Previously:
Downton Abbey, England, October 1914
"In that case," Mary smiled wickedly, stepping back from him slightly. "Don't be so sure your clothes will survive the night either, darling."
She pushed him backward with both hands. He laughed in surprise as he tumbled back on to their bed. Mary was soon on top of him, her fingers pulling his belt free and undoing his trousers.
"Have a go, darling," Mary teased. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead lightly against his, their eyes locking on each other. "If you think you're man enough," she whispered.
The last thing she heard was Matthew's grunt and the tearing of her camisole before all thought was pushed aside in favour of more primal responses.
Chapter 2:
Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, England, December 1914
"It seems somewhat less…I don't know…" Matthew frowned, as he glanced around the room.
"Jovial?" Robert smirked.
"Carefree, I was going to say," Matthew smiled. "Everyone seems rather serious."
"If you think this is serious, you should sit in on some of our meetings in the House. It's all funding approvals and resource allocation. For how much we're spending, you would think we could just bribe the Germans to go back where they came from, God in Heaven," Robert grumbled, sipping his brandy.
"If you really want to pay off one of the enemy, try the Ottoman Empire," Matthew said dismissively. "The Turks can't be too principled."
They each took another sip of their drinks.
"I suppose it's admirable that Aunt Rosamund continues to keep up her tradition," Matthew remarked.
"What choice does she have?" Violet huffed. "If she did not host the Winter Season party, she would go a full year without seeing anyone."
Matthew and Robert looked at each other in amusement.
"I'm going to refresh my drink," Matthew announced. "What can I bring you, Cousin Violet?"
"Oh, nothing, thank you. But truly, Matthew, you must learn that servants are tasked with getting drinks. A proper gentleman does not do such things," the Dowager Countess scolded him.
"It's War, Cousin Violet," Matthew smirked, looking at Robert. "We all must do our part."
Robert nodded to his heir as the younger man left them and crossed the ballroom towards the bar.
"War," Violet said caustically. "Wasn't this unfortunate business supposed to be over by Christmas?"
"Mama, when you deal with politicians and armies, nothing ever plays out as predicted," Robert sighed.
"And what about you? Has your commission been reinstated? I thought I would have heard about it by now," Violet asked.
"No, there's been no word," Robert said plainly. "I can't say I'm disappointed. The thought of going over there sounds dreadful, as cowardly as that may sound."
"Hardly," Violet scoffed. "You've carried your country's flag in battle already. Let the younger generation take up the banner until the old guard is required."
Robert looked out on to the ballroom full of guests dancing, mingling and gossiping. It was the height of Winter Season and Rosamund's Belgravia home was immaculate as always. Still the Earl of Grantham could not help but wonder sombrely how many of these same faces he would be seeing in a year's time.
Matthew sipped his club soda slowly, the fizz of the drink bubbling down his throat. He never used to drink club soda. Alex had introduced him to it, his reasoning being that when they were out at a pub or a party of some sort, it was far more advantageous for them to have their faculties about them, rather than become shamefully drunk like the rest of their friends. Over the years, Matthew had put the lesson to good use, balancing the odd club soda among the normal drinks he enjoyed.
And now as he savoured the crisp taste with a hint of lime, he thought of his friend, off in another country fighting a War that was difficult to understand, and even more difficult still to predict. The mighty British Empire was to have vanquished the enemy by now surely? And yet, the news reports were somewhat short on details and the recruiting efforts and propaganda posters seemed to be increasing daily.
His eyes wandered the room, passing by lords and viscounts who were laughing too hard or drinking too much, ladies and countesses who were flirting too openly or rumour mongering. Even though the faces sometimes changed, the crowd that came to Aunt Rosamund's party did not. He dismissed most of them, not bothering to see if he even recognized most of the guests. Finally his eyes came to rest upon his prey and he smirked, even baring his teeth slightly. Dark, perfectly coiffed hair framed by an elegant tiara. Alabaster skin wrapped in a navy blue gown, the scoop neck of the bodice revealing a diamond necklace that matched diamond earrings hanging from delicate lobes, and two diamond rings on a slender gloved finger. Matthew finished his drink and placed it idly on the bar behind him, his eyes never leaving the object of his attention. He slowly moved around the room, approaching her in a circular path.
