Page 53 of Beloved Beast

Again, his features softened. “No, I would not. Ever.” He picked up one of her suitcases. “I guess we now know of what Reed spoke in his notes. Come. Grab your other suitcase and don’t look back, Gillian. Hurry to the tunnel.”

She followed him down the stairs and into the large empty room. Once they entered the tunnel, her heart rate had slowed to a normal rate. No wonder he asked her if she was all right; he no doubt heard how fast her heart banged in her chest. Luke turned on a small torch to cast a little light. “We’d better keep the electric lights off for now,” he stated.

All at once, the tunnel closed in around her. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Stay focused. Don’t panic. This was not the time to react to being in an enclosed area. She didn’t mind being in the tunnel days ago, probably because they only stayed a few minutes and she wasn’t under as much stress as she was at this moment. Finally they exited and doubled back toward the house, and Gillian breathed a sigh of relief.

The place lay in complete darkness now. Luke slid into the driver’s side and turned the ignition. Nothing. He cursed as he climbed out of the car. After popping the hood and inspecting it, he cursed again. “The Nazi disabled the car. The distributor cap has been destroyed. Wires torn out. It will take hours to repair.”

“Where is his vehicle? Can we take his?” she whispered in reply.

“Who knows? Hidden, no doubt. He could have walked to the village from any vantage point.”

“Marcus Madden.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What?”

She pointed to the manor house on the hill. “We go to your brother. He must have a car. Probably more than one.” Gillian shrieked then slapped her hand over her mouth. “You’re injured! Blood is seeping through your coat!” How could she have missed it? Granted, she’d been in a horrified haze when he’d undressed, and he hadn’t removed his undershirt. And he had been covered in blood. But she assumed the blood belonged to the German spy. Damn it, she should have checked him for wounds. “Oh, Luke. You never said a word. We need to see to it immediately.”

* * * *

Fred glanced at his watch as he pulled up in front of his parents’ home. Five o’clock. It would take him an hour to drive to Brighton, and he couldn’t stay long. He would have to try and get Joan alone, as he didn’t have the time to visit or explain things to his parents.

Turning off the ignition, he let out the breath he’d briefly held. It took him a while to arrive here as he had to make sure he was not being followed. He turned toward Charles Billings sitting in the passenger seat. “I’ll only be a moment. You’ll be driving the rest of the way. Take my seat and wait. Keep your eyes peeled while I’m gone.”

Billings gave him a sharp nod. “Yes, sir.”

Fred exited the car and sprinted to the rear of the house. Afternoon tea was over; he would guess his father was taking a nap, his mum listening to the radio, and Joan no doubt doing cleanup. Standing on the stoop, he watched Joan moving about the kitchen. How to capture her attention? He didn’t want to knock at the door.

Crouching down, he grabbed a handful of small pebbles from the garden area. As he stood and faced the window, he tossed one and it bounced off the frame. Damn. He tried again, and finally the pinging sound caught Joan’s attention. He waved to her and motioned her to join him. She stepped outside and Fred clutched her arm and pulled her into the shadows.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered. Fred seized her lips with his and the suppleness of her mouth ignited a fiery heat within him. She moaned softly and kissed him back, rubbing against his body, increasing the sparks crackling between them.

He could stand here all night and kiss her senseless—and more—but time was of the essence. “Listen, I’m on my way to Brighton. I’ll be meeting up with your sister. I’ve decided I will personally escort her to Liverpool and see her safely on the ship. She will be on the RMS Ascania disembarking in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Where she goes from there I cannot say. It’s for her own safety. Understand?”

She nodded. “You’re doing this for me? Escorting Gillian?”

He rested his forehead against hers. “I would do anything for you. And I will protect your sister with my life.”

Joan threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.” Her voice shook with emotion.

God. He kissed her again and the hunger of it surprised him. He broke the kiss reluctantly. “I can only stay a few moments. The man watching and protecting your sister is my Uncle Luke. I trust him implicitly. He’s an operative for MI-6. Yesterday I received a letter from him and he and Gillian…well…are romantically involved. Not sure what it means for the future. The only thing all of us can focus on right now is seeing Gillian to safety.” He paused, and with a sigh, pulled her close to him.

“Luke has been comprised. There may be nothing to it, but we moved up Gillian’s departure for her protection. Hence the reason I am heading to Brighton. I wanted to tell you so you wouldn’t worry. I shouldn’t have told you this much.” He kissed the top of her head. “I am falling for you, Joan. And as soon as I see your sister safely off, I am coming straight here. To you. We have a lot to talk about.”

She embraced him tightly. “Maybe it’s the war—no time for dillydallying—but I love you, Fred.” She sounded breathless, her words slicing his heart clean in two.

“Love. Yes. I never thought it could happen this quickly, or it would happen to me. But it has. I love you, too.” He cradled her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheeks. “Tell my mum and dad I will be here tomorrow night. It may be late, as I have to travel from Liverpool. I must dash.” He gave her a tender kiss then turned to leave.

“Darling, do be careful. And tell Gillian…tell her I love her dearly,” Joan said, a sad smile curling about her mouth.

He nodded, blew her a kiss, and then jogged to the car and slid into the passenger seat. As Billings drove away, Fred continued to look out the side window, not wanting Charles to see the overwhelming emotions playing out on his face or the tears swimming in his eyes.

* * * *

Moving quickly through the darkness, Luke couldn’t believe he was on the run once again in Charlwood. The eerie parallels to his infamous exit from this area forty-eight years ago played over and over in his mind. On that horrid night, he and Glenna had run to Patrick Dornan, the village vicar and his friend, for temporary protection. He had married them right away.

In fact, Luke had not been to the nearby Whitestone Estate since he’d met with his father on the same evening. Decades later, the confrontation still stung, hammering the point home his life as Viscount Ravenswood had been a complete and utter waste.

Voices overlapped in his head, of his father and the men who had hunted him: God’s blood, you are an abomination. Look at you. A walking corpse. Keep your distance. You are nothing more than a walking cadaver. An atrocity of an existence. A monster.