I couldn't resist Violet's remark in the CS. Hope you like it.
He opened his door, expecting it was someone who needed his help. It was with great surprise that he opened the door to someone who seemed perfectly calm, or at least in no pressing need of medical attention. It was Isobel.
"Hello," he told her, "This is a surprise."
His greeting, though, seemed to not particularly impress her. She was calm, yes, but he noticed, upon closer inspection of her expression that there was something glinting in her eye, the promise of a challenge, an irritation of some sort.
"I've been told that you'll be delighted to hear that I'm not going to marry Lord Merton."
Her reply almost brought him up short, and for a moment he could not think of what to say.
"I think you'd better come in," he told her at last, stepping back and holding open the door for her.
She strode past him. She knew the way to his sitting room, though he seldom really used it, and she had made her way there by the time he had closed the door and followed her.
"It was good of you to come and tell me the news yourself," he told her, shutting the door of the sitting room behind them to.
She was standing by the window, looking out on the garden in the fading evening.
"No it wasn't," she replied shortly, "I can promise you, Richard, when I decided to come and tell you, it wasn't out of goodness."
He didn't know what to make of that.
"Why did you come and tell me, then?" he asked.
"I don't know," she replied a little snappily, "To tell someone who's not Cousin Violet, I suppose."
He could not help but smile at that.
"I imagine she has quite a way of inferring that she pre-empted all such news," he remarked, sinking down onto the settee, "I see her as someone who likes to give the impression that she's difficult to shock. Won't you sit down?"
"No, I'd rather stand," she told him, "And don't be so cynical about Violet. She has a high-opinion of you, at any rate, so it's not in your interest to be."
"I'll try to remember that," he murmured in a low voice.
She did not respond.
"The times have changed, rather," he remarked a moment later, "For you to make such a staunch defence of Lady Grantham.
"Things do change, Richard," she told him, not looking at him, but continuing to look out onto his garden, "People change."
"You don't," he replied.
That had her turning round.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked him.
"Only that I think Lady Violet was wrong to think that this business with Merton would change you."
Her eyebrows raised a fraction.
"She talked to you about me and Dickie?" she asked him.
He tried to make it seem that the way she referred to Lord Merton did not hurt him.
"She did once or twice, yes."
She seemed to smart a little more, but recovered herself fairly well.
"And what do you mean," she asked him, "He didn't change me?"
Her voice was interrogative, demanding. Instinctively, he sat forwards, examining his words carefully.
"You're still tenacious," he told her, "Still fiery, still easily vexed, sometimes. You were always that way."
She seemed put out, as if she were about to roll her eyes at him. He stood up, without thinking about it.
"You're still passionate," he continued, "You're still so loyal, even though people let you down, even though you lose them. You still see so much good in every one."
He was standing before her now, his hands almost making to reach out for her. Her mildly indignant look seemed to give a little.
"I may see a lot of good in people," she conceded, "But that doesn't mean I'm not brassed off with the bally lot of you at the minute."
"Why?" he asked her, not to contradict her, but wanting her to explain, "Who, in particular?"
"Well, Larry bloody Grey, for a start," she told him, resting a hand on her forehead for a moment, just at the thought, "And Dickie, too, if I'm honest for trying to brush over the whole thing. He's trying to make me think it wouldn't all end in disaster, which it would. And Violet, for making light of the whole business. And you, Richard-…"
"Me?" he asked. He had suspected that he might be somewhere on the list, but he was disconcerted to find himself so near the top.
"Yes, for heaven's sakes, you!" she told him. "For being so restrained and such a bally martyr to let me go and nearly marry somebody else."
He was almost speechless.
"I thought that's what you wanted," he protested.
"So did I," she conceded, "For a while. But I've discovered I've got quite a taste for a man who fights for me. Anyway," she told him, a moment later, when he simply stood there, unable to say anything, "Dickie's gone now. There's no one left for you to put a fight up against."
"Except maybe Lady Violet," he replied.
She appeared to half laugh, at first, and then an almost disbelieving smile appeared on her lips.
"Except maybe Violet," she agreed, after a moment, "But I think she's wise enough to choose her battles and concede to you, on this one."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he replied.
And then, somehow, they were in each other's arms. They moved together at the same time, embracing one another, their lips meeting. His hand tangled in her hair.
"You're right," he murmured in a low voice, in between planting gently kisses along her cheek, down over her jaw, moving towards her neck, "I'm absolutely delighted that you're not going to marry him."
She pressed her lips heatedly back to his, wrapping her arms around him neck and pulling herself closer to him. They worked hurriedly at the buttons at each others throats, stripping one another down to their undergarments, falling together onto the settee, where he had so recently perched to talk to her.
He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin. Her arms cradled him tightly, their hips rocking up into one another as his hands moved down over her body. He slipped his hand inside her underwear, finding her wet and ready for him.
"Please, Richard," she moaned, "Please."
He tried not to think about whether or not she'd ever moaned and moved for Lord Merton like this. He suspected not, but the thought was torturous nevertheless. He parted her legs gently with his hands, slipping her underwear off her ankles and throwing them haphazardly onto the floor, moving to lie between her thighs. He rolled his hips against her so his excitement brushed hers.
"I want you, Isobel," he told her quietly, cupping her cheeks.
"Please, Richard," she told him again, "I need you."
He moved forwards and was with her. She let out another loud groan. He kissed her as much as he could, growing breathless, beginning to move at a gentle pace between her legs. The sounds she made were sublime- the feeling of her fingernails digging into his shoulders- and before he could stop himself, he was braced on tensed arms, pumping into her. She clutched his back, her legs locking around his waist and she arched up against him with her climax. He came moments later, spilling himself inside her.
He lay, breathless, surrounded by her warm body and tumbling hair. His hands held onto her arms, stroking her skin in time with his own recovering breathing.
He could not whisper that he loved her yet. But she had been exactly right, of course. He was delighted, he was singing inside that, for the moment, she was unmarried.
End.
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