Mary sipped her champagne. It seemed that Aunt Rosamund's guests were particularly boring this evening. She had endured varying and diverse opinions on the War, the latest government policies and the dreadful weather throughout the past hour. Though she was grateful that her tiara and wedding rings were appropriate shields against the juvenile attempts of the bachelors to flirt with her, she found to her dismay that she was now ushered into a different sphere – the opinions and debates of her parents' generation. While Mary's friends were around and she did spend time with them as she always did, she was pulled into far more debates and discussions than normal. She found to her chagrin that apparently being married meant she was to listen to her Papa's colleagues drone on at every turn.
She had surreptitiously used Edith to extricate herself from the latest group discussion, this time on women in the workforce. Mary was grateful that Edith's opinions had proven useful for once. She now looked out across the ballroom, smiling as the band played on and Society continued its usual dance. War or not, nothing would stop the elites from their traditions and conventions, it seemed.
Mary felt his gaze before she could see him. It was a strange thing, this perception she had. Usually she needed some hint to understand when someone was approaching her. Carson's heavy footsteps, Sybil's giggling, her Papa's brisk gait. With her husband though, it was different. She somehow knew without any indication that he was near. She had felt it even as early as their first meeting, when she would be occupied with her students and she would suddenly look up and catch him staring at her. It continued like this, and over the years, her 'Matthew-sense' seemed to grow sharper. A glance at dinner. Appearing on his bicycle on the horizon from Crawley House. Gazing down at her as she sunbathed on the terrace in Cannes. A hand on her back when they met at the Savoy for tea. It was as though she could see him in her mind before her eyes revealed where he was.
"If it's your intention to sneak up on a Lady, you should be ashamed," she said haughtily, keeping her view facing forward, her lips curled into a smirk.
"I don't think that anyone who wears such a spectacular dress should be complaining about garnering a man's attention," his voice, deep and low and addictively rich and confident floated across her ear and seemed to make her shiver.
"Oh, I was not referring to your attention," she said smoothly, still facing away from him. "I meant that you should be ashamed that you are so utterly horrible at sneaking up on a woman. I could see you approach from across the room."
"Is that so?" he chuckled. She could feel the warmth of him behind her, his breath tickling her neck delightfully. "I find that hard to believe when you were looking in the opposite direction the entire time. I deliberately walked around you so as to approach you from behind."
She rolled her eyes at his insinuation. "Then either you are ungraceful or clumsy, or both. You were hardly inconspicuous."
"Perhaps I was trying to show you how eager I was to be at your side?" Matthew teased.
"So eager that you were tripping over your own feet?" she shot back.
"It would be a convenient excuse to drag you down to the floor," he replied lightly.
"In front of all these people? I think not," Mary retorted.
"Afraid of what an audience would witness you doing?" Matthew said easily. "Or is it that you prefer a darkened parlour to a lit ballroom?"
"What do you think?" Mary replied. "It seems we've visited Aunt Rosamund's parlour several times over the years."
"It's a tradition I am very much looking forward to continuing," Matthew chuckled.
"Careful, sir," Mary smiled. "My husband would not appreciate hearing a man say such scandalous things to me."
"Oh, I don't know," Matthew replied in amusement. "He of all people would appreciate just what emotions you stir in a man."
Mary laughed quietly as his hand travelled to her back, then down to her waist. She finally turned and smirked at him. He kissed her cheek lightly, holding her close to him as they watched the dance in front of them.
"What about it?" Matthew asked.
"Here, or the parlour?" Mary smirked.
"What do you think? The bloody parlour, of course," he said, his eyes betraying his hunger.
"You have a peculiar obsession with being so secretive," Mary grinned. "We're married, Matthew. There's no need for us to have hidden liaisons, like we used to."
"I have no intention of publically displaying what I wish to do with my wife at the moment," Matthew answered. "And since retiring to Grantham House before even Cousin Violet is ready to go home for the evening would raise all manner of gossip, the parlour shall once again serve our purposes."
"Very well," Mary relented, taking his arm. "But don't think that propriety will save you this time, Matthew."
"I could say the same thing to you, darling," he said, raising his eyebrows at her as they walked briskly away from the crowded ballroom.
Downton Abbey, England, November 1914
Mary looked up from her book as she heard light footsteps come into the library. She smiled as Sybil appeared through the doorway.
"Oh!" Sybil exclaimed in surprise. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd be upstairs."
"Just because we have our own sitting room does not mean I can't use the rest of the house, Sybil," Mary smirked.
