Page 41 of Beloved Beast

A dulcet moan escaped her lips. “I will.”

But would she? He could distract her with sex, delay the inevitable conversation. It would allow him to fabricate a wild tale to explain everything. Or he could reveal all to this lovely woman and hope she would see past his origins and life state and care for him regardless. Trust flowed both ways. Perhaps it was time to place his faith in the hands of another. With a woman he was falling for.

Gillian turned to face him, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Miss Browning,” he stated in an emotionless voice, “meet the Beast of Charlwood.”

Chapter 18

The Beast of Charlwood. Dear God. Through the upcoming account, she would have to keep her emotions tightly reined, not show any facial expressions that would anger him. It may prove to be difficult for inside she was completely shocked.

“You look quite shaky, my dear. Take a seat and I will pour you a drink. This may take a while.”

Gillian made her way to the wingchair opposite his and gratefully took the tumbler of scotch Luke held out for her.

“Where to begin? Yes, I was Viscount Ravenswood, born Lucas William Madden in the year eighteen sixty-seven, only son and heir to Earl and Lady Whitestone. Marcus Madden is my half brother, though we’ve never met. I lived a debauched, self-centered life culminating in a carriage race with another member of the peerage.” He paced slowly back and forth in front of her. “The prize? A pair of sibling courtesans. Twins. You see, I had spent the previous night at a Duke’s orgy, indulging in sex, opiates, and fine liquor. This was the sum total of my existence. My father and I fought constantly about my wretched lifestyle. The last time we spoke months before, I basically told him to go fuck himself.”

She didn’t react to his vulgarity or interrupt him. Before she started asking questions, it would be prudent to let him continue with his narrative. Luke took a swig of scotch and plopped into the chair opposite. “The race took place on an early October morning in eighteen ninety-five. It was a brutal contest, the speed of our carriages dangerous. I’m not sure what happened, but I lost control. Perhaps my opponent shoved me or the rigging malfunctioned, but the last thing I can remember is plunging off a cliff, horses and all.”

He did not look directly at her but into his past. He spoke in hesitating sentences, recalling memories he no doubt did not want to face again. His expression was haunted and remorseful. He captured her complete attention. “I can still hear the frightened whinnies from the poor creatures. Maybe I screamed as well. Then complete blackness descended.” He briefly met her gaze. “A fanciful tale? Do you believe me so far?”

Gripping her glass tight, she gulped with a shuddering breath. “Yes. I do. I thought more than once you sounded as if you came from another age. But how are you here? After all these years?”

Luke crossed his legs. “Now comes the fantasy portion of my story. Or is it gothic science fiction? Perhaps horror? Sprinkle with romance and we have quite the literary saga.” He gave her a slight but sad smile. “Imagine the story of Beauty and Beast, dust it with bits of Frankenstein, and add dashes of The Picture of Dorian Gray and you have the essence of my tale. What happens next I gleaned from others. I lay in a coma for four days as doctors poked and prodded me while offering grave diagnoses.”

He tapped the piece of plastic on his head. “My brains were literally pouring out of my skull. No one could survive such a grievous injury. These scars are also from the accident. My hand as well. Finally, I gasped my last and was buried. A few pathetic mourners gathered about my grave. My father held me in such complete disregard he buried me in the village cemetery instead of the family crypt on the estate.”

Luke took a deep draw of his scotch then continued. “But I did not stay buried for long. Reed Parker, eccentric scientist, had me dug up and delivered to the bowels of this house. My corpse became the subject of a bizarre experiment. I was kept on ice for preservation, to slow down the rot and decomposition. It is why my skin is gray, I suppose. Perhaps I should be thankful it isn’t a sickening green shade.”

Gillian’s insides tumbled. My God, this did hold all the elements of a horror story. “Are you saying he brought you back to life, like in the film Frankenstein?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“Not quite as dramatic, but close. I suppose Glenna was Reed’s Fritz, and I was the Boris Karloff creature. Glenna stumbled into the laboratory quite by accident, but since she owed Reed some sort of loyalty, decided to stay and assist. Reed used a DC current generator in conjunction with lightning from a storm outside. He placed metal over the gaping wound on the side of my skull and it acted as a conduit. The perfect storm as it were. The bolts of electrical energy stimulated my brain. The next thing I knew, I had awoken in a strange place with no memories or knowledge of my name. At first, I couldn’t move or speak.”

Luke threw back the rest of his scotch and slammed the glass on the table, and a slow burning irritation came to life in his expressive eyes. “The experiment wasn’t supposed to work. Reed believed I would twitch a little, move a finger, and then slip away as all the previous subjects had done.”

Gillian gasped. “He tried to bring others back to life?”

“Mammals, like cats, voles, and rats. A human was the next step.”

Gillian rubbed her forehead. “This is…I can’t…this is…”

“Unbelievable? Too fantastical to be true?” he shrugged. “Yet, here I sit. I am not a walking corpse, though at times I suppose I look the part. Regardless of how I was brought back, I am not some lurching dead thing. I was reanimated. I am alive. My heart beats. Blood flows through my veins. Although it didn’t take long to comprehend I was more than human.”

Good God. She shivered, and Luke’s mouth drew in a thin line as it often did when annoyed. It appeared she failed at trying to keep her emotions tethered.

“Disgusted? Ready to run from me now? Why not rouse the villagers? They already drove me out of here once. Why not a repeat performance? Gather the torches and pitchforks. Release the hounds!” Luke shot to his feet and stomped to the mantel to grab the bottle of scotch. He angrily filled his glass, some spilling over the side.

“Luke, calm down. I am not going to run. I did not shiver with disgust. With shock, yes. I am completely overwhelmed. I would never think of you as a ‘lurching dead thing.’ Not after what we’ve shared. You are the furthest thing from the walking dead,” she said in a firm voice.

He sat again, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to regain his composure. “I am not mad at you per se, but at this entire situation.” Luke frowned, met her gaze, and with a matter-of-fact detachment said, “Am I not cold to the touch? What is dead should be left dead and not played with. And science be damned because of it.”

The sudden shift in his emotions never ceased to astonish her. “You feel a little cool to the touch. Certainly not ice cold. Let’s have no more such talk of torches and pitchforks. Instead, tell me what happened next. What do you mean more than human?” She sat forward, wholly engrossed in his narrative.

Luke glanced down into the glass he clutched in his hand. With a weary sigh, he continued. “As I said, the electricity stimulated my brain. Not only did it repair the damage, but fired the left side of my brain to abnormal heights. Hence the painting and the piano playing. And I discovered years later that I can sing at more than one octave. I’ve written poetry. If I put my mind to it, I could no doubt write a novel. I could do none of this as Ravenswood. Though I did enjoying reading and could remember great swaths of information. Now the ability to retain information has increased exponentially.”

“My God,” she muttered.

“I do not need food to subsist. But when I do eat, I enjoy my meals and evacuate my bowels like everyone else. Does that not prove I am alive and human?” He gave her a small half smile.