Act 1: Scrambled
She felt his eyes directly on her back.
Boring. Searching. Caressing her spine from top to bottom.
Her skin shivered at the implied touch.
Her eyes sought him over her shoulder, daring a peek. Yes—he was still staring. Her stomach tightened in an unsettling mix of excitement and uncertainty, and she fought back the urge to look at him again.
Her mouth was suddenly dry.
Her focus returned to the eggs, but her body was tuned into the man sitting behind her. This man who had helped her ward of certain disaster. This man who sat covered in filth at this ungodly hour because he had chosen to help her.
She swallowed down a flutter, cautious not to let the eggs burn.
The whisking motion became almost hypnotic, and she was unsure whether it was the heat from the stove or that of another source that made her face feel rather flushed.
Was he still watching her? Why should she even care if he were? It shouldn't matter, actually, as he was just that annoying man who had been making her life more complicated during his stay than she would like. Just that man who would soon be on his way, without a care or concern as to the fate of Downton or her family.
Or her, for that matter.
He was just that man had jumped over the fence to save her investment without the need for an entreaty or a plea for assistance. Just that man who stayed awake with her when he could have gone to bed, who allowed her to be of assistance yet offered her his coat when she shivered from cold.
Just that man who had reminded her how glorious it felt to laugh.
Was he still staring at her?
He most assuredly was.
Her fluid motions mesmerized him, the grace of her stance, the manner in which she still managed to look somewhat regal even in their common states of filth. His fingers ached to trace the long locks of hair that had escaped constrictive pins and now trailed wantonly down her back. He could not help but wonder if the rest of it would tumble with a gentle tug, and his body stirred at the thought of it completely unbound, framing her body with no restrictions.
Her body…with no restrictions…
He took a sip of his wine in a futile attempt to calm his racing mind.
It didn't work.
Plates were set before them by hands that had known an evening of hard labor, and he noticed chipped nails of which she had never complained. How he had misjudged her, this lady of complexity now sitting across from him.
Such pride. Such ferocity and passion. And all woman.
Brown stared into brown, hers dropping before his as stirrings she found confusing tickled her legs. He watched her reaction, wondering, dismissing, yet unable to look away from her.
"Who'd have thought it?"
She tossed him a wry look.
"I can scramble eggs, but that's about it."
He sincerely doubted that was all she could do.
"I suspect Carson had plans for this, but too bad."
She stared back at him, wondering just how he would respond to her cooking, to her observation.
To her.
But what came out of his lips took her completely off guard.
"I don't deserve such attention."
"You certainly do. You completely saved our bacon. Literally!"
His grin got under her skin, his small dismissal of such praise setting off a prickly sensation that skimmed across her nerve endings. A sensation she had not felt in some time. One she really should shake off.
Shouldn't she?
She watched him take a bite, oddly satisfied that he seemed to be enjoying the work of her hands.
"So, you're a practical farmer as well as a theoretician. I'm not sure I was expecting that."
He looked up from his plate, all too quickly drawn to her face. He would have to watch himself around her…he could literally just stare at her all night.
The freckles on her neck were oddly alluring.
"I didn't expect to see you as a cook and a water carrier."
She fought the urge to straighten a lock of his hair.
"A night of discovery."
Those eyes.
"Good discoveries."
That grin.
"For me, anyway."
The room became suddenly quiet save the clink of moving silverware and the soft thud of a wine glass being sat upon the table.
"I love how they've all gone to bed without the slightest concern about us. What do they think we were doing?"
His collar grew felt tighter as implication after implication ran through his mind.
"We went for a walk and vanished. Who knows what they thought?"
He gaged her for a reaction.
Had he really just implied what she thought he had?
"Surely you don't mean…that, do you?"
He swallowed firmly
"I'm sorry if I have insulted you," he began, a patch of red crawling up his neck catching her attention. "It was not my intention, I assure you."
"I'm not insulted," she tossed back, her brow issuing a challenge, determined to hold her own. "I have been married, you know."
He couldn't help but grin.
"So nothing shocks you anymore?" he put forth as her eyes narrowed in his direction.
"O come now, Mr. Blake. I believe you were more shocked by what happened tonight than I."
Her brow inched a fraction higher. And he could not resist the bait.
"If you mean seeing Lady Mary Crawley get down and dirty, I was rather taken by surprise, I must admit." Her cheeks pinked slightly, and he was having a difficult time not reaching across the table to tug on the lock of hair draping over her neck.
How had he never properly appreciated her neck before now?
"I believe we grossly underestimated each other," she mused, her fork somehow forgotten.
"I am fairly certain that is one mistake I shall never make again," he returned, standing and moving in her direction.
Her chest warmed.
"See that you don't. It could prove to be your downfall."
A congenial smirk met her gaze.
"Is that a challenge Lady Mary? For you know that I am not one to back down from a challenge."
She stood until they were eye to eye.
"Neither am I."
He felt her breath on his cheek.
"Game on, Lady Mary?"
She felt his eyes trace her mouth.
"Game on, Mr. Blake."
And it was all they could stand.
In response to a petition formed on tumblr for me to write barnyard antics for Mary and Blake. Dedicated to Cls2011, Miscreant rose and Sylvestria. :)