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His stomach knotted at the idea. That was if she even agreed to be courted. He still had little idea why Lady Angel Templeton had opted to grace them with her presence, and if hewas honest, he had not much cared of the past few weeks. She’d done his aunt a world of good and…well…she’d done him some good too.

That did not mean, however, that he should get swept away by this whole thing.

Inhaling deeply, he stepped out of his room and headed downstairs to the breakfast room. He paused in the doorway. He had not spoken to Angel properly since their kiss three days ago. Aunt Jean had kept her busy and had been going through one of her bouts of sleeplessness again. Somehow, he’d have to snatch a chance to speak to her alone.

His heart dropped a little when he stepped into the breakfast room to find only his aunt at the table. Doodling on a sketchpad whilst sipping on a cup of tea, his aunt hardly noticed his entry into the room until he had selected food from the buffet table and sat down.

“Where’s Angel?” he asked, unable to contain the question.

“Oh, setting up my easel outside.” She pressed the end of the pencil to her mouth and peered at the sketch. “I wanted to make the most of the fine weather.”

“Indeed,” he mumbled non-committedly.

“It is sunny, Roo. I shall not catch a cold. Angel takes excellent care of me.”

He nodded, allowing himself a small smile at his aunt’s defense of Angel. “I know, Aunt.”

Her eyes narrowed a little while her lips curved. “So you concede that she is indeed an excellent lady’s companion.”

“When have I ever said otherwise?”

Aunt Jean shook her head. “I know you, Roo Roo. You blundered in here thinking you knew what was best for me and full of judgement about that girl.” His aunt gestured out of the window, where he spotted Angel setting up the easel and paints.

“I think she is very good to you,” he said tightly.

If he said anything more, he might show his hand, and until he knew exactly what was happening between Angel and himself, he dare not. After all, she was not just his aunt’s companion, she was the sister of a marquis. As well as he might be doing for himself, he had no title. For all he knew, that kiss meant nothing, and he was leading himself down a path of folly.

“She is good for you too,” his aunt mused.

“We get on very well,” he admitted.

“More than very well.” She tilted her head to eye him. “I think you have taken quite the fancy to her. Look” —she thrust a finger at him— “even now you cannot keep your gaze from straying to her.”

Reuben tore his gaze away from the window where he could see Angel struggling to set up the easel. It kept collapsing, and he was fairly certain he saw her issue a few curse words. He had to press his lips into a firm line to keep them from twitching.

“Aunt—”

She held a hand up. “Do not lie to me, Reuben Hunter. You might think me an addled old lady, but I know well enough when two people are in love.”

He made the mistake of taking a sip of coffee and nearly choked on it. “Love?” he spluttered.

His aunt nodded smugly.

“No—” He lowered the cup of coffee onto the saucer. “You are mistaken.”

“If it is not love, what is it?”

He looked into his aunt’s determined and clear gaze. She was not swept up in one of her more flighty moments. Here was the aunt he’d always known—clever, observant, and forthright. And she was rarely wrong.

But love…?

He shook his head more to himself than to his aunt. He was thinking of a slow, steady courtship, where they would have timeto discover how their differences worked. Angel found joy in almost every moment, and he could not help but get swept along by that. But how would she cope with his seriousness? With his need to keep things orderly? It was far too soon to decide if they were in love or not. It just was not logical…

“Roo, if you stopped thinking for one moment, my dear, you might see that your heart is already telling you what you want.”

His gaze strayed to outside again. Angel gave the easel a little kick then probably cursed at it again. His heart felt full, heavy. It thudded hard while the desire to grin like a madman rushed through him. No matter how much he tried to analyze the sensations, there was no defeating them.

Damn and blast. This could very well be love.