Spoilers: Through S3.7
Warning: Adult sexual situations.
After breakfast, Robert paced the library feeling at loose ends. Mary entered and said briskly, "Oh there you are."
"Yes, my dear," he replied, eager. Did Matthew need his assistance with managing the farm after all?
"It's your turn," his daughter announced.
"What is it?" he asked, confused.
"I took the dragon's wrath last time. It's your turn," she repeated.
Robert shot Mary the look that told her that he was losing his patience.
"I've heard that poor Anna and Bates are cloistered in separate corridors up in the attics with that ridiculous locked door between them," she said and her father ducked his head as though dodging a slap.
"I've spoken to Jarvis about their cottage," Robert said peevishly. Then he paused. "That is, before Jarvis quit."
Mary raised her eyebrows in exasperation.
He huffed: "They're to have their own home soon enough."
She could remain calm no longer. "Father! Have a heart! Considering how you and Mother dash upstairs so you can 'lie down for a rest' after you've been away for even a few days, I would think that you would have some sympathy for poor Bates and Anna with him being in prison for over a year!"
He raised his chin and cleared his throat. "No need to go on. I get your meaning."
She wouldn't relent. "Frankly, I don't think my scalp can take any more of Anna working out her frustration with my hairbrush-"
"Enough!" Robert bellowed, holding up his hand. He took a deep breath. "I suppose something can be done-"
He glanced around the room as though expecting a satin-covered marital bed to appear.
Now that he was in the right frame of mind, Mary got onto business. "Last time, Mrs. Hughes tore me up frightfully-"
"Last time? Mrs. Hughes?" Robert was confused again.
Mary lowered herself into a chair and gave a dramatic sigh. This was going to take a while, it seemed. "Papa, do attend. You know that Bates and Anna are married?" she asked patronizingly.
"Mary-" he fumed.
She ignored his impatient tone. "They wed in secret, and that night, I had Jane-you remember her? She was only with us a short time-"
Robert cleared his throat. "Yes, I believe so."
"I thought it would be best for a married woman to arrange the bedroom for them. She'd know the sort of things a young bride would need..." The confident young woman finally stumbled a bit and flushed.
"Of course, of course," Robert said quickly. "A bedroom?" he questioned.
"One of the guest rooms upstairs-" confessed Mary. "Don't look at me like that, Papa. What, should I have tossed a blanket up in a hayloft for them?"
"And Mrs. Hughes did not approve." It was not a question.
"I don't know how she found out," grumbled Mary. "I thought I had it all planned out-"
"Remember of whom you speak," Robert said with a smile.
Mary rolled her eyes. "She seemed to be sympathetic to their plight, but was concerned that it would lead the rest of the staff to believe they could take such liberties."
"She has a point-"
Mary pounced. "Since you're of a like mind, then you can arrive at some amicable solution for this instance. Just a few hours for them, Papa. It doesn't even have to be overnight-"
Robert clasped his hands behind his back. "Perhaps I shan't tackle Mrs. Hughes; I'll go through Carson. That would be better, I think."
Mary opened her mouth to protest, thinking that although it would be a tight race to the wire between the housekeeper and butler as to who would be less enthusiastic for this task, Carson would win by his prominent nose. True, though Mrs. Hughes was a bit more romantic, Carson was under the Earl's thumb to some extent and may bend. But she was left almost as frustrated as Anna...Mary stopped herself right there. She doubted it greatly. Her husband would be in her bed tonight, just as he'd been every night while Anna and Bates were in their separate cots.
Rising, she went to her father and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, darling. I'm sure it will be perfect." But her voice held more threat than satisfaction.
Carson held court in his pantry, looking down his proud beak at Anna and Mr. Bates. Mrs. Hughes hovered beside the closed door.
"As a celebration for your return, Mr. Bates, his Lordship has arranged for a luncheon at The Grantham Arms."
Bates glanced at Mrs. Hughes. "For all the staff?"
"Goodness no!" snorted Carson. "For you and Anna."
"It's not my half day-" protested Anna.
"Lord Grantham is aware of that." Carson turned to his desk, suggesting the interview was over.
"Thank you, Mr. Carson," said Anna, tears in her eyes. "And you as well, Mrs. Hughes."
"Just enjoy yourself," said Carson, who'd seen the end of the uncomfortable encounter.
