Page 53 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“One always has a choice.” Opening her basket, Charlotte began to unpack the items she’d brought.

Magnus’s brows sank with suspicion. “What’s that?”

“Provisions,” she said, placing each of them on the table. “Bread, butter, blackberry jam. A bottle of milk. Sugar.” She glanced at him. “You do still have tea leaves?”

He ran a hand over the side of his neck with an eloquent grimace. “They’re on their third washing.”

She withdrew a canister. “Well, then. It’s a good thing I brought some.”

“Restocking our pantry, are you?”

“I’m staying for tea,” she said. “Unless…” A flicker of uncertainty made her falter. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

Magnus was silent a moment. At length, he sighed. “Why not? I may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”

Charlotte smiled, unable to hide her relief. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“I’ll do it.” Magnus’s deep voice brooked no argument. “You sit.” He pulled out a chair for her with one hand. His countenance was severe, rather like a reluctant guardian commanding his recalcitrant ward.

It wasn’t exactly the way Charlotte wished to be looked at by the man who was presently making her pulse behave so erratically. Nevertheless…

She didn’t have the heart to quarrel with him.

“I really am quite well,” she said as she took a seat. “You needn’t wait on me.”

“I’m not.” He handed her Chance’s lead. Crossing to the cast iron stove, he picked up the kettle. “You can slice the bread.”

Chapter Seventeen

Magnus prepared both their cups of tea, his black and hers with milk and sugar. Cups in hand, he joined her at the table.

She’d removed her hat and gloves on entering. Her head was bent over the loaf of bread she’d brought with her, a knife that was desperately in need of sharpening poised in her hand.

Magnus paused a fraction of a moment to stare at her. He couldn’t help himself, though it pained him to acknowledge it. He’d never seen her looking so beautiful. So exceedingly well turned out.

Her glossy auburn hair was twisted back into an elaborate roll at her nape. The fitted bodice of her walking dress hugged her every curve, and her skirts fell in an elegant spill over the swell of her hips, secured behind her in a profusion of ribbons and pleats atop what must be another variety of infernal wire underpinning.

The same kind of wire underpinning Magnus had removed from her less than a week ago.

Was it all for his benefit? he wondered. The effort she’d put into her appearance? Or was this how she always looked during the normal course of her day?

He placed their cups down on the table. She’d been busying herself while he was occupied at the stove, cutting the loaf of bread into neat, even slices. At her feet, Chance was just finishing a crust of his own.

Magnus had had the devil of a time earning the little cur’s trust. In the end, only constant proximity had done the trick. Nearly a week of spending every hour in Magnus’s company, and Chance was finally at his ease. Magnus didn’t flatter himself that it was on account of any fondness the dog had for him. He was a prisoner resigned to his fate.

A comfortable fate at that. Vastly preferable to his previous existence, starving and hiding in razor-sharp brambles. Chance was rapidly becoming greedy for more. He pawed at Charlotte for another crust.

Magnus pushed her teacup to her from across the table as he sat down. “He’s already had his breakfast.”

“It’s just a little treat.” Charlotte gave Chance a second piece of bread. “It helps him to trust me.”

“He trusts you enough.” Magnus jerked his chin in the direction of her cup. “Drink.”

Charlotte picked it up. She took a meditative sip. Her brows immediately lifted. “You remembered how I take my tea?”

“It wasn’t difficult.”

“Still…” She took another sip. “I don’t know how you take yours.”