A/N: Hello hello! I'd hoped to get this chapter written yesterday, but my brain decided to shut down on me and I had to go to bed at an unprecedented 9.30pm after having written 600 words since 1pm. It was more co-operative today, and so here you are!

I'm beyond thrilled with your kind responses so far for this fic. Thank you so much! I'm SO intrigued to hear your thoughts, particularly as it goes on - so thank you :) And thanks of course to EOlivet for her usual and sparkling polish and encouragement! I also MUST mention Serena89's boundless and very touching enthusiasm, and Tripp3235's support and inspiration, and - you're all darlings!

I very much hope you enjoy... Onwards!

Chapter Four

What had they been arguing about? Matthew could barely remember… He could barely remember anything, even the simplest of facts or concepts scattering from his fogged mind as all sense was driven out by Mary's relentless kiss.

Oh, yes, he thought, as her fingers clutched into his hair sent his hat toppling to the stone floor, her lips hungrily taking possession of his own as their bodies pressed together. Jealousy. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one that he didn't like, one that made him frustrated for even feeling it in the first place but… Slowly, and very definitely, he felt it seeping out from him with every sweep of Mary's tongue against his own. The heat of jealousy was being driven out, replaced with an ache of desire so strong he found himself gasping into her mouth.

Mary felt gloriously helpless and powerful all at the same time, in an intoxicating balance. As they staggered back together with grasping, searching hands, nipping teeth, sipping lips, sinking yieldingly under his weight onto the stone bench that encircled the little space, she realised with a powerful jolt how different this was. At the same time as his kisses seemed somehow wonderfully familiar, there was a newness about this – an exhilarating realisation that all games were off, now. For all she'd teased him… As he groaned into her mouth when she writhed up against his hips, the sharp jolt of desire that seared through her signalled that this was… not about power any more, or dominance, or getting some sort of… hold over him. She wanted him… and that was it. She recognised that ache, now, the ache that was building and building the more and the harder he kissed her… and she knew how to satisfy it, and she wanted him to. She knew that he felt it, knew how she might relieve it in him, and the very thought sent chills sweeping down her spine.

He kissed her, as deeply as he could possibly manage, and urgently, fearing that if he allowed this headiness to abate for even a moment he would remember every reason why they must not… Oh, but he couldn't think of it now! She was choosing him… How could she have any intention towards another, how could it cross her mind to be with another, to love another, when they could be together like this… Arousal speared in his belly as he lowered his mouth to her neck, instinctively searching out more and more of her precious skin. When he encountered the hinderance of her blouse, and… even as he teased that open with shaking fingers, her corset, he lowered his mouth to her still-covered breast and groaned in frustration, settling instead to scrape his teeth over, making her yelp with desire, leaving his hand there in a firm and knowing caress as his lips returned to hers.

"God, Mary…" he moaned quietly against her lips, feeling her grin in response as she kissed him, and again, and again. They were lost… Though it was hardly the most comfortable of circumstances, nor the warmest, such things didn't occur to them, their coats and heavier outer garments shed regardless. When Matthew's lips descended again to the top of Mary's chest, where her blouse lay open and exposing a tantalising glimpse of her silken skin, he noticed the gentle rise of goose-pimples scattering over her flesh and felt the way her body trembled.

He shifted up to bring himself level with her eyes again, and whispered, "You're shivering…"

"I'm not cold." She answered with the most breathtaking, tremulous smile that was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen. His eyes lowered darkly to her lips and an incomprehensible noise escaped the back of his throat, as her arms draped around his neck to pull him down again into another heated, blistering kiss.

They kissed as though to do so might satiate that fire of arousal, but their ministrations only stoked it, and more with every gasp and little sound from their lips. It was not enough, and so only moments more before Matthew's hand lowered, raising himself labouredly over her to find the hem of her dress. The motion of his searching fingers over her stocking-clad legs tugged it up, and up, till it had bunched around her thighs and…

"Oh God, tell me to stop," he groaned helplessly as his fingers glanced in a feather-light brush over hot, damp silk, and she bucked up against him. He had no power to stop himself, there was nothing left within him that could muster it, only her demand.