"Oh, we shall," Bates said.
Perhaps there was a bit too much enthusiasm in his usually controlled tone. Anna stared down at her twined fingers. Mrs. Hughes pursed her mouth. Carson closed his eyes briefly as though to block them all out.
"I'd best go change out of my uniform then," Anna said, breaking the tension. She squeezed Bates' arm. "I'll see you out front."
"I'll be waiting," he said, smiling down at her.
Her returning smile seemed a bit tense, but he shook off his worry. They were going to alone, finally.
Crossing the reception hall to the front door, Bates encountered Lord Grantham coming from the library.
He started to say. "M'lord, I wish to thank you-"
Grantham held up his hand. "No, please, Bates. It's I who should apologize for being so obtuse. Go to bed...With a good book! Dear God, what's gotten into me?"
Bates met his employer's fretful gaze with his own understanding one. "You've had a great deal on your mind, m'lord. Much more than to concern yourself with my petty situation."
"Petty?" Grantham shook his head.
"Yes, m'lord. We'll have our cottage soon enough. But Lady Sybil won't be coming back."
He was sorry he'd said that much in the rush to reassure his lordship.
"No, no, she isn't," Grantham said quietly. He gave Bates' shoulder a quick pat. "Just enjoy yourselves. Don't think about the past or anticipate the future. Live in the moment, for we don't know how many more we may have."
"Of course, m'lord. Prison has taught me that."
Grantham nodded, but he was obviously lost in his thoughts again and he walked off, leaving Bates watching him go.
"Right this way," the owner of the Grantham Arms said, opening a door. Bob Hatchett had determined to personally wait on the Earl's guests. Start with two house servants today, and he may be hosting the lord and his ladies next.
Bates and Anna lingered in the doorway, unsure.
"A room?" Bates said.
"A private dining room," the proprietor corrected.
Anna and John both looked to the bed against one wall and then quickly away. Yes, there was a round table set for luncheon standing beside a hearth with a smile pile of coal burning in it to take any damp off the rarely used room. Bright afternoon light streamed through the diamond paned windows. Everything appeared above board...Until they looked at the bed again.
"Miss?" Hatchett held out one of the table's chairs for Anna.
"Madam," she quickly corrected, making sure to place her left hand on the table so that he could see her wedding ring.
"Of course," he murmured, standing aside to allow John to seat himself.
Once the couple was settled, Hatchett announced, "It'll be cold ham with cucumber salad, and liver pate on toast points."
He was obviously waiting for them to say something. "That sounds fine," Bates finally said.
"Wine?" Hatchett offered. "Or beer?"
"Tea, please," Anna said quickly. John wouldn't drink and she needed to keep a clear head.
The proprietor gave a bow and backed from the room. As soon as the door closed, Anna hopped up and moved to the window.
"It feels scandalous to be doing nothing in the afternoon," she told John with a nervous smile. "Being in a hotel," she near whispered.
"You're not doing nothing," he reminded her, leaning back in his chair. "You're dining with your husband. And it's a pub," he added obtusely.
She glanced at the bed and that worried look was back. He tipped his head, a gesture to bring her closer. She eased a step his direction and he reached out to snag her hand and tug her into his lap. She fell onto him with a torrent of giggles.
Burying his nose in the crook of her neck, he breathed in her good clean odor. "I missed hearing you laugh. Of everything, that was what I desperately needed most of all, every day."
"Most of all?" she asked archly.
He peeped up at her and gave her a rueful grin. "Perhaps there were a number of things I missed equally. I'm a greedy bastard that way."
She shushed his use of profanity, her fingertips just touching his lips.
His hand on her hip squeezed tight, heating her skin through the layers of her clothes. Their eyes were locked, looking for an answer to the question that they couldn't form into words.
"I missed you," she finally said, hoping the three letters could encompass everything for which she'd yearned in the past year.
"How can one wretched soul have been so blessed?" he murmured, the back of his thumb stroking under her lower lip.
She fought for air. "Don't-"
His hand snatched away and his gaze dropped.
"I didn't mean-" Clutching his large hand in her smaller ones, she clung to him, frustrated and mad from the buzzing in her head. Suddenly weak, she collapsed against him, taking in the smell of his collar's starch, the oil of his suit's wool and the tinge of sandalwood soap. He was hers, hers, hers...Bringing her prize, his hand, to her lips, she kissed the knuckles, wanting to smooth away all his sharp edges.
