A/N: I'm on a roll! This story seems to want to see the light of day very badly and the characters have taken a life of their own and drag me along with them for the ride. They haven't even let me eat or sleep properly over the weekend and I had vastly different plans how to spend it! Do your hear me, Mary, Matthew? Of course not, they're too busy with their own problems to mind me.

Really, I have no idea, how to go about that I end up where I want, when I don't have their cooperation. At this rate, I will have Matthew become a frustrated and bitter miner in South Africa and Mary married to Sir Anthony! Hhm, he could make a fortune and return to a widowed Mary after the war, Downton in shambles because Robert invested all the money into a pre-Ponzi scheme... I see potential here... NOOOOO! *argh* That is NOT what I want for them! Besides, it wouldn't fit in with my Downtonverse. Well, we'll see how this will turn out. *sigh*

Funny thing on the side: When I looked up the white-tie dress code and the proper names for the parts, I was directed to a site that showed Hugh Bonneville as Lord Grantham in white-tie as example. Life's a joke! Anyway, the site was a great help along with me closely watching Matthew and Robert Crawley dress in 3X01 ;-), because I always thought that the gentlemen wore some kind of starched bib, which looks kind of ridiculous, when they lounge about and it bulges.

The sad thing is that this little anecdote of writing and researching for a story, will probably the only part of this chapter you will find remotely amusing. Actually, I can't remember ever writing something so dark or sad. Oh, I upgraded this chapter to a T just to be on the safe side. But 'nough ranting for now and let's go on with the show! I'm rather hungry by now!

"No! NEVER! There will never be another girl for me. I know that!" he exclaimed passionately. What could he do to make her stay? She mustn't leave. He wouldn't permit it. His eyes searched wildly and desperately for a way out, glanced over Mary and arrested at the large piece of furniture behind her. There was his solution and his mouth curled up in a smile.

Mary gasped and backed away until the back of her knees hit her bed. She knew this look. She knew what it meant. Because she had seen it once before: on the face of Kamal Pamuk.

Smiling in a way Matthew hoped was seductive he took a step towards her while shrugging off his tailcoat. It fell unnoticed by them onto the floor.

Really, the solution was as brilliant as pleasurable and so very easy. He'd seduce Mary, make a grand confession to Robert the following morning, who would in turn immediately insist on marrying them off to each other, after he had finished shouting at him and calling him the worst scoundrel in the whole of England and another half dozen little flattering names, that is. But their union was far too desired by the family for them to stay angry for long. And Mary would have to stay and marry him, instead of making her silly idea of a year-long separation come true. Problem solved!

His white waistcoat fell to the floor with his next step.

Mary was frozen to the spot. This could not be happening again. She felt like screaming or at least moving, but her brain's rapid firing of commands to move her legs or to open her mouth didn't reach their destinations. Helplessly she saw her predator approach, shedding one piece of clothing after another.

He toed off his shoes. One... after... the... other... with every step he took towards her.

Why didn't come somebody in? Surely she was missed by now? Where was Anna?

NOOOOO, she screamed in her head. But no sound left her body.

YEEESSSS, he shouted in his fogged mind. His darling looked wide-eyed at him and her breath came fast. His hands gripped her waist to lift her up a little and throw her onto the middle of her bed. Immediately he followed her on all fours, until he was crouched over her. He took her limp hand and whispered in her ear "come, help me get this off". But Mary's fingers refused to pull at his white-tie. In fact, her face was a rigid mask of terror. Oh, his poor Mary. He called himself twenty kinds of an idiot. OF COURSE, she was terrified. She probably didn't know what was happening! OF COURSE, she couldn't know, if she was in love or in lust with him. She had no reference to compare her feelings to. Well, he would take his time, the whole night, to teach her the difference and let her come slowly to the realisation that she loved him as much as he loved her. He caressed her cheek and bent down again to whisper against her mouth "Oh, darling, don't be afraid. I promise, I will be very gentle with you."

He tried to kiss her but she turned her head away.

"Nooooo..." Mary gasped. Finally, she could move again. Immediately she began to struggle against him and tried to push him off. "Get off me!" she cried out.

"Mary? What's wrong?" Matthew was confused. Why was she pushing him away? Didn't she want him, too? Hadn't she returned his kisses with equal passion and depth mere minutes ago? He let himself be pushed away and sat down next to her.

"I don't want this. Leave me alone, Matthew!" She began to cry. "Go away." she begged.

"Mary, I..." Tentatively he reached out to her, but she curled away from him. He let his hand drop next to her back. "Mary, I'm sorry." Listening to her sobs, he felt like crying, too. How could he have misread the situation so much? And what had he been thinking earlier! Ruining her on purpose so she had no recourse but to marry him?! Had he completely lost his mind? His imagination helpfully supplied a picture of Crawley House.

