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“What? Can a father not want the best for his child? He admires you! It would serve you well to encourage him, lass!” He practically shouted his opinions at Marianne as she led him out to the churchyard. Mr. Rourke would have to be deaf not to have heard.
“Shhh, Papa!” She vowed silently to skip church next Sunday for she didn’t know how she could face Mr. Rourke after this horrifying display.
Something compelled her to turn around. And Marianne knew exactly what would be waiting when she did.
Still standing in the same spot, tracking her, Mr. Rourke smiled, his perception all-knowing, as if he’d been assured she’d turn back to him.
Oh, dear God! I must be in hell.
At least a decade older than her, Mr. Rourke was a quiet man, possessing an air of mystery that hinted at the level of intensity to his character, but remained properly veiled under the gentlemanly comportment of his station. He conveyed a subtle influence in most of his dealings with others, not entirely discernible in anything he said or did, but recognizable nonetheless. Marianne thought him handsome. With his noble features, he attracted the notice of many women. Tall and broad shouldered, he filled out his fine European suits brilliantly. His skin held a darker cast than was typical for an Englishman, a golden hue that complemented the dark hair and eyes perfectly. He was simply beautiful.
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.
