Page 52 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Charlotte choked on an offended laugh. “You can’t be saying that to me!”

Magnus was unrepentant. “I curse the day you crossed paths with him.”

“I daresay you do, given what’s transpired.” She searched his eyes, still holding on to hope. “But…you have been taking care of him, haven’t you?”

“Every bloody hour of every bloody day.” Magnus opened the door the rest of the way, revealing a startling picture.

Chance was beside him. Not snarling and snapping. Not hiding. But sitting calmly at the end of a thin rope lead that Magnus held loosely in his hand. He stared up at Magnus with an unmistakable expression of canine devotion.

Charlotte’s breath caught in her chest at the sight of it. Her heart caught too.

She was forcibly reminded of some of the rescued dogs from her childhood. The very worst ones, frightened and abused, who had seemed far beyond hope of rehabilitation. Yet, her mother had always managed to coax them into the family. To convince them they were safe. To persuade them to trust.

It was a sort of magic. The kind that had been passed down from Charlotte’s maternal grandmother. A contagious sort, Charlotte believed. For even her father had, on occasion, worked its wonders with a helpless animal case (though he was more partial to cats than dogs).

Charlotte hadn’t thought to find that magic manifesting in someone outside of her family. Certainly not here in this bleak place, with this perpetually scowling, bad-tempered man.

“And I haven’t hurt him if that’s what you’re thinking,” Magnus said crossly. “I’ve merely civilized him.”

“Heavens,” Charlotte said. “He’s utterly transformed.” She looked up at Magnus in wonder. “How on earth did you do it?”

“I put this lead on him four days ago. He’s been on it ever since.”

“You kept him with you?”

“Morning, noon, and night.”

Charlotte couldn’t conceal her amazement. It was the same tactic her maternal grandmother had once used with a half-wild hound she’d found near their Somerset estate. The lead she’d attached to him had forged a bond of companionship, resisted at first, but ultimately instilling confidence in the dog and helping him to transition into his new role as a pet.

“Even when you retired?” Charlotte asked. ”But…where did he sleep?”

“On my blasted bed,” Magnus snapped. “Any more questions?”

Charlotte’s heart swelled so she feared it might burst out of her chest. “So many,” she said.

“Why am I not surprised?” Magnus walked away, with Chance in tow. Though he didn’t ask Charlotte in, he left the kitchen door open behind him.

Charlotte hesitated a fraction of a second before taking the invitation as implied. Giving one last self-conscious brush over her clothes, she came into the kitchen, closing the door after her.

Chance trotted ahead, keeping abreast with Magnus. He was no longer limping.

She frowned. “The injury to his leg⁠—?”

“A thorn in his paw,” Magnus said. “His limp has gone since I removed it.”

It took an effort for Charlotte not to gawp. It was astonishing enough to witness Magnus leading the newly compliant canine about. But to imagine him treating the creature’s ailments like some ministering angel? That was another thing entirely.

“How fortunate you are, Chance, to have been treated with such kindness,” she said to the little dog.

Magnus uttered a derisive snort.

Charlotte wasn’t deterred by it. On the contrary. If there was ever a sign of a man’s true nature, it was evident in the way he treated animals. Seeing Magnus and Chance together both warmed her soul and made her pulse flutter in a completely new way.

This was different than being drawn to a man for his mystery or for his handsomeness. This was being drawn to him because of his character. A far more powerful lure, and one Charlotte was completely unaccustomed to.

She set her basket down on the plank table. “And how fortunate I am,” she added. “Not many gentlemen would have taken the trouble.”

“You gave me little choice,” Magnus said.