Page 20 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Magnus felt an unsettling surge of protectiveness for her.

Rising from the bed, he swiftly covered her with the quilt before retreating to the washstand to wet another cloth. Good God, he was perspiring. One would think he’d just summited a Far Eastern peak or fought a treacherous naval battle.

It rather felt as though he had.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. He hoped she might have drifted off again. But when he chanced a covert glance in her direction, he found her not asleep, but still looking at him.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said gruffly.

“You didn’t,” she replied.

Magnus wrung out the washcloth over the basin. “You’ll be thinking me some wild beast who takes his ill-temper out on his guests.” His brows sank as he returned to the bed. “And I am,” he added.

Charlotte’s gaze held his. “I’m not scared of wild beasts.”

He looked back at her steadily, his chest gone peculiarly tight. For an instant, he dared imagine⁠—

Mr. Aloysisus chose that moment to utter a low growl from beneath the wardrobe.

The tightness in Magnus’s chest was replaced by a bitter and immediate understanding. What an idiot he was. Too flustered from having unclothed her to recognize the obvious. She’d meant her dog, of course. Isn’t that why she’d been up on the wall in the first place? To find the little menace?

Uttering a wry huff at his own stupidity, Magnus applied the wet washcloth to Charlotte’s wound, doing his level best to ignore her soft gasps and whimpers as he cleaned it. He wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t anything to her. Just a man solely concerned with his own well-being. That he was caring for it at all was a consequence of that selfishness, not on account of any finer feeling.

“You’ll find that not all beasts in this part of the world are created equal, my lady,” he said. “Best to proceed with caution.”

Chapter Seven

“That’s impossible,” Magnus said.

The main room of the Moorcross Manor kitchens was lit by a branch of guttering candles. The dancing flames were barely sufficient to illuminate Turner’s weary face.

“It’s true enough, sir.” Perching on a wooden chair, Turner proceeded to remove his boots. “I asked at the market again, and at two of the shops. Won’t say the tradespeople were forthcoming, but they did speak to me. None of ’em would admit to knowing these Champion people.”

Magnus leaned back against the sink, all but disappearing into the deepening shadows that blanketed the edges of the room. The sun had set over an hour ago, taking most of his hopes with it. What little remained had been extinguished by his valet’s return. There was no longer any question that Charlotte would be obliged to stay the night.

“What about the post office?” he asked.

“Closed, my lord.” Turner massaged one of his stockinged feet. “Won’t open till midday tomorrow the sign said.”

“This infernal place,” Magnus seethed.

“Happen the young lady will have to sleep here,” Turner said.

“Oh, you think?” Magnus retorted acidly.

“Not much of a choice, I reckon. Unless you take her to the village yourself and leave her with one of the womenfolk till the doctor comes back. Might be better than keeping her here. An unwed young lady and all.” Turner scrunched his brow. “Except…Village shutters at nightfall, don’t it? Don’t suppose we’ll have any luck finding a person to help us.”

Magnus raked a hand through his hair in bleak resignation. “No one’s going to help us.”

“The doctor⁠—”

“He won’t come until tomorrow, if he comes at all.” Magnus suspected it would be the latter, given his recent run of luck. “We’ll have to find the Champions ourselves.”

“Don’t know how we could,” Turner said, making a prolonged show of rubbing his other foot.

Magnus wasn’t moved by his valet’s theatrics. “You’ll have to go door to door, naturally.”

Turner balked. “Tonight?”