A/N: I was shocked by your warm reception of the last update! Thank you all for the lovely reviews - particularly my guest reviewers, whom I cannot thank personally.

All bets are off with this fic ... whatever I might have said at the outset about this story not venturing into 'M' territory seems laughable to me now. It'll go wherever these two goobers take it. Would that be alright?

Here be fluff and UST.

xx,
~ejb~

3. Come Rain Or Come Shine

Richard arrived home to smoke rising from the chimney. The door was unlocked and as he stepped inside the aroma of freshly baked bread washed over him. He smiled. Isobel was here. His heart leapt and he shook his head. Easy, man. Mustn't get ahead of ourselves.

He hung his coat and hat by the door. Typically by this point, she would come to greet him, often with a tumbler of whisky in hand. But she did not come, and there was no answer when he called out to her. Puzzled, he went to the back windows. It was raining steadily and therefore unlikely she would be in the garden, but one never knew with Isobel. What was certain was that she would not have set off for Crawley House without damping down the fire and locking the door, so he could safely conclude she was somewhere within. When a thorough search of the main floor failed to turn her up, he headed upstairs.

He stepped through the doorway into his bedroom and his heart caught in his throat when he spied her asleep on the bed, clad in his cardigan and hugging his pillow to her chest.

Isobel … in his bed.

Slow down, his conscience called even as images of flickering embers and tousled bedclothes danced before his eyes.

He debated waking her; she would want to know he was home, certainly. But he knew that she would be mortified at having been found asleep when he got home – usually, she had at least got supper started by then - and asleep in his bed? She'd never forgive herself. As he watched her, her features unguarded, the barest hint of a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth, he was struck by the urge to lie down with her, to take her in his arms and curl his body around hers.

Realizing the turn his thoughts had taken, he shook them off and made to leave the room, but not before reaching out to trace the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. She sighed at his touch. Oh, but it would be so easy to lie with her, to draw her close.

No. She was not his wife, and Isobel Crawley was as far as one could be from the sort of woman to take a lover. Noting that she felt cold to the touch, he took up the blanket at the foot of the bed and spread it over her sleeping form.

He would have to take his chances on her being cross when she woke. For the moment it seemed the best course of action was for him to retreat to the downstairs as quickly as possible. He had some thinking to do.

oOoOo

When Isobel woke it was dusk and she was disoriented. She was lying on a bed that was not hers, in a room that was not in Crawley House, covered with a blanket that was unlike any she owned. She yawned and stretched, inhaling deeply, and as she did so she caught Richard's scent. Recollection then followed swiftly. Richard's bed. Richard! It's nearly dark. He'll have been home for hours. He'll know what I've done! She buried her face in her hands momentarily before rising to her feet. She knew she'd been caught out - the blanket was the giveaway. Even so, she folded it, draping it neatly over the footboard as she'd found it. She fluffed the pillows and straightened the bedclothes before stepping into the lavatory to check her appearance.

After smoothing her hair and clothing she made her way downstairs. A delightful aroma wafted in from the kitchen and she registered the sounds of Richard moving about, opening and closing cupboard doors and humming softly. Despite his apparently genial air, she felt badly for not having supper ready. It wasn't as if he expected it of her by any means, but it seemed to her the least she could do; after all, she'd been at home all day, in his home, while he worked. She stood just outside the doorway and watched him, deciding that whatever he thought of finding her asleep in his bed, vexation did not figure into the equation. Raising a hand to smooth her hair one more time she joined him in the kitchen.

He looked up when she entered and the smile in his eyes was even brighter than the one that pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Sleeping Beauty has awakened," he teased.

A half-smile formed and she covered her eyes with her hand, peering through her fingers at him. "Oh, Richard, I am mortified! I had no intention of—… And I know how it must have looked—… And I'm … I'm sorry." She averted her eyes, her cheeks flushing crimson.

He simply grinned, enjoying the sight of her flustered. "Did you find whatever it was you were looking for?"

She rolled her eyes - his influence was having an effect upon her - and allowed her own smile to widen. How he loved to watch her squirm! "It was cold here today, what with the rain, and the cardigan you lent me was nowhere to be found."

"It's at the hospital," he said simply, abandoning the food preparation and moving toward her.

"Pardon?" She regarded him curiously, then appreciatively as his arm encircled her waist.

"Hanging on the back of the supply closet door. Don't you remember? Last Thursday afternoon we were called in while you were here and you wore it over. Left it hanging on the hook after you got warm." Gazing at her, he brought a hand to her face to smooth the hair at her temple. "Are you warm now?" he nearly whispered, and the sound of it - and the nearness of him - made her stomach flip. Surely he hadn't intended those words the way she heard them. His courtship of her thus far had been nothing but chaste.

She swallowed before answering. "I am rather." She looked into his eyes and willed him to see what she felt. Sufficient time had passed that she had begun to wonder about a future in which he was her husband. When she had first felt it, nothing had surprised her more. Reginald had admonished her to find happiness after he was gone. He'd said she had far too much love to give to spend her life alone. She had promised him she would, but one makes all manner of promises when one is in love. Never had she supposed there would be another man to whom she would lose her heart, but Richard was not just any man.

"That's good." This time he did whisper, and she felt upon her lips the puff of breath that issued from his.

A sibilant, "Ohh," issued from her lips as his mouth descended upon hers and her hands made their way to his shoulders. His kiss was thorough as he opened her mouth with his, and she answered him with a sweep of her tongue across his lower lip. Encouraged by the sweet, sultry little sounds she made in the back of her throat he deepened the kiss, bringing a hand to the back of her head to hold her to him, and they remained that way for long moments. Gradually the kisses became softer again and she came to rest with her head on his shoulder as she toyed with the collar of his shirt and his hands fell to her hips.

"I'll take that to mean you're not cross with me, then," she quipped, lifting her head to smile up at him.

"Forgiven," he replied with a grin and another press of his lips to hers. "Now, come. I've put together a bit of supper and was just about to wake you. Let's eat while it's still warm." He gestured for her to sit down at the table and brought her a bowl of beef stew - perfect on a cold evening such as this.

"You're far too good to me, Richard. I've just spent the entire day in your home whilst you worked and now you're bringing supper to the table. I ought to be ashamed!"

He eyed her with all sincerity as he sat down across from her. "No, you oughtn't." She gaped at him, and for half a beat he allowed himself to enjoy her perplexity before elaborating. "You're healing, Isobel. And you've come remarkably far. But Rome wasn't built in a day, and if you're not going to ease up on yourself then I will."

Unable to speak, she laid her hand on top of his where it rested on the table, her mind reeling. Who was this man, and what sort of love had she found herself in?

You're gonna love me like nobody's loved me
Come rain or come shine
We'll be happy together, unhappy together
Now won't that be just fine
- Ray Charles, "Come Rain or Come Shine"