Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey or any of its characters. Those rights belong to the ITV and Julian Fellowes. If I did own the show it would be very risqué.

Thank you everyone for the delightful reviews. I do actually like Sybil spelled Sibyl. Alas...

Chapter 2

"You'd best stay out of sight, Branson. I'm sure Lord Granthem will send for you if the need be. I'll walk home tonight"

It had been two long hours since Mr. Crawley had uttered those words. Two long hours of waiting for any word from the house, either Lord Granthem's summons or news of Sybil's injury.

After the first hour of pacing, Tom had removed his coat, tie, and vest. He unbuttoned the top couple of buttons and tried not to think of Sybil. After a second hour of pacing, he had decided to pack. It seemed there was little point in denying the inevitable. He was likely sacked.

Pulling out his battered suitcase from under the bed, Tom started piling clothes, books, and other necessities in. The hour was late but he wanted to be prepared to leave tomorrow.

A sharp knock came at the door and he moved to answer it with little thought for his attire. William was the only one who was ever sent to fetch him and the lad had seen him in much worse. Mr Carson had very strict rules about what was appropriate and housemaids anywhere near a bachelor's residence was improper.

Was this finally news of Sybil or was this a dreaded audience with his lordship? Sighing, he opened the door.

But the person there wasn't William. She wasn't William at all. Shocked, he said "Lady Sybil, what are you doing here?"

"Quick, let me in. It might be summer but it's freezing out here."she said, teeth chattering. He ushered her into the cottage and steered her toward the only chair. The light from the nearest lamp (His lordship had installed electricity here as well) illuminated Lady Sybil or rather illuminated what little she wore. Wrapped in a silk robe with unbound hair, she looked like she had just come from bed. Tom swore he even saw the ruffle of her nightgown at the v in the robe's neck. It wasn't that her nightclothes were seductive. She revealed much the same amount of skin during the day. It was the intimacy. Lady Sybil was sitting in his private quarter in clothing only her maid and her mother usually saw (and eventually her husband). It was a seductive thought.

Unsettled by the erotic turn of the interview, Tom backed away from her to lean against the wall. He asked "What would make you come here in the middle of the night? You've just had a serious accident, milady. You should be resting in bed, not traipsing about the estate" he said, suddenly angry. What had she been thinking? What if she had fainted on her way here? While the chauffeur's cottage wasn't that far from the main house, it wasn't close either.

"I had to see you." she said, her eyes meeting his for the first time. Her eyes widened a bit, as she surveyed him, taking in his untucked shirt and the loosened buttons at his neck. He imagined he had a similar look moments before. "Is this a..a..er.. bad time?" she asked, a soft blush lit her cheeks.

"Well, umm, no" he said, fixing the buttons at his neck "I was just packing."

"Packing? Why? Has my father fired you?" she shot up quickly from her chair, "Oh, he will rue the day he challenged me". Swaying slightly, she put her hand to her head.

Branson moved with lightening speed, his arm around her back. "Sit down, milady. My God, you'll re-injury yourself."

"Sybil, call me Sybil. And my father will regr-"she said.

"He hasn't fired me yet. But he will"

After making sure she was seated, he knelt, his hand tilting her head and his fingertips brushing gently against the side of her face. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening at the contact. God, her skin was soft. And warm, his fingers felt singed with that brief touch. He couldn't stop touching her. He had been so incredibly worried about her. Lady Mary had told him it wasn't serious and he had seen Sybil walk into the house himself, but damn if he couldn't get the image of her pale and bloodied face out of his mind. He needed to know that she was alright and then here she was right in front of him. Overwrought, but fine. He felt calm for the first time in hours. She was alright. She would be fine, he repeated to himself. Still unable to stop touching her, his hands slid down to rest on the upper part of her arms. He realized that he was taking unnessary liberties and quickly, jerked his hands. Moving to his original position against the wall, he stared at her.

"I know" she said, suddenly.

"You know what?"he said, a confused frown on his brow.

"I know it was you who carried me from the crowd. I know it was you who rescued me."

"Well, I won't deny that I did carry you, but rescue seems too grand a word for it."

"Yes, but you did more than that. You touched me, like you just did. You comforted me."

"It was nothing," he said, shifting his feet, uncomfortable with the conversation.

"It wasn't to me"

He didn't have an answer for that. Seeing his silence, she looked around the small cottage taking in the details of his home. Not unlike the servants' quarters in the main house, the cottage was sparely furnished. It had a bed, a wardrobe, and a table with one chair. There was a fireplace and a stove, but nothing else. Her eyes rested on the bed and the open suitcase

This time she slowly rose from the chair and made her way over to the open bag, "You really needn't pack. You won't be fired. I've made sure of that." She picked up a couple of items from his suitcase and moved to put them away in the wardrobe.

"How? I'm sure your father was livid and rightfully so."

"Well, there's nothing to fear, I took the blame as was so. You might get a severe talking to, but your position is safe"

"There's no need for you to do that, mil-Sybil"he said, referring to her unpacking.

"I don't mind. It's the least I can do after today"

He wanted to argue, but her task was such an intimate one. Too intimate actually. Did she not realize how…sensual and wifely it was? Tom could think of little else. Her hands on his clothes, his books… she might as well be touching him. And did she not realize how close she was to his bed? Images rose unbridled to his mind. Lips and bodies pressed together. The feel of her soft weight under him. Her legs wrapped…My God, she was driving him mad! The small cottage felt even smaller with her presence.

Trying to keep his mind on track, he said "A severe talking to? That's it? How did you manage that? I doubt your father was satisfied just because you took the blame."

