The Passion of Darius: A Gothic Tale of Love and Seduction, Page 2

“Careful! You don’t want to get—”

  “Ouch!” she cried.

  “—pricked.”

  The basket dropped to the ground in a rush as she gripped her injured hand, palm-up.

  “Here, let me.” He took her hand for inspection. A large thorn was indeed buried in the pad of her index finger, the black strip a garish invader on such lovely skin. “I’ll get it for you. Hold still and squeeze your finger on the sides as I remove it.” She followed his directions perfectly and hardly winced when he pulled the thorn away. A bead of dark blood chased the thorn, welling up red on the pad of her finger.

  Darius couldn’t help what he did next. His mind and body were operating independently of the other, and he just reacted without conscious thought of how he would be perceived. Before he knew it, he had her hand drawn to his lips and was sucking the blood away. Earthy spice met his tongue and the merest moan escaped him. Her horrified gasp followed his moan. She jerked her finger away.

  “Mr. Rourke!” she scolded, frowning at him before dropping down to retrieve the strawberry basket.

  He couldn’t hold in the grin and bent down to help her with the berries. “Sorry. I assure you I am no vampire.”

  She looked up at him sharply. “You don’t look very sorry. About being a demon, I’m sure I couldn’t comment.”

  She was flustered and irritated with him and so utterly adorable it required everything he had to refrain from pulling her against him and taking her mouth. In her present state he might just get a smack if he did though.

  “Just trying to close the wound, and I am indeed sorry for your injury,” he told her. “Now, if you’ll stand still, I’ll get this vine detached from your skirt.”

  Her soft breathing came faster as he worked on the blackberry thorns. She obeyed and stood still for him, but her lush body trembled mightily in response underneath all those layers. God, it would be good between them—sex. He told himself to focus on the goal. It was time to tell her.

  “At the conclusion of the party today, I’ve asked your father to stay. I have some business to discuss with him, and I’d like for you to be present as well, Miss Marianne.”

  She nodded once in agreement. “We must go back now, Mr. Rourke.” He could tell she had been pushed as far as she would go…for now.

  “Of course we must.”

  She didn’t speak again for the rest of the party. That was fine. Darius could enjoy her simply by having her near…for now.

  * * * *

  “Though your amount of debt is ruinous, Mr. George, I have a solution. It will be much preferable to debtors’ prison, I think.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Rourke?” Mr. George slurred, probably half-sprung from all the wine he’d taken during the day.

  “Give your consent to Marianne’s marriage to me.” He saw the shock in her expression at his proposal. Her eyes rolled up, her lips parted, and her breath grew shallow. Perfect. “Your debts will be paid, an allowance provided you, and Marianne will be settled respectably, protected and cared for as my wife.”

  “Of course, Mr. Rourke, you may have my consent. She’ll marry you,” Mr. George agreed eagerly.

  “No! Papa, you cannot make me!” Marianne faced Darius, her lovely blue eyes sparking at him. “Sir, I have no wish to marry. A decision I have made long ago. I am not suited for marriage. Your offer is flattering, but I will not be able to accept you.”

  The thrill is already beginning, and you are so wrong. You are perfectly suited.

  Right now, her regal stance, glinting eyes, and flushed cheeks all combined into one glorious vision. Her throat rising and falling with anxious breathing, causing strands of silky hair to flutter about her head, transfixed him. He wanted to press his lips to her neck and draw her to him. She might say she didn’t want it, but he believed she did. She just needed some convincing, was all. He could do that. The art of persuasion was a skill he possessed in abundance. Darius instinctively knew the way to get to her was through her father.

  He changed his voice, directing it only to her. “Miss Marianne, would it not be easing to put your troubles aside? Let your cares and worries be placed into the hands of another? Into my willing hands? I would never wish for you to feel you had been coerced or forced in any way to do something that you could not reconcile yourself to. My offer is an honorable one. It is time for me to marry, and I greatly admire you.”

