The Passion of Darius

by Raine Miller

  She raised her eyes to his. “Your mother was Italian, then? I’ve wondered. You’ve a darker complexion than most Englishmen.” Touching his hair, she smoothed it back over his brow, appreciating what a handsome man he was. “Did she die when you were a boy?”

  “She’s not dead. My mother lives, just not in England. Rome is where she resides, as she has done for many years. She named me. Darius is a Roman name.”

  “I had no idea. Do you visit her?”

  “Yes. I am a dutiful son.” Shifting against her, he settled her head firmly underneath his jaw, stroking over his favorite spot on her neck.

  She caressed his chest as she lay against him. When he spoke, his voice was different. Marianne sensed sadness and regret in him. “My mother is a cold sort of woman. Sometime we will go to Rome, and you will meet her. It is no large matter though. I no longer seek her favor.” He turned his face so she couldn’t see his eyes. “My father met her on his tour of Europe and brought her here after they married. She was unhappy and resented me, I think, because with a child to raise, she could not leave him and return to her homeland. There were no more children between them, but she stayed until I left for school—probably to assuage her guilt. My father made certain I saw my mother for regular visits.”

  Marianne’s heart ached for Darius. She pictured him as a lonely little boy seeking his mother’s love and finding the cold boundaries of duty instead. “She was not a proper mother to you.” Marianne frowned, thinking she would find it hard to be courteous to her mother-in-law upon such a time as she might meet her.

  “She was proper, just not very demonstrative. I wanted her to love me, but I don’t believe she was able to show it outright. In her heart, she is too constrained.” He kissed her hair. “You are nothing like her, Marianne.”

  “I do not want to be like her. I would show my children love because that is what a mother is supposed to do. Children are a precious gift, to be cherished and…protected.”

  “Do you want to be a mother?”

  “Of course I do, Darius.” But I don’t deserve to be one.

  “Tell me. Tell me you will want my child, please. I need to hear that from you, Marianne.”

  He sounded almost desperate. The overwhelming urge to soothe and reassure him was necessary. Something she had to do. “I want your child, Darius. I do, truly.” She kissed him on his chest, feeling him relax. It was a small kind of comfort.

  “I am so glad. You will be a wonderful mother to our children.”

  How could I be?

  “What of your father?” She moved from his embrace so she could see his face.

  He smiled fondly. “Father tried to make up for her. He was excellent. I was but five and twenty when he died,” he said wistfully.

  “I do remember him, vaguely, at church.” She touched his cheek. “You look like him, from what I remember and the portraits in the house. Very handsome, the both of you.”

  Her compliment seemed to affect him. She sensed melancholy and regret in him. It saddened her.

  “I wish he could have known you as mine.”

  “I do as well, Darius.”

  Very softly he said, “I think you perfect, Marianne.” He met her lips in a deep kiss. “Ti amo.” He whispered it so quietly she might not have heard. But she did hear.

  Again, she stilled.

  Oh, Darius, you should not love me!

  Marianne felt sick to her stomach, and guilty, like she had bewitched him with dishonesty. And she knew if he was aware of the truth about her, he would regret his declaration. But the selfish part of her waited for Darius to tell her to say the words back to him. The silence hung heavy as she waited for it.

  He didn’t. And the selfish part of her wanted him to command her to say she loved him. She wondered why he didn’t, and frowned. He had asked her to tell him she wanted his children. Why not this?

  Marianne got quiet then, and still, contemplating until she accepted the reason. Darius did not want her to say it. If there was one thing she knew about Darius, it was that he acted on his desires. He knew what he wanted and had no trouble voicing or demanding it. So then, that left only one possibility. He didn’t want love from her. He wanted her body and her companionship and her obedience to him. As it should be…

  THE first time he’d said those words he was hardly aware, so often it swirled in his thoughts. This time, however, Darius was fully conscious his declaration was not returned, and the pain of that knowledge was excruciating. He’d observed her frown and felt her stiffen up, and that had hurt even more.

