2. Distraction
"Anna, will you please watch what you're doing!?"
The exasperated admonishment from Mrs. Hughes has little impact on Anna as she mutters a quick apology and drops into her seat in the servants' hall. She had almost bowled the housekeeper over in her haste to reach the table, where her Mr. Bates is currently sitting, doing his best to keep the smirk from his face. In times of such sorrow for the house, what with Miss Swire's passing, it would not do to be seen being too cheerful.
Still, Anna can barely keep her own grin in check as she turns to face her husband.
Her husband. She doubts that she'll ever grow accustomed to the notion.
"Watch out for her," Mrs. Hughes advises wryly, "with the mood she's in, she's likely to spill her tea all over you."
"Oh?" Mr. Bates questions, pretending to be serious though his eyes are twinkling. "And what's brought that on?"
"I couldn't tell you. She's been distracted all day," Mrs. Hughes sighs before she leaves the room, summoned away by Mr. Carson.
"I can't imagine why you'd be so distracted," says Mr. Bates, dropping his voice deliciously once they're alone.
"Perhaps I'm coming down with something," Anna replies, unable to resist running her hand down the length of his clothed arm. She shivers at the memory of how it had felt to have those same arms wrapped around her body.
"Perhaps you are," he agrees, his voice a growl. "Perhaps you should be spending the day in bed."
Oh dear Lord, the images that that seemingly innocent sentence conjures. Images of her husband's body pressed up against hers, teaching her the exquisite pleasure of lovemaking. Images of the look on his face as he'd moved within her. The echo of her voice as she'd keened her need.
She shivers again, focusing on her breathing as the colour rises in her cheeks.
"Why, Miss Smith," he says, and she bites her lip at his delicious teasing. "You appear to have a temperature."
"Do I?" She tries to keep her tone nonchalant, calculating her comeback in her head. Glancing around quickly to make sure that they are still alone, she lowers her voice to a husky whisper. "It is rather warm in here. Perhaps I should take a few layers off?"
How quickly the tables can be turned. This time it is John who has to close his eyes. Is he too remembering last night's events? She'd undressed herself slowly in the room that they'd shared, shy and demure despite his appreciative gaze, completely unaccustomed to a man staring at her. Now he's biting his lip. Is she sliding her undergarments, the last article of clothing on her body, off?
"Lord, Anna," he says throatily, reaching for her left hand under the table and stroking his thumb against the back of her finger, where her wedding ring should be sitting snugly. "The things you do to me."
"I know," she breathes, twisting her hand so that they can link their fingers together. "I know."
Because she does. Oh, how she does.
All day, she has been distracted by thoughts of him. She hasn't been able to concentrate on any of the tasks that she has been set. Twice she has been chided by Mrs. Hughes for almost letting precious heirlooms slip through her clumsy fingers. Once, Lily had looked at her quizzically for standing in the middle of Lady Mary's bedroom with a faraway mist in her eyes. She and Mr. Bates are supposed to be acting as normal as possible, and yet there she'd been, unable to complete even the simplest of tasks due to the memories of last night creeping up and invading her mind.
Now, in the present, it's as though Mr. Bates can read her mind. There is something decidedly daring about his smile, and she feels her body treacherously tightening at that look in his eyes. It's almost…dangerous. Well, as dangerous as Mr. Bates is ever going to get, anyway. She wonders what he's up to.
It soon becomes apparent. Although she knows exactly how to undo him, he also knows that the same methods can be applied to her. It's a sparring, playful game between the two of them, a game where their weaknesses are the same. It makes for an interesting match. Seemingly recovered from his moment of defeat, his dark eyes boring into hers, he slowly shrugs his jacket from his shoulders. Anna's breath hitches. Her palms begin to sweat. That one simple movement causes a rush of longing to overcome her. She remembers. How vividly she remembers. The sound of the jacket whispering against his shirt as it had slid from his shoulders. The rare joy of seeing him in just his shirt and waistcoat. Then, with no clothes on at all.
