Page 39 of Beloved Beast

Chapter 17

In the ten days since they arrived at Charlwood, Luke and Gillian settled into a comfortable domesticity that surprised her. The days were filled with quiet companionship, lively conversation, and even livelier sex. Luke was attentive, cheerfully taking over the cooking chores, while she made both the tea and coffee and did the cleanup after all the meals.

Two days past, she returned to the grocer, procured a loaf of fresh bread, a few mince tarts, and also picked up her black market products. True to her word, Mrs. Robertson had the food ready and thanked Gillian for the scraps. They made arrangements for another delivery next week.

If they were still here.

On the journey home, she stopped by the cemetery to take another look at the tombstone. As she surmised, her sharp memory did not fail her. The dates for Glenna Parker were 1869-1932. During the past several days, she argued with herself to either drop this altogether and continue on as they were until her departure, or confront him head on with all the stubborn questions rattling about in her brain, refusing to let go.

What’s more, Gillian was shocked to discover her feelings for Luke had deepened. As hard as she tried to keep their affair casual, she couldn’t. She’d never achieved this level of intimacy with Otto. How could they, when they only managed to be together at work? Quick fumblings in his office. They were alone together once, on a business trip, and their relationship had not reached the soaring heights she experienced with Luke. Was it the sex? Yes, much more intense, but that wasn’t all. Being with Luke convinced her once and for all what she’d felt for Otto was an infatuation, nothing more.

Curled up in the chair, she glanced up from her book and gazed at Luke sitting at the piano playing Schubert’s “Piano Sonata in B-flat Major.” Not only did he paint, but he also played classical music to perfection. Was there anything he could not do? It made her admire him more. The music was dreamy and relaxing, the soft notes intermingling with the sounds of the fire snapping in the hearth.

Tonight, they would dine on fresh roast chicken and vegetables, which Luke would prepare. Gillian could become used to this type of life. How she yearned for quiet moments such as this. Shaking her head, she decided delaying this further was not a good idea. She waited until he finished then applauded, genuinely pleased with his performance.

Now it was time for hers.

Closing her book, she set it aside, and stood. “I’ll head upstairs to freshen up before we begin to prepare dinner.” Giving him a warm smile, she turned and exited the parlor.

Once she entered the bedroom they shared, she left the door ajar so she could hear if Luke came upstairs. As quietly as she could, she laid his suitcase on the bed, took the hairpin from her sweater pocket and stuck it in the lock, jiggling it until it snapped. Biting her lower lip, she did the same with the other. Using her thumbs, she popped the latches and opened the case.

Not much in there: changes of clothes, a few toiletries, the Webley revolver he told her about. She rifled through the garments then the side pockets of the suitcase, and her fingers closed around what felt like a ring on a chain. Pulling it out of its hiding place, Gillian froze as the familiar sound of Luke’s heavy tread could be heard on the stairs. Damn.

Without looking at the ring, she dropped it in her cleavage then quickly and efficiently closed and locked the suitcase and placed it in its previous spot on the rug. Swinging about, she grabbed hers, opened it, and pretended to be looking through the contents when he walked into the room. He greeted her as he always did, with his crooked half-smile and warm gaze. A roll of guilt moved through her for sneaking about behind his back.

Luke came up behind her and embraced her, nuzzling her neck. “I thought I’d come and assist you in washing up.”

Lord, how tempting, but she knew where they would end up, hours in bed. More distractions. As he hugged her, a thought hit her. Why act as if she were still a spy? Why all these clandestine actions in addition to keeping information from him? Luke was on her side. He wasn’t the enemy. Now she felt rather ridiculous. Considering her past with Otto, perhaps keeping secrets and lying was the only way she knew how to interact intimately with a man.

Turning in his arms, she cupped his cheeks, stood on her toes, and laid a tender kiss on his lips. “I’ll forgo the sponge bath for now. We have something to discuss and we should do it downstairs.”

His eyebrows arched in question. “More important than making love?”

“Yes.”

With an amused smile, he held out his hand. “Come on then.”

“I have to use the loo but will be along in a tick. I’ll meet you in the parlor.” Gillian gave him a genuine smile. Tell him everything. Make a clean breast as it were.

Luke sauntered out of the room and headed downstairs. Gillian swiftly made her way to the bathing room. After closing the door, she reached inside her brassiere, pulled out the ring hanging on a thin gold chain, and examined it under the light above the mirror.

It had a fancy crest with a small jewel, a topaz. “Den.” No, it said “Madden.” Madden? Wait, the name of the young man she spoke to in the cemetery was Madden. What did he say again? “Would you believe Viscount Ravenswood is the older brother I’ve never met? Well, half brother.” Empty grave, except for a skeletal hand. Carriage accident. 1895.

And didn’t Luke say he sustained his head and hand injuries along with his scars from a “vehicle accident?” A carriage could come under such a definition. Why would he have a ring with the family crest of the Maddens? Lord, could Luke be…Viscount Ravenswood? From the Victorian age? A nervous giggle escaped her mouth and she clapped her hand over it to silence herself. This was all too absurd. The chronology did not fit. Enough speculating. There had to be a logical explanation, and she was going to get it.

Gillian slipped the ring in her sweater pocket as she pulled the chain on the loo. Gazing in the mirror above the basin, she took a couple of deep breaths then exhaled, readying herself for the conversation ahead.

When she entered the parlor, Luke was sitting comfortably in one of the wingchairs with his long legs crossed, sipping on what looked to be a glass of scotch. “Take a seat. What do you wish to talk about?”

Sitting, she frowned. “I’m not sure where to begin. We rushed into this.”

Luke’s mouth drew into a thin line. “You want to end it now? Whatever you wish.” His voice was cool, but Gillian had come to know him well enough to hear the annoyance in his tone. And perhaps a touch of vulnerability.

She shook her head. “I’m not explaining this well. As you know, I’ve been with no other man but Otto. The sum total of our relationship? Deception. Secrets. I know of no other way apparently, for I began to slip into old habits. In other words, I haven’t been completely honest with you. The first time I went to the grocer for example.”

The lines bracketing his mouth deepened as he took a sip of his drink. He placed the tumbler on the small table between them. “I sensed something had happened but accepted your explanation of fatigue.” The annoyance still lingered in his voice.

“Some young lads approached me in the shop and warned me of the Beast of Charlwood.”