Beloved Monster

What makes a man?

The wild and dissolute Viscount Ravenswood lives only for his own pleasure, caring not one wit for the broken hearts left trampled in his wake. But his decadent lifestyle finally catches up to him in a fatal carriage race. It’s an infamous and spectacular end to a brief, immoral life—or is it?

And who is the woman who loves him?

When Glenna Parker stumbles upon her cousin Reed Parker’s cluttered laboratory, she could never have imagined the mad experiment he is about to embark upon—to bring a man back from the dead. Not just any man, but Ravenswood, who once shattered her heart. With no memory of his former life, Glenna calls him Luke, and finds herself enchanted by his compassion—and passion. Protecting the scarred Luke has become Glenna’s sole mission, but can she protect her heart from her beloved monster?

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The Hornsby Brothers

Bold Seduction

The Vicar’s Frozen Heart

The Ravenswood Chronicles

Beloved Monster

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

The Ravenswood Chronicles

Karyn Gerrard

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

Lyrical Press books are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2016 by Karyn Gerrard

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First Electronic Edition: September 2016

eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-659-5

eISBN-10: 1-60183-659-7

First Print Edition: September 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-661-8

ISBN-10: 1-60183-661-9

To the love of my life, who encourages me to meet ever-greater challenges. His support is invaluable.

Take a Victorian romance, add a liberal helping of Frankenstein, a dash of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and sprinkle with Beauty and the Beast and you have Beloved Monster. This tale is like nothing I have ever written before as it contains paranormal, sci-fi, Gothic, and fantasy elements. However, at its heart—this is a romance. Hope you enjoy!

Many thanks to everyone at Kensington Publishing and Lyrical Press and especially my editor, Amanda Siemen.

Oscar Wilde Quote

His beauty had been to him but a mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth at best? A green, unripe time, a time of shallow moods and sickly thoughts.

-
The Picture of Dorian Gray
by Oscar Wilde

Friedrich Nietzsche Quote

He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.

-
Friedrich Nietzsche

October, 1895

Lucas Madden, Viscount Ravenswood, only son and heir to the Earl of Whitestone, was quite dead. His untimely demise, the result of a carriage race, caused the village of Charlwood to buzz excitedly for days. Since Ravenswood reached the age of sixteen, his outrageous exploits had kept the chattering gossips in various parlors titillated. Though the hearsay consisted of salacious tales of drinking and gambling to excess, his sexual conquests sparked the villagers’ interest the most. The stories, shocking as they were in their breadth and depth of carnality, raised the handsome heir to an unprecedented level of notoriety. Dissolute and lacking all morals, it came as no surprise to all who knew of the young man that he would meet such a spectacularly violent end.

Since the accident occurred on the outskirts of London, the earl and his lady wife immediately caught the train to Town. The earl engaged the best doctors to no avail, for the young viscount’s injuries, particularly the head wound, were deemed mortal. In desperation, he even summoned Charlwood’s doctor, Samuel Twington, to assist in the case. Four days later, after lingering in a coma, the son and heir died. Lord and Lady Whitestone had escorted his remains the hour journey back to Charlwood. And today marked the burial.

Glenna Parker stood by the juniper trees that surrounded the village cemetery and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders as the wind held a decided chill. She stayed well back from the mourners of which there were only a few. Despite his popularity in certain circles, the viscount was neither well liked nor respected, and no doubt the people who deemed to show up did so to stay in the earl’s good graces.

As Glenna took a sweeping glance about the area, she noticed one other person standing well back from her position. An older woman, modestly dressed and leaning on a cane. The elderly lady wiped away her tears with a tattered handkerchief, her gloved hand slightly trembling. Who was she and why did she mourn Ravenswood? Most unusual. Glenna’s wild imagination began to spin all sorts of scenarios. Could the lady be a lost family member or an old nurse or nanny? Surely the woman was not one of his many past conquests. That was certainly one of her more bizarre thoughts. No matter. Shaking her head, she turned back to face the mourners.

The comforting words of prayer recited by the vicar, Mr. Dornan, carried across the autumn breeze, and Glenna heard snippets of condolences and claims of returning to the earth, solemn wishes that at last, Ravenswood would find peace.
Her mouth curved in a small but sardonic smile.
Highly doubtful.

