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Watching her come was a most beauteous thing, Darius thought. Seeing that moment of pure awareness in her expression was the fuse in bringing him to his own explosive release. Feeling her inner muscles squeeze tightly around his cock, he finally had to let go.
As he spilled out his release, he relished every spurt of spunk that washed into her, working it deep inside, sending it where it needed to go. He liked knowing she had his seed in her. He rationalized that it satisfied some primal male need to mate with her and produce his heirs. He wasn’t sure if that was the reason, but regardless, he needed to put his seed in her, and the more of it the better.
MARIANNE did indeed thrill at his coarse words and the forceful sex. She loved the way Darius made her feel when he wanted her like this, like he needed her to live, to sustain his life. Like she was the only one who could satisfy his burning desires. At least that was how he made her feel. Even if it wasn’t true, she would still embrace it for the pleasure it gave to him and to her.
Finally stopping, he came to a rest, covering her as she lay atop the table.
“Mia cara…ti amo.” He whispered the words under his breath.
Despite his whispering, Marianne still heard him. She also knew what his words meant. Marianne was not fluent in Italian, but she knew he’d said, “I love you.”
She stiffened underneath him and felt her newfound peace break apart like nest full of eggs hit with a stone.
Marianne waited for it. Waited for Darius to tell her to say it in return. She thought he might, but prayed he would not. She didn’t think she could form the words from her mouth. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest and she felt the need for air.
Darius did not tell her to say it back. That command never came, and Marianne knew relief as the minutes wore on.
So, she did not offer the words back to him.
Powerful little words.
Marianne had to pause and wonder if Darius was aware of what he’d said to her. And if he was sincere, or rather succumbing to the passion of the moment. Marianne was finding that the sex had a way of breaking down reserve in the most powerful way.
At least for her it did.
12th July, 1837
Today my husband said he loved me. He spoke his words in Italian, and in the heat of passion to leave me unsure if he was fully aware of what he said. I expected him to tell me to return the sentiment, but he never did. I am left with the incredible idea that he must feel more for me than he should. How is it possible for Darius to love me? How can that be? I know I shouldn’t covet the idea, but I do…
CHAPTER 11
The Ravishing
SO, my dear, have you kept up with your sketching?” Lord Rothvale asked her at dinner.
“Yes, my lord. I try to put some time into it at least once per week,” Marianne answered.
“Well, I’ve seen your work, and it’s very good. Have you ever considered formal study?”
Marianne shook her head. “No, sir. Your Byrony is the real talent. Her portraits are so intuitive. She will know fame one day, I predict. For me, I just enjoy the sketching as a creative activity, and I only seem to want to paint the sea. It’s the one subject I come back to over and over again.”
Lord Rothvale gently patted her hand. “That’s understandable, my dear,” he said kindly. “When Mr. Mallerton comes for his yearly holiday the two of you should collaborate. He enjoys seascapes as well.”
“I would love to meet him, my lord. The great Mr. Mallerton, here in Somerset, working alongside me? I would be so enamored and dazed, I doubt I would be able to speak, let alone draw anything.” Marianne couldn’t imagine the scenario, but would be so honored to meet the great master himself. Lord Rothvale and Tristan Mallerton had gone to school together and were the best of friends. Moments like these made her wonder if she was indeed dreaming.
Lady Rothvale spoke up, “Marianne, darling, you should have your portrait painted by Mr. Mallerton when he is here. Don’t you agree, Mr. Rourke?”
“I shall inquire for one myself, my lady. There is nothing I would love more than a portrait of my wife,” Darius replied smoothly. He probably would commission a portrait of her, Marianne thought. The very idea was almost too much to consider, but she knew her husband well enough already to know he would do what he wished on the matter.
Lord Rothvale directed his next comment to Darius. “What do you think of your wife’s artistic talent there, Rourke?”
“Well, I think she’s quite accomplished, and I love to watch her at work. The concentration, the furrowed brow, the intensity with which she studies the seascape is fascinating. She’s very hard on herself, though. Never pleased with what she’s drawn when to my eye it looks good enough for your National Gallery,” Darius said.
Lord Rothvale chuckled. “Getting that thing founded will be my life’s work, I suppose, and much harder than it ought to be, but then, worthwhile endeavors usually are. We’ll make sure to leave a nice wall for her.” He winked at Marianne. “Now if I can just get your husband to consider public service, I imagine how much good could be accomplished with men like him in Parliament. What do you say, Rourke? Make a run for the constituency at Kilve?”
“I’m thinking about it, my lord,” Darius told him, but he looked at Marianne. There was hunger in his eyes. Marianne knew he wasn’t thinking about politics right now. He was thinking about what he wanted to do to her when he got her all to himself.
THE staring only got worse on the ride home. Darius sat opposite her in the carriage, his eyes roaming over her body in a ravenous sweep that left no doubts about what was on his mind. She shivered in anticipation, feeling herself go wet between the thighs. Apparently their frantic session in the library before dinner had only whet his appetite for a more leisurely paced encounter tonight.