Mr. Bates never takes his eyes off her as he slowly moves to the cufflinks, flicking them deftly through the buttonholes on his sleeves. Anna almost whimpers, her eyes riveted to his movements. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he begins to roll up his shirtsleeves, exposing his firm forearms to the world. A seemingly innocent gesture. It's not as though he's never done it before in the servants' hall, when the weather gets too warm. She herself has seen his forearms countless times, even before they'd become entangled; sometimes when he'd sat outside to polish Lord Grantham's shoes, sometimes when he'd sat in the servants' hall to help polish the silver, he'd roll his sleeves up. Those times had always left her a little flustered, imagining what they would feel like. Now the sensation is a hundred times more poignant, and her fingers tremble. She exhales hard through her nose. The hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Because she knows. She knows what it's like to feel those arms, to run her hands up them, feel the hard muscles contorting beneath her fingertips, to have them pressing down deliciously on her, to have them wrapped around her body like a blanket. The sight of them now, all dark haired and pale skinned, sets her pulse thumping a mile a minute. She wets her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, trying to say something, anything, when—
—When the sound of Mrs. Hughes' voice breaks through the bubble that had been surrounding their own little world.
"Anna! Lady Mary has been ringing for you for the last five minutes! Heavens, girl, what on earth is the matter with you!?"
Anna jumps physically, and almost falls out of her chair at the suddenness of Mrs. Hughes' intrusion. She flushes as the housekeeper makes her way into the room, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. For his part, Mr. Bates looks the absolute picture of innocence, serenely sipping his tea and offering Mrs. Hughes his best honourable smile. Mrs. Hughes won't be able to think one negative thought with that directed at her. Anna would like nothing more to smack it from his face. Or kiss it away. Either one is extremely tempting.
Instead, she stumbles quickly to her feet and catches herself on the back of her chair.
"Anna, if I have to tell you one more time today…" Mrs. Hughes says reprovingly.
She lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes. Truly."
"Honestly, I don't know what's got into you," the housekeeper continues, taking the cup that Mr. Bates offers her.
Anna can feel the tips of her ears burning and, despite herself, chances one last glance over her shoulder at her husband as she moves towards the servants' hall doorway. He is smirking deliciously, his eyes twinkling, and she knows exactly what he is thinking: that it isn't what has got into her, but who. Her blood warms dramatically, and he holds her heated gaze while Mrs. Hughes reaches obliviously for a biscuit—
—And then she runs into the doorframe with a grunt of pain. It's the final straw for Mr. Bates, who has to descend into a fit of coughs in order to disguise what is surely a snort of laughter, and Anna internally curses as she rubs the side of her head. That utter sod, toying with her in such a way, when she can barely think straight—
"Anna."
Oh God, Mrs. Hughes.
Anna daren't turn in the housekeeper's direction. She doesn't think she'd be able to take the look of irritation on her face.
"There's Lady Mary's bell again," she squeaks, and darts out of the room as quickly as she can. She thinks she ought to be mad at Mr. Bates for disorientating her so, but she finds she that can't be. Not when she is just so giddy that they are finally man and wife, newlyweds, lovers.
But she is determined to get her own back.
It's past midnight in the servants' hall, and John sits by himself at the table, nursing a cup of tea to combat his insomnia. The others had gone to bed hours ago, worn out by the preparations for Miss Swire's funeral. Anna had gone too, with a lingering glance over her shoulder at him. Luckily, she had been able to escape Mrs. Hughes' wrath. Long years of perfect service and quick promotions to one of the most senior positions in the house did not count for nothing, and Mrs. Hughes had supposed that Anna was allowed one day of unfocused work. Or at least that was what Anna had told him when they'd met for a few minutes outside in the courtyard before she'd retired, so that they could kiss each other chastely in the relative privacy afforded to them by a stack of crates. The way that her hands had felt on his body had done nothing to abate the desire that has been throbbing through his body all day. Still, he knows that he will have to contain himself. There is no way that he can possibly sneak through the door segregating the men and the women, and he knows that Anna shouldn't risk it either; if they were caught, then they'd both be dismissed at once. They've waited eight years to be together, he reminds himself firmly; he supposes a few more nights sleeping in their own rooms won't kill them.
