by Raine Miller
But male beauty aside, Darius Rourke wasn’t for her. No man was for her.
Marianne couldn’t fathom why he would even show an interest. Her upbringing had been respectable enough, a gentleman’s daughter, but their situation had declined perilously in recent years. Her dowry had long since gone by way of drink and cards. Papa had seen to that. Marianne shuddered, thinking about the debts Papa incurred on his forays into town.
Still, whenever their paths crossed, Mr. Rourke made a point to pay her specific courtesy and deference. He was never anything less than a gentleman in his behavior towards her, but Marianne detected an undercurrent. There was something about his attentions that unsettled her. Thoroughly. Like he could peer right inside her and know her every thought. When he cast those flashing dark eyes of his in her direction she felt exposed and vulnerable, on the verge of being devoured. By him.
He might even be more aware of her “need” than she thought, from the way his gaze could penetrate. After an encounter with him she always came away feeling a little shaken, breathless, and confounded.
IT took the passing of another month before Marianne’s father ruined them completely. This pleased Darius for it worked into his plans rather seamlessly.
Darius summoned father and daughter to his home under the guise of a summer picnic. With lunch al fresco, and then strawberry picking, he figured an opportunity would likely result. There would be others attending as well, of course, friends and neighbors, Mr. Jeremy Greymont, the Rothvales, the Bleddingtons, and the Carstones.
Darius felt himself harden just from the thought of spending so many hours with her so close. It was becoming a challenge for him to control the urges. Yes, Miss Marianne George would be here at his home this day, and he knew the time for waiting was over. She was coming for a picnic, true, but he had other plans in mind for his Marianne.
Yes, mine.
Darius could not help the sway of his heart. He wanted Marianne and only her, for he found her to be perfect, meant for him in a way that prevented him from considering any other but her. He dreamed about her constantly. Dreamed of making her his, of claiming her, making love to her, envisioning his body all over her body, of being inside her. His dreams of Marianne were always erotic and very vivid. These and similar thoughts of Marianne George obsessed him.
He’d only come back to Somerset a mere six months ago, after being away for years. Darius had thought he might have put his infatuation for Marianne George aside during the long absence, but that’d proved false the second he’d laid eyes on her again.
Waiting for her had been a challenge while she grew up. And through the years he’d ever admired her, she was forever in his head, tempting him mercilessly. Now she had grown up a most beautiful woman, unattached to any man and ready to be plucked. He thought her silky, dark hair, blue eyes, and lush figure magnificent, but there were other reasons for the attraction.
She did not throw herself at him, as many other young ladies tried to do. Marianne George was a complex young woman, and Darius was sure he understood the reason. There was more to her than youthful beauty, much more.
She had fire in her waiting to be stoked. This he could tell. He also suspected that submitting to him, to his dominance, would appeal to her. He’d noticed that he could make her look at him when he stared at her, and that she definitely waited for his gaze. The looks she returned mesmerized him. Her eyes smoldered, like burning embers waiting for a rush of air to fan them into flame.
Darius was certain. The dominance would be lovingly bestowed of course. If Marianne craved it, then he needed to be the one to give it to her. He would offer to her that which she desired.
MARIANNE’S cheeks burned hot. She could only imagine the deep color of her blush. Sitting right next to her, she could sense Mr. Rourke’s eyes staring because her neck tingled. Nothing new there. This game they’d been playing had gone on for weeks and needed to cease. Today.
She braved a glance. His black eyes glittered at her. He smiled as if he’d expected her to look. She grasped at anything to say and came up with very little except, “The day is lovely. You picked a good one for your party, Mr. Rourke.”
“Yes…so lovely,” he answered, his eyes roaming over her.
She got the impression he wasn’t referring to the weather and felt supremely stupid. She would do better just to keep her mouth closed before more half-witted nonsense left it.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Miss Marianne. I hope today is just the first of many visits.”
She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t—”
“I say it’s time for the berry picking! They’re sweetest when the sun is high,” Miss Byrony Everley announced her opinion to the group.
