Her fingertips traced the edges of the lace band, committing it to memory. It wasn't often that she'd ever owned something as extravagant, but John told her to live her life for the both of them. So with the both of them in mind, she purchased the garter. It was frivolous, maybe even a bit silly, but she was determined that the day would come to pass where he too could run his own fingers over the delicate fabric. Not for the first time that day the mere thought elicited shivers through her.

That morning, having been dismissed by lady Mary, she set out to explore the city. Paris was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. The rattle of streetcars was familiar, as was the acrid breeze that swirled behind them. What was unfamiliar was the language around her. She knew little French; enough to communicate with shopkeepers and such, but not to converse freely. The likes of Lady Mary were raised by governesses and taught foreign tongues while practicing proper manners and deportment, but Anna was raised on Yorkshire farmland. Being in service from a young age didn't allow much time to cultivate those skills either. The smooth lilt of the conversations around her held her mesmerized as she walked along the Champs-Elysees. Though originally leaving the hotel without an agenda, when the Arc de Triomphe came into view, she was compelled to see it up close. Standing proudly in the distance, it's magnificence made itself known the closer she came.

John's voice rang in her head, "You have to live my life as well as your own. Go to France, see some sights. Get us some memories." She closed her eyes, smiling, and saw her dear husband, before her. The image of him weeks before surrounded by the gray and dank walls of York Prison faded as she focused on his voice and the smile playing in his eyes.

The travel party would be leaving for the South of France the following day, as Paris was only meant to be a short pause to break up their journey. She only had a day to take in what she could. For John, she would do her best.

Reliefs were sculpted into the stone, marvelous in their grandeur. The Arch towered above her as she glanced up along its smooth surface. Figures depicting war, struggle and victory told a story that sat close to home for Anna. How many men had she known were lost in the Great War? Blessedly, there were many who returned, but none were truly undamaged. Not all scars are visible. Her own Mr. Bates carried the marks of a war gone by, and, in a way she was thankful for those marks because they led him to her. Their own personal war, however, was still being fought and their victory yet to be realized.

Catching sight of a postcard vendor on the sidewalk, she thumbed through the display before selecting a card depicting the Arc itself. She paid and thanked the man before setting off to find a place to rest for a moment. More than ever, she wished Mr. Bates was by her side. He wasn't one for talking with others; but for her, he always had the right words. If he were beside her, she would be bold enough to hold his hand in public. She would stroke his sleeve and push their physical limits in the open. There wouldn't be a moment with him she would take for granted. She vowed to share the experience with him however she could. The postcard was just the beginning. She wanted him to know he was all she wanted. A naughty voice inside called up some of the cards she saw a few moments before. Several scandalous prints were gathered near the bottom of the rack and she averted her eyes as quickly as possible. The impropriety of them flustered her and she had made her choice quickly.

"There wouldn't be cards like that if they didn't interest men," she thought to herself. "What would he think of me looking like that?" The prospect excited her, but she laughed it off as a whim and began her trek back to the hotel. It would be time to dress for dinner soon anyway.

Something in a window display caught her eye, bringing her to a stop on the walkway. She didn't recall passing a lingerie shop earlier, but once she took notice, she couldn't quiet the voice that goaded her to explore. She looked to her left and right one last time before focusing on the sign, a cheeky smirk emerging beneath the brim of her hat.

"I think that just about does it Milady." Her hands still hovered beside the tiara as she met Lady Mary's eyes in the mirror. "I'm sure Mr. Matthew won't be able to keep his eyes off of you."

"Or his hands, I'm sure, judging by the past week." Her lips quirked in a tight smile.

"Milady!" Anna gasped.

"You can't pretend not to know what I mean."

"Well, it's not as if we had much time, but..." she trailed off, blushing furiously. Brief as their time together may have been, she still had the chance to become acquainted with the heat of intimacy. She looked away to busy herself before whispering, "I think I might know what you mean." Her eyes flicked back up to the mirror one last time for them to share a quick laugh.

"Truly, I am sorry about all that, though. It must be hard to be apart. I don't know if I would be able to manage."

Anna shook her head. "I can't thank you enough for what you did for us. We cherish those memories. It's not easy, but he's alive and that's a good thing." She paused to take a deep breath, "We'll get through it. I'm sure of it. Now, you don't want to keep your husband waiting much longer do you?" She needed to steer the conversation quickly else she lose her composure in her employers presence.

"Yes, you're right. Thank you, Anna." Halfway to the door, Lady Mary turned. "Oh, Anna? I think I'll be alright for the night." She gestured vaguely. "With undressing, that is."

She nodded quickly, understanding immediately. She fought back a laugh, "Of course, Milady. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Anna. I'll see you in the morning."

The servant's lodging was spartan compared to the opulence of the Crawley's suite, but still quite comfortable. In her dressing gown and shift, Anna sat at the desk, having just filled the postcard for Mr. Bates to be posted in the morning. Whatever she couldn't fit on the card was poured onto the pages of her journal. There were too many things for her to trust herself to remember on her own.

