The Passion of Darius, Page 3

  “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.

  MARIANNE sat down that night and began to write. The journal had been given to her by her mother. One of the last gifts she’d ever received from her before she was gone. Mamma had said it was admirable for a lady to put down her thoughts in a journal. Marianne thought of what she had agreed to this afternoon, and once again, could not see how she would manage to be all that her future husband believed she would be.

  7th May, 1837

  …Today I also gave my agreement to marry a man who says he wants nothing more than to care for me and to allow him to cherish me. He looks into my eyes and touches a part of my soul in a way that terrifies me, yet at the same time draws me in deeper to understand his motivation. I believe he can see into part of my secret. He understands me, because his words cut right to the essence of my problem, leaving me no choice but to give in to his demands.

  So I will go to live at Stonewell Court and make my life with him…but I am very afraid of what awaits me. How will I ever rise to the standard of what is expected of me? I am not worthy, and I fear my carefully guarded heart is in great danger of being shattered beyond the ability for it to continue to beat within my breast. Darius Rourke doesn’t yet understand that I do not deserve to be cherished by any man. I am torn, and yet he is persuasively persistent in continuing to assure me all will be well, and to trust in him.

  I find myself unable to deny Darius in his wishes for me, just as I was unable to deny my beloved Jonathan…

  CHAPTER 3

  The Kiss

  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 when she saw the inscription he’d written. To my Marianne, From your Darius. She hardly knew what to say. Did Darius think of himself as belonging to her? It was a very intimate thought, and Marianne felt a thrill of pleasure at him believing in it.

  “John Keats. His poetry is beautiful. I will enjoy this very much. 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.

  “Darius,” she whispered. Just that short union of lips was shattering, and not nearly enough. He smelled divine, his cologne carrying a hint of exotic spice mixed with fresh linen and…heavenly male. To be so close to him stirred her blood. She let herself be drawn in easily and wondered what else he might ask of her. A shiver brushed over her shoulders and down her spine.

  “Say it again.”

  “Darius…” His name coming off her lips was lovely

  His eyes flared as he descended for another kiss. This time his mouth moved on hers, warm and soft, but commanding. He nipped at her bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth partway, like he wanted to devour her. She was going to allow him. Unable to resist, she leaned into his kisses, letting him tug her into his mouth, wondering where this would lead.

  Darius didn’t demand anything more though. At least, not today. He stopped and just smiled, looking pleased when he brought the back of his hand to her face and stroked gently.

  “You are something so perfect, Marianne.”

  No, I am something so definitely not!

  WHEN his elegant carriage came to collect her, there was an envelope lying on the leather seat.

  Dearest Marianne,

  When you go today to be fitted for your wedding clothes, I have arranged for you to select new gowns and assorted garments from the modiste in town. She is French, and will guide you in selecting those items I wish for you to have. Dressing a woman is like framing a beautiful work of art. You, my dear, are the art, and so you must be framed, magnificently. Madame Trulier will have some things ready to take home with you today. Wear them for me, Marianne. I cannot wait to see you dressed as I believe is your due.

  Yours,

  D. R.

  Reading his letter, she became flushed. The thought of Darius picturing her body in want of clothing was very intimate and made her heated. He always did that to her. His words, the looks, the smiles, the barest touch, all served to enflame her until she was unable to think or do anything other than what he asked of her. Darius understood her. Now, when she looked at him, she didn’t see a man that was not for her. Rather, she saw a man she wanted to please. She needed to. Compelled to do those things that satisfied him, she was bound to do what he asked of her.

  Darius made her feel special in a way she had never experienced before. He cherished her in words and in deeds. Giving in to him felt comforting, and more importantly, safe. He would make sure she did the right things. If she followed his directions she wouldn’t be able to make terrible mistakes. Marianne couldn’t afford to make another one. Another mistake, like the one with Jonathan, would be the end of her.

  Measuring tape in hand, Madame Trulier looked Marianne over carefully. Stripped down to her chemise, her body seemed to be met with approval.

  “You are blessed in your figure, my dear. I can see why Mr. Rourke is so enchanted by your charms. We must arrange to show you off to your greatest advantage. Your fiancé was quite specific in what he wants, especially in regards to dishabille dress and undergarments. Mr. Rourke said only French silk for your chemises, stockings, and corsets. We shall please him, hmmm? You will be lucky to have such a husband—one who takes an interest.”

  Marianne chose from those garments suggested by Madame Trulier. There were morning gowns, lounging wrappers, and gorgeous undergarments. Day dresses, evening gowns, riding outfits, and cloaks. Madame insisted on several nightdresses sewn of the sheerest fabrics—beautiful, but capable of concealing little. Marianne felt the blushing heat fill her again when she pictured herself wearing them for Darius.