"And your own parlour?" Sybil replied. "I'm surprised that Matthew hasn't built you a private study or library for you to use."
"Well it would be rather inconvenient to transport all of these books to our Wing," Mary said, looking around the room. She looked back and smiled at her sister. "You don't want me to remain in my part of the house all of the time, do you Sybil? Wouldn't you miss me?"
"Of course," Sybil nodded. She crossed the room and glanced at the bookshelves. She sighed absentmindedly before finally retrieving a tome and going over to sit down next to her older sister.
Mary glanced over at Sybil from time to time. Her youngest sister wore a mask of absolute boredom as she flipped the pages of her book.
"Darling," Mary said pointedly. "What is it?"
"What is what?" Sybil asked, looking over at Mary in confusion.
"Why don't you tell me?" Mary asked. "You obviously aren't interested in reading."
"It's the War," Sybil sighed, closing her book and placing it on the coffee table.
"What about it?" Mary asked, lowering her own book to her lap and giving Sybil her attention.
"When Barrow and Branson left last week, it just made it seem more real. As though this was something that could directly affect us," Sybil explained.
"Because we may need to hire a new footman and chauffeur?" Mary asked playfully.
"That's not what I meant. You shouldn't speak so lightly about men risking their lives to fight for our country!" Sybil scolded her.
"They volunteered to enlist, Sybil," Mary said patiently. "Carson tried to talk them out of it, but they insisted on going. It's very patriotic of them, but the consequence of such actions is that their lives are at risk, if they end up at the Front, that is."
"I know," Sybil rolled her eyes. "On the one hand, I think it's gallant and admirable that they are making themselves useful, contributing to the effort. On the other hand, I wonder if their enthusiasm is misplaced."
"I'm quite certain that their enthusiasm is misplaced," Mary stated. "I don't pretend to know what life at the Front is like, but I'm sure it can't be as exciting as those posters and the newspapers make it seem."
"Some of the articles portray it all as a grand mission, like the Crusades," Sybil said.
"They do that on purpose to sell newspapers," Mary said dismissively. "Remember, the Crusades did not always go very well for us."
Sybil sighed and looked out towards the window. Mary regarded her curiously.
"What's really the matter, Sybil?" she asked.
Sybil turned back to her. "When did you know that you loved Matthew?"
"Pardon?" Mary asked in shock.
"When did you know?" Sybil asked again. "When did you come to the realization that he was the only man you wanted, for the rest of your life?"
Mary blinked and remained silent. When did she know she loved Matthew? The moment was very clear in her mind now, but of course it had occurred before he had arrived at Downton Abbey, and so she could not regale her youngest sister with the details, since Sybil and the family all believed that the girls had not met Matthew until his arrival in September 1912.
"Mary? You did realize at some point that you loved Matthew, didn't you?" Sybil asked, looking at her suspiciously.
"Of course I did!" Mary frowned. "I do…I love him, obviously!" She thought quickly, trying to fast forward through all of their beautiful memories until she could find a moment that was closer to their engagement to tell Sybil about.
"Well, then? When was it? It surely wasn't at the beginning, because that first dinner was horrible. Andromeda and Perseus!" Sybil laughed and shook her head.
"I was merely making conversation!" Mary said defensively.
"Oh, I'm sure that you were!" Sybil laughed. "And we all knew who you happened to be calling a sea monster, didn't we?"
Mary rolled her eyes. She then smirked in triumph as a particular image came to her mind.
"If you must know, it was on Valentine's Day," she said curtly.
"Valentine's Day?" Sybil frowned. "You mean when we were here in the library?"
"Yes," Mary smiled slightly, nodding her head. "When he spoke about my flowers."
"The ones that Evelyn Napier sent to you?" Sybil asked.
"The roses," Mary replied. "Matthew said that the man who sent me the roses must have had only the best of intentions. And when I told him that men can be fickle and change their preferences so easily, he objected, saying that men were not nearly as manipulative as I was saying."
"I remember," Sybil smiled. "He said that all a man could hope for was to somehow have your regard, if only for a moment."
"That's right," Mary smiled, looking down at her wedding rings.
"But I don't understand," Sybil continued. "How does Matthew talking about another man sending you flowers lead to you realizing you were in love with him?"