A small paper parcel still sat on the end of the bed where she left it earlier in the afternoon. She felt brazen simply entering the shop itself, but when she saw the frilly garters modeled on the mannequins, a flash of sauciness took over. Transposing herself onto those postcards from the afternoon, she could see herself striking a provocative pose and sporting a garter like those to fuel her man's desire. For his eyes only, of course.

The paper was quickly cast aside to reacquaint herself with its contents. In their private moments together, John would whisper things in her ear he couldn't say in public, and he always made it clear how much he loved the blue of her eyes. So when she saw the blue satin laid out, her hand automatically reached for it, her decision made already. The fear of being caught out or judged for purchasing something risque settled over her, making her decision hastier than it would've been. But now, behind closed doors, she took in the finer details without the risk of onlookers. Ribbons twisted into the form of a flower centered with pearl beading and a row of white lace danced above the blue. It was beautiful. He would love it, she was sure of it. And what she wouldn't give to know right then and there. But she needed to see for herself first.

Tentatively, she looped it around her foot, pulling it into place on her thigh. A thrill traveled up her spine. What would he say? She knew better than that.

"I would love you however, whatever, whenever," he had said. As true as that may be, he was still a man of few words and his eyes spoke the volumes that his mouth didn't.

Approaching the standing mirror in the corner, she pulled back her gown, inching her shift upwards to expose the curve of her thigh. She sighed, closing her eyes. For a moment, she could almost feel his body pressed up behind her, his hand reaching around, pressing her belly to hold her secure. In her imagination, his growl of appreciation prickled at the skin of her neck while his other hand raked up her leg from where the garter sat. She felt the power she could wield over him like this, but at the same time, she could be rendered as helpless as though she were his prey. When she opened her eyes, a chill passed through her. The loss of his presence washed cold, seeing that he was never really there. And oh, how it hurt. She hugged her arms tight around herself, willing her lip not to wobble. Enough tears had been shed already.

It was hard for her not to be envious of Lady Mary. Her husband was with her. He was present and free. He was there to have and to hold, undressing her, holding her, loving her. Anna was fortunate to be traveling with them on their trip. She'd never have an opportunity like it any other way and she was thankful, but she practically bore witness to their "getting used to one another." Every morning, she would see them together, sharing a bed as she came through to start the day. Though mortifying at first, it quickly tore at her heart, knowing that her own husband was locked away. Even when she was permitted to see him, she couldn't even touch his hand, let alone hold him. She missed him.

Needing to feel him again, she opened her traveling case to dig out a packet of letters. Every missive was precious to her, but some she revisited more than others. Many of them were simple detailings of the day and asking how she was faring, but others weren't just innocent correspondence. There were times when she was on his mind and he let her know it.

The first time she opened one of those letters at breakfast, her face turned an incriminating shade of crimson as she slammed it facedown on the table lest anyone read the lustful writing from over her shoulder. Playing it off with a fit of coughing, she was quickly and blessedly ignored, but she learned from that point on to wait until she was alone before she opened any letters from Mr. Bates.

In his more contemplative moods, he would tell her in explicit detail what he wanted to do to her, and with her. Opening one such letter, he extolled the virtues of her neck.

Your neck has always been of particular interest to me. For years, it was the most of you I ever though I'd be allowed to see, aside from a glimpse of your wrist or ankle. Oh, how I used to dream. At breakfast, I'd watch the workings of your throat. And I would imagine how you would taste. Eventually I would find out. In my mind, I would place my lips at the hollow there and nibble my way around behind your ear. Later, I would learn what that would do to you. It took everything in me not to press you against the crates in the courtyard and have my way with you when you'd grab onto my coat to pull me closer. I can still hear your sighs in my ear.

She remembered those times clearly. He wasn't the only one who held back. But when he nuzzled himself behind her ear, she'd quake straight through to her toes.

Curling up on the bed, she snaked her free hand up to the places he mentioned, trying to replicate the sensations. Conjuring up the heat of his mouth in her mind, she closed her eyes and let herself bask in the phantom touch. Craving more, she fumbled through the stack for her favorite letter.

Do you dream about our wedding night, my love?

By God, she did. Frequently. The events of their wedding night were permanently seared into her memory. Shutting her eyes again, she was transported back to that night where the fire crackled invitingly in the hearth and the sumptuous bed was at her back, and John's weight at her chest. Her simple nightdress was the best she could muster for the occasion, but from the look in his eyes, it may as well have been the finest lingerie money could buy.

You were so bold, my naughty girl. I wanted to take my time, to love you slowly, but you had something different in mind.

Her hands ghosted over her neck, and grazed over her breasts, sending sparks to her core when she found her already-sensitive nipples. Teasing them gently, she remembered how he tried to reserve himself that night. She knew he was holding back, but she was tired of waiting. Enough patience had been spent between the two of them to last a lifetime.

You minx. You came to me and held my hands to your bosom. I knew it was only a matter of time before you had me under your spell. Clay in the potter's hands.

Waiting any longer was not an option. Taking hold of her hem, she bent her knees to allow her dress to pool at her hip. The garter was staring at her tantalizingly, daring her to continue.

You pounced on me and pushed me to the bed like a lioness, trapping me between your legs. I was at your mercy.