His chuckle bounced her and made her giggle again. Through her tear-obscured vision, she watched his mouth descend to hers-
The door banged open as Hatchett returned with a heavily laden tray.
Anna bounced off John's lap and he struggled to stand, intent on assisting the man.
"I've got it, sir. Please, sit down," was the brisk rebuke.
Bates eased back into his chair, straightening his leg out to relieve a tinge.
"I was too heavy," Anna murmured low enough so Hatchett couldn't hear.
"Hardly," Bates said with a laugh. "I'm just still stiff from being confined in that cell all the day."
Hatchett's bushy eyebrows raised as he laid out their plates before them. Bates cleared his throat and thanked the proprietor.
"Very good, sir," said Hatchett. "Will there be anything else?"
Bates looked to Anna but she only shook her head. Hatchett left, telling them to call down if they needed anything more. Otherwise, he would return to clear.
Anna began to methodically eat. The ham was thick and juicy and yet tasted like sawdust. The toast crumbled on her tongue. Still, she told John it was lovely when he asked her how it was.
He sipped his tea thirstily. As much as he'd missed her the past few nights, it was for the best that their physical reunion had not taken place immediately. He'd needed to decompress from the terror of prison. In his year of confinement, it had been as it was during the war when he'd never truly slept. Back in his old attic's quarters, he'd slept as deeply as if drugged. The first night, he'd even been visited by flashbacks like the battlefront, waking to shouting and the thumping of men beating each other in their agitation. He'd lain in the dark, drenched in sweat, wondering how this shell of a man could possibly be a proper husband for Anna when they were truly reunited.
He gave her a pained smile. "The pate is delicious."
"Yes, we'll have to see if Mrs. Patmore can get some for the house."
"That's a fine idea," he said.
Anna sighed to herself. Who was this person sitting across the small table from her husband? Blathering on about tinned goods for the kitchens...The truth was, she was unsure what to say and do next. In the crisis of his wife's reappearance, then her death, Anna had been single-mindedly driven in her pursuit of her reticent lover. She'd practically demanded that he marry her and had lured him to his wedding night like some Greek siren. So focused on her objective, she hadn't had time to be nervous or be weighed down by her inexperience.
Now...Now there was a large man sitting across the table from her, carefully cutting his ham and putting the bites in his mouth. Her husband; he looked like the man she'd married, but he also seemed a stranger too. They'd exchanged half a dozen kisses before they married, then had one night which had been so intense and overwhelming that she suddenly had the sickening realization that she couldn't remember the necessary and specific details that she desperately needed now if she was to engage in marital relations in a few minutes-
Her gaze shifted to the bed once more and she gulped her tea, the cup clattering in the saucer when she set it down. All she could remember was that it had been the most wondrous hours of her life, and although that was a lovely sentiment, was not particularly helpful.
Hatchett tapped on the door and entered to clear the table. "Will there be anything else?" he asked.
Bates pressed his lips together. He supposed they would be expected to leave then. The opportunity had passed while he'd been dithering-
"No, thank you," he said, his voice dejected.
"All right then," Hatchett said briskly. "I'll leave you.'
Anna looked at John, raising her eyebrows.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke. "So we should be going?"
Hatchett lifted his massive shoulders. "His Lordship paid for the room through the afternoon. There's plenty of time to..." He dropped his gaze to his laden tray. "Digest your meal. Take a nap even."
With that, he fled in a clatter of crockery, slamming the door behind him.
Anna took a deep breath, but then she couldn't contain her giggles. Bates leaned back in his chair and released his own laughter.
"Oh God," he finally gasped. "His poor lordship had to tell that man-"
"Oh, I don't know about that," said Anna in her practical way. "His lordship was probably tickled to death. Lads being lads and all, even at his age."
Properly rebuked, Bates bit back his grin. She had a point. But he also knew time was ticking along.
"How about that nap, Mrs. Bates," he said, keeping his voice light.
Her wide blue eyes got that frightened look again, so foreign on her face. His first impulse was to retreat, but then he decided against this action. His bride was still inexperienced and may want his lead.
He stood. His chair's feet scraping on the oak floor was very loud. He winced, but would not be cowed. He held out his hand for her.
