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“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. 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 easy. 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—”
