His Perfect Passion (13 page)

And then she thought of Darius and what she needed to say to him. As she dangled there in the cold spray she felt a change. The emotion, the will, the driving need to save herself at all costs, came on her in a rush. She had reasons to live!

Frantic hands gripped for purchase on the sharp stones above her, grasping determinedly until finally gaining a handhold. The jagged rock cut into her skin, but she held on fiercely. She had to. Adrenaline fueled her determination, and slowly, inch by inch, she pulled herself up onto the flat of the headland.

Lying exhausted from the effort, she counted her blessings and regretted her carelessness.
Thank you, dear God! Thank you…thank you…thank you!

Slowly Marianne rose and shakily took stock of her person. No permanent damage, it seemed. She was very lucky. Hoping she might be able to restore her appearance before Darius should find out what happened, Marianne made her way back to the house as quickly as she could.

She wondered how in the world she’d ever be able to explain the state of her hands, and the bruises that surely bloomed this very moment on her skin.

Chapter Fourteen

“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—”

“I am indeed, Marianne! You are aware of my wishes, and yet you defy me. You must not go alone. It is too dangerous! You promised me and then broke your promise. Betrayal…Is that what I get with you? I have to be able to trust you, Marianne. As my wife there must be trust between us!” He scrubbed his face in frustration.

“Oh, Darius, I trust you. I would
never
betray you. I just go there to reflect. That is all.” She stood and bowed her head, moving ever closer to him.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he did not offer consolation. “Reflect!” he scoffed. “You risk your safety outrageously! Perched on the edge of the jetty as you stand above the rough water? Why, a large wave could come and sweep you out to sea in the blink of an eye! From what I can deduce, one nearly did!”

“It’s what I deserve, really.” She mumbled the words very softly, but even so he heard.

“What?” he bellowed. “That is a gross mistruth! Marianne!”

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her hard before crushing her to him in a desperate embrace. “Don’t ever say such a thing again! I find it obscene. You are more precious to me than anything. Marianne!” She could feel him trembling as he clutched her and then moved her roughly to the bed.

He pushed and down she went onto the mattress, the welcoming softness in sharp contrast with his hard touch. “You are mine!” he barked, pointing, his eyes devouring her from the side of the bed where he stood. “Open your gown. Show yourself to me!” He looked positively ragged.

“All right, Darius,” she said, keeping her eyes on his blistering ones. Slowly, she began to untie her dressing gown, hoping her acquiescence might calm him a little. It didn’t. He wasn’t inclined to wait and tore it open himself after dropping to the bed with a hiss. The fine French silk fell away at such brutal treatment, exposing all of her to his ravenous gaze.

“These are mine!” Cupping her breasts, he dipped his head to cover first one and then the other, swirling over her nipples with his tongue before biting in possession. The bites were a sweet pain that he quickly soothed by following up with soft sucks and tiny licks. “Mine,” he murmured between breasts, his lips lingering over her pounding heart.

“Yes,” she moaned, arching into his mouth.

He swept his mouth down, down, down, over ribs and belly and quim. Forceful hands moved quickly to split her thighs, and then he just hovered, motionless, staring at her, almost like he was seeing her cunny for the first time. And then she felt his lips come down on her, claiming the burning slit with his tongue. Spearing into her, he teased her clit relentlessly until she felt a possessive but gentle bite there as well. “This is mine, Marianne!”

“Yes!”

Grazing teeth upon the sensitive nub of nerves sent her to dizzying heights. She bucked against the onslaught of his tongue and teeth and lips, a writhing mass of tension and building need. No matter how angry he might be, he was still good to her like this. And she was more than willing to accept the sex, the fucking, the carnality—this she could accept without censure. Accepting his love was harder on her.

She didn’t know how he sprung his cock while he was devouring her flesh, but he did somehow. And when he slid into her, hot and hard, the cry she gave was one of pure abandon. Marianne welcomed his driving cock inside her. He completed her, filled her, and satisfied her in a way she now understood, but had been wary of accepting. It didn’t take long for his fierce thrusting to push her over the edge and into that abyss of sweet oblivion.

“Yes, Darius…yesssss!”

As he rocked into her feverishly, she sought as much of him as she could possibly get inside her, gripping his hips with her heels, digging in, pressing him closer, further, deeper.

“When my cock is buried in your sweet quim it’s where it’s meant to be. Mine! Only—for—me!” He fucked into her hard, each stroke a message of dominion over her.

“I know, Darius! I give myself…to you.” Marianne welcomed every bit of him in this way. Every stroke, every lick, every suck, every bite, every kiss. And she’d gladly take it all from him.

* * * *

Her words of surrender caused him to erupt violently, coming so hard there was pain through his cock when the semen shot up. On and on it surged—his ejaculating. Jets of cum burst out of him and into her. He marked her body with his very essence. The most primal evidence of claim over a woman by a man.

“Never risk yourself again! Never again, Marianne!” he begged, collapsing in a loose grip against her. Her solemn eyes met his as he held her face close. “I cannot lose you.” Whispering in desperation, he closed his eyes. “Please, Marianne, I know I cannot bear it if I were to lose you.”

They lay entangled and panting, his body clothed and hers naked, the musky scents of their sex hovering.

“You won’t,” she said softly.

He realized she was just trying to reassure him though. He stayed quiet, unable to vocalize, vulnerable at the thought of what had nearly happened to her, worried she might do it again, and feeling helpless to prevent it.

“I was careless and distracted. I’ll never do it again, go alone to the sea. I am so very sorry. Please forgive me, Darius?”

“Forgive you?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I love…I love you. Can’t you understand? I
love
you, Marianne!” Anguish of the heart compressed painfully inside his chest.

She looked up into his eyes, hers full of tears, and touched his face gently. “I know you do, Darius…and I think that you shouldn’t—”