Though not invited, Glenna came today to prove to herself the devil viscount truly was dead. For some morbid reason, she wished to witness him being placed into the ground. The finality. The closure of a hideous chapter in the lives of many--and perhaps in her own. She glanced at the solemn Earl of Whitestone. Dressed in black and leaning on a silver-tipped walking stick, he stood with his head slightly bowed, clutching his hat in his gloved hands, but he did not weep. Although Lady Whitestone put on quite a show by sobbing uncontrollably. Their daughter, a couple years younger than Glenna and whose name eluded her, comforted her mother. The earl did not. His face remained emotionless and austere throughout.

What could the man be thinking? That the horrible nightmare was now at an end? Perhaps he thought his only son and heir, no doubt a great disappointment, met the calamitous and pathetic end he deserved. There could be no other explanation for the earl burying Ravenswood in the common cemetery and not in the family crypt on the Whitestone Estate. No doubt there would be speculation by the villagers on this strange and puzzling development for a long time to come.

The earl appeared disconnected, his bitter expression daunting. But then she’d heard he was a cold man. Perhaps somewhere deep inside he wept for all that had gone astray. Glenna did not know the man personally, but one would lament the loss of a son and heir, would he not? Mourn at the sheer waste. Ravenswood, tall and incredibly handsome with wavy black hair and sky-blue eyes, appeared as dashing as one would expect an heir to an earl to look. A glorious future awaited him. Money and title. Reverence and deference. The foolish young man threw it all away. But then, Glenda did not believe Ravenswood possessed any brains at all. To her, he’d been a vacuous, selfish creature who lived for his own pleasure, not caring about whom he hurt along the way.

The words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” reached her ears. Good. This would soon come to a decided conclusion. With a final blessing, the vicar and the mourners walked away, including the older woman who headed toward the village proper. Standing to the side, two local men stood leaning on shovels, waiting to perform their duty.

Glenna strode toward the grave, glancing at the mourners disappearing over the small knoll. Straightening her shoulders, she looked down into the hole. In it lay a fine casket, expensive mahogany wood with gold handles. It’s top blanketed in a spray of lilies. A fancy final resting place befitting the viscount’s station in life.

She scooped up a clump of dirt, then cast it into the dark hole, and it hit the top of the casket with a loud thump. “Ravenswood. May you be cursed for all eternity.”

The men, gripping their shovels, gave her a puzzled look, but she turned on her heels and marched from the grave with her chin held high.

Three days later

The village of Charlwood, as Glenna predicted, bustled with rumors concerning the recent death of Viscount Ravenswood, the depraved late heir. At the booksellers, she’d heard the viscount’s curricle careened off an embankment, smashing on the rocks below, leaving the man a pile of blood and broken bones, his remains carried away in buckets. At the bakery, the prevailing gossip stated the carriage had been tampered with; no doubt the jealous husband of one of his many varied and scandalous dalliances.

Glenna knew she would obtain the absolute truth from her friend, Susan Twington, wife of Doctor Samuel Twington. Though why Glenna longed to know all the details she could not hazard to guess. Perhaps there was nothing else to do in this quiet village
but
discuss the salacious gossip. Regardless, she would find out the particulars today.

Walking briskly toward the village carrying a basket of fresh cinnamon buns, she nodded and gave cheerful “good mornings” to people of her acquaintance as she made her way to Susan’s home. As is their custom, she and her dear friend met once a week for tea and conversation and Glenna looked forward to animated discussions on various subjects.

Susan and her doctor husband owned a modest, brick home that spoke of their middle-class standing. Both were well-respected and liked. Glenna knocked on the door, and the maid showed her into Susan’s sunny front parlor, the tea tray and frosted cakes awaiting her arrival. Susan stood and rushed to her before embracing her warmly.

Glenna handed her cloak to the maid, who then curtsied and left the room. “Here, my dear. It is a new recipe, and if I do say so, they turned out quite spectacularly.”

With a smile, Susan took the basket and lifted the cloth. “Oh, I love frosted cinnamon buns! Glenna, you never arrive empty-handed. Please, do sit. How flushed and healthy you look; the brisk walk has done wonders for your coloring. But then, you always appear fresh and pretty.”

Glenna flushed further at the kind words as she took her seat. Susan poured and passed her a cup, milk and sugar already added. Her friend knew her well. “Dare we talk about the shocking death of Ravenswood?” Susan winked.