Page 87 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“I lost my taste for battle.” And for the company of others, Magnus added silently. He had never wanted to be lauded. He had wanted to suffer. To in some way atone for his past.

“The Navy is a respectable career,” Lord St. Clare said. “Some might say a necessary one for a man who finds himself as you do.”

Magnus returned the viscount’s gaze in silence. They had addressed his reputation. It stood to reason that his financial situation would be next. A necessary indignity. And one Magnus had already endured once this morning in writing to his father’s solicitor.

It made it no more pleasant to face it again.

“My secretary informs me that you are currently without your inheritance,” Lord St. Clare said. “And that you have but a small income remaining from your time in the Navy.”

“That’s correct.”

“As for your property, I’m told that you have only this estate, and a house in London, to your name. Both entailed, are they not?”

“Not the house in London,” Magnus said.

Mr. Tate popped his head up from across the room. He exchanged a look with his employer.

“It’s in a trust,” Magnus explained to the both of them. “A complicated arrangement, set out long before I was born. There may yet be a means of breaking it.”

“You’ve made inquiries?” Lord St. Clare asked.

“I’m in the process of making them,” Magnus said. “If it works, it would supply me with sufficient funds for a comfortable enough life.” His mouth quirked bitterly. “Naturally not as comfortable as it might have been if I had my full inheritance, but be assured, your daughter will not go hungry.”

Belatedly, Magnus realized what he’d said. He’d given voice to his intentions before receiving permission to possess them.

Lord St. Clare’s cold expression betrayed a glimmer of fire. He rose from his chair. “At last, we reach the crux of the matter.”

Magnus stood. His voice roughened in apology. “Forgive my presumption.”

Lord St. Clare flashed a dark glance at Magnus as he walked away from the hearth. “My youngest daughter has spent the night with you unchaperoned, Eversleigh. We’re past the point of presumption.”

Magnus followed Charlotte’s father at a distance as he paced to the bank of drawing room windows. It was impossible to read the viscount’s mood. He was the most inscrutable man Magnus had ever encountered.

“My intentions toward your daughter are honorable, sir,” Magnus said.

Lord St. Clare stopped at the window that overlooked the gardens. “What of my daughter’s intentions?” He cast a meditative look over the wild tangle below. “She is disposed to have you.”

A prickle of heat crept up Magnus’s throat. “I don’t know about that.”

Lord St. Clare turned. “My daughter is young, but she is no fool. What many mistake in her for impulsiveness, her mother and I know to be something very different.” His gaze held Magnus’s. “It’s decisiveness.”

Magnus’s pulse accelerated. For the first time in a long while, he dared to hope.

“Those fortunate enough to call her friend will find in her a loyal and steadfast ally,” Lord St. Clare said. “As her father, my only question is whether or not you are deserving of that devotion.”

“I will endeavor to be so,” Magnus said. “Even if it should take me the whole of my life.”

Lord St. Clare smiled again with icy reserve. “You won’t have quite that long, I’m afraid.” He summoned his secretary. “Tate?”

Mr. Tate leapt from his seat. He strode to them from across the room, a bundle of papers extended in his hand. Rather than giving them to his employer, he conveyed them to Magnus.

“A gentleman’s agreement, if you will,” the secretary said. “Formalized in writing.”

Magnus accepted the papers with a frown. “I don’t understand.”

The viscount dismissed his secretary. “I’m taking Charlotte home in the morning,” he said to Magnus.

“What?”