The Passion of Darius, A Gothic Tale of Love and Seduction

When she heard him say, “Don’t disappoint me,” Marianne realized he knew. Somehow Mr. Rourke was aware of her desires. He’d watched her for so long, he’d puzzled her out. He knew what words to say and how to phrase them. And Mr. Rourke seemed to be the kind of man prepared to persist until he got his way. She realized this as well. He sought to compel her and tell her what to do. He wanted dominion over her. But Mr. Rourke was wrong about one part. Not always did she do the right thing. Sometimes she did wrong. Very wrong.

Marianne felt the walls closing in. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy as he stared into her eyes. She couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right for her to want—

“Mr. Rourke, I cannot accept your offer. It is—it’s not possible for me to be your—”

She stopped and shook her head at him, and then even had to turn away. She had almost said it out loud for God’s sake. It simply wasn’t possible for her to be a wife. She wasn’t fit for the role. Matrimony would not be her destiny, and it’d be best if she made that fact clear to him right now. He wouldn’t want her anyway if he knew what she’d done. Darius Rourke was a man of wealth and property and needed heirs to pass it along. He must have a wife sensible in mind and capable of rearing his children, and that person certainly wouldn’t be her. She must not even consider such a notion.

If she allowed him to bore into her eyes a second longer, she’d lose her resolve. She had to get out of here. Her instincts screamed at her to get away from him and his commanding presence before he spoke another word. He was too good at coercion. Their little dance around the berry patch earlier had proved just how good he was. And the problem was that she liked when he directed her. Far too much.

“Papa, we are leaving.” She took her father by the arm and led him out. At the door, she paused, feeling a cold shiver rattle up the back of her neck.

“You disappoint me, Marianne.” His voice had a hard edge now. That Darius Rourke did not like being told “no” was of little surprise.

Marianne froze, closing her eyes, praying for strength. Without turning back, she whispered, “I am sorry, Mr. Rourke. I just cannot—” Stumbling on through the doorway; she fled his house, pulling her father along with her.

As soon as his guests departed, Darius took paper from his desk and began to write. He was calm but resolute when he called for his steward and gave instructions for delivery of the missive.

She’d surprised him with her refusal. This time. He wasn’t really all that concerned though. There were means at his disposal to be more persuasive. This was something he could do. If it meant winning her, he could do just about anything. Yes, Marianne George may have just turned him down, be he’d felt, no, seen, a crack in that armor she covered herself in. Darius would be more successful next time, getting under her skin, forcing her to acknowledge him, to accept him. He would have her acquiescence. No other alternative was tolerable.

Marianne looked around the room. The destruction of her life was clearly visible and she wanted to weep. But that was just self-pitying indulgence, wasn’t it? And she could truly say that the wreck of her family was all her fault anyway.

Papa was sprawled out on the chaise, foxed to the gills. The eviction notice he’d read, crumpled on the floor. A bailiff had served it into her hands this very day.

Three days was all the time they had. In three days he’d return with officers of the court to see they were taken to the Marshalsea in London. She picked it up and read it again. Unpaid debts were a crime under the law. Papa was a… criminal. There was only one creditor listed and that seemed odd, and the name was not one she even recognized.

Grasping at any solution, she thought about a way out. Maybe Lord Rothvale might be inclined to help. He was influential and very kind. She’d known him all her life, and his daughter, Byrony, was one of her best friends. She threw up her hands in frustration. What was she thinking? She could never impose upon friends in such a way.

Marianne left the house. She had to get outside and go look at the ocean. Her legs felt weak as she made her way, but the closer she came to the majestic expanse of brine, the stronger her resolve grew. Once the glassy blue of the water was in her sights, she breathed out a sigh. The sea soothed her and always had. It comforted in a way for which there was no substitute. It had always been so for her. She made her way to the rocky shore, seeking that which would ease her, until she was leaning against a large rock at the mouth of the jetty. She allowed herself to remember.

Shame was the worst of it. She wasn’t worried about what they’d have to endure in the Marshalsea. It was the shame that killed her. That and the cruel fact of knowing even if they went to prison, it still wouldn’t change anything. Jonathan wasn’t coming back to her. Papa wouldn’t be restored to his former respectable self. Mamma was gone forever. The ravagement of her life was complete, and nothing was going to put it back to rights. She mourned the loss and realized suddenly the ache and despair of knowing she’d never be free of her guilt.

She wouldn’t even have this—the comfort of the sea. That would be the hardest part to give up. She let the tears come and tried to memorize every sense in moment. The smell of salt and seaweed, the whip of the breeze chilling the tears on her cheeks, the sounds of the churning water and flapping of her dress, the variant colors of blue.

Can you hear me, Jonathan? We’re going to be leaving… soon, and I won’t be able to come here anymore. I’m so sorr—

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Marianne.”

Marianne snapped her head around and then quickly down, brushing at her tears with a knuckle. “Mr. Rourke. You startled me, sir.” She turned away so he couldn’t see her face. Why had he come out here? Had he seen her and followed?

“I apologize for startling you, but not for my words.”

Marianne didn’t answer or acknowledge his apology. She just kept staring out at the sea. The wind and the waves buffeted the rocks below, as they had done for eons. Jonathan?

“I saw that the bailiff paid you a visit and I know why he was there.”

Of course he knew why. The whole village probably knew already. Any words of acknowledgement still refused to come from her mouth. What could she possibly say anyway? Frozen in place, she continued to do what she’d been doing before he’d come out here to confront her. She faced into the wind and churning surf and stayed silent.