  “He chose this shawl for you. You will take it with you when you go,” Madame Trulier announced.

  The heavy shawl was a work of art in sea-blue Indian silk, woven in an intricate design, shot through with violet, lavender, and dark purple, iridescent threads. Marianne loved it. The dancing fringe swayed delicately when she caressed her hand over his striking gift. Suddenly swamped with the desire to wear this shawl for Darius, she wanted him to see her wearing it and know she had done it for him, to please him.

  I am unable to resist his allure and he well knows it.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Promise

  “MR. Rourke to see Miss George,” Darius told the housemaid.

  Too many minutes later, Mr. George stumbled into the room, announcing that Marianne was not at home.

  “And where has she gon
e?”

  “Walking along the shore, most likely.”

  “Alone? She goes alone?” Darius frowned.

  Mr. George snorted. “That girl has a mind of her own. I have never been able to break her stubbornness,” he said, chuckling. “You’re sure to have your hands very full with her, Mr. Rourke. She’ll be all yours to worry over soon enough, eh?”

  What a stupid man you are, and not much of a father either. No wonder Marianne is as she is.

  Darius abruptly took his leave, heading for the sea path. The thought of her alone, exposed to possible harm, terrified him.

  At the rise, he scanned the sandy beach down below. There she was, looking out over the ocean. He’d seen her like this before, the wind rippling her clothes and hair forward. It looked as if the ocean worked in tandem with the wind, calling to her, pulling her in. She wore the shawl. Relief washed over him, and Darius embraced it as wonderfully welcome.

  He approached, keeping his eyes trained upon her lovely neck. She must have heard his footsteps because she turned. Her eyes widened in recognition, and then they lit in a look that could only be described as happy to see him. The feelings of relief gave way to ones of sheer joy.

  “Darius.” She held out her hand in greeting.

  He brought it to his lips first. Then he had to touch her. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her knuckles as he inhaled, thinking how her scent calmed his agitation. “I called, but you were not there.” The disapproval in his tone still rang clear, though, as was intended.

  “Yes. I wanted to walk, and think.”

  “What occupied your thoughts?”

  “You. Marrying you.”

  That made him smile. “Good thoughts, I hope? Tell me you were thinking good thoughts of me.”

  “I was, Darius.” She blushed and then looked up. “I was thinking good thoughts of you.”

  He brushed the side of his finger up her cheek. “Marianne, I don’t care for you walking out alone here. There are too many dangers, and I would see you kept safe. So, no more solitary walks along the jetty. Agreed?” She regarded him solemnly. “Say, ‘I’ll not walk alone again, Darius.’ Say those words to me, Marianne.”

  “I’ll not walk alone again, Darius.”

  That’s my girl.

  He rewarded her with another smile. “You are very dear to me. If you wish to walk, send a note to the house. I will be happy to escort you.”

  “As you wish.” She inclined her head. “Will you walk with me now?”

  “Of course.” He pulled her arm over his, enveloping her hand in his much larger one. “Your new dress is lovely on you.”

  He looked her over appreciatively, proud to have her on his arm, and feeling irrationally possessive. He didn’t like her out here alone, where anyone could approach her. Kilve had a steady tourist crowd, especially in the summer months. No telling who could be out on the beach. This idea alone, regardless of the natural dangers, made his blood boil. She was his woman. His! And in a matter of days, she’d truly belong to him. Visions flashed through his mind. Scenes of her naked, hair down, splayed underneath him, her body wrapped around his cock—

  “—Thank you, the clothes are very fine and beautiful.” Her sincere words of gratitude dragged him reluctantly out of the erotic reverie he’d dreamed. Shaking his head slightly, he strove to clear his head by focusing on what she was saying. “And, Darius, I love this shawl that you picked for me. It’s very special, so unique, and the most gorgeous gift I have ever received. It reminds me of the sea.”

  “Knowing you are enjoying it thrills me.” He stared at her, unable to look away. “In this moment, you look so beautiful, Marianne, with that shawl wrapped around you and the wind making your hair dance. The color matches your eyes. When I saw it, I knew it was meant for you.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, and for such lovely gifts, Darius.”

  “Do you wear your new garments next to your skin?”

  She breathed in sharply at his question. “I do.”

  “Why do you wear them?” he whispered, anticipating her answer.

  “Because…you told me to.”

  A shot of pure lust burned through to his groin, and he felt an erection punch out, instantly hard. Marianne didn’t realize how her gentle surrender enflamed him. And she gave it so freely, and with such ease, that Darius was utterly entrammeled by her charms. Where he was hard, she was soft. He took, she gave. He commanded, she acquiesced. Darius wondered if she knew he was really like a fly, tangled in her web, stuck fast, going nowhere. Marianne was an addiction, and yet, seemed to have no idea of the potency of her allure.

