At first he had kissed her like she would break, until their hunger got the better of them and then he kissed her a bit more like she wanted him to, if not with abandon, with nobly-restrained ardor. Like a man should kiss a woman he longed for, but could not have. She heard nothing beyond their quiet groanings and the blood rushing in her ears. She felt like her heart might burst forth from her body, so loudly it thrummed in her chest. The first electric touch of his tongue to her own felt more intimate an act than any she had ever shared with another in her life. It had not felt like this when she had slipped away from the occasional Ripon or village dance for a snog and a cuddle. She thought to her time with Stephen, the older boy she thought she had loved when she was barely more than a child, but nothing they had done together felt anywhere near as special, as sacred as that kiss. She had pulled away from his mouth then and held him tightly as she blinked back tears, and shivered through the waves of ... of whatever it was that she was feeling. Because no words seemed adequate.

"Anna?"

She lifted her head and smiled at him, at the predictable concern in the tilt of his head, the way his knuckles grazed up and down her arms. She giggled, suddenly giddy. "You worry far too much, Mr. Bates."

He continued to look at her, face shadowed, unreadable. "Perhaps, you don't worry enough, Miss Smith," he said, his tone warm, nearly playful. It turned somber. "This isn't a path I should be leading you down. It isn't right to give in to ..."

"To what Mr. Bates? To what we both feel? To what is truer and more real than anything else I've ever known? And frankly, I'm insulted that you think I could be led anywhere." She ducked her head, grateful for the cover of darkness to hide her blush. She wanted to kiss him again. "If you didn't love me, that would be one thing, but we both feel this. It's strong and it's good. Can you tell me otherwise, Mr. Bates?"

He shook his head, and smiled, "I cannot."

She lifted herself as high as she could, balancing on her toes, and kissed him again, traced the curve of his cheek. She was fascinated by the roughness of his stubble and the softness of the skin beneath and at the corners of his eyes, the back of his neck.

"Anna, we walk a knife's edge," he whispered against her mouth. She kissed his chin and rested her heels back on the ground. She almost grinned when he ducked his head, stooping slightly.

"So for now, we act like ourselves, are mindful and respectful of our limitations and continue to behave as the consenting and well-intentioned adults that we are. That to me, seems to be the beginning and end of it." She clenched her jaw defiantly, almost daring him to argue with her logic and determination.

Instead of objecting she felt his hand trail down her arm. He wove his fingers through hers, and feathered a line of light kisses over her jaw, before capturing her mouth in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of his surrender. He was hers and she was his and really, in her mind, that was that.

They were both smiling when they pulled up short, gasping for air, who knew how long later. She kissed his throat and rested her head against his chest.

"It would seem then, that we have an understanding, Mr. Bates?"

The vibration of his laughter drew her nipples to points against the unyielding fabric of her corset and she shivered.

"Against my better judgement," he murmured into her hair. "And with the whole of my heart I shall say that, yes, Miss Smith, we have an understanding."

They held each other for a long time. It was he who finally suggested they return inside before the younger staff woke for the morning.

They had walked, hand in hand, over the moonlit path, back to the looming reality of their commitments of service. The Abbey was entirely dark. They crept through the servants' courtyard aware of every footstep, and how loud it all sounded to their ears, in that darkness. Then, suddenly, and to her delighted shock, her back was pushed against a wall and he was kissing her forehead, her jaw, her neck, and his hands were on her hips and sliding up her ribs, her back, and then cupping her cheeks. And her world narrowed to their bodies crushed tightly together, his hands holding her face with infinite tenderness, while he searched out her mouth with his own, and how willingly she would have yielded to anything he could have asked of her just then. She would have given him her very soul had he wanted it. But instead of asking anything, he softened his grip on her and pulled himself away after one last, chaste kiss.

"We should go in," he husked.

She nodded, swallowed, wide eyed, and finally speechless. Followed him, quietly through the downstairs to the servants stairwell. They climbed together until the landing that the men's and women's stairs branched off of. She squeezed his hand in the darkness and stood on her toes to kiss him softly goodnight. It was her favorite kiss of the evening, she decided, because it was almost like the seal of a covenant of sorts. It held their secret and promise of what was to come.