Suddenly, there is the sound of footsteps, and John's head jerks up at once. The footsteps are light and feminine, and he daren't place too much hope on it being her.
But it is.
She rounds the doorway like a goddess, her long blonde hair braided loosely down her back, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The nightgown she is wearing is a simple one, nothing like the one of sheer silk that Lady Mary had borrowed her last night, but it takes his breath away nonetheless, and she closes the distance between them in a self-assured manner that is completely unlike her coy behaviour of last night.
She doesn't even greet him before crashing her mouth onto his, clutching fistfuls of his shirt in her hands. Since he is still seated she towers above him, and he wraps his arms around her waist and draws her between his legs.
At last they part, panting for breath.
"I couldn't go to sleep knowing I hadn't done that," Anna gasps as she slides onto his lap, mindful of his right knee. Her hands come up to meander lazily through his hair, and he closes his eyes at the sensation.
"I'm glad you didn't," he murmurs in reply, fingers unable to resist stroking the clothed warmth of her side. He shudders at the realisation that she is not wearing a corset; his fingers catch the sides of her breasts as he leans in to press his mouth to her throat. She hums in appreciation, shifting until she sits flush against him. He gasps into her flesh.
"You've been a terrible tease all day, Mr. Bates," she whispers into the silence, rocking imperceptibly against his body. "The things I've thought! And you certainly weren't making it easy for me this afternoon. Why, I'm certain that you enjoyed seeing me all distracted and flustered."
"I did," he admits with a groan, tearing himself away from her throat in favour of lolling his head back against the hard chair. His eyes half-lid with desire.
John can't be ashamed by the first stirrings of arousal in his lower half. Anna must feel them too, for she grins and presses harder over him.
"I must admit," she says, bending forward to pepper his jawline with kisses, "I enjoyed your hands on me last night. Is that terribly unladylike?"
He breathes hard and fast through his nose, biting his lip. Is she feeling what he is? She bends in and tugs his lip away from his teeth with her teeth, digging her fingertips into his shoulders, kissing him breathless. He holds onto her as if she is a lifeline.
But she pulls away when his hands move to her backside. His eyes snap open as she shifts backwards.
"Mr. Bates," she purrs with a wicked grin, "I'm afraid that I'm rather too tired tonight. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to bed."
He moans aloud, dropping his head against her chest as she wiggles on his lap.
"You are a very cruel girl, Anna," he mumbles against her clothes.
She smirks. "I prefer to see it as payback, my love."
"Surely nothing I've done today is as bad as this."
"Well, you certainly helped to get me into trouble with Mrs. Hughes."
"I can't help that I didn't marry a lady."
She smacks his arm good-naturedly as he grins at her, taking them back to the day when she first confessed her love for him. "Oh, you're impossible."
"Then we make the perfect pair," he tells her, unable to resist kissing her neck.
Anna pulls back again at that. "Stop. If we carry on like that I won't be responsible for my actions. I'll have my way with you on the table."
John blushes even as he smirks. "And is that really a bad thing?"
"It is if you don't want Mr. Carson bedridden again. And Mrs. Hughes is sure to chase us around the house with a priest in tow before she sacks us."
With that, she tries to wriggle free. Knowing that her playful seduction is over, John releases her. As tempting as the thought of throwing caution to the wind in favour of feeling her naked body against his own again is, he knows that it's not worth risking their employment.
"Goodnight then," he says quietly.
"Night," she replies, then bends down to give him one last kiss, one last ace. Her breath in his ear makes him shudder. "John."
The effect of her huskily breathing his name has his desire flaring perilously once again. Anna smirks in triumph at his sharp intake of breath, then quickly steps away. Casting one last flirty look over her shoulder, she slips out of the servants' hall and back up the staircase to her bed.
Alone once more, John groans into the silence. The sound of Anna breathing his name in such a voice will haunt his dreams tonight and ensure that he is quite senseless by dawn's first light. He doesn't know how he'll get through his chores later today without conjuring up delicious scenarios where she's mewling his name, begging him to give her what she needs.
He drops his head into his hands.
It looks as though Mrs. Hughes will have another full day on her hands trying to keep him focused.