"I didn't realize it right away, Sybil," Mary said patiently. "But when I think about that day and what Matthew said, the flowers are not nearly as memorable as his words. Don't you see? Matthew isn't pompous, or arrogant, or condescending, not when it comes to matters of the heart. He isn't afraid to be open and trusting and vulnerable, and he was willing to do that for me, the one person who would probably ridicule him for such weakness more than anyone. That's how I knew I was in love with him, Sybil, because he wasn't afraid to show himself to me, regardless of the consequences."
"I suppose he can be a romantic," Sybil smirked.
"That isn't all of it, darling," Mary smiled. "Matthew is romantic, yes, but it's more than that."
"I wish I could understand that feeling, Mary," Sybil sighed.
"Understand what, exactly?" Mary asked.
"What it is to know that you're sure about another person the way you are about Cousin Matthew," Sybil explained.
"Sybil, you just had your debut," Mary said. "There's no rush. I'm a testament to the fact that waiting may in fact be a far better strategy."
"There were a few boys that I met during my Season that were charming," Sybil said slowly. "But there was nothing else to them beyond their titles and their pedigrees and trying to impress me with what they would inherit from their fathers. I found all of them quite boring."
Mary laughed. "Admittedly, the Season does not give one very much opportunity to properly get to know someone."
"Still," Sybil rolled her eyes. "I wonder if there isn't someone out there who is far better suited for me, someone who isn't the typical man that Mama would want for me. Just like with you and Cousin Matthew."
"Well, be careful, Sybil. Remember, Matthew and I were pushed at each other in one way or another from the moment he arrived," Mary said.
"But he isn't one of us," Sybil complained. "That is what is so wonderful about him, isn't it? There's more to him than just a title and money."
Mary smirked. "That's true."
Sybil sighed again and looked down at her lap.
"Darling, you shouldn't be so concerned. You'll meet someone truly wonderful someday, I am convinced of it. But you needn't be so set on your idea of who this person may be, or where he may come from. It's true that a man's title is not what is most important, but at the same time, while a title does not mean a man is smart and funny and engaging, it does not mean he isn't, either."
"I suppose," Sybil acknowledged. "I guess I am just concerned because with so many men going off to War, I wonder if I am losing the chance to find the man who is meant for me."
"I don't know, Sybil," Mary said kindly. "But perhaps you should not try to force the matter. You know, the most wonderful things appear to you when you are least expecting them."
Sybil smiled. "Matthew has changed you," she grinned. "You never were so optimistic before."
"I'm not now either," Mary huffed. "I'm only pointing out that you can take your time, is all."
"Thank you, darling," Sybil smiled, and they both resumed their reading.
Brown's Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, March 1915
"You'd be surprised how difficult it is to get a decent cup of tea at the Western Front," he said.
Matthew sipped his tea and smiled. It seemed so normal. Sitting in this restaurant, in this hotel, during a London afternoon. They could have been meeting to discuss files, or clients, other lawyers, gossip from the Courts or from Parliament. He would ask about Mary of course, and Matthew would happily oblige, telling him about how she had finished decorating the parlour, and how well the new Estate management was going, even with Robert still reluctant to put both feet into the effort. There would be the usual jokes about when Mary and Matthew would get around to producing an heir to the Grantham line, or whether they had found a suitable wife for him. A normal conversation, on a normal afternoon, between long time friends.
Nothing was normal anymore, however.
"I'm surprised that you haven't established a supply line for such things, Captain," Matthew smirked. "I would think that having your proper blend would be near the top of the list, after ammunition and armour."
"Not everyone listens to my recommendations in the Army, Matthew," Alex smiled, sipping his tea once more. "I've made it my mission to bring an ample stock back with me next week."
Matthew nodded, the gravity of the moment hitting him once more. Next week. Next week, Alex's leave would be over and he would return to War. Alex's visits were usually brief, of course, even before the War. With Matthew in the Ripon office and Alex in London, they saw each other once or twice a month at most. The difference, of course, was that Matthew always knew the next time he would see Alex once their visits were over. Now, he was not nearly as certain.
"Have you been reading about the unfortunate business in the Dardanelles?" Alex asked.
Matthew's eyes widened. "It's illegal to discuss the War in public, Alex. Remember, I'm just a citizen."
Alex rolled his eyes. "I hardly think we're at risk, Matthew. Wasn't it you who told me this place is known for its discretion?"
Matthew chuckled and glanced over at the entrance to the restaurant, then looked back at his friend.
"Details in the newspapers are light," he replied. "Which makes me think things did not go very well at all."