  The thing that attracted him to her in the first place—her submissiveness—had trapped him. He could tell her to do things, say words, and think thoughts, and she would, but he could not tell her to say that she loved him. He physically could not. Because if he did that, then he might never know if she only said the words to please him. Maybe he would never know the truth, but he simply could not bear for her to tell him she loved him when in fact she didn’t. Just couldn’t endure the thought of it. He vowed he’d refrain from voicing the sentiment aloud to her again.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Grief

  THE two of them went along together in this way for many weeks, until Marianne’s father died. Mr. George aspirated his own vomit while passed out from too much drink. Darius was the one to tell her and to hold her while she cried her heart out. Grateful that Marianne was spared the burden of discovering her father dead, he took consolation in that at least. That dubious “honor” had gone to Mr. George’s housekeeper, who’d found him cold and already stiff in the bed.

  Marianne grieved, of course, the last member of her family dead, and under sad circumstances. Darius agonized for Marianne, wishing he could ease her pain. For all that he had disapproved of Mr. George, he was still his wife’s father and loved by her. She had shared fond memories of him from childhood.

  The sight of her mourning at the graves of her parents rent his heart. So sorrowfully beautiful, dressed completely in jet black, the only points of color being her blue eyes and the pearl crucifix he’d given her, would be an image of Marianne he’d never forget.

  Darius could see that Marianne missed her father, and he began to worry. He worried that Marianne did not have cause to need him anymore. It was not necessary to be reminded of how he’d won her. She had sacrificed herself to save her father. Darius knew that. Well, her father no longer needed saving. He was dead. And because of that, Marianne did not really need Darius any longer.

  She might not need him, but she was stuck with him, for he would never let her go. The very idea was an impossibility. She was his precious Marianne, whom he loved more than anything, the wife he loved, even though she clearly didn’t love him in return.

  Loving was never part of the plan, but in matters of the heart, things rarely go to plan. It was simple, really. He loved Marianne and had told her so. Hearing the sentiment returned was his greatest wish. On more than one occasion he had told her, and the pain of the absence of those words given back was acute.

  Darius didn’t know what he could do about it though. He’d made such a mess of everything and was now so entangled, he felt like a puppet bounced along on a string.

  There was also the idea Marianne might be pregnant. They’d made love nearly every day, and she had never been indisposed to him. Not once. The fear that she could resent being tied to him was reminiscent of his own parents. He fervently prayed she would welcome a child. Marianne would be a loving mother, he thought, nothing like his own. ’Twas part of why he’d chosen her…

  After the funeral, Marianne started having nightmares and awakened crying in the night. Darius always held her, speaking soothingly until she returned to sleep. Speaking in Italian to her seemed to help.

  Marianne didn’t appear to recall what she cried out in the dark or the things she said, but Darius heard every word as he held her fitful body close to his, crying out for someone she had loved dearly and who was lost to her now. She spoke the name with
regret and anguish. The name she cried out in the dark was…Jonathan.

  …The squall had sprung up out of nowhere. Jonathan! She ran to the sea as fast as her legs could carry her. The terror pounding inside her chest overrode the bursting need of oxygen for her lungs. Their boat was overturned in the surf. She counted boys. Only two boys! Jonathan? Noooooo…it cannot be true! Where is my Jonathan? Dear ,God, nooooo! I am sorry…sorry…so sorry, Jonath—

  “Shhh. Marianne, you’re having a bad dream. Cara, I am here.” Lips kissed her forehead. Strong hands stroked her back.

  “Darius?” She awoke quickly, panicked and sweating, trembling in his embrace.

  “Yes, darling. It’s all right now. You were dreaming…again.”

  Relaxing into his arms, she became aware of reality. “I am so sorry for disturbing you. I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

  “I think you are sad and missing those whom you have loved and lost.”

  “…You are probably right, Darius.”

  “Jonathan? You miss him?” His voice was low and clipped.