“My God, Marianne. Prison. You’ll have to live in a filthy prison. A dirty, defiled, infested prison, miles away from your home and that which you’ve known your whole life.”

I know.

She nodded imperceptibly, still unable to look at him. “Did you follow me out here just to throw that in my face?” She spoke toward the sea and thought it very cruel of him to voice it even though she’d been the one to reject him and he was probably still angry.

“No. I did not,” he said more gently.

“Then why are you here, Mr. Rourke?”

“To remind you that it is in your power to stop this madness, Marianne. You can stop it. You know what you could do. The question is—will you do it? Will you?” His voice burned through the ocean breeze.

Oh, dear God. Could she have heard him correctly? He still wanted her? Even after she’d refused him? A proud man like him, willing to offer again, even in her low situation? Unbelievable. Still she remained frozen, afraid to look.

“Look at me, sweet Marianne. Show your beautiful face to me.”

She started to breathe heavily. A warm flush penetrated and began to tingle through her. He had moved closer and was now standing right behind her. So close she could smell the spice of his cologne.

“Do it. Turn around and look up at me. You want to, Marianne. I know you do,” he whispered, near enough that his breath kissed her neck.

He was right. She did want to. Turning to face him, a warm heat flooded between her legs. She saw him inhale as if to scent her. A curl of a smile lifted on his mouth and his eyes burned.

“You’ve been crying.” He fished out his handkerchief and pressed it gently to each cheek. “I don’t like you crying. And I think I know why you were.” He leaned down closer. “Let me take care of you. Your father, too. You’ll want for nothing.” He tilted his head, honing in on her. “Marry me.”

Telling her what to do didn’t seem to be a problem for him. He smiled and slowly nodded, willing her to accept him. He was boldly telling her to agree, but did it in such a way that she wanted to agree. Lord, he was handsome. A lock of glossy black hair slipped down over his forehead, and she had the urge to reach out and smooth it back. What would his hair feel like?

Mr. Rourke had her ensnared without a doubt, and he was very skilled at seduction. Marianne accepted that resisting him was a futile enterprise on her part. Her desire was far too formidable of a beast to conquer. It felt enormously relieving to yield to him. His lilting voice, like cool silk brushing over warm skin, told her exactly what she wanted to do.

And if she was honest with herself, she could admit to the pure comfort to be had in embracing his dominance. Soothing. Relieving. Oh, yes. Feelings she had never allowed herself to indulge in. He would be good for her in that way. And more importantly, a marriage with Darius Rourke would enable her to save Papa. This marriage would provide a way, albeit insufficient, to partially atone for what she’d done.

Resolving to accept his offer before she might change her mind, she straightened her posture. A shiver and a breathy sigh escaped at the thought of belonging to him. The way he looked at her. Imagining what he’d do with her. She was certainly a mouse caught in the paws of an indomitable, pouncing cat. And when the time came for the cat to devour the mouse, Marianne prayed she’d not regret her choice.

“Mr. Rourke, I—I do agree. I’ll marry you.”

“Yes?” His eyes lit up with glittering sparks at her answer, spurring her to speak resolutely.

“I will.”

Marianne would not forget the look upon his face when she gave him her agreement. Darius Rourke looked very… pleased, which, again, mystified her as to why he found her so attractive. She prayed he wouldn’t regret this decision any more than she might.

That’s my good girl. You want it. I was right about you.

He took her hand and brought it forward. His lips kissed the cool skin of her hand as his thumb caressed over her elegant fingers. The essence of her flesh so close threatened to overpower his senses. Darius let the desire seize him—the tightening down low as the blood hardened him to iron. God, it felt good. He could stand here staring, breathing in her delicate scent, nibbling her skin, forever and never get tired of it. Just having her close felt like a reward. He kissed her hand a second time, lingering a little longer with his lips, drawing in her natural essence through the softness of her silky skin.

“You have made me very happy, Marianne. Let’s go tell your father the good news.”

Her luminous blue eyes looking up moved him deeply. She was beautiful to him. And now she’d be his. He would be the one—the one to discover her secrets.

Anticipating how he would take her the first time made him lightheaded. Her innocence required a gentle hand of course. And he would gladly give it. Darius would be so very careful with her initiation into the pleasures of the flesh. But still, his need to know her was nearly uncontainable. In his imaginings, he experienced lurid visions of possessing her beautiful body in so many ways, of satisfying his desires finally, after years of wanting her.

Marianne sat down that night and began to write. The journal had been given to her by her mother. One of the last gifts she’d ever received from her before she was gone. Mamma had said it was admirable for a lady to put down her thoughts on paper. Marianne pondered upon what she had agreed to this afternoon, and once again, could not see how she would manage to be all that her future husband believed she would be.

7th May, 1837

…today I also gave my agreement to marry a man who says he wants nothing more than to care for me and to allow him to cherish me. He looks into my eyes and touches a part of my soul in a way that terrifies me, yet at the same time draws me in deeper to understand his motivation. I believe he can see into part of my secret. He understands me, because his words cut right to the essence of my problem, leaving me no choice but to give in to his demands.

So I will go to live at Stonewell Court and make my life with him… but I am very afraid of what awaits me. How will I ever rise to the standard of what is expected of me? I am not worthy, and I fear my carefully guarded heart is in great danger of being shattered beyond the ability for it to continue to beat within my breast. Darius Rourke doesn’t yet understand that I do not deserve to be cherished by any man. I am torn, and yet he is persuasively persistent in continuing to assure me all will be well, and to trust in him.

I find myself unable to deny Darius in his wishes for me, just as I was unable to deny my beloved Jonathan…