him. “Will that thing hold the two of us?”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  “Lie down.”

  “Alone?”

  “For now.” She obliged, kicking off her shoes and stretching on the bed, arranging the pillows behind her head. “Now close your eyes.” When she studied him suspiciously, he smiled down at her. “Trust me?”

  “I suppose. Do I get to peek now and then?”

  “We’ll see.” He waited until her eyes were tightly closed, then sat on the edge of the mattress beside her. “May I kiss you?”

  “Please do.”

  He lifted her hand, kissing each fingertip, working his way to her wrist, up the soft expanse of forearm, finally laying her hand on her chest and bending down to touch his lips to her cheek. When she turned her face, he avoided her mouth, instead pressing a kiss to her forehead. Slowly, deliberately, he moved along her hairline, breathing, brushing, opening his lips to taste the slightly salty skin at her temple. Bracing himself above her, he let one hand hover at her waist, teasing her shirt from the waistband of her shorts. At the first touch, she arched upward, drawing her breath in a soft moan. “Easy, love. Just relax and enjoy.” She moaned again, exhaling deeply. “That’s better. May I undress you, Peg?”

  She opened her eyes and he saw the flash of mischief in their blue depths. “If I can do the same to you.”

  “Ah. That’s the spirit. But I’m in control today, remember?”

  “Then no, you cannot undress me.” She thrust out her lower lip in a provocative pout, closing her eyes again.

  “Very well. It’s not a requirement, you know.” Dropping his head to nuzzle aside her collar and dip his tongue into the hollow of her throat, he whispered, “There’s still plenty of you to touch.” When his fingers slid along the hem of her shorts, brushing the silky flesh of her inner thigh, she jumped, her hands clutching at his shirt. “Relax, love.” Raising his hand in the air, he grinned down at her. “Shall I stop touching you?”

  “No!” Her eyes flew open. “No.” With a long sigh, she forced herself deeper into the pillows. “No.”

  Now he proceeded without interruption, delivering random caresses and kisses, sending visible shivers of pleasure over her skin. When he finally took her mouth in a kiss at first sweet and probing, it grew rapidly so intense that his own soaring arousal threatened to derail his efforts. He stretched beside her, gathering her into the protective bend of one arm. “More?”

  “Please.” She took his hand, urging it toward her chest. “Please?”

  “Not yet, love. Be patient.” He kissed her again, cupping her face in his palm. When she would have rolled into him, he pressed her back on the mattress. “Not yet.”

  Opening his shirt, he took her hand and placed it against his chest. “Tell me what you feel.”

  “You.” She smiled, as if recognizing the game. “Warm. Strong.” Flattening her hand, she sighed. “Your heart.”

  Cautiously, he undid the buttons down her shirt, parting it onl
y enough to glide his hand across her ribs. “May I?”

  “Yes.” He felt the flutter of her heartbeat beneath his fingers.

  Opening first one side of the shirt, and then the other, he skimmed his fingers along the top of her bra, watching the tips of her breasts harden against the soft fabric. “Do you always wear silk?”

  “What? Yes.”

  “Always white?”

  “Yes! Kendall. . .!” She arched upward and he lifted his hand again.

  “Patience.” His thumb slid inside one cup, tracing the soft curve and dipping down for an instant to tease at the peak. “You’re so beautiful, Peg. Are you sure I couldn’t undress you?”

  With an exasperated gasp, she sat up, jerking at her shirt and reaching for the clasp at her back. Instantly, he pulled her to him, pinning her arms at her side. “No, love. There’s a much better way.” When she was still again, he chuckled softly into her hair. “Allow me.”

  Gently he edged the shirt away, baring each shoulder and trailing it down her arms. The bra followed in the same manner, one strap at a time, a subtle twist to release the clasp, until finally her breasts brushed against his chest. Lowering her to the pillows, he got to his knees above her, taking a long moment to study the full, sculpted perfection of smooth ivory narrowing to firm waist, aware of her watching him beneath lowered lids. When he touched his lips to first one and then the other peak, she clutched at his shoulders, her hips rising against his thighs. “In good time, sweetheart.”

  As he focused on tasting her, inch by glorious inch, her response was barely contained, but he refused to answer her demands. By the time he lowered the zipper on her shorts and began to coax them downward, Peg was panting, her hips undulating in a slow, tortured rhythm between his knees. “Take me, Kendall, please!”

  He eased himself down beside her, stroking the damp hair from her forehead.

  “Is that really what you want?”

  “Yes. I know you said you wouldn’t, but why shouldn’t you be the one?”

  He hesitated, caught in the battle between heart and mind. “I can’t just take you, Peg. I need to love you, to cherish you. I need to give you what little I can. Won’t you let me do that for you?” He accepted her kiss, surprisingly unhurried, as her answer.

  What followed was a mutual journey of exploration and discovery, each recording with eyes and hands and lips the length and breadth of the other’s body. By the time they were both naked and every secret divulged, the afternoon sun had lowered to slant its rays across the floor. When he brought her to a final, shattering climax, followed closely by his own, the room had grown dim. As they lay together, damp and sighing, he realized he felt no regret at having made love to her. They were right together, perfectly matched in give and take, their tenderness and passion fused into consummate fulfillment; natural lovers.

  “Kendall?”

  He smiled at the hoarseness in her voice. “Yes, love?”

  “You were right. That is a better way.”

  “I broke another promise to you.”

  She rose on one elbow, sweeping her now unbound hair back over her shoulder. “No. I wanted you to, and you must have known it would happen. You were prepared.”

  He snorted softly. “I’m always prepared, love. A man can’t be too careful, especially not around willing virgins.”