  “You know about Jonathan?”

  “It is his name you cry out in your sleep, Marianne. You loved him.”

  “Very much. I loved Jonathan the most. He was my light…”

  “I understand…you grieve for him,” he whispered.

  “I do, Darius.”

  13th August, 1837

  Darius knows about Jonathan. I’ve cried out his name in my sleep. Papa was the last of my destruction of my family. All of them, utterly and completely gone now. I would be too, if not for Darius. I would have nothing to live for. I must tell him…and will have to face up to my great sin, once and for all.

  MG

  MARIANNE started taking solitary walks along the shore. She tried to do it when Darius was busy for she knew he would not be pleased. He had made her promise she would not walk alone, and she was fully aware of her disobedience as she broke the oath she’d made to her husband.

  This day was very much like the day it had happened. The weather typical of late summer, seemingly mild but easily changeable. Marianne had walked out on the rocky headland, purposefully leaving the dogs at home. She needed to be alone today.

  This was a favorite spot of hers. Standing on the rocks, she could almost imagine she was on a tiny island, the foamy peaks crashing below. From this vantage point she could scan the ocean horizon and call to him. He was out there somewhere. This was the place she came when she wanted to remember him. His smile. The rakish grin. The hair and eyes that matched hers.

  Marianne was so lost in her musings she didn’t take notice of the size of the approaching swell. It exploded into the ledge, blasting a vertical swath of water straight up and onto her. The sheer size of the oversize wave, combined with the rough force, knocked her down, hard. Her feet were blown out from underneath, and she toppled perilously close to the edge.

  Her dress, now soaked, weighed heavy and pulled her over. Her feet caught on a ridge of rock, slippery with moss, or she would have gone down. She was inches from going into the churning water below! If she went in, the weight of her garments would sink her. She would drown. Marianne knew the grave danger she was in but eerily resigned herself if it was to be her fate. Taken by the sea…just like him…

  And then she thought of Darius and what she needed to say to him. As she dangled there in the cold spray she felt a change. The emotion, the will, the driving need to save herself at all costs. The intense feelings came on her in a rush. She had reasons to live!

  Frantically her hands gripped for purchase on the sharp stones above, grasping determinedly until finally gaining a handhold. The jagged rock cut into her skin, but she held on fiercely.

  She had to.

  Adrenaline fueled her determination, and slowly, inch by inch, she pulled herself up onto the flat of the headland.

  Lying exhausted from the effort, she counted her blessings and regretted her carelessness.

  Thank you, dear God! Thank you…thank you…thank you.

  Slowly Marianne rose and shakily took stock of her person. No permanent damage, it seemed. She was very lucky. Hoping she might be able to restore her appearance before Darius should find out what happened, Marianne made her way back to the house as quickly as she could.

  She wondered how in the world she’d ever be able to explain the state of her hands, and the bruises that surely bloomed this very moment on her skin.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Reckoning

  OH, madam! You are hurt and bleeding. We must get you upstairs immediately. Mr. Rourke will want the doctor called. Martha!” Mrs. West was clearly horrified at the sight of her mistress.

  “No! I am fine, Mrs. West! Please do not make a fuss. I have merely slipped and scratched my hands. It is mostly water on me. I need a bath and to change my clothes, that is all.”

  “Your hands need attending to, madam,” Mrs. West clucked nervously.

  “Could you see to them for me? I really do not see the need to call out the doctor. I don’t wish to upset my husband.” Marianne pleaded with the housekeeper. “Please, Mrs. West?”

  Mrs. West eyed her guardedly. “My dear, if you are injured or at risk to danger, he will be upset regardless.”

  The housekeeper looked her over some more before softening her harsh frown. “There, there, Mrs. Rourke, let’s have Martha get a bath started for you, and I’ll tend to those scratches, hmmm?”

  The cuts stung painfully under Mrs. West’s ministrations, but that was nothing compared to the pain she would feel once Darius knew what she had done.