He couldn't see her face as her back was facing, but he heard her say "I might've said that if you were gone that I would run away."

"You what?" he walked over to her, grabbing her hand and turning her toward him. "I thought after today you were a passionate, even coming here was a little overzealous, but running away? Are you mad? Don't even threaten something like that. A lady like you runaway over a servant? It's sheer lunacy."

Her aristocratic chin shot up and she whispered, "I would. I will if you're fired."

Their eyes met and he knew she meant every word. The tension in the room intensified Tom took in her beauty-her luminous skin, her luscious dark hair, and those soft blue eyes. And those lips, my God, her lips. They were supple and lush with a softened shape of Cupid's bow. The dark pink reminded him of Mr. Moseley's prized roses. Soft, they looked soft, he thought. As if in a trance his head started to lean closer. Her lips parted on a sigh and her eyelids fluttered shut.

Just one kiss. It couldn't hurt, right? he thought. Yes, the rational part of his brain screamed, yes, it would change everything. It would make you crave her more. Crave what you could never have.

His head jerked back forcefully, his hand snatched from hers. Turning away from the temptation of her sweet lips, he muttered, "This isn't a good idea, milady. You shouldn't be here."

She came up behind him, placed her hand on his rigid shoulder. His whole body stiffened at her tender touch, but it was her next words which seized him with surprise "I…I..I love you."

It was the last straw. How could a man resist such a tenderly spoken declaration? He wasn't made of ice and if he had been, those words would've melted him into a bloody puddle. Turning around and taking her face in his hands, Tom placed his lips against hers.

He thought he would feel relief. To finally kiss the woman who haunted his days and invaded his nights (literally), he thought relief was the appropriate emotion. He even anticipated lust. But while those feelings were present, it was nothing to the intense wave of perfection and rightness that came in that moment. It was as if sealing their lips sealed their destiny. They both gasped at the sharp fusion of their lips.

He gently nudged his lips against her, feeling the softness and fullness slide against his. She responded in turn, brushing his lips with hers, pressing her lips eagerly upwards.

Somehow his hands found their way into her hair, his fingers curling into the heaviness, his thumbs caressing her neck. His lips parted and took her pillowy bottom lip gently between his teeth, nibbling slowly. She moaned low in her throat and pressed herself closer to him.

Darting his tongue out, he flicked it against the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth. His tongue cautiously entered and then retreated. She responded with another moan and by opening her mouth further. He couldn't stop himself from delving in, tangling his tongue with hers.

He had never been this hot before. It wasn't as if he'd never kissed a woman before. He had. Many times (local lasses in Ireland, housemaids at his former employers) in fact. But this kiss was different. The sensations she created with her eager response were driving him wild. Her mouth was sweet and warm. She tasted like cinnamon and sensuality. It was a combination so unique and bold he could taste it for the rest of his life and never grow bored. He couldn't get enough of her. His hands tilted her head to the side with one thought: get closer.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sybil brought her body flush against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and tracing his mouth with her sweet tongue. It was his turn to groan. Their bodies were plastered together, her soft breasts against his chest, their hips meshed together.

This was the potent and powerful moment of his life; Tom didn't want to stop. He wanted to slide his hands down her back, to pull her hips even closer. To kiss the fragile skin of her neck, her collarbones, the swells of her breasts…but this was madness. It had to stop. It was late. She was a lady and they were snogging in the privacy of his residence. Too many …erotic things could happen. With too many consequences.

Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away. Their uneven breaths the only sound in the small cottage. One look at her mussed hair and her red lips was nearly enough to make Tom continue their kiss. Nearly.

"I need to take you home" he said, breaking the silence.

"I meant what I said, Tom. I love you,"she said, forcefully. Her eyes full of the same passion he saw at the Count. The soft blue eyes dared him to deny her words, to deny the truth evident on her face. But he couldn't. He wished that her declaration hadn't made him so happy. Hearing those words spill so sweetly from her lips, the feeling was…indescribable. Like all the happy moments of his entire life were gloomy and dark compared to Sybil Crawley's profession of love. And damned if he didn't feel the same way. He loved her vivacity. Her pert nose. The way she was both sweet and fierce. He loved her openness, her boldness, her idealism. He longed to say the words back, if only to see her the dazzling beauty of her smile. But he couldn't say the words. He knew her love wouldn't last and maybe it was his damn Irish pride, but he didn't want to leave himself vulnerable when she realized this was a mistake. But his mouth wouldn't listen. It took all of his mental strength not to form the words that would make her happy.

Instead he forced out, "I know you do, lass. But you'll forget about me soon enough. You're off to London in a couple of weeks for your Season. Balls, dancing, socializing with people of your rank. You'll want to forget what you said and did here," he said.

He wanted to believe she wouldn't. That this moment and their kiss had imprinted itself onto her brain like it had his. But Tom Branson was anything but a fool. He was an idealist, but he lived in cruel, harsh reality. The reality where a Lady didn't stay in love with a chauffeur.

Grabbing his coat, he threw it around Sybil's shoulders and they went out into the night. He insisted that they walk slowly because of her injury, but really he didn't want to part with her. Tonight was one of the best and the worst nights of his life. The sweet agony of her declaration brought up too many feelings and repressed dreams. They didn't speak, but walked in comfortable silence, his arm around her shoulder much as Matthew's had been before.

Reaching the servants' entrance, she turned and spoke the words which were bound to break his heart, "I won't forget."

He smiled, a soft bittersweet smile, and said "Ah, my dear, you will."

FINIS

Please review! I'm not sure if I want to take this story through the London Season. Let me know what you think…