  “I’m glad it happened. If we’re going to be separated for years now, I wanted to give you my virginity before you go.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “It’s not as if I was planning to give it to anybody else.”

  “You’re sure about that? What about when Prince Charming really does come along?”

  “I have my Galahad. I’m not interested in Prince Charming. I’ve told you—but you seem to refuse to hear me—I’m never going to be someone’s wife. I’m my father’s daughter. That’s enough.”

  He pulled her into his arms with a groan. “I hope not, sweetheart. You deserve to be loved, to be treasured and protected by a good man.”

  “I am.” She melted into him, arms and legs twining around him. “I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Peg had taken control of his every waking and sleeping hour. As she laid out their schedule over breakfast on Sunday morning, he struggled with the desire to crawl back into bed, alone. Against his protests, she had insisted there was no risk in sharing his bed at least until his mother and Patrick returned. They had stayed up until the wee hours, alternately talking and making love. Curled at his side, she had tortured him with relentless caresses while they talked books, art, music and the world in general. Peg, it turned out, planned to pursue a degree in humanities, with a focus on art history. Her education into the world of finance would come directly from her father. For the next four years, in addition to her courses at Columbia, she would apprentice at the bank as well as learn every aspect of managing a philanthropic trust.

  “It must be nice to know precisely how you’re going to be spending your time. My years at Oxford were a series of stumbles and bumbles until I finally found my stride.”

  “When was that?”

  “The year after you were in Ireland, as a matter of fact. I was desperate to focus on something other than wondering what was happening to you, and I finally found a little ambition.”

  “That’s so sweet. I wish I’d known you were thinking about me. I daydreamed about you constantly. Then when I found out you were really coming to New York, I almost panicked.”

  “Good heavens, why? I thought we hit it off from the moment we met, despite the obvious differences.”

  “Yes, but I’m not fifteen anymore, and I was afraid you wouldn’t like me as much now. Maeve made you sound so stuffy. Agnes did say you were just a gentlemen, but Maeve said you weren’t much fun at all. And I couldn’t put much stock in what Agnes says. She’s such an old maid already.”

  “See here now. Don’t be too hard on Agnes. She’s by far the nicer of the two, and a very bright girl. Agnes has real substance.”

  Peg sat up, eying him incredulously. “Are you serious?”

  “Quite. Agnes and I have shared any number of enlightening conversations in a quiet corner while Maeve played belle of the ball. There’s a certain charm in her straightforwardness. She’ll make a fine teacher, I’m sure.”

  “If she doesn’t scare off her students. Really, Kendall, you can’t be saying you find her attractive?”

  “Not attractive, no. Although it had occurred to me that you and Agnes bear a strong familial resemblance. The hair and eyes.” Peg gave an outraged gasp. "Oh, I know, those spectacles of hers are ghastly, but behind them, her eyes are the same amazing sapphire blue as yours, my pet. I like Agnes. She’s the sort of woman who can be counted on to bring a little common sense to the table. Maeve, on the other hand, has very little sense of any kind, I’m afraid. If she doesn’t find a good man to rein her in soon, I hate to think how she’ll end up.”

  Cuddling against him again, Peg seemed to think over his assessment of her cousins. “I suppose you know them better than I do. Funny, but I don’t feel much kinship to any of them. I know we’re all related, but I don’t really think of them as family. I wish I did know them better. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone.”

  He held her closer, stroking the soft skin at her waist. “Do you feel alone? I suppose I was hoping you had plenty of friends who made up for the lack of family over here. There’s no one on your mother’s side?”

  “No. At least not that I’ve ever known about. No one’s really told me much about her family. But I think her parents must have been dead before I was born. I don’t remember Grandmother Shannon. Dad took me to England when I was a baby, but she died before I was old enough to know her. It’s always just been the two of us. That always seemed like the perfect arrangement until he got sick and I realized without him, there wouldn’t be anybody, at least not anybody on this side of the world. Or anybody I really knew.”

  “But you have Mrs. Leary and Adamson to rely on,” he offered l
amely.

  “Oh, I know. The thing that scares me most is having to deal with all the people at the bank, and even at the foundation. Dad’s always taught me that if the time came, I’d have to be tough and not let them bully me. In a few years, when I’ve learned a lot more than I know now, maybe I could do that. But now? I’d be just one girl against a whole boardroom full of lawyers and loan officers and accountants. My name may be Shannon, but I doubt that would count for much.” She shuddered, closing her eyes against whatever image that brought to mind.

  “Poor darling. Surely your father has appointed someone to help you manage all that, if the need arose. He can’t expect you to singlehandedly take over what he’s spent a lifetime building. Besides, what about a life of your own? You’re entitled to more than just sitting behind a desk. What about a husband and children? And don’t tell me you’re never going to have those things. You’re too young to make that decision just yet.”

  He instantly regretted the statement when she stiffened in his arms. “There’s no decision to make. There’s no place in my life for any of that. My father’s always made that clear. Of course, he always said we’d work together, and I hope to God we can. He has to take better care of himself, that’s all.

  He would think about that for much of the night, holding Peg while she slept. He was increasingly anxious at the thought of leaving her, as though he had any other choice. His only consolation was that Peg would be starting her grand adventure as a college student and he could at least try to throw himself back into his life. In six months’ time, if not sooner, they would each look back on this as less life-changing than it seemed now. If that sounded like false hope, he chose to ignore the thought. He also chose to ignore the persistent suggestion, probably prompted by his ego, that he might actually return, audition for Silverman and manage to have an honest, open relationship with Peg, one involving more than occasional clandestine meetings between the sheets. He had recklessly let things go too far. Now he would bear the guilt of what he might have done to this girl he loved.