After making an intricate exercise of folding her napkin, she took his hand and rose. His fingers closed and engulfing her hand; swallowing it whole. He lead her to the bed and her heart started to thud in her chest.
"May I assist you, my lady?" he asked. Before she could answer, he carefully pulled free the hatpin before taking off her hat, then rested his hands gently on her shoulders, ready to remove her jacket.
She slowly undid the buttons. "Thank you, Bates," she said breathlessly when he lifted the garment free without a trace of passion. This reassured her and made her bold.
She turned to him and plucked at his own coat. "May I help you with that, m'lord?"
He started at the term, but then smiled and began unbuttoning his coat. With a shrug of his shoulders, she could peel it off and lay it over the nearest chair. But when she came around to his front again, she was faced with many remaining barriers. It had been so much simpler when he arrived at that wedding night tryst in his robe and pajamas.
She tackled his vest first after unhooking his watch chain. He waited patiently as she bit on her lip, concentrating on her task.
"You have so many buttons," she chided.
His lordship turned out to be a flirt. He leaned close to murmur in her ear, "I love how you say buttons."
"I don't say buttons any particular way!" she insisted, even as she made battle with his shirt studs. Or should she have gone for his tie and collar first?
"Mayhaps just when you're undressing me. Boootoons," he said, drawing out the syllables. He undid his own tie, tossing it aside, and popped the stud from his collar with assurance. Once that was released, his shirtfront came off easy enough. Although she'd assisted in washing, pressing and starching enough of men's shirts in her time, they had never been on the real thing.
With a bit more confidence, she helped him with his cufflinks, tugged loose his suspenders, and then he could finally shed the shirt, taking him down to his undershirt on top. She puffed out a breath in relief. Half way there.
"Your turn again, m'lady," he said, leading her around gently.
Her nervousness was back, but she obediently tipped her head forward to give access to the fastening of her dress.
"Let's see about your boootooons," he said, fumbling with the tiny pearls at the nape of her neck but having little success.
"You're no lady's maid," she scolded, trying to twist around to help.
"All for the best," he said as he peeled open the back of her dress and kissed her spine peeking from top of her chemise.
Slipping out of the sleeves, she held her dress to her chest, even as John began to pull the pins from her hair and its weight's slow slide down her neck made her feel more naked than the loss of her dress would have.
"Don't lose my hairpins," she murmured, her voice ragged.
"I shan't," he whispered in her ear, pressing against her now that her hair was completely free.
Her breath was coming in short gasps, making her lightheaded. His big hands covered hers, gently prising her fingers loose from her dress so that it could drop.
She stepped from the puddle of fabric, wavering on her heels, feeling drunk on two cups of tea.
"Now let's see," John mused as he looked over her shoulder and toyed with the ribbons fastening closed the front of her chemise.
"I can do it," she said quickly, fumbling at the satin strips. She took a small pleasure knowing that her undergarments were nicer than most maids, having been put together from scraps and castoffs of the ladies.
He held up his hands. "I shan't pursue a position as a ladies' maid?"
"I should hope not," she told him with a nod as she shrugged loose from the over-garment. She was left with nothing but her brassiere, corset, drawers, stockings and shoes.
"But I had hoped to give satisfaction," he said sadly, slumping his shoulders.
As she loosened her corset ribbons and let it drop too, she pouted her lower lip, trying to duplicate Mary's dissatisfied expression when things were not quite right.
He took the challenge. Making her feel tiny and fragile, he loomed over her. A lick of his tongue, and her brassiere's shoulder straps came down, leaving her clutching the garment to her heaving breasts.
"I certain don't give any services such as that with my ladies," she gasped.
"Thank God," he said.
She gave him a gentle swat. "Don't be a beast."
"But I shall," he said firmly, lifting her in one easy motion and tossing her onto the high canopied bed. Her bright squeal lit up the room and they both froze, looking to the door. Slapping her hands over her mouth, she stifled her giggles.
He shook his head as he took in the sight of her sprawled out. "Let me lock the door," he wisely suggested.
"And close the curtains," she called after him, rolling on her side to watch him go about these simple chores. Soon, in their own cottage, he would do this every evening...