  Stopping her on the path, he leaned down toward her sweet lips. Heat boiled up the instant their mouths connected. This time he would know more of her…

  “Kiss me back,” he commanded.

  He needed to get inside her somehow! So he pushed his tongue along her lips, entreating her to open to him. Slowly, but with firm control, he pressed inside, feeling the returned brush of her soft tongue dueling with his. Tasting. Seeking. Filling. Their tongues mated. The feel of her sent his cock into a desperate state. Having any part of him inside her body was nirvana.

  Finally dragging away from her mouth for long enough to form words, he asked, “I can taste strawberries. Did you eat some?”

  “I did. At luncheon I had a few.” She blushed at him again.

  “So sweet you taste. Sweet like a strawberry. I want to feed strawberries to you. I’ll put it right into your mouth.” He imagined holding a ripe, red strawberry to her lips and her biting into it.

  The lovely image gave Darius inspiration of how to get into her in another way. Using his thumb, he brushed over her lips in a circle before pressing against her teeth. She opened against the pressure, accepting his thumb into her mouth, her tongue wrapping around it, sucking lightly. Darius moved his thumb in and out, slowly, her lips stretching outward when he pulled out, and retreating inward when he pushed in.

  God help me!

  Marianne pulled up close to him, her berry flavored lips holding onto his thumb, was a sight so erotic, he knew they were in trouble if they stayed here. He would do something he shouldn’t, and maybe frighten her. Imagining those sweet lips of hers wrapped around his cock instead of his thumb was too much to visualize and maintain decorum. He was on the edge already, hard and hungry for her. Darius had to suggest they return, before he lost his mind and took her right here on the sand.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Remembrance

  DARIUS thought the weather perfect for their ride in the curricle. The clean scent of the June air mingled with the intoxicating fragrance of violets sitting beside him.

  “Would you like to take the reins?” he offered.

  “I would.” She nodded. “You will help me?”

  “Of course.” Reaching one arm around her, he brought her close, transferring the reins into her hands. “Now grip firmly. Use the muscles in your forearms, not just your hands. Direct him. Tell the horse what you want from him.”

  As she followed his instructions, Darius buried his face in her neck, nuzzling his favorite spot. “He wants to please you.”

  “He must be a uniquely accommodating horse!” she sang at him.

  She laughed a melodious sound. Her lovely laugh. It was a rare sound coming from her and he wanted to cherish the moment for the precious gift it was whenever he heard it.

  “He pleases me. I wonder if I please him as much?”

  “I can attest that you do with certainty, Marianne.” It felt good to banter with her, the unspoken meaning of their words as clear as if they’d said them a loud. She said you please her.

  They crossed over the ridge that looked down to the sea below. Darius put his hands over hers, assisting in slowing the curricle.

  “This is a good place to get out. Walk with me?”

  He reached up to grip around her slim waist, lifting her easily from the seat and down to the ground. Providing such service to her felt wonderful, as d
id the knowledge that it would be his “right” to do so for her always. He loved the feel of Marianne under his hands.

  After securing the horse, he led her to the edge. He looked out.

  “Right down there,” he said, pointing, “is where I first remember seeing you.” He met her eyes. “You were just a little girl, nine or ten years old. You were collecting fossil curies, and had them arranged in order from largest to smallest. I was with my dog, a great beast of a hound called Caesar. He was rampaging along the beach with boundless excitement, until he pelted through your careful array, scattering your collection. I saw all this happen from a distance. You jumped up fuming, soundly scolding him. Caesar was very repentant, and by the time I got to him, you were patting him on the head and saying, ‘he was a good dog and probably didn’t mean to be so stupid.’ I tried to apologize for him. I said, ‘I hope my dog wasn’t a bother to you.’ I remember that you repeated my words back to me. I’ve never forgotten. You looked up at me so solemnly and said, ‘Your dog wasn’t a bother to me, sir.’ And then you sighed. You must have been very frustrated, but you were so composed and resolute, like a soldier.”

  “I remember the dog, and that day!” She looked at him in wonder. “That was you?”

  He nodded. “I remember thinking what an intelligent, unspoiled child you were.”

  She blushed at his compliments, the rosy flush coloring her fair cheeks, making him want to press his lips to them and kiss over every inch.

  “Mr. Simms used to pay a penny per five curies. He sold them in his shop to tourists. I thought myself very industrious, that it would make me a great fortune.” She smiled, caught up in the remembering. “And Caesar? He is no longer with you?”