Page 39 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

The words pierced Magnus like a blade.

He couldn’t fathom why. He’d known her all of two days. It wasn’t enough time to form an acquaintance, let alone an attachment. Nevertheless…

She was right, wasn’t she? She wasn’t just anyone. Not to him.

That didn’t mean he had to admit it.

Exhaling heavily, he shook his head. “Charlotte⁠—”

“Was she your sweetheart?” she asked.

It was all Magnus could do not to recoil at the suggestion. “No, she bloody well wasn’t my sweetheart.”

“Then who⁠—”

“A squire’s daughter,” he said brusquely. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Charlotte studied his face. Her own was ridiculously easy to read. She knew that it mattered. She knew that it was the reason for all of this. For the miserable state of the house and of Magnus himself.

His shoulders slumped. He was suddenly more tired than he’d been in his life. “The constable will be returning with Miss Champion forthwith,” he said. “You must rest until then. Save your strength.”

“That won’t be for an hour, at least,” Charlotte said. “That leaves plenty of time⁠—”

“You will retire,” Magnus said. “I insist.”

Her eyes narrowed at the thread of steel in his voice. Weak and weary as she was after her injury, she was made of stern stuff. Any other female would have been quailing by now, both at his tone and his manner. “Perhaps I will,” she said. “But not because you command me.”

“I don’t care what compels you, so long as you return to your room.” He paused. “My room.” Another pause. “Whatever the hell you want to call it.”

Some of the starch went out of her spine. “I suppose I am a little tired.”

“You look it.”

“Are you trying to insult me?”

He folded his arms. “I’m attempting to put this episode back in its proper context,” he said. “We’re not married. We’re not friends. We’re not even cordial acquaintances. We’re two strangers brought together by chance.”

Charlotte stilled, staring at him. Rather than being offended by his words, she appeared vastly diverted by them. A spark lit in her blue eyes, making them gleam like twin jewels. “Oh, but that’s it!” she exclaimed. “Well done, Magnus.”

He scowled at her. Was she mocking him?

She hastened to explain. “My Grandmother Heywood always told me that an animal’s name becomes evident. One only has to wait for the flash of inspiration. And you’ve just provided it.”

His scowl deepened. “What are you on about?”

“Chance,” she said. “That’s his name.”

Magnus was incredulous. “That scruffy devil upstairs?”

“He’s not a devil,” she said. “Only neglected and misunderstood. It’s nothing a little kindness won’t remedy.” She smiled. “It cures all ills, I believe.”

Chapter Thirteen

Charlotte was in bed when the constable returned. She’d retired there after spending over half an hour at the foot of the wardrobe, fruitlessly trying to coax Chance from his hiding place.

“You’ll have to come out eventually,” she told him as she rested on her pile of pillows. A tray with a half-finished pot of tea sat on the bed beside her. Another courtesy of Magnus’s. One of many, though he’d never admit they were anything of the kind.

Not friends indeed. After he’d rescued her and nursed her? After he’d saved her life?