such a hasty retreat. He doubted she approved of having her senses, let alone her will, suborned so easily.
He hoped this morning’s interlude had given her something more to think about, another perspective on what they’d shared last night. The same possessive passion, but a gentler, less blatant version.
Gradually, his smile faded as the challenge that lay ahead of him solidified in his mind.
He didn’t think he was married. He was starting to feel sure enough of his reactions to believe he couldn’t be; if he had been, his Calvinistic upbringing would have him writhing with guilt, regardless of whether he could remember or not.
He was almost certain he didn’t have a wife, almost certain he could ask Linnet to fill the role.
He was even more certain that when the time came, he could convince her to agree.
One trait that became clearer, more pronounced, every day, was that he wasn’t the sort of man who gave up. Not when he’d set his mind on something, on attaining something.
And he wanted Linnet with a passion beyond anything he’d felt before.
In a few short days, she’d made him-forced him to-face his future, to understand and accept that she and this place of hers were elements he couldn’t do without. That they fulfilled him in ways, and to a depth, he hadn’t before thought possible. That his place there, securing it, was vital-that he had no choice but to incorporate her and all that was hers into his life.
She would be the lodestone around which the rest of his life would revolve.
How to make that clear to her, how to persuade her to accept the inevitable consequences… of that he wasn’t quite so sure.
Tossing back the covers, he rose and stretched, feeling more alive, more energized, than he could ever recall feeling before. Lowering his arms, he glanced at the door. Regardless of what Linnet might think, he already had a place in her life, one he was currently filling. No matter what she thought, he wasn’t going to surrender it, wouldn’t give it up.
He wasn’t going to let her go.
When he joined her at the breakfast table, he decided he might as well start as he meant to go on. After taking his usual seat on her left, and smiling and thanking Molly, who came rushing up with a plate piled with sausages, ham, and kedgeree, he looked at Linnet, met her eyes. “So what are we doing today?”
She stared at him, then repressively replied, “I haven’t yet decided what I need to do.”
“Whatever you decide, I’ll come with you.”
“I was thinking it might be better for you to rest after your disturbed night-perhaps help Buttons with the children.”
He held her gaze for a second, then glanced at the windows, at the gray day outside. “The weather’s closing in-the children will most likely stay indoors. I think it would be more useful for me to go with you.”
He returned his gaze to her face, scooped a forkful of kedgeree into his mouth, chewed, and kept his gaze leveled on hers.
Eyes narrowing, Linnet baldly stated, “I believe we should do whatever we can to prod your memory, but I’m not sure what else we can do.”
He nodded, finally gave his attention to his plate. “There must be something. I’ll think about it.”
Linnet bit her tongue against the temptation to reply; if he’d decided to stop baiting her-she was fairly certain that’s what he’d been doing-then she’d be wise to let sleeping dogs lie.
From across and down the table, Vincent asked Logan about cavalry mounts and stabling. While Logan answered, Linnet glanced around the table, confirming that none of the others had seen their exchange for the clash of wills it had been.
Head down, she finished her meal, absorbing the conversations bandied about the table, hearing more the sounds than the words. Buttons and Muriel chatting at the far end, their voices brisk, but light. Edgar, John, and Bright discussing something about the crops, voices low, while the boys’ bright, eager voices joined the conversation Vincent had started. Even Gilly piped up with a question. Logan’s deep voice was a rumbling counterpoint running beneath all the others, balancing and connecting the others into a harmonious whole…
She inwardly shook herself, wrenched her mind from that track. No matter how well Logan
Exasperation tinged with frustration bloomed. She might want him to remain, might want that, and him, to a degree she hadn’t mere days ago thought possible, but realistically, she knew it wouldn’t work. If he stayed, there’d be problems. He’d want to lead, he was that sort of man, while she would never consent to handing over the reins- to stepping aside from the position she’d been born and raised to fill.
She ignored the niggling fact that he’d already shown a certain sensitivity over not stepping on her toes, that he might be intelligent enough to see and accept the need for compromise on the who-was-leader front. If he stayed they’d have to make their relationship formal, and that was where the intractable problems lay. This was her place; she would never leave it, but his home was in Scotland. And then there were the issues of gentility and expectations of ladylike behavior. He was a gentleman, an officer, yet while she’d been born a lady, certainly qualified as gently bred, she had neither the inclination nor the training to play the role of lady-wife.
And she certainly didn’t have the temperament.
With one last, dark glance at Logan’s black head, she pushed back from the table, rose, and followed Muriel into the kitchen.
She felt Logan’s dark gaze on her back, but he remained at the table, chatting with the other men while Buttons gathered the children preparatory to herding them upstairs for a full day of lessons.
Mrs. Pennyweather, Molly, and Prue were busy in the scullery. Muriel, a cup of strong tea in her hand, stood at the window looking out over the kitchen garden. Pouring herself a cup of the fragrant black brew from the pot in the middle of the big table, Linnet sipped, then went to join her aunt.
Her gaze on the garden, Muriel murmured, “I’m not going to ask, and you’re not going to tell, but… you’re fond of Logan.”
Looking out on the brown beds, Linnet sipped. Took the instant to consider her words. “Fond is as fond might be, but regardless, once he remembers the rest-the missing pieces-he’ll leave.” She hestitated, then added, “I’d rather that was sooner than later.”
So she could limit the hurt, the disappointment that she, and the children, too, would feel.
Muriel nodded. “Yes, that’s wise. Not a pleasant prospect, but inevitable.”
Linnet said nothing, simply sipped and fought to keep that looming prospect from dragging her spirits down.
“Smell.”
Linnet glanced at Muriel, saw her aunt frowning in concentration.
“I heard somewhere that smell is the most potent trigger for memory.”
Before Linnet could respond, heavy footfalls had her turning.
Logan halted in the doorway. “The others suggested we check in L’Eree to see if anyone or anything from the wreck turned up there.”
In terms of finding something to jog his memory, it was a reasonable suggestion, but of course he’d need her to introduce him to the locals, and ask the questions, too. She didn’t want to spend more time alone with him, but the sooner he remembered and left… the sooner this-her restless, chafing, disaffected mood-would end.
Setting down her cup, she nodded. “Very well-let’s go.”
Muriel stood at the window and watched Linnet and Logan, cloaks flapping, stride toward the stables. Behind her, Mrs. Pennyweather came out of the scullery, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Pennyweather,” Muriel said, her gaze still on the figures walking to the stable yard, “what spices do you have in your pantry?”
Alongside Linnet, Logan rode back into the Mon Coeur stable yard in the early afternoon. The ride had been refreshing, exhilarating in parts, but their hours in L’Eree had been disappointing. In more ways than one.
No one in the small town had even realized there’d been a wreck, so they’d made no advance of any kind on that front.
A drizzling rain had settled in during the long ride back. After leaving their mounts with Matt and Young Henry, he and Linnet strode swiftly, heads down, to the house.
