The Passion of Darius

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. He really was so lovely to her all the time.

“John Keats. His poetry is beautiful. I will enjoy this very much. Thank you, Dar—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. Marianne felt another thrill at what he’d just said she must do.

Her breath grew heavy, her heart sped up, but she tilted her mouth toward his. Pushing up on her toes, her soft lips pressed against his firmer ones, and she felt the heat, a shuddering slice of arousal that shot right up between her thighs. A yielding breath escaped before she broke contact of their lips. She kept her lips close to his though. Marianne lifted her eyes to his burning ones.

“Darius,” she whispered. Just that short union of lips was shattering, and not nearly enough. He smelled divine, his cologne carrying a hint of exotic spice mixed with fresh linen and… heavenly male. To be so close to him stirred her blood. She let herself be drawn in easily and wondered what else he might ask of her. A shiver brushed over her shoulders and down her spine.

“Say it again.”

“Darius… ” His name coming off her lips felt lovely.

His eyes flared as he descended for another kiss. This time his mouth moved on hers, warm and soft, but commanding. He nipped at her bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth partway, like he wanted to devour her. She was going to allow him. Unable to resist, she leaned into his kisses, letting him tug her into his mouth, wondering where this would lead.

Darius didn’t demand anything more though. At least, not today. He stopped and just smiled, looking pleased when he brought the back of his hand to her face and stroked gently.

“You are something so perfect, Marianne.”

No, I am something so definitely not.

When his elegant carriage came to collect her, there was an envelope lying on the leather seat.

Dearest Marianne,

When you go today to be fitted for your wedding clothes, I have arranged for you to select new gowns and assorted garments from the modiste in town. She is French, and will guide you in selecting those items I wish for you to have. Dressing a woman is like framing a beautiful work of art. You, my dear, are the art, and so you must be framed, magnificently. Madame Trulier will have some things ready to take home with you today. Wear them for me, Marianne. I cannot wait to see you dressed as I believe is your due.

Yours,

D. R.

Reading his letter, she became flushed. The thought of Darius picturing her body in want of clothing was very intimate and made her heated. He always did that to her. His words, the looks, the smiles, the barest touch, all served to enflame her until she was unable to think or do anything other than what he asked of her. Darius understood her. Now, when she looked at him, she didn’t see a man that was not for her. Rather, she saw a man she wanted to please. She needed to. Compelled to do those things that satisfied him, she was bound to do what he asked of her.

Darius made her feel special in a way she had never experienced before. He cherished her in words and in deeds. Giving in to him felt comforting, and more importantly, safe. He would make sure she did the right things. If she followed his directions she wouldn’t be able to make terrible mistakes. Marianne couldn’t afford to make another one. Another mistake, like the one with Jonathan, would be the end of her.

Measuring tape in hand, Madame Trulier looked Marianne over carefully. Stripped down to her chemise, her body seemed to be met with approval.

“You are blessed in your figure, my dear. I can see why Mr. Rourke is so enchanted by your charms. We must arrange to show you off to your greatest advantage. Your fiancé was quite specific in what he wants, especially in regards to dishabille dress and undergarments. Mr. Rourke said only French silk for your chemises, stockings, and corsets. We shall please him, hmmm? You will be lucky to have such a husband—one who takes an interest.”

Marianne chose from those garments suggested by Madame Trulier. There were morning gowns, lounging wrappers, and gorgeous undergarments. Day dresses, evening gowns, riding outfits, and cloaks. Madame insisted on several nightdresses sewn of the sheerest fabrics—beautiful, but capable of concealing little. Marianne felt the blushing heat fill her again when she pictured herself wearing them for Darius.

“He chose this shawl for you. You will take it with you when you go,” Madame Trulier announced.

The heavy shawl was a work of art in sea-blue Indian silk, woven in an intricate design, shot through with violet, lavender, and dark purple, iridescent threads. Marianne loved it. The dancing fringe swayed delicately when she caressed her hand over his striking gift. Suddenly swamped with the desire to wear this shawl for Darius, she wanted him to see her wearing it and know she had done it for him, to please him.

I am unable to resist his allure and he well knows it.

7th June, 1837

He has ensnared me. He is as aware of this, as am I. Darius knows how to be with me. He’s chosen garments for me to wear. Intimate things that I know he imagines on my body. I love the blue silk shawl best of all. I will always think of the sea when I wear it… and J. He is over-generous and makes me feel so pampered already; and I can freely admit that the feelings his generosity brings about in me, are not easy to rationalize. Darius will have me completely captivated before long. I cannot deny him anything he asks of me now. The time for that has well passed.

MG