But it wasn't any longer Tudorian. It resembled a dark and damp dungeon, a cage Mary lived in that was dominated by a gigantic bed. Her wedding band, worn by every generation of Crawley brides since his great-great-grandfather had put it on the finger of his bride Louise Tavernier-du Plessis in 1796, morphed into manacles that chained her to it. And every day when he would return home from work she expected him on the bed in a diaphanous nothing. He saw himself approach her, coated in scales, dragging a horned tail behind him that was swishing in anticipation, saliva dripping down his chin and sporting a phallus a foot long and thick like a post. And he would push into her, while she lifelessly turned her head away towards the metal-grilled window high up in the wall – her only source of freedom and unreachable.

He was a monster, mindless, conscienceless and entirely driven by his unholy needs. If he could, he would have torn off the flesh between his legs this instant.

"God, Mary, please forgive me. I'm so, so sorry. If you wish, I will never touch you again. Never even talk to you again." He moved off the bed and promptly got sick. Pressing a hand against his mouth he stumbled over his waistcoat, dragging it along to reach Mary's washbowl barely in time. Bending over it, he heaved. But his body didn't grant him relief, but a bit of bile that he spit out. He looked up into the mirror, but couldn't meet his own gaze.

On the bed Mary turned around, when she heard him being sick. Their gaze met in the mirror and immediately another dry heave wrecked his body. Drying her tears with a corner of her feather bed, she sat up, watched him silently for a couple of moments more.

What a strange animal love is she wondered. By all means she should loathe and hate him. But she couldn't, not when he looked like he loathed and hated himself enough for the both of them. Instead a strange sort of compassion welled up in her. He was no Kamal Pamuk, even if she had thought so for a moment, when she had seen his face above her instead of Matthew's. She stood up and walked up to him. Hesitantly she reached out to him.

Matthew twirled around. "Don't touch me!" he nearly shouted, backing away from her towards the door and held out his arm to keep her away. "Don't come near me. You're not safe with me."

Mary crouched down to pick up his clothes, shaking them out, when she stood again. Thank God that the tailcoat was black. One had to look very carefully to see its creases, but the waistcoat was beyond saving for the night.

Matthew watched her aghast. What was she doing? How could she even stand to touch his clothes?

"Here." She held them out to him, waiting patiently for him to come nearer. He practically snatched them out of her hand before he withdrew again into his corner by the door, shrugging them hastily on, but didn't button them up.

"Your shoes." She pointed downwards next to her with a calm and soothing voice. He waited for her to step away, but she held her spot. Eventually he had no other choice but to walk over to her again. Being careful to keep a distance as wide as possible to her, he angled his foot to reach for them and drag them towards him.

"Matthew, stop being ridiculous. Nothing happened after all." She admonished quietly. His mouth dropped open. Nothing happened? NOTHING happened when he almost r... well, he couldn't even say it in his mind.

"How can you say that?"

"I can say it, because it's the truth. I'm not angry with you."

"How can you not...after what I did?" No matter how hard he tried, his mind couldn't grasp the situation.

"So what did you do, hmh? You threw me onto my bed and tried to kiss me. And when I said no, you stopped IMMEDIATELY. Matthew, you stopped! That's the important thing. And this is why I'm not angry with you or hate you or whatever. And I forgive you. Truly, I do."

She looked so sincere that he couldn't help but believe her. He was so relieved, he could have wept. She was the most incredible girl he had ever met. He felt some kind of lurch deep inside him and was convinced he had never loved her more than he did right this instant.

"Mary, I can't even... How can I make it up to you?"

"By smoothing out your clothes, combing your hair and going down to entertain our guests. We've been gone already far too long. One of us has to make an appearance or we will be in so much trouble, you can't even begin to imagine it. For obvious reasons I can't go. But you can. You must! And Matthew, no matter what, you have to act normally. Go and find Elli. She'll help you, I would imagine."

Reluctantly he nodded and slipped into his shoes.

"Mary...I..."

"Go!"

He turned to leave. When he reached the door, he saw her ring for Anna. Sharing a last glance with her and a weak smile, he left to go into his room. For a second he debated to call for Moseley, but decided against it. The less people knew how he spent the last half of an hour the better. He quickly changed into a new waistcoat and combed his hair. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself. For Mary he would go down and be a most gracious host. It took only two attempts to settle his smiling and charming heir facade into place and fix it there, hiding how upset he truly felt.

"Sybil!"

The belle of the ball looked up and smiled at her cousin coming down from upstairs.

