Page 25 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

The wall loomed ahead of them, towering up behind a stand of trees. Magnus could just make out the broken branch that had plunged to the ground a split second before Charlotte had.

All my fault.

The thought entered his head before he could prevent it.

She might have died. You could have killed her.

Magnus forced the damning words away. None of this was his fault.

Granted, he had pointed a pistol at her, but it hadn’t been loaded. And he hadn’t known she might fall, had he? He’d merely been protecting his property, the same way any trespasser-plagued landowner might have done.

“What matters to me at the moment,” he informed her, “is you getting your memory back. After that, the two us can—” He broke off.

Go our separate ways, he’d nearly said.

“The two of us can what?” she asked.

“Get on with our lives,” he replied. “Properly.”

She smiled briefly. “You make it sound as though the last several days have been improper.”

Magnus flinched. It was an apt description, though he couldn’t acknowledge it as such. “I’m not a nursemaid,” he said instead. “And you’re not a bedridden damsel.”

“I should hope I’m not.”

“Then we’re of the same mind. You’ll do whatever it takes to recover yourself and I’ll get back to⁠—”

“Unearthing secrets,” she supplied.

He assisted her over another tree root. “My own business, I was going to say.”

Charlotte didn’t reply. Her gaze scanned the path ahead with evident disappointment. “I don’t remember this part of the garden at all.”

“You wouldn’t,” Magnus said. “I carried you through here.”

Swiftly carried her, all the while cursing his luck, his lineage, his temper for having threatened to shoot her.

“Yes, but I must have walked it before,” she said. “When I left the house to climb the wall perhaps? And why was I climbing a wall?”

“You were searching for your dog, I presume. Attempting to get a better vantage point.”

“He must have been hiding from me again.” Her footsteps slowed. “Poor thing. Have I had him very long?”

Magnus could only guess at the answer. And doubtless that guess would be wrong. He jerked his chin at the section of wall ahead of him. “There it is,” he said. “That’s where you fell.”

Charlotte stopped beside him to examine the ivy-covered stone. Her expression showed no trace of recognition. “And you found me here?”

“Promptly.”

Her fingers pressed his arm in gratitude. “Thank goodness for that.”

Magnus had the grace to redden. Curse Turner and his worthless advice. If Magnus had only disabused Charlotte of her false assumptions from the start, they wouldn’t be obliged to continue this embarrassing pantomime.

“Does nothing about this place stir your memory?” he asked with undisguised irritation.

“No. I confess, it doesn’t.” Her attention came to rest on a tangled clump of shrubbery. “What is that?” She moved closer, her hand sliding free of his arm. “Is that a book?”

Before Magnus could answer, Charlotte was hurrying off to investigate, heedless of the obstacles in her path. He strode after her with a muttered oath. “Take care,” he warned. “This garden hasn’t been tended in over a decade. There could be⁠—”