Rare and Precious Things (The Blackstone Affair 4)

“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 in words. Marianne thought of 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…

CHAPTER 3

The Kiss

MARIANNE realized Darius felt entitled to demand a little more since she was now his betrothed. Their engagement had been announced, but it would be three weeks yet until they married. As her fiancé, he could call upon her and sit next to her in church. And he took full advantage of those opportunities. He held her hand and kissed it, walked with her, and often sent her letters and gifts.

“I have something for you, Marianne.” He presented a slim, leather volume into her hands.

Opening to the title page, she smiled when she saw the inscription he’d written. To my Marianne, From your Darius. She hardly knew what to say. Did Darius think of himself as belonging to her? It was a very intimate thought, and Marianne felt a thrill of pleasure at him believing in it.

“John Keats. His poetry is beautiful. I will enjoy this very much. Thank you, Mr. Rourke.”

“I think you want to call me Darius.” He nodded slowly at her. “And now, you want to kiss me, Marianne.” Still nodding, he smiled knowingly.

He told you what to do, and now you must do it.