She moaned as she felt his fingers hover there again, and she squirmed to push her hips down, to reach him, to assuage the fierce ache within.

"But I…" she whispered breathlessly to his lips, "I don't want you to –"

It was all the encouragement Matthew needed to slip his fingers beneath the silk, and he shuddered as she cried out. How could she, or either of them, think of consequences when he was doing… that? Another, louder, cry wrenched from her lips at the pressure from Matthew's hand, and he watched her in adoring fascination. He'd never thought… never dreamed that it could be this way, that he could give her such pleasure in such a manner, and it simply did not occur to him to stop so long as she responded so exquisitely beautifully. He bent his head and kissed her, felt her hands clutch his back with shaking, desperate fingers, carried on moving his own fingers back and forth over (God, and within) her… breathless and panting himself with delight as her hips shuddered under his hand, and more, and more, until they arched up desperately to the sound of her loud, splintering cry muffled only by his own mouth.

He only stopped when her fingers curled around his wrist, and he opened his eyes to see her flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered, and leaned up to kiss him deeply in a sort of thanks as her hands searched between them for the fastening of his trousers, anxious that he might share an ounce of the pleasure that had just ripped through her. He shifted a little to ease her task, and within moments his mind clouded as he thrust deeply into her.

For a second the sharpness of the sensation paralysed him, until slowly he began to move within her. She clung to him, and lifted her hips to meet him, encouraging him with every gasping moan. Dizzy with arousal, his lips pressed to her hot neck as he thrust again, and faster, and faster, desperate to relieve the ache that was so strong now it was nearly painful. Mary found her own desire had not abated, but only magnified by this different sensation (and so different from the time before, with his weight so deliciously above her), and she instinctively clenched her legs around his waist to draw him deeper. Though the rough stone ached beneath her back she thrust desperately up against him as he drove into her, again and again, and faster, until their movements and their raw cries of pleasure fused together so purely and with such intensity she felt she might almost pass out. Her nails dug into his dampened shoulders as she suddenly stiffened and throbbed in blinding ecstasy, her helpless moan ringing louder and louder until Matthew's own climax followed only moments later, and he bit back a yell into her shoulder as he shuddered in her arms.

They were silent, and motionless beyond the rise and fall of their chests as they drew in shaky, calming breaths. Slowly, the world settled around them, it stopped spinning, and they became aware once more of it. Of rough, cold stone, icy air, sweat-dampened silk and cotton against cooling skin. Mary shivered, and this time Matthew did not ask before pulling his own jacket under her shoulders and around her, curling his arms under her back as he smiled down at her and kissed her softly.

He loved her. He was sure of it now, so sure… And he would marry her in a moment. Now that they'd fallen for the second time, and so eagerly (had either of them resisted it, really?), the idea of not marrying her was simply… impossible, and not only for propriety's sake. She was perfect, she had given her answer… She had chosen him. Only, even with his pleasure-fogged brain, Matthew was dimly aware that he could not ask her now, not in this moment. He must ask her with a clear mind, and she must answer with one, not like this. That, at least, he could do properly – as propriety seemed to have escaped them so far. Maybe tomorrow… Or the weekend, or sometime very soon… he must ask her to be his wife.

Similar thoughts occurred to Mary, as she hung her arms around his neck and met his lips gently with her own. She was happy, so blissfully happy, despite any latent discomfort from their position… and she did wonder, if he were to ask her now (as she thought honestly for a moment that he might), what her answer would be. She couldn't answer him… Why should they have to marry, what had changed? She liked him, so very much; that at least she could admit to herself now. But they still had time, or at least she hoped they did… Plenty of time. For now, the pure satisfaction of lying sated in his arms seemed more than enough, as well as the distant pleasure of smiling knowingly at him across a crowded room with not another soul aware of their secret. She had given herself to him willingly and… the thought made her quite perfectly happy.

Eventually, discomfort won out, and they shakily rose to their feet. They rearranged and replaced their clothes, and maintained a careful distance. When Matthew glanced out of their cold stone haven in the temple, he saw that dusk was falling fast.