  He paused at seeing her swallow hard, her neck pulsing in the hollow below her jaw. “I believe you are aware of that, and I also believe you would be the perfect partner for me. I approve of the manner in which you conduct yourself and your…disposition. There is no avarice in you.”

  He turned to look disparagingly at Mr. George. “Your father’s debt is grave though. In a matter of days you will be out of your home, forced into debtors’ prison. But such a horrifying fate doesn’t have to be yours. I hate to think of you being subjected to such harsh conditions. And yes, Marianne, you would have to go, to look after your father. Is that what you would choose? Prison? Over marriage to me?”

  He asked his questions gently, knowing exactly how to appeal to her need for direction and guidance at this moment of self-possession. “I think you want to marry me, don’t you, Marianne?”

  “Sir, why would you do this?” Marianne shook her head unbelievingly.

  Because I must have you.

  “You suit me, Marianne. You are beautiful and elegant, and know your duty. You always do the right thing, because you are good, and you never want to disappoint.”

  She looked at him. So silent, solemn, and utterly magnificent.

  He whispered the last very softly. “Don’t disappoint me, Marianne.”

  Chapter Two

  When she heard him say, “Don’t disappoint me,” Marianne realized he knew. Somehow Mr. Rourke was aware of her desires. He’d watched her for so long, he’d puzzled her out. He knew what words to say and how to phrase them. And Mr. Rourke seemed to be the kind of man prepared to persist until he got his way. She realized this as well. He sought to compel her and tell her what to do. He wanted dominion over her. But Mr. Rourke was wrong about one part. Not always did she do the right thing. Sometimes she did wrong. Very wrong.

  Marianne felt the walls closing in. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy as he stared into her eyes. She couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right for her to want—

  “Mr. Rourke, I cannot accept your offer. It is—it’s not possible for me to be your—”

  She stopped and shook her head at him, and then even had to turn away. She had almost said it out loud for God’s sake! It simply wasn’t possible for her to be a wife. She wasn’t fit for the role. Matrimony would not be her destiny, and it’d be best if she made that fact clear to him right now. He wouldn’t want her anyway if he knew what she’d done. Darius Rourke was a man of wealth and property and needed heirs to pass it along. He must have a wife sensible in mind and capable of rearing his children, and that person certainly wouldn’t be her. She must not even consider such a notion.

  If she allowed him to bore into her eyes a second longer, she’d lose her resolve. She had to get out of here. Her instincts screamed at her to get away from him and his commanding presence before he spoke another word! He was too good at coercion. Their little dance around the berry patch earlier had proved just how good he was. And the problem was that she liked when he directed her. Far too much.

  “Papa, we are leaving.” She took her father by the arm and led him out. At the door, she paused, feeling a cold shiver rattle up the back of her neck.

  “You disappoint me, Marianne.” His voice had a hard edge now. That Darius Rourke did not like being told “no” was of little surprise.

  Marianne froze, closing her eyes, praying for strength. Without turning back, she whispered, “I am sorry, Mr. Rourke. I just can’t—” Stumbling on through the doorway, she fled his house, pulling her father along with her.

  * * * *

  As soon as his guests departed, Dariu
s took paper from his desk and began to write. He was calm but resolute when he called for his steward and gave instructions for delivery of the missive.

  She’d surprised him with her refusal. This time. He wasn’t really all that concerned though. There were means at his disposal to be more persuasive. This was something he could do. If it meant winning her, he could do just about anything. Yes, Marianne George may have just turned him down, be he’d felt, no, seen, a crack in that armor she covered herself in. Darius would be more successful next time, getting under her skin, forcing her to acknowledge him, to accept him. He would have her acquiescence. No other alternative was tolerable.

  * * * *

  Marianne looked around the room. The destruction of her life was clearly visible and she wanted to weep. But that was just self-pitying indulgence, wasn’t it? And she could truly say that the wreck of her family was all her fault anyway.

  Papa was sprawled out on the chaise, foxed to the gills. The eviction notice he’d read, crumpled on the floor. A bailiff had served it into her hands this very day.