Tears in her eyes, she began to quickly undo the buttons on her brassiere, but stopped for some reason when he paced back toward the bed on silent feet, as a panther hunts. He'd removed his shoes, but still had his pants and undershirt on, reminding her of a laborer in the fields. Her quiet poet was being peeled away like their clothing, leaving just a man.
His gaze caught her hands at their task and she felt like a naughty girl, even as she pushed back the silk to reveal her breasts wantonly. The tip of his tongue touched the corner of his mouth.
"I missed a great many things," he said hoarsely, echoing his earlier comment.
Covering the last few steps to her, he snagged her left foot, surprising her into a giggle.
Thankfully, she'd chosen buckled shoes, rather than buttoned boots. She couldn't make love in shoes...
He slipped the shoe off her foot, tossing it aside. His thumb pressed into her arch, and her half-closed eyelids snapped wide. That felt...She'd felt nothing like that and yet knew she never wanted him to stop. "Oh, John..." she moaned.
His satisfied smile told her that he'd expected her reaction. Once again, she was reminded that he was the experienced one here. Her other shoe came off, and he took his time caressing that foot as well.
She was on fire, the sort of conflagration that would turn her to white ash before he could even get out of his pants if he didn't move things along.
"Mr. Bates," she barked, surprised at the strength of her tone, but still grateful that she could manage it.
But he only quirked an eyebrow at her, and his hands just moved as far as caressing her ankles. "So this is the French garter?" he asked, nodding to the top of her thigh.
"Yes," Anna could only manage to shake out. In the flurry of the moment and all its unfamiliar sensations, she'd completely forgotten how carefully she'd dressed for this lunch. Her very best set of black silk stockings, cast off by Mary when they'd proved to be too short for her long legs. And yes, the confection of bright pink silk and white lace, with satin red roses all around it.
His grin was wide. "It is worth the long wait. You cannot even imagine how that one little image you gave me...How it helped me through many a dark night."
She tried not to look below his pants' waistband, despite all sort of unsettling yet exciting mental pictures of her own flitting through her mind.
He read her mind, no matter how shameful it was at the moment. "Oh no, my love. I could only think. I dare not take any action with these fantasies." His lips settled into a self-deprecating twist. "But nothing I could summon to my mind can be like this moment..."
Leaning over her, he traveled down her leg, his mouth leaving a blazing trail as he nibbled at the garter and teased the sensitive skin of her upper thigh.
Her breathing was coming in heavy pants now and she clutched at his hair, not sure if she wanted to push his head away or encourage him further. He made the choice for her.
Fumbling out with his arm, he found the stool intended to assist getting into the high bed. Before he sat though, he said, "Let's get these pretty things off," as he picked free the bow drawstring at her drawers' waist. She was paralyzed, unable to help him; he would have to be her maid after all. With his nudge, she vaguely knew to lift her hips and he slipped the garment carefully over her garter and stockings. "Must keep these on for just a bit longer," he murmured.
"All...All right," she stuttered, clutching at the bedding, unable to move yet sure that she had to hold herself down. He was making her body feel like light as a candle-lit balloon, bright and hot inside, rising toward the moon.
His mouth was back at her ankle, but he'd sank down onto the stool, so that she could see little of him beyond his thatch of now wild dark hair, his glinting eyes, and the wide breadth of his shoulders bent to his duty. The back of her knee turned out to be incredible sensitive, even through the silk. His lips and nipping teeth, applied to the underside of her thigh, created a sensation like a strong string between her heart and the joining of her legs was being rhythmically tugged in time with his ministrations.
"Beautiful," he breathed on her.
She had to cover her flaming face with her hand. He couldn't mean that...Not where he was looking at the moment. She could feel his gaze, heated as his mouth had been...And then his mouth was there, tongue and lips seeking and finding new paths.
Her gasp was near a shout and she shoved her fist into her mouth to silence her embarrassing exclamations.
He reached up to pull her hand away. "No, my love," he said thickly, his breath coming in warm bursts. "Don't...I need to hear you..."
She could only give a sort of whimper as a reply, but it was enough. His hand moved down to palm her exposed breast while his other fingers joined his mouth on its explorations.
Overwhelmed, she could only writhe on the thick coverlet, her gaze darting around the lace pattern of the bed's canopy. He held her in place with his big hands, pinning her both up and down, seeming to ignore how she tore at his hair and beat her heels on his back.
