Page 62 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Charlotte’s eyes went wide. She gave him a fascinated look. “Doing what, exactly?”

Another hammer strike splintered through one of the upstairs’ walls in timely answer.

Magnus’s mouth quirked grimly. “That.”

Chapter Twenty

Charlotte returned the next morning at eight o’clock precisely, almost a full twenty-four hours after Magnus’s shocking confession about his past. She’d had plenty of time to think it over.

She was still thinking it over.

It didn’t follow that she must refrain from action in the meanwhile. Indeed, it had occurred to her last night, during the many sleepless hours she’d spent tossing and turning in her bed, that the only way to know more of Magnus was to see more of Magnus.

Having come to that decision, on waking, she’d wasted no time in washing, dressing, and setting out at a brisk pace for Moorcross Manor.

Magnus opened the kitchen door to her rather more promptly than he had the previous day. A knotted tie graced his neck and his thick black hair was combed into meticulous order. He appeared neither surprised nor dismayed to see her again so soon. He merely admitted her and, true to his word, enlisted her in his service.

And yet…

There was a solicitousness in his manner—a certain gruff gentleness, Charlotte felt—that hadn’t been evident yesterday.

It was enough to make her heart lose its rhythm in the most delicious way.

Responsible for me, ha! she thought as she followed him and Chance up the servants’ stair from the kitchen. That kiss on the hand Magnus had bestowed on her had been no act of responsibility. It had been no mere kindness, either. The truth was, he had grown fond of her.

Perchance just as fond as she had grown of him.

“I presume you and Turner are searching the house for something,” she said as they entered the main hall.

Magnus motioned for her to precede him. Chance remained at his side, still attached to the end of his rope lead. “You presume correctly.”

Turner was just entering the hall from one of its adjacent receiving rooms, a claw hammer dangling from his hand. He pulled the door shut behind him, but not before Charlotte caught a brief glimpse of the dark little antechamber, with its faded, moth-eaten carpet and cramped arrangement of austere, old-fashioned furnishings.

Her pulse quickened. Was that the small parlor? The very room where Miss Farr had met her tragic end?

“My lord?” Turner cast a wary eye from Charlotte to Magnus.

“Miss Beresford will be joining us in our efforts this morning,” Magnus informed him.

The valet’s jaw slackened. “Joining us, sir?”

Magnus’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “As I said.”

Chance sank into a sitting position next to him. Lifting a scraggly hind paw, he proceeded to scratch himself beneath his chin.

Charlotte removed her hat and stripped off her gloves. Magnus stepped forward to take them from her. “It would help if I knew what we were looking for,” she said.

For a taut moment, the only sound in the entry hall was the steady thump-thump of Chance’s back foot beating against the floor. And then⁠—

“Bank notes,” Magnus replied brusquely. “Or bags of coin.”

“Several bags of coin,” Turner added.

Charlotte looked between the two of them, her nerve endings fairly vibrating with curiosity. “You’re searching for money?”

“My inheritance,” Magnus said. “Hidden somewhere here at the Manor.”

Charlotte stopped where she stood. “I knew it!” she breathed.