  Three days was all the time they had. In three days he’d return with officers of the court to see they were taken to the Marshalsea in London. She picked it up and read it again. Unpaid debts were a crime under the law. Papa was a…criminal. There was only one creditor listed and that seemed odd, and the name was not one she even recognized.

  Grasping at any solution, she thought about a way out. Maybe Lord Rothvale might be inclined to help. He was influential and very kind. She’d known him all her life, and his daughter, Byrony, was one of her best friends. She threw up her hands in frustration. What was she thinking? She could never impose upon friends in such a way.

  Marianne left the house. She had to get outside and go look at the ocean. Her legs felt weak as she made her way, but the closer she came to the majestic expanse of brine, the stronger her resolve grew. Once the glassy blue of the water was in her sights, she breathed out a sigh. The sea soothed her and always had. It comforted in a way for which there was no substitute. It had always been so for her. She made her way to the rocky shore, seeking that which would ease her, until she was leaning against a large rock at the mouth of the jetty. She allowed herself to remember.

  Shame was the worst of it. She wasn’t worried about what they’d have to endure in the Marshalsea. It was the shame that killed her. That and the cruel fact of knowing even if they went to prison, it still wouldn’t change anything. Jonathan wasn’t coming back to her. Papa wouldn’t be restored to his former respectable self. Mamma was gone forever. The ravagement of her life was complete, and nothing was going to put it back to rights. She mourned the loss and realized suddenly the ache and despair of knowing she’d never be free of her guilt.

  She wouldn’t even have this—the comfort of the sea. That would be the hardest part to give up. She let the tears come and tried to memorize every sense in moment. The smell of salt and seaweed, the whip of the breeze chilling the tears on her cheeks, the sounds of the churning water and flapping of her dress, the variant colors of blue.

  Can you hear me, Jonathan? We’re going to be leaving…soon, and I won’t be able to come here anymore. I’m so sorr—

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, Marianne.”

  Marianne snapped her head around and then quickly down, brushing at her tears with a knuckle. “Mr. Rourke! You startled me, sir.” She turned away so he couldn’t see her face. Why had he come out here? Had he seen her and followed?

  “I apologize for startling you, but not for my words.”

  Marianne didn’t answer or acknowledge his apology. She just kept staring out at the sea. The wind and the waves buffeted the rocks below, as they had done for eons. Jonathan?

  “I saw that the bailiff paid you a visit and I know why he was there.”

  Of course he knew why. The whole village probably knew already. Any words of acknowledgement still refused to come from her mouth. What could she possibly say anyway? Frozen in place, she continued to do what she’d been doing before he’d come out here to confront her. She faced into the wind and churning surf and stayed silent.

  “My God, Marianne. Prison! You’ll have to live in a filthy prison! A dirty, defiled, infested prison, miles away from your home and that which you’ve known your whole life!”

  I know.

  She nodded imperceptibly, still unable to look at him. “Did you follow me out here just to throw that in my face?” She spoke toward the sea and thought it very cruel of him to voice it even though she’d been the one to reject him and he was probably still angry.

  “No. I did not,” he said more gently.

  “Then why are you here, Mr. Rourke?”

  “To remind you that it is in your power to stop this madness, Marianne. You can stop it. You know what you could do. The question is—will you do it? Will you?” His voice burned through the ocean breeze.

  Oh, dear God! Could she have heard him correctly? He still wanted her? Even after she’d refused him? A proud man like him, willing to offer again, even in her low situation? Unbelievable. Still she remained frozen, afraid to look.

  “Look at me, sweet Marianne. Show your beautiful face to me.”

  She started to breathe heavily. A warm flush penetrated and began to tingle through her. He had moved closer and was now standing right behind her. So close she could smell the spice of his cologne.

  “Do it. Turn around and look up at me. You want to, Marianne. I know you do,” he whispered, near enough that his breath kissed her neck.

  He was right. She did want to. Turning to face him, a warm heat flooded between her legs. She saw him inhale as if to scent her. A curl of a smile lifted on his mouth and his eyes burned.