"Matthew, I don't think you've properly met Larry Grey before. He's the son of Lord Merton, Mary's godfather and a great art expert and when I told him we have a new Turner in our library, he expressed his ardent wish to see it."

"In the middle of the night? I see. Well, Mr. Grey, if you follow me, I'm happy to show you Turner's 'Yarmouth'. I'm curious what a knowledgeable art expert like you thinks of it compared to the original in the Tate Gallery. Sybil, you best go back before you're missed."

"But Matthew..."

He arched his left eyebrow commandingly and she flushed.

"Larry, if you would excuse me." She glanced downwards modestly before she left the gentlemen in front of the library door.

"Mr. Grey, in here, if you please." Blocking the hall towards the ball-room Matthew left Larry Grey no choice but to enter the library. Matthew closed the door behind them and turned on the gas lights and the painting flared up in an explosion of orange and yellow.

"Well?"

Flustered the younger man made a show to look at it from the door, then stepping closer from various angles and finally walked up it to inspect it closely.

"I'd say it's remarkable. The colours, the stroke of the brush..." Larry's false enthusiasm crumbled under Matthew's challenging stare for a moment, before he straightened and smirked at his host.

"So you caught me out. Sybil is a sweet and lively girl. Sue me, isn't that what lawyers like you do, that is if Mother permits it?"

Matthew ignored the jibe at him and his mother. He was immune to it by now and usually the sons or grandsons of the aristocracy, young and untouched by life, tried to mark their territory in such a way. And that Isobel Crawley wasn't the most popular among the society ladies was equally nothing new to the family. He loved his mother dearly, but her frankness and her nature to voice her opinion on every topic imaginable, whether it was wished for or not, especially when she felt passionate about something hadn't exactly endeared her to them.

"Yes, Lady Sybil is a sweet and caring girl. Also very trusting and innocent. If you have honourable intentions, you call on her in the next few days. For now I suggest you leave and I will make your excuses to your father and Lord Grantham."

"Oh, come on, Crawley, get off your high horse. Considering the sorry state of your tailcoat and trousers and that neither you or Lady Mary have been seen for quite some time now, it stands to reason you have been doing some admiring of the Beaux Arts of your own. Congratulations on your sturdy heart. Not all live to tell the tale as we all know. I reckon the cool lady must be a real firecracker, once she gets going. And how she managed to keep her affair with the Turk hidden from her poor parents for years... well, she is surely to be commended alone on that account. But don't you worry, unlike some, I know how to keep it a secret, if you keep mine and not mention anything to his Lordship. On the other hand, it would all stay within the family. This time at least. Good evening, Crawley."

Matthew didn't turn, when Larry Grey saw himself out. He didn't even notice the inappropriate pat on the shoulder. In fact he didn't notice anything for a good long while, until someone was shaking him rather violently. He jerked and blinked. Eleanor observed him with a concerned eye.

"What's wrong?" She busied herself with the small bar and returned with a liberal amount of whiskey in a tumbler. "Here, you look as if you need it. What happened? You're white as a sheet. Did you speak with Mary?"

Matthew took the glass out of her hand and swirled the content around with a gentle move of his hand. Eventually he knocked it back in one gulp. Eleanor's brows raised and she got positively alarmed, when he laughed out harshly.

"Oh, yes, I spoke with Mary. But apparently not enough. If you excuse me, Elli, I think Mary and I have some more talking to do."

Almost rudely he pushed her aside. "Oh, and when you see our parents, tell them Mary has a headache and retired and I've drunk too much and need to sleep it off or tell them whatever you like."

"Matthew?" Now she was downright worried. She followed him out and watched him storm up the stairs. "MATTHEW!" she repeated loudly but it faded away unheard. For a moment she debated, if she should follow him, but she had met Anna on her way upstairs to see to Lady Mary's needs. She trusted the part-time ladies maid to keep things under control. Nevertheless she felt anxious. Had Matthew learnt somehow about Pamuk from a third party?

Upon entering the ball-room she met with Lady Grantham who looked worried.

"Eleanor, have you seen my daughter? Mary, I mean."

"She's already retired. You may have noticed that she felt rather under the weather the entire evening."

Cora nodded distracted. To be honest, she hadn't paid much attention to Mary this evening, being more concerned about Sybil's success and Edith's usual lack of admirers. It wasn't as if her middle daughter was devoid of charms, but somehow she usually simply faded into the background compared to her sisters' charisma and sheer presence, when one of them were nearby. While she had received great many compliments for Sybil, there had been no talk of a more "advancing" nature and Cora was deathly afraid that Mary's now widely-rumoured misbehaviour had rather a lot to do with it. Lord Grantham joined them.

