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Mr. George was the last to go. Mercifully he had maintained some sobriety for the occasion, but the haunted look in his eyes told Darius his new father-in-law would hit the bottle the second he was out the door.
With tears in his eyes, he faced his daughter. “You are the image of your mamma, lass. She would have been overjoyed this day.” He took both of Marianne’s hands, his whole body shaking. “Be happy, Marianne, with your husband. He’ll care for you well.” He looked to Darius and then back to Marianne. A wistful look came over him, and he seemed far away in his memories. “I just wish your mamma was here…and also your—” Mr. George cut himself off abruptly, attempting dignity for once, kissed her forehead, nodded to Darius, and made his escape.
The relief they both felt was palpable in the room. But Darius knew it was for very different reasons. Darius guessed Marianne felt relief knowing she had saved her father from ruin, and he was more than happy to give her that. Darius was relieved because his gamble had paid off—he’d gotten his prize. She belonged to him now. His dream was about to become reality.
* * * *
Darius stopped them at the door after escorting her upstairs to the bedchamber. “I’ll come to you in an hour. Your new maid will help you get ready,” he said, his voice thick with suggestion.
Nodding in agreement, she couldn’t help lowering her eyes. Understanding him precisely, Marianne knew why he was coming back and what she needed to be ready for. He had rights to her now, and he would definitely apply them without hesitation. Rights to take her to bed, make her his wife in every way.
“Look at me, Marianne.” The command relieved her for some reason, and when she lifted her eyes she found Darius smiling down at her. “You’ve made me very happy. I just want you to know that. And you were such a gorgeous bride in your dress today. I am a fortunate man. You know, I’ll no longer be just ‘Mr. Rourke.’ I imagine from now on there’ll be an addendum whenever my name is mentioned. I’ll forever be known as, ‘Mr. Rourke, you know, that man with the beautiful wife.’”
“Oh, Darius,” she whispered up to him, “that’s a lovely compliment, but I don’t think so.”
He took both of her hands into his. “I absolutely know it is so. You are so lovely, and now you’re mine.” He leaned in to kiss her, a gentle brush of lips on lips, and then he swept them down to her palms, kissing first one, and then the other. “An hour, Marianne.” He said it darkly, his eyes flashing, hovering over her hands. A moment later he was gone, leaving her alone to prepare herself for him.
Her new maid, Martha, was efficient in getting Marianne ready for Darius. Martha carefully helped her out of the palest blue silk gown Marianne had chosen for her wedding dress. As Martha took the elegant gown to put it away, Marianne thought about Darius. My husband.
After Martha left the room, Marianne had time to contemplate what would happen when Darius returned to claim her. Their encounter outdoors on the blanket a few days ago was still fresh in her mind. He’d touched and kissed much of her already. He’d given her pleasures, glorious feelings she wanted again, but frightened her, too.
Darius was going to do more with her tonight. He had made that fact very clear. This was their bargain though. He’d married her and saved her father. In return he would have her body however he wanted, whenever he wanted. And she would have to submit to his demands.
Yes, submit to him.
Marianne was learning there was great pleasure to be had in submission. In granting that power to another. In giving herself to the person who commanded mastery over her. It was so simple. Freeing. The act of submitting freed her from her sin.
She expected Darius to be demanding—it was his way—but he never made her feel like she was doing anything distasteful. He was a mysterious and complicated man. Darius didn’t just make her do things, he made her want to do them. And there was a very big difference in that.
Even so, Marianne’s anxiety increased steadily until she was nearly quivering on the bed, waiting for her new husband to come and make her a woman. It wasn’t fear of him really, it was more a fear of the unknown. The way he looked at her was overwhelming at times. So needful for a man. Powerful and needful—both, at the same time. It was the power Darius wielded in compelling her, mixed with that raging need of his, that was so entrammeling.
Help me to get through this…
* * * *
Stepping into the bedroom, Darius thrilled at the sight of his bride. She sat on her knees near the side of the bed, her hair down the way he loved it. She waited for him.
She’s waiting for me to fuck her.
He could see that she trembled, and the sight pulled at his heart. As much as he desired her, Darius didn’t care for her to be frightened. He wanted her to need him, not be afraid of him.
She lifted her eyes when she heard him come in. Their gaze locked, and he could clearly see how unsettled she was. He wanted to rush over and gather her up. The urge to protect was strong, but as soon as he moved, Marianne bolted up from the bed, looking ready to run. He stopped and cocked an eyebrow. “Marianne?”
She answered him with nervous breaths. The thin silk of her nightdress rose and fell with the movement of her breasts as she breathed.
Godsblood, she was stunning! The need to get next to her, to know her, to take what was his, pounded at him. But he reminded himself he’d be careful. He had no intentions of ravaging her innocence. Darius knew she’d be soothed if he could touch her and get her into his arms. He started forward again.
She took a quick step back, her eyes flashing wildly now.
He froze at the sight.
She is afraid.
Realizing he’d frightened her sent a bolt of pain into his heart. Desire for her notwithstanding, Darius hated to scare her. He knew he had to tread carefully. He wasn’t going to chase her around the room, for God’s sake! Things just weren’t going to be like that between them.
“Are you afraid of me, Marianne?”
She shook her head, but he wasn’t convinced.