"I think that Winnie had some poor information," Alex sighed. "The ships were mainly obsolete already anyway, so it wasn't as great a loss as it could have been. Still, we were relying on the naval campaign to weaken the Turks enough so that the land offensive would be a mere formality."
"And now?" Matthew asked.
"Well, with the ships having retreated, we'll have to attack by land, probably next month," Alex answered.
"But you'll go back to France, won't you?" Matthew asked.
"Yes," Alex nodded. "There's no place for me or my men in Turkey. Probably a good thing, really, although the weather must be better than the cold slop we've had to live with in the trenches."
Matthew nodded and looked away. Alex was his usual charming self on the surface. His wit and sarcasm had not dulled at all. There was something different about him, though. He seemed tired to Matthew, the exuberance and confidence that he normally carried was muted now, as though he was drained in some way.
"Any idea when it might be over?" Matthew asked.
Alex pursed his lips and glanced over at the window. He stared out into the busy street for several moments.
"Not the faintest clue," he said quietly, still looking away. "I don't think it shall be anytime soon, though."
"Try and get it done sooner rather than later," Matthew said, trying to sound cheerful. "The longer this continues, they may get desperate and ask me to go."
Alex turned back to his friend and smiled.
"If it ever reaches that point, Matthew, then all hope is truly lost," he said.
They smiled and nodded in understanding.
"Besides, your place is here, Matthew," Alex said plainly. "With your wife and your family."
"Do you not think I could manage being a soldier, then?" Matthew retorted.
"You'd be fine," Alex nodded. "However, I know your honour will keep you here, with Lady Mary. Your duty to her is stronger than your duty to King and country."
Matthew laughed and shook his head.
"I hope you'll enjoy dinner," Matthew said, changing the subject. "Mary was rather particular with the menu."
"I told both of you that there was no need to go to such trouble," Alex shook his head.
"You know us," Matthew smirked. "We're always concerned about our War hero."
Alex huffed.
"Besides," Matthew continued. "I always enjoy any excuse to have a proper Beef Wellington."
"I assume Lady Mary has invited her friends to Grantham House tonight?" Alex asked.
"What makes you say that?" Matthew asked.
"Your wife has a penchant for parading her eligible friends around whenever I am invited over, it seems," Alex smirked.
"Mary's friends are…nice," Matthew said, searching for an appropriate word.
"They're lovely," Alex smiled. "I'm afraid that my marriage prospects are on hold for the moment though."
"It isn't as though marriage has been banned during the War, Alex," Matthew frowned pointedly.
"No, but being in another country for the foreseeable future is not necessarily the proper foundation for a marriage," Alex replied easily.
"Well, then consider this evening a chance to temporarily slip back into London Society, then," Matthew said. "A form of respite, if you will."
"Very well," Alex nodded. "I'll put on a brave face, but only as a courtesy to you and your wife."
"Good," Matthew nodded. He looked down at his wristwatch. "You had best practise your pleasantries now."
Alex rose from the table with Matthew as Mary and her sisters were escorted to their table.
"Darling," Mary smiled, placing her hands in her husband's and offering him her cheek for a pleasant kiss.
"Alex, welcome home," Edith smiled politely as Alex kissed her hand. He repeated the gesture with Sybil and finally with Mary as they all greeted each other before sitting down.
"Thank you for joining us, Lady Mary, Lady Edith, Lady Sybil," Alex said smoothly. "It's good to be among friends."
Dower House, Downton Village, England, January 1915
"Bombs dropped over England, can you imagine?" Cora shook her head.
"I have no understanding of how they even reached King's Lynn," Violet sighed. "It's remarkably close to London, isn't it?"
"They say that there may be a secret German base in The Lakes," Sybil said nervously.
"And who are 'they' pray?" Mary rolled her eyes. "That's just a rumour, Sybil."
"Well the bombs were real," Edith said pointedly. "People died."
"Well, then let's just hope that Yorkshire serves no military or strategic purpose so as to attract attention," Mary replied.
"I'm surprised that Matthew hasn't enlisted yet," Cora said. "Isobel says that most of his friends back in Manchester formed their own battalion."
"Not every man needs to go to War, Mama," Mary answered. "Matthew has plenty of responsibility already at home."
"In any event, he's married," Edith said. "It's the single men who enlist more than anyone else."
"I don't see why," Violet said. "Married men have as much reason to go to War."
"Because married men are just as patriotic?" Sybil asked.