On their wedding night, she'd been quite pleased with herself. Not only had she given her beloved a great deal of pleasure several times, but by the end of the night, had passed over an allusive bridge, pulling together all the scattered sensations that his touch and body gave her into a satisfying wave of completion.
That was then, this was now. She was dying but she'd never been so alive. She had to...She didn't know what she had to do, but she knew that it had to happen at this instant, or her heart would shatter. He would help her. He had vowed to help her-
"Please, John, please, please," she sobbed. Surely, he would know what to do-
He reached even deeper within her, the pressure becoming nearly painful, and then suddenly, there was no pain, no mere flesh and bone body to inhabit, no vision or sound-only her blood singing in the air as her heart overflowed.
Her return was slow and in parts. Her sight first, even if it was blurred by tears. Her hearing, to find John chuckling richly and her own breathing thundering in her chest. Then her limbs, to discover that she still had a death grip on his hair.
"Oh, I'm ever so sorry," she gasped, releasing him.
He lay his cheek on her trembling thigh and just grinned at her. "Not a problem, m'lady," he chortled.
She furrowed her brow. He was a bit too pleased with himself to be safe. If she kept this up, he'd be insufferable soon. But as usual, he could read her discontent.
With a self-deprecating laugh, he explained: "We've been apart for so long but for in my fevered imaginings, that I know I will not last more than two seconds. I had to assure that you were left satisfied."
She raised her eyebrows. "You're the one who was in prison, Mr. Bates. I think I could forgive a few minutes of selfishness."
He nosed at her bare thigh, his smile tender on her moist skin. "I was selfish just now. How long I've dreamed of doing just that to you, Mrs. Bates. Planned and plotted every move, as the other prisoners would organize their next crime."
She pushed the tangled hair off her sweaty brow and gave a weak laugh. "Well, I must say, that felt as wicked as a crime. I'm quite sure if I did some study, I'd find that was prohibited in the Bible. It just has to be," she breathed.
He snorted, tickling her. Then with a groan, he stood. "We can't have you be an unrepentant sinner. I'll do my part to restore the accepted order to the marital union."
When he straightened again from lowering his pants, she poked him with her foot. "Dear, please remove my stockings. I cannot run them."
"Of course, m'lady," he said formally, but his gaze was smoldering with promise. Suddenly unsure again, she licked her lips as he slowly slid the fine silk from her legs and draped them over a chair. He then slipped the garter off, and tucked it in his coat pocket.
She fumbled with the final buttons of her brassiere, bringing it off her shoulders and putting it aside, leaving her naked in the daylit room.
He still had on his underclothes and from the look in his eyes, didn't seem interested in stripping completely down. He only unbuttoned enough to pull his length free.
She was looking at...it. On their wedding night, undressing and getting under the covers had been done quickly and nervously, and she had no real interest in seeing that appendage that more worldly maids had spoken of with revulsion. Only after he was in prison ,and she ached with loneliness, had she fervently wished that she'd had all of him, mind and naked body, to possess in her thoughts.
Well, she had it now, even as he moved to stand between her suddenly slack legs. He tugged her a bit further off the bed to bring their hips together.
"Are you all right?" he asked, sounding unsure himself. "We can wait-"
"Are you bloody mad?" she hissed and from his expression, could see that was perhaps not the sort of naughty language that he hoped to hear from her in their intimacies.
Grabbing a handful of his undershirt, she pulled him over as she rose to kiss him and wrapped her free arm around his neck to assure that he didn't go anywhere. Tentative at first, their kisses deepened and she could feel his body relax along with the tension bleeding from her limbs. They had not had enough kisses in their romance, she decided dreamily as he murmured against her mouth, whispering nonsensical things to her when they needed a breath, then diving back in, as to swim in the deep ponds by the back meadows on the hottest summer days.
One part of his body remained taut against her bare stomach, its skin impossible soft and hot at the same time. Curiosity got the better of her, and she reached between their torsos to take him in hand.
He gasped in her mouth, a sound much like those she'd been making earlier, needy and fearful at the same time. Emboldened that she'd regained some power, she slid her hand in counter rhythm as he thrust into her grip.
He was whimpering in her ear, his broad back shaking under her splayed palm. "Remember when I said that bit about two seconds, my dear?" he rasped.
