He idly leafed through the paper, seeing nothing to stop his rapid thoughts. Finally, irritated, he threw it down. In a way, it was strange seeing a remnant of his previous life. Since he’d come to Kilkairn, he felt as if he’d been living in a distant, mystical land. Even Kat in her sturdy little cottage in the woods, surrounded by her seven scowling giants, seemed unreal.

But real she was, as evidenced by his growing feelings. And they were growing, he admitted. Though not in his usual manner. Normally, by this point in a relationship, he was well on his way to proclaiming his love. Somehow he knew Kat would not appreciate such an impulsive, and eventually worthless, display. If he told her he loved her, he’d better mean it with every ounce of his heart, soul, and body, for she’d accept nothing less.

Up till now, his life wasn’t a very pretty picture. If he ever wanted a relationship that was more, then he would have to be more, do more, give more. That fact was slowly becoming obvious to him.

He moved restlessly. It was strange, but he didn’t miss London nearly as much as he had expected. He remembered his astonishment at discovering that his brother Chase planned to close his London residence except for a paltry two months of the year, so that he could reside in the manor house he’d purchased near his new bride’s childhood home.

Devon couldn’t imagine how his sophisticated, onetime dissolute brother would find anything to do in the country. Yet when he’d mentioned his concerns to his brother, Chase had laughed and then categorized about two hundred chores and efforts he and Harriet already had planned, including a new system to shear sheep and store wool that he’d been certain would revolutionize the entire industry.

It was then that it had dawned on Devon how much Chase had changed. Now, though, he wondered if perhaps Chase hadn’t changed at all, but had only found a place to expend his energies. Energies he’d been wasting before he met Harriet.

Devon grimaced. It was all nonsense. Chase might have needed to change, but God knew that Devon didn’t. Except for his irresolution with women, he liked who he was and what he was, and if he sometimes worried about his inability to feel anything substantial, it was merely because he wasn’t yet ready to settle down. Yes, that was all it was.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Devon said over his shoulder, glad for the interruption.

The door opened and Tilton entered, dressed and pressed into the perfect rendition of the perfect gentleman’s gentleman. “I beg your pardon, sir. May I have a word with you?”

“Of course.”