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A groan escaped Angel before she quite realized why. Drawing open her eyes and taking in the dusky light of the room, she groaned again when a knot at the top of her spine panged in protest of the slight movement. Lord, no wonder she ached all over. Mrs. Stone had suffered a restless night with a grievous headache and the only way to settle her had been by reading stories by candlelight and gossiping about all the old gentry.

Angel had to admit, the gossiping part had been rather amusing. Who knew that old Lord Duffield had been quite the rogue in his day? It was hard to imagine the octogenarian flirting with any ladies now, especially since he refused to believe he was hard of hearing and shouted at everyone.

However, her body was not made to lie on an armchair all night. She straightened and tilted her head side to side in an attempt to loosen the knots. No, she was used to the very best of beds. And even though the ancient bed she had here could not compare to her one at home with its plump pillows and luxurious mattress, anything would be preferable to this worn leather chair.

Her gaze fell on Mrs. Stone who was laid on her back, mouth slightly ajar. White wispy hair escaped the braid that Angel had tied and her cap was askew. But she looked peaceful, and that made Angel smile. She had to admit, Mrs. Stone was not the awful old crone she feared she would be. With all her tales and her interesting take on life, combined with anenormous amount of energy for a lady of her age, these two months would not be entirely dull.

Especially with her nephew only a few rooms down.

She tried to force away the image of the stern Mr. Hunter likely sleeping restfully in a comfortable bed in the room that Mrs. Stone claimed she always reserved for her favorite nephew.

However, the image was stubborn. She scowled to herself. The briefest glimpse of him before he had retired sealed a sight in her mind that refused to fade. The lack of cravat, combined with tousled hair and a loose shirt as he had ducked into his room after bidding his aunt good night had impacted her far more than it should have done.

After all, the man’s constant scowl told her all she needed to know. And if that was not enough, he had practically told her how useless he thought he believed her to be upon their first meeting by scolding her like a child. She did not quite understand his slight change in temperament after his decision to stay. Though perhaps her support in showing a united front against the coarse Mr. Cartwright helped—who she could swear was up to no good even if she could not place a finger on it.

Anyway, a slight change in temperament did not mean much. The man was thoroughly uncharmable, which was strange indeed. Even Mr. Cartwright had been charmed by her, and she had not been trying. The moment the man had stepped into the house, she had been on the defense. Underneath that sheen of what she imagined many thought of as charisma was something else. She could not put her finger on it, but it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Angel put a hand to the neck in question. Mr. Hunter had rather the same effect unfortunately, and it did not feel nearly as unpleasant. Especially now she knew what he looked like cravat-less. It was silly really. She had met many an attractive man and none of them ever scowled at her or scolded her like a child.

Which begged the question…why was she so preoccupied with him?

Pushing fingers through her tangled hair, she rose from the chair, wincing when the floorboards creaked. She could not quite make out the time on the mantle clock as the heavy curtains blocked out most of the light from the room, but the gray light seeping in through the gaps underneath told her it was early morning. She was slowly learning Mrs. Stone’s habits, and it would be several hours before she rose, so that gave Angel time to wash and dress before the morning meal.

Slipping out of the room, she eased the door shut and listened for a moment. She released a long breath. All was quiet. Mrs. Stone might be jolly good fun, but there was quite a bit of labor involved in working for her, which Angel had not anticipated. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. Seven o’clock in the morning. Lord, she never saw that time at home. If her siblings could see her now, having put in a night’s hard work and rising at such an early hour, they would have a collective heart attack.

“Ah.”

Angel jolted away from the door, a hand pressed to her chest. “I was just—” Words failed her when her gaze traversed Mr. Hunter. She could not help but take a slow, lazy perusal of his person, taking in the damp hair, the open collar of his shirt, the unbuttoned sleeves that were rolled up to just below his elbows. Veins and sinew flexed on arms that were slightly sun-kissed. A jacket was slung carelessly over one shoulder.

Mouth dry, her mind raced. If a glimpse of a lack of cravat had addled her mind then she might as well be committed to the asylum now. Nothing could have prepared her for Mr. Reuben Hunter slightly damp and not at all appropriately dressed.

To make matters worse, his lips tilted slightly, drawing her attention to a mouth that should be banned on men. It wasentirely unfair that the rougher sex should be bestowed with full lips like that.

“Forgive me, I did not think you would be awake.”

She jerked her gaze up to his and tried not to imagine how hot and pink her cheeks had to look.

“No…” The word came out more like a mouse squeak than a word. She cleared her throat as quietly as she could. “No…no need to apologize. I was just, um, checking on your aunt. She had a rather restless night.” Angel put a hand to her hair and grimaced internally. How must she look in yesterday’s crumpled gown and her hair wild? And here he was looking as though he had been conjured from one of those gothic romance novels.

A crease appeared between his dark brows, and his gaze trailed over her. “Did you spend the night with my aunt?”

Hands tight at her side lest she start fussing with her hair again, she gave a stiff nod. Surprise lit briefly in Mr. Hunter’s eyes. Angel could not help but lift her chin. The man apparently thought her utterly heartless, despite hardly knowing her.

“She needed me, Mr. Hunter, so I thought it prudent to stay with her until she was settled.” She forced a smile. “That is what I am here for after all, is it not?”

“Indeed,” he said tightly. Mr. Hunter swung his jacket from over his shoulder and clasped it in both hands. “If you will excuse me, I should…” He motioned to his bedroom door.

“Do you ride every morning, Mr. Hunter?” she blurted out and fought the urge to slap a hand to her forehead. What was wrong with her? The question had been burning in her mind, but she had not anticipated it escaping her, not when she was so close to ending this interaction and escaping his relentless glower.

“I do.”

“Even in the rain?”

He motioned down his person. “As you can see.”

“Yes.” Oh yes, she could see. She saw the way his shirt clung to muscles that implied he did more than riding. Fencing perhaps. Or maybe boxing. Muscles that were apparently making her ask the most nonsensical questions. Maybe he was correct in not trusting her to look after his aunt. After all, she was hardly proving herself to be the cleverest of women.

“Angel?”