Marianne thought her dear friend’s interruption especially timely.
“Byrony! It’s Mr. Rourke’s party and for him to say,” her mother admonished.
“No worries, Lady Rothvale,” he said, rising from the grass. “I am not in the least offended, and I venture that Miss Byrony’s suggestion is a good one.” His voice turned rich and his words slower. “I’d hate for the full sweetness of the strawberries to be missed.” And then he looked right at Marianne’s mouth.
Oh, dear God! Marianne swallowed hard, thinking she was in very deep trouble.
“’Twould be a tragedy to pass up the sweet.” He held his hand down to her. “Shall we?”
She couldn’t refuse him. Not in front of everyone. Mr. Rourke was her host, and it would be rude not to defer to his desire to accompany her. Marianne put her hand out and felt it clasped in a warm grip. Maybe more than warm. His skin was hot—melting hot. He pulled her effortlessly up to standing, right at his chin.
Damn her if she didn’t look up at his rich, brown eyes again. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t want his attentions! Darius Rourke rattled her soundly. He had a way of making her forget why she couldn’t receive him. She supposed the time was nearing that she’d have to tell him so. But for right now she calmly accepted the basket he handed over to her and watched as he got one for himself, and before she knew it, was being led with the others, down the path to the glade with her arm wrapped through his.
Idiot!
DARIUS felt he could be in heaven, or possibly as close as he would ever get. For the moment, he had Marianne all to himself. Slowly, he’d steered her away from the others to where he thought the quietness might relax her a little. Darius didn’t fool himself. He knew she was wary of him and realized that if his plan were to work he’d have to earn her trust.
He found Marianne mesmerizing and could just watch her unendingly. He admired how graceful her hands were, watching as her fingers gently pushed aside green leaves to search for the heart-shaped fruit. She parted her lips just a bit whenever she found a cache of berries hidden beneath the greenery. The pleasure of observing as she ate a few of the berries had been the definite high point. Marianne had a beautiful mouth.
“Oh! A blackberry vine has pushed in over here,” she said.
Darius came right to where she peered into the tangle, standing just behind her shoulder. “They grow as wild as weeds, sprouting up in new spots each year, so I’m not surprised.” A few errant curls had come loose, and there was a bit of leaf right above her ear.
Delectable.
He wanted his lips right above her ear so he could flick out his tongue and get a taste of her. What would she taste like? He had to force himself to respond coherently. “But it’s a tad early for blackberries yet. By the end of July they’ll be bursting with sweet juice. You’ll come back then,” he told her.
Her spine stiffened, and she faced him. Little creases marred her brow. “Mr. Rourke, you mustn’t presume that I—”
“—only an invitation to pick berries, Miss Marianne, and only if you wish it,” he said smoothly. He disarmed her with his response. He could see it happen and knew the second she regretted her comment, as clearly as if he could see inside her head.
“Of course it is.”
Her blue eyes swept down. “Please forget I said anything.”
Impossible to forget anything about you.
He reached out his hand, helpless to restrain himself. Darius was going to touch her. She saw what he meant to do, though, and reacted by backing right up and away from him. He followed her anyway, deftly plucking the small, dry leaf from her hair.
He held it up to show her. “You had this trapped in your hair.”
“Ahhh,” she breathed out, looking relieved. “Th—thank you, Mr. Rourke. We should probably go back now,” she said softly, her eyes fluttering down once again.
The urge to take her further into the berry thicket and kiss her senseless flashed as a possibility, but sanity overruled it.
“As you wish.” He offered his arm. They had not taken even a step before the rending of fabric sounded below them.
“Oh blast! The brambles have caught me!” She turned, reaching for the thorny vine imbedded in her skirt.
“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—all the 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.” He smiled down at her.
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 2
The Acceptance
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. S
he 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 cannot—” Stumbling on through the doorway, she fled his house, pulling her father along with her.
AS soon as his guests departed, Darius 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.