Page 42 of Beloved Beast

Gillian could not help but return it. It certainly explained his occasional lack of appetite. “Is your new life state the reason you do not need much sleep?”

“Exactly. I can manage three or four hours, a good night’s sleep for me.”

“This is all…but there’s more, isn’t there? You haven’t aged. You still look the same age as you were in eighteen ninety-five, am I right?”

“Ah,” Luke replied in a soft voice. “There you have the final proof of me being beyond human. Immortality? We don’t know. Reed thinks perhaps, or at the least I am aging slower than others. I also do not catch any diseases. Never had a cold since eighteen ninety-four. Not even indigestion. As a result of my carriage race, my leg was fractured. It healed in two days. The scarring on my face was much worse than this if you can believe it, and I had several burns on my body from my reincarnation. Completely healed and disappeared within a matter of days.”

“Marcus Madden said he found a skeletal hand in the casket.”

He held up his left hand and made a fist. “Ah. More Frankenstein elements for you. This hand is not mine.” He gazed at it then said, “I lost mine in the accident, or as I was told, barely attached by a flap of skin. Our intrepid scientist used one from another corpse.”

“No. He didn’t.” Gillian covered her mouth in shock. It explained why the skeletal hand was in the coffin. Lord, it was becoming difficult to absorb all this. But she must wait until she had all the facts before making any judgment.

Luke opened the fist then closed it again. “He did. It functions to a degree, but is horrendous to look at. The thing is scarred and larger than my right. This is the hand that could not hold on to Glenna during the storm surge. I should have the monstrosity removed, but how would I explain the thing and how it got there to a doctor?”

A stitched-on body part. From another…corpse. The story became more incredulous with each revelation. Her insides still rolled, her senses urging her to run screaming from the room. But Luke would never forgive her if she did. Keeping her face neutral in light of all this was a struggle. Courage.

“Before you ask, it is the only part attached. The rest of my body is mine. I assume the hand has not healed because it belonged to another, the injuries to it happened before it became part of me. Or so goes the theory.” He sipped his scotch, watching her closely over the rim of his glass.

What to say about all this? The Mary Shelley elements were bad enough, but possible immortality? “This is all unbelievable. As you said, like gothic horror fiction. Your wife aged and you did not.”

“Correct. Having doubts now?” Luke replied, his tone sarcastic.

“Are you looking to start a fight? Can you at least give me time to absorb what you’ve told me? Stop claiming you know how I feel. You have no bloody idea,” she said, irritation in her voice.

A slight smile curved about his mouth. “Bravo. As I told you before, I like the way you talk back to me.” His multi-colored eyes appeared to darken with desire, which in turn caused her insides to flutter in response.

Immortal or not, reanimated or reborn, she still was attracted to him. She’d never met a more human man. Sensitive, emotional, and loving. Alive. She even liked his sparks of temper and his brief moments of maudlin self-pity. Still, this was all hard to take in. “This is why you have enhanced senses and emotions? Strength?”

“And speed. I could outrun a gazelle across the Serengeti if I were inclined.”

“And what about the photophobia vitium?” she asked.

“Fictitious malady, though sensitivity to light and skin pigmentation disorders exist. Reed made up the name in order to explain my appearance.”

“Well, it made perfect sense to me.” Gillian took a long drink from her glass and let the scotch burn down her throat. “And what can you tell me of Glenna?” she asked softly.

“She was everything to me. The air I breathed. My very soul.” He paused, and smiled warmly. “Glenna accepted me for who I am, even knowing of my horrid past as Ravenswood. I could paint an idyllic life, and for the most part it was. We had our ups and downs like most couples. But we remained to the end as one entity, in sync with our emotions, instinctively knowing the other’s wants and needs. A true and lasting bond.”

For the next two hours, as the sun set and dimmed the room, Gillian listened to Luke’s long narrative about his life with Glenna. The surprising twist was he’d tried to seduce her two years before his accident then cruelly turned her away when she would not allow him any liberties. He explained how she helped him adjust to his new life state while keeping his past from him. It was apparent he could not abide lying, and it made her realize if they were to have any future together, she could never deceive him again.

Continuing on, he spoke fondly of his late friend, the vicar Patrick Dornan. The affection in Luke’s voice proved how deeply he cared about the people in his close circle. He told her of his complicated friendship with Reed, and the deep bond he shared with Fred, his nephew. No wonder Mr. Parker—Fred—trusted Luke implicitly. The dramatic final meeting with his father, culminating with him and Glenna leaving Charlwood kept her riveted. Starting a new life in Cornwall. The years of serene contentment and love. Her horrible death during the hurricane. His guilt. That she could certainly relate to.

While he spoke, he attended the fire and filled their glasses twice more. Perhaps weary from talking for hours or because he could hear her stomach growling, Luke stood. “I think we’ve covered enough for tonight. I should prepare dinner. The hour grows late.”

She stood also and took two steps toward him. “And do you regret telling me?”

Luke pulled her into his embrace. “No. Never. Do you regret hearing it?”

Gillian laid her head against his chest, his heart pounding furiously in her ear. “No. But it hurts to know fifty or sixty years from now, you will be sitting with another woman telling her of your past. Your secrets. Of the women you’ve loved before. I will be but a footnote.”

He kissed her in response. Deeply. Reverently. With an aching tenderness that caused a few tears to spill down her cheeks. Slowly, he ended it, and instead laid gentle kisses across her forehead, eyes, and cheeks. “You will never be a footnote.” With one final kiss, he trailed his fingers along her cheek. “I do not know what the future will bring. Our first priority is—and must remain—your safety. You have to leave England.”

“Maybe we can talk to your nephew, make other arrangements…”

He laid a finger on her lips to silence her. “No more discussion tonight. Why don’t you freshen up while I put the chicken and vegetables in to roast. Mince tarts for dessert. Then all I want to do is take you to bed and make love to you for the rest of the night. Agreed?”

More questions twisted about in her brain, but a certain fatigue radiated from Luke’s potent gaze. It no doubt took a lot out of him to reveal his secrets and talk of his past. “Agreed.”