  “Must you tell him, Mrs. West? He’ll be so displeased. I hate to burden him with this.”

  “I think, my dear, you must ask yourself why he would be so displeased,” Mrs. West said gently. “He adores you, and you should not take such risks, in your condition.” She nodded knowingly. “I am right, am I not?”

  “I believe so.” Marianne felt a kind of relief at her secret being exposed.

  “Then you will have to tell him, madam.”

  “I know I must. I will tell him myself.” She prepared herself for what she knew she must say to him.

  “Tell me what?” Darius asked, walking in through the doorway. The color drained out of his face as soon as he got a good look at her. “What on earth has happened to you, Marianne?”

  “Oh, Darius, I slipped and fell while walking, but it is nothing—just some scratches to my hands. I am fine.” She smiled as calmly as she could muster.

  He eyed her soaked and filthy dress before fixing them onto her. “Where did you fall as you walked?” His voice was steely and cold.

  Marianne winced before answering in a dreaded whisper, “The headland at the shore.”

  His eyes narrowed, flashing through the slits. His jaw tightened up, but to his credit, he maintained composure. “I’ll return when you have been put to rights and are fit to receive me—your husband.”

  Darius turned from her then and directed his next comment to the housekeeper. “Mrs. West, please inform me at such time my lady wife is restored to her former self so that I might attend her. It appears she has something to tell me.”

  He stalked out of the room without so much as a glance in her direction.

  Marianne took in a deep breath, realizing she had been holding it while he was in the room. She could still smell the spice of his cologne after he’d gone.

  HER blue shawl draped over a dressing gown, Marianne waited for Darius. As she sat brushing her hair, her hands wouldn’t stop trembling and she felt sick to her stomach. Darius was so very angry with her. The look on his face. He’d been stricken at the sight of her. She felt chilled to the bone, and her hands ached badly. The reality of what she had done, of what had nearly happened to her, was sobering.

  She wanted to please him and be a good wife, but she was failing miserably and had a reckoning coming, she knew. Darius was very good to her, always attentive and considerate, so why then was she compelled to disobey? That
was an easy answer. She didn’t deserve all that he gave to her, or the love that he showered upon her. But she wanted to deserve his love. She just didn’t know how to start. Marianne needed to face the truth that she hadn’t been honest for a long time, hiding in a world of regret and lost potential.

  Darius had changed her though. Made her feel emotions she couldn’t have dreamed she would ever feel again. Made her love…again. Made her love him. She’d fallen in love with her husband, and knew she must tell him everything. It was his right to know about Jonathan, but she was afraid, because of what Darius would think of her once he knew the truth.

  Marianne was still sitting in the same spot nearly an hour later when Darius entered her room quietly, walking up behind her as she sat motionless at her dressing table.

  The temperature seemed to drop by degrees. He was hard and rigid, like he might want to hit something. She looked up at him through her dressing mirror. They stared at each other for what seemed like an age before he spoke sharply, arms folded. “You have something to tell me, Marianne? Please, I await to hear it.”

  His icy contempt crushed her. She couldn’t hold back the tremors. “You are displeased with me, Darius, I know.” She turned in the chair toward him, tentatively reaching out to touch his arm.

  His dark eyes blazed down on her so coldly she shrank back and lowered her eyes. He did not like that.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” He snapped. “You will face me, not shrink away like I’m some monster,” he spat, waiting for her to lift her face to him.

  God, his eyes were wild, so dark and unbound, but there was something else, too. She saw pain in them. “Darius, you are not a monster, but I see I have made you very angry.” She had hurt him. And for that she felt even worse. “Listen to what I have to—”

  “I am indeed, angry, Marianne! You are aware of my wishes, and yet you defy me. You must not go alone. It is too dangerous! You promised me and then broke your promise. Betrayal…Is that what I get with you? I have to be able to trust you, Marianne. As my wife there must be trust between us!” He scrubbed his face in frustration.