"No, my dear. Because married men have many reasons to want to leave England, perhaps more than single men do," Violet replied.
"Oh, Granny," Mary rolled her eyes.
They all sipped their tea and sat in comfortable silence for several moments.
"Speaking of giving Matthew a reason not to go away," Cora began.
"Mama, not again…" Mary sighed in exasperation.
"Mary, you've been married for over a year now," Cora noted.
"Yes, and I know you feel it should be my life's ambition to have children, that I won't be worth anything until I give Matthew a son," Mary rolled her eyes.
"That's not what I meant to say," Cora said defensively.
"It isn't?" Violet questioned. "Why not, when it is so true?"
"Granny!" Sybil exclaimed.
"Oh, make no mistake, Mary's worth is unquestioned. But, if she were to have a son, the next heir to the Earl of Grantham, well, that would be a lovely bit of news," Violet nodded.
"Please tell me that you've at least thought about it," Cora pleaded.
"How could I not when you've been reminding me for months now?" Mary complained.
"And what does Matthew think of all this talk of babies and heirs?" Edith asked.
"He's fine with it happening when nature intends," Mary smiled. "He's not nearly as eager as Mama, I assure you."
"That's because he's too honourable to pressure you," Cora said. "But Mary, you need to be more attentive to this."
"And how exactly is Mary not being attentive to having a baby?" Edith smirked. "Do you need to gauge if she's making sufficient efforts, Mama?"
"Edith!" Sybil scolded her.
Mary just quirked her eyebrows and smirked along with Edith. It was rare that they were on the same side, but they could at least agree that they did not enjoy it when their Mama became too preoccupied with their personal lives.
"This subject is no longer available for conversation," Mary declared. "When I'm pregnant, you'll all be informed, if only to spare Matthew and I the repeated inquiries."
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1915
"That turned out quite well, wouldn't you say?" Mary asked as she rubbed cream into her hands.
"The dinner was delicious, yes," Matthew nodded, leaning against the bed post as he watched his wife finish her nightly rituals.
"If you're expecting Alex to propose to any of your friends before he goes back to the Front, I'm sorry to tell you that you will be left disappointed once again, darling," he smiled.
"That's hardly unexpected," Mary sighed, frowning at him in the reflection of the vanity mirror. "Still, if we gave him sufficient distraction so he can enjoy his leave a little more, then I am glad for that."
"He did seem to enjoy himself," Matthew nodded. "Hopefully this time is a comfort to him when he goes back."
"Did he mention anything about how it was all progressing? Does he think it will end soon?" Mary asked.
Matthew exhaled. "Unfortunately, no. He can't be sure of course, he's only involved in one battle of many, but he doesn't think it will resolve itself very quickly."
"Bombings in Norfolk, news reports of all these different campaigns and battles, so much has changed in such a short time," Mary shook her head.
"I sometimes wonder if the men who went over there think it's all been worth it, and whether the men signing up every day wonder the same thing," Matthew thought aloud.
Mary rose from her vanity and came into his arms. She kissed him softly, her arms wrapping around his neck.
"I don't care if this sounds unpatriotic, but I'm glad you're still here," she smiled.
"Of course I am," Matthew smirked, his hands going around her waist. "Where else would I be but by your side?"
"You flatter me," she remarked. "Is this an attempt to seduce your wife?"
"What do you think?" Matthew smirked, then kissed her neck. His hand slid up her bare arm and pulled one strap of her nightgown down and away, allowing him to kiss her bare shoulder.
"Seduction seems unlike you, darling," Mary smiled. Her eyes closed slightly and she smirked as she held on to his back, her skin tingling delightfully as his lips travelled across her body.
"You think that I'm too polite to want to manoeuvre a woman into bed?" he asked in a low voice, smiling against her skin as he pressed her closer to him.
"It's not a question of being too polite," Mary gasped slightly as her husband's hands became more bold. He clutched at her, leaving no doubt of his intentions.
"You just think that I'm too honourable to demand…things," he said, his voice sending a tremor through her.
"Are you saying that you're not honourable?" Mary breathed out quickly as she felt how aroused her husband truly was.
She yelped as he picked her up off the ground effortlessly. His hands reached under her thighs to support her weight. Her hands slid across his back, holding him close to her. Her legs squeezed around his waist.
"I'm not honourable all of the time," Matthew growled. "Not when it comes to you."
Mary let out a deep chuckle as they fell to the bed.