Free Brazen Bride by Stephanie Laurens

oddly reassured. She would never allow any of them to lose this, to lose Mon Coeur.
    Mon Coeur. A name he now understood.
    “Logan!” Gilly tugged his sleeve. “Pay ’tention. Which card should I put down?”
    He focused on the five cards she held tightly in both hands. Pointed. “That one.”
    “All right.”
    He watched as she whipped it out and laid it down.
    The others looked, and groaned.
    “Did I win?”
    Logan laughed, lightly tousled her bright head. “Yes, poppet. You did.”
    From the other side of the parlor, Muriel watched Gilly beam and bounce on her knees, watched Logan gather the cards and reshuffle them. Saw the interest in the other children’s eyes, the boys’ eyes especially, as they watched and learned.
    Much of her earlier wariness toward Linnet’s latest stray had dissipated. Yet looking at Linnet as she sat in an armchair and watched the group before the fire, Muriel wondered if her niece had ever before looked at any man as she was looking at Logan Monteith. Certainly not that Muriel knew.
    There was interest, clear as day, in Linnet’s green eyes—not a calculating interest, but a fascinated one. An intrigued attraction.
    Then Linnet stirred. Uncrossing her legs, she rose. “That’ll have to be the last game tonight.”
    The children and Logan looked up; the children all waited—looking hopefully from Logan to Linnet—but Logan merely inclined his head and turned back to deal the cards. “Last hand.”
    The children pulled faces, but no one moaned.
    Turning, Linnet walked to where Muriel sat, Buttons beside her.
    Viewing the subtle smile curving her niece’s lips, Muriel felt compelled to ask, as Linnet reached her, “What about the sleeping arrangements?”
    Logan might be a gentleman born and bred, nevertheless . . .
    Linnet didn’t pretend not to understand. She grimaced lightly. “Logan will have to continue in my bed—his head’s still causing him considerable pain, and there’s nowhere else he’d be comfortable. I doubt the cot in the box room would support his weight, but it’ll do for me, at least for a few nights.”
    Muriel nodded, her gaze going to Logan. “I suspect that’s the best arrangement in the circumstances. The better rested he is, the more likely he is to regain his memory.” Rising, she said, “I’ll have Pennyweather bring in the tea.”
    Linnet remained where she was, her gaze returning to Logan—skating over his shoulders, the long, strong legs stretched out before him, the clean, harsh planes of his face, his firm lips.
    She let her gaze drink him in—and thought of the small cot in the box room.
    A s usual, Linnet was the last to go upstairs. Once everyone else had retired, she did her rounds; in the calming stillness, the soft, enfolding shadows, she walked the ground-floor rooms of her home, checking every window, securing every door. Mon Coeur might stand in a sparsely populated neighborhood, yet by that very fact the house was isolated, far removed from the communal safety of town or village, and was within a few hundred yards of the coast—a coast that in the past had been an occasional haunt of pirates, and was also frequently raked by ferocious and unpredictable storms.
    There was, she considered, sufficient reason for vigilance.
    Once all was secure, she climbed to the attics, looked in on all the children. Tucked Chester’s blankets in again, then did the same for Gilly in the room she shared with Jen.
    Finally assured that all was as it should be, she descended to the first floor. The lighted candle she carried casting a warm glow on the polished wood of floor and paneled walls, she walked to the closed door of her room.
    There, she hesitated, for the first time that evening not quite sure of herself.
    The feeling, the realization, irritated. Squaring her shoulders, she reminded herself of her resolution to be wise, then raised a hand and tapped on the door. She waited, then, hearing nothing, reached for the knob, turned it,