She tipped her head back and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well then?" she said, congratulating herself at her authoritative tone.
"Well then," he murmured. Gently laying her back on the bed, kissing each of her breasts on the way, he lifted her hips a bit...And there, she was a married woman again-
She gasped out. A second deflowering...Would each time feel like this? So new and foreign and yet complete and right?
He remained still, looming over her, his hands ghosting across her shivering skin. From the chill and excitement, her nipples peaked tightly and his mouth sought them again, warming and softening her trepidation.
This was just a part...He spoke to her like a poet and make her feel like a lady, but they still needed to be a man and a woman for each other. Despite feeling as though she couldn't possibly take anymore, she thrust up against him, breaking his mouth free from her breast with a groan of pleasure.
"Please, John." This time, the pleading was for him, not her.
He gazed down on her, his features gentle with love. "Yes, we are going to have many more times, aren't we? I can just run to the finish?"
"You'd better," she said tartly, not sure when her sharp tongue could ever be kept in check. "Else I'll have to explain to Lord Grantham why his valet had a heart attack over a simple cold luncheon."
His laughter drove him deeper, and this time, it felt wonderful, as though he'd found some previously unused chamber of her heart that would just start beating. Wrapping her legs about his hips, she begged him with her body.
His expression changed to one of intense concentration and he pulled her legs up to tuck her knees under his armpits. Leaning against the bed gave him angle that sent her eyes rolling back in her head and her mouth slack, leaving her barely able to breath.
Her chest heaved and her body met his, thrust for thrust. His tearing sob, "Oh God, Anna!" was what shattered her again unexpectedly, painfully crying with him. He wasn't leaving her, not ever again, if it cost her soul sold to the Devil himself. He collapsed atop her and she clutched him, frantic and nearly inconsolable. They whispered desperate reassurances on their sweaty skin, clinging together as if two survivors on a battered raft.
She finally calmed, and felt faintly foolish as she did. Smoothing her hair back in place, she tried to give him a pleasant smile.
"Don't," he said hoarsely. "Please, don't hide from me again."
"I don't hide from you," she insisted.
He ignored her protest. "I know that I don't have a right to ask it of you. That I spent years hiding the truth from you. But please don't-"
"What could I be hiding from you?" She struggled free, trying to rise from the bed and feeling ridiculous when she realized that she'd need to stool's assistance but that he'd pushed it too far away for her to reach.
He tugged her back down into his arms, where she lay stiff and unyielding. "It's all right, Anna. You can be weak if that's how you feel."
"What have I got to feel weak about?" She tried the smile again and it was even more stiff. "You have to understand. I am not experienced in matter of the bedroom. I'll be a bit silly until I get the hang of it-"
His brow lowered and he growled, "I hope you never get the hang of it. I hope you always are as you were then, open and vulnerable for me."
She became angry. "We should be getting back." Although he wasn't restraining her, his heavy arms kept her pinned to the bed.
"Our first argument," he muttered against her bare shoulder. She tried to give him a dirty look but he was peeking at her from under his forelock with such sad eyes that she could only sigh.
"We're not fighting," she said. "We're sorting things out."
His lips found her thudding pulse under the curtain of her hair. "I hope we're in the cottage soon, so that we can sort some more things out."
She gave him an elbow to the stomach and was satisfied but his 'oof' sound. Neither made any attempt to move, curled together crossways on the bed. She did feel the need for resolution however.
"I'm sorry, John."
He laughed, stirring her hair. "Whatever for?"
"I wasn't a good wife there. Not obedient-"
He choked on a chuckle.
"I'm serious!"
He rolled her onto her back and swept her hair off her face, leaving his hand as a cap on her head. "I do not want an obedient wife. I seek an honest one."
"You don't believe that I'm honest?"
"I believe that you're the strongest woman that I've ever met. I am humbled to be in your care."
She was not completely satisfied with his evasive answer, but she sensed that her real marriage had just begun with it. Her smile was real this time, reaching her dancing eyes. "And don't you ever forget it," she told him before a kiss.
They dressed each other with care, as if he was her lordship to serve, and she his lady. After pushing the last hairpin secure, he placed a kiss on the back of her neck.
"All presentable, my lady," he proclaimed.
"You as well, my lord," she said, giving his tie a final straightening.
And so the second day of their marriage began.
~end