"Cora, Lady Eleanor, have you seen Matthew? I'd like to introduce him to Baron Featherstonaugh, but I can't find him anywhere in this crowd."

Sybil came by and heard the question.

„Oh, Matthew's in the library with Larry."

"Actually, they've left already. I met them in the hallway. I'm afraid the poor man is in need of some assistance to find his way home."

"But when I..." Sybil grimaced, when she felt her sister's friend step onto her toes and a glare from her convinced her that it might be prudent to keep quiet for the time being, even if she didn't understand what the fuss was about and why Larry was suddenly supposed to be drunk, when he had been minutes ago appeared to be quite sober, when he had talked with her.

Lord Grantham was disappointed. „That's a real pity. His Lordship is very eager to meet our young man. You know his cousin is a trusted advisor for John Burns. At least Matthew is responsible enough to see Larry home." And pride for his son-at-heart shone through his eyes. "Well, which of the lovely ladies in front of me would grant me the next dance?" he asked gallantly.

Anna had helped Lady Mary change into her nightwear and was brushing her silky long hair, when the door banged open and Matthew stepped in uninvited. Anna almost dropped the brush.

"Anna, would you leave us for a moment?"

"Matthew!" Mary was quite startled.

"Now!" Matthew's usual warm baritone had become icy and he held the door wide open for her.

Anna raised her chin. „I think that's for Lady Mary to decide, Mr. Crawley." She held his gaze with a pounding heart and weakened knees. Never had she seen the sweet and gentle heir of his Lordship so angry that he frightened her, but she would not leave her mistress.

"Anna, it's alright. Please leave us for a moment." Mary asked her. Their eyes met in the mirror over Mary's head and Anna nodded reluctantly.

"I will wait right outside, milady." She addressed rather Matthew than Mary, when she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Covering her nervousness Mary picked up the brush began to attend to her hair. When she felt she was in control, she met his furious gaze in the mirror.

"My, this is already the second time today for you to be found in my room. That becomes quite a habit of yours."

But her attempt to make light of the situation fell spectacularly flat.

"What happened to Pamuk?" He cut to the chase.

"Why, he's dead."

"Don't play games with me, Mary" he ground out. "Or shall I ask where exactly the Turk died and if he was alone?"

So he did know, and the only recourse she had left was to come clean with Matthew. It had been ludicrous to think even for one minute she or they could hide it from him. Besides she owed him the truth. Only she would have rather told him on her own terms. She stood up and walked a few steps towards him.

"In my bed. But let me expl..."

But Matthew's rueful laughter cut her off.

"And to think that I wanted to teach you earlier the difference between love and lust. Well, I couldn't have made much more of a fool out of myself if I tried, hmh?"

Mary was at a loss for words. How could she convey to him what it meant to her that he liked, maybe even loved her enough to have wanted to try?

"Did you love him very much?" He tried to understand. Perhaps a bride had waited for him in Istanbul, pre-arranged by his family? If Mary and that man had been secretly in love with each other for years, oh how much must she have suffered then? Not even being allowed to mourn him properly and he had pushed in at such a time. How very unwanted his feelings must be for her. Of course she would want a year apart, a year to mourn her beloved properly. And to think how her family pressured them into marriage! Oh God, had they known?! Is this why they pushed and shoved them at each other at every opportunity? Was he chosen to be sacrificed to make Mary respectable again? Suddenly actions of the past looked very much different in the new light. Was this why he and his mother had been welcomed with open arms by Lord Grantham? Was she the worm in the sweet apple that he needed to swallow to get Downton?

"Of course I didn't! Matthew, it was nothing but lust... a need for excitement... a stupid act of rebelliousness, if you want."

Matthew gaped open-mouthed at her. It was as if he suddenly saw a completely new woman in front of him or as if he suddenly saw her clearly for what she was for the first time ever. Edith was right, but he had never wanted to listen to all the warnings he had received or to the unkind rumours in the village. In fact he had pushed them deliberately aside, preferring to think that only he knew the true Mary, that she was misunderstood by and large. Hadn't it stroked and pleased his ego to no end? My God, he truly was a fool!

"Lust? You carried on with him for YEARS and you say it was nothing but lust?!" He recoiled.

"What? What are you talking about? It was one night, Matthew! And he died before anything really happened between us. Mama and Anna helped me carry him back into his own bed."

"I can't deal with this."

Nothing made sense anymore. The last couple of hours, no weeks, he had been emotionally tossed around and was now on the end of his tether. He turned on his heel and walked out without so much of a glance or a good night.

Emotionally and physically drained Mary let Anna gently braid her hair and wished her quietly good night. Had she lost Matthew tonight forever?

tbc