Page 61 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s responsible for my swift rise through the ranks. Both my captain and commander were killed in the bombardment. I was promoted on the spot, and elevated again soon after. Whether it was owing to my father’s influence or my own idiotic efforts at playing the hero I’ll never know.” He stood, his hands still resting on the table. “Now, if I’ve sufficiently answered all of your questions⁠—”

Charlotte was at once on her feet. “Magnus⁠—”

“No more,” he said. “I’ve already said too much.” He directed a glance to the window, gauging the position of the sun. “And you’ve stayed too long.”

“Not that long,” she objected.

“Your presence here isn’t going to help either of our situations.” He reached for Chance’s rope lead. “So, unless you fancy yourself joining me in exile⁠—”

“I dispute this whole analogy. Or metaphor. Or whatever you call it.” She relinquished Chance’s lead to him. “You’re not really in exile. Even if you were once, you’re not anymore.”

“What I am,” he said, “is done answering questions about the past.”

Charlotte didn’t move from where she stood. “I have but one more.”

A muscle spasmed in Magnus’s jaw. He folded his arms, facing her in surly silence from across the kitchen.

For the first time since her arrival, Charlotte appeared to hesitate. A delicate bloom of color rose in her cheeks. “When I left here last week with Miss Champion and the constable…”

“What of it?”

“You kissed my hand when we parted.”

Magnus’s chest constricted. His every instinct told him to beat a hasty retreat, but for the life of him, he couldn’t break free of her gaze.

“Was that only kindness?” she asked.

His heart pounded heavily. No, he wanted to say. It wasn’t kindness at all. It was⁠—

But he didn’t know what it had been

“I suppose,” he answered finally, “that I’d come to feel responsible for you.”

“Responsible,” Charlotte repeated.

“A natural inclination. You were in my charge for a time.”

“But no longer.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not my responsibility anymore.”

“So that kiss was⁠—”

“Something of a farewell.”

Charlotte’s chin ticked up. Her blushing countenance was instantly transformed into a look of reproof. “Friendships don’t work that way,” she informed him.

She’d no sooner finished her words than Turner’s hammering suddenly resumed. Strike after brutal strike against the rotting paneling. The walls of the kitchen trembled on their timbers.

Chance milled anxiously around Magnus’s legs. Magnus scarcely noticed him. Charlotte held the whole of his attention.

“Of course it wasn’t a farewell,” she said. “Indeed, it was nothing of the sort.” She regarded him stubbornly from across the kitchen. “So long as I remain in Yorkshire, and so long as you continue to treat me with courtesy, I will continue to visit you. That is what friends do.”

Magnus looked back at her, uncertain whether to give way to a burst of frustration or to an equally inappropriate shout of laughter. Was there nothing he could say to persuade her that he wasn’t worth her efforts? She’d seen his estate, his manners (or lack of them), had even learned about his past. And still she remained, steadfast in her own dogged convictions.

“Very well,” he said abruptly. “Come back again. But be warned. The next time you darken my doorstep I shall put you to work.”