  “You’ve been crying.” He fished out his handkerchief and pressed it gently to each cheek. “I don’t like you crying. And I think I know why you were.” He leaned down closer. “Let me take care of you, Marianne. Your father, too. You’ll want for nothing.” He tilted his head, honing in on her. “Marry me.”

  Telling her what to do didn’t seem to be a problem for him. He smiled and slowly nodded, willing her to accept him. He was boldly telling her to agree, but did it in such a way that she wanted to agree. Lord, he was handsome! A lock of glossy black hair slipped down over his forehead, and she had the urge to reach out and smooth it back. What would his hair feel like?

  Mr. Rourke had her ensnared without a doubt, and he was very skilled at seduction. Marianne accepted that resisting him was a futile enterprise on her part. Her desire was far too formidable of a beast to conquer. It felt enormously relieving to yield to him. His lilting voice, like cool silk brushing over warm skin, told her exactly what she wanted to do.

  And if she was honest with herself, she could admit to the pure comfort to be had in embracing his dominance. Soothing. Relieving. Oh, yes. Feelings she had never allowed herself to indulge in. He would be good for her in that way. And more importantly, a marriage with Darius Rourke would enable her to save Papa. This marriage would provide a way, albeit insufficient, to partially atone for what she’d done.

  Resolving to accept his offer before she might change her mind, she straightened her posture. A shiver and a breathy sigh escaped at the thought of belonging to him. The way he looked at her. Imagining what he’d do with her! She was certainly a mouse caught in the paws of an indomitable, pouncing cat. And when the time came for the cat to devour the mouse, Marianne prayed she’d not regret her choice.

  “Mr. Rourke, I—I do agree. I’ll marry you.”

  “Yes?” His eyes lit up with glittering sparks at her answer, spurring her to speak resolutely.

  “I will.”

  * * * *

  That’s my good girl. You want it. I was right about you.

  He took her hand and brought it forward. His lips kissed the cool skin of her hand as his thumb caressed over her elegant fingers. The essence of her flesh so close threatened to overpower his senses. Darius let the desire seize him—the tightening
down low as the blood hardened him to iron. God, it felt good. He could stand here staring, breathing in her delicate scent, nibbling her skin, forever and never get tired of it. Just having her close felt like a reward. He kissed her hand a second time, lingering a little longer with his lips, drawing in her natural essence through the softness of her silky skin.

  “You have made me very happy, Marianne. Let’s go tell your father the good news.”

  Her luminous blue eyes looking up moved him deeply. She was beautiful to him. And now she’d be his. He would be the one—the one to discover her secrets.

  Anticipating how he would take her the first time made him lightheaded. Her innocence required a gentle hand of course. And he would gladly give it. Darius would be so very careful with her initiation into the pleasures of the flesh. But still, his need to know her was nearly uncontainable. In his imaginings, he experienced lurid visions of possessing her beautiful body in so many ways, of satisfying his desires finally, after years of wanting her.

  Chapter Three

  Marianne realized Darius felt entitled to demand a little more since she was now his betrothed. Their engagement had been announced, but it would be three weeks yet until they married. As her fiancé, he could call upon her and sit next to her in church. And he took full advantage of those opportunities. He held her hand and kissed it, walked with her, and often sent her letters and gifts.

  “I have something for you, Marianne.” He presented a slim, leather volume into her hands.

  Opening to the title page, she smiled. “John Keats. His poetry is beautiful. I will enjoy this. Thank you, Mr. Rourke.”

  “I think you want to call me Darius.” He nodded slowly at her. “And now, you want to kiss me, Marianne.” Still nodding, he smiled knowingly.

  He told you what to do, and now you must do it.

  Her breath grew heavy, her heart sped up, but she tilted her mouth toward his. Pushing up on her toes, her soft lips pressed against his firmer ones, and she felt the heat, a shuddering slice of arousal that shot right up between her thighs. A yielding breath escaped before she broke contact of their lips. She kept her lips close to his though. Marianne lifted her eyes to his burning ones.