That night, his hands forged a path from the back of her calves, and worked their way under her shift. Her own hands followed the same path, tracing the skin of her thighs as he did when he lay beneath her, and her muscles tightened beneath.

I don't know what came over me, it was like something in me snapped.

Untamed was what she called him. He wound his long fingers through her hair, unbinding it to revel in its natural state. Grasping a handful, he tugged her gently before their lips crashed together. In the following moments, hands slipped between layers, buttons were undone in a rush and they were left nearly skin to skin.

Her breath came in pants, feeling it all over again as though he was there with her. The ache between her legs became too much to ignore. When she finally reached in, it was as though her hand became his hand when it first met the heat of her sex. She gasped at the contact and the telltale wetness she found there.

That night, he toyed with her. He knew she wanted him. All of him. Instead, he took a moment to bask in her presence. The rumbling growl from his lips ignited her every nerve. He nipped at her earlobe, working his fingers at her core all the while. Tension built within her as she became aware of his own arousal pressed against her with his large frame curled around her, grounding her. She loved the size of him, always so protective and comforting.

"Are you ready, my darling?" He rasped. He guided her chin so that her eyes met his. Clenching her lip between her teeth, she nodded.

I dreamt of that moment for us for so long, but my wildest imaginings were nothing compared to the real thing. What it does to me even here far away from you, I'm nearly undone. My darling, how I long to touch you now.

The moment they became one overwhelmed her. Thoughts swirled about her head, colliding with the new sensations. As she struggled for focus, she was overcome with the realization that she was, at that moment, who she was always meant to be. His. The coil of energy that he stoked within her with his fingers earlier intensified under the pressure of his hips as he ground into her.

She pressed her palm heavily against herself as her fingers pleaded with her body, working in furious circles, seeking release. Craning her head back into the pillow, irregular breaths escaped until her hips bucked of their own accord.

"Oh, John!" She gasped before coming back to awareness. Biting down on her lip, she stifled a cry. The letter lay on the bed next to her and she picked it up with a shaky hand.

"I don't even know if you knew you did it, but you dug your nails into my back. For days afterward, I could rub my shoulder under my shirt and feel the impressions you left there. I lived for that."

The final words must have still been wet when he folded the letter because the ink was smeared there, only to be left on the opposite side of the page in the form of a fingerprint. She caressed the mark and thought of the hands that made it. In the afterglow, they had laid together. Those same long, elegant fingers stroked the skin of her arms and back, memorizing her so delicately and reverently. She was a loved woman.

She returned the letters to their rightful order in the stack, bundling them together. Once she stored them safely in her belongings, she pulled up her dress once more to retrieve the garter from her leg. For the last time, she studied its details, folded it and placed it back in its paper. She sighed. Several moments passed while she simply stared at the small package, until a wicked smile erupted on her face. Snatching her sewing kit and shears, the paper was cast aside once more.

John tore into the envelope eagerly. He could always depend on receiving something from his wife during mail call. Just seeing her delicate cursive on the outside lifted his spirits, let alone the contents. This time, he could make out several items beneath the surface. After he finished admiring the bright postcard and short note she left for him, a thick letter remained. When he pulled it free, a small movement caught his attention and his eyes followed as a small piece of fabric fluttered down to the stone floor. He quickly bent to scoop it up, shielding it from any unwelcome glances.

With a furrowed brow, he examined the blue and white lacy square. Scouring the letter, he hoped he would find the answers to his question.

"My Dearest Darling John,"

How he loved that she addressed her letters to him that way, and how proud he was that they were finally allowed to speak to each other that way.

"You may be curious about a certain little something I've slipped in to your mail this week. Let's just say I've already started to make us some memories here in France."

He smiled broadly at her words. It was so cheeky of her to throw his own words back at him.

"You should know that I miss you madly and think of you every moment. In fact, I made a little purchase here in Paris that made me think of you. You might be holding a piece of it right now. I wanted you to have a bit of it so that you could have something to remind you of me."

"What in the world could this be?" He wondered silently, rubbing it gently between his fingers. The quality of it was very fine indeed. The satin and lace together in such a fashion reminded him of some intimate articles of women's clothing he'd seen in catalogues. "She wouldn't have done that...would she?"

"I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I have as it seems to have brought me a good deal of pleasure when I put it on. Though I must admit I felt rather shameless carrying on as I did. I don't know what happened to me, I was overcome with desire for you. A woman possessed with want of her husband. I should be ashamed to admit that I imagined our wedding night as I gave in to it, but I'm not. I delighted in it as much as you did, as I have record of in your letters. I blush as I write this."

In the course of her endearing rambling, a startling comprehension dawned on him. In that instant he knew exactly what he held in his hands, and exactly what she had done. A pink tinge spread across his cheeks as his grin deepened the lines of his face.

"My naughty girl," he chuckled.

A/N: This was my very first attempt at something M-rated. I feel a strange mix of bold and terrified, to be honest. I hope you enjoyed this and will beg for reviews as they are like oxygen for writers.

A HUGE Thank you to Mr-and-mrs-bates for her eyes, collaboration and for being a sounding board for my anxieties :)