"I should walk you back to the house," he murmured.

"Yes, alright." Mary smiled graciously at him and took his arm. They did not speak any more about their relationship; they could not, now. "Then you can always have the car to take you back to Crawley House –"

"No, I don't want to be any trouble. I think I could use the walk, in any case."

He kissed her softly on the cheek, and they made their way back to the rest of the world.

When he left her at the door, after pressing a lingering kiss to her hand and a weighted "Goodnight," Mary went quickly inside and up to her bedroom to dress for dinner.

"Where've you been?" Edith wandered in as Anna was lacing up Mary's corset, with Sybil following behind. Both had been ready for some time already.

Mary rolled her eyes. "I was taking a walk. Is that quite alright?" She hoped her blush was not too obvious, considering her state of undress, at the thought of what a truthful answer should have been.

"It's awfully cold," Edith snipped. "Especially if you hadn't bothered to dress properly for it –"

"I think the cold's quite refreshing," Sybil chirped. Mary smiled gratefully at her youngest sister.

"Exactly, darling."

There was silence for a minute or two, until Edith rather dramatically stated; "I saw Cousin Matthew leaving earlier. I didn't know he'd been here." She flicked restlessly at the pages of a book on Mary's dresser.

"Well why should you," Mary retorted. "It isn't as though he came to see you."

"I don't see why you suppose he wouldn't be!" Edith raised her eyebrows, feeling smug that this time she actually had something to back up her claim with. "Perhaps Cousin Matthew and I get on better than you think."

Mary's entire head upper body seemed to roll in derision of her sister, prompting Sybil to giggle behind her hand.

"Really…" she drawled scathingly. Oh, if only Edith knew… If only she could tell her just how well she herself got on with Matthew, how he had called out her name in ecstasy, how his body had writhed in time with hers… Edith's notion was barely worth a reply. "I hardly think –"

"Really!" Edith cut back, undeterred. "In fact I'm going out with him on Saturday, just the two of us, to look around the churches in the area. He seemed quite keen, you know."

"What?" Mary whirled round, causing Anna to exclaim quietly as the corset ribbons slipped from her grasp, but Mary didn't even notice. "He's going with you to look at churches?"

"Yes! Cousin Isobel mentioned his interest, so I took advantage of the opportunity and Matthew was very willing to set a date as soon as possible. Why; did you – imagine some claim on him yourself?" Edith replied scornfully, rising to Mary's shock.

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous. You know I have bigger fish to fry; believe me, you are quite, quite welcome to Cousin Matthew," she snapped. Inside, she was reeling.

How dare he! How could he… lie with her, as he had, how could he have been with her in such a way, and all the time with these plans to see Edith… And alone? Look what had happened when they had been alone, looking around an isolated structure of old stone… Beyond that; what had happened nearly every time they had been alone together! He had fallen readily enough to her charms, that first afternoon when she'd launched each of her charms at him; oh, Edith had nothing of her skill in such an area but really, she had no idea how weak Matthew may or may not be… And she knew very well that Edith was going with the intention of seduction. Oh, not in the same way, but… she meant to entice him, to get him on-side, and Matthew was so obliging and earnest that he wouldn't – or would he? Had his seduction of her been only a ploy, a game? Mary shuddered as she realised how little she actually knew Matthew. She had thought she did, certainly pretty well by now, but… had there really been any depth to anything they'd shared? She felt mildly sick, and hot with anger and insult.

She barely listened when Sybil questioned Edith a little more on it; which churches she planned to show him and such. Mary wearily flung barbs at Edith, feeling betrayed and irritable. And Matthew had dared to question her friendship with Evelyn! To pretend to be jealous of it when all the while he had planned this… It stung bitterly, and Mary didn't at all like the feeling, after she'd given everything to him.

Their mother came in, wittering about the hunt. Some foreign diplomat, as if Mary could care, now!

"And Mary?" Cora dragged her eldest daughter's attention from wherever it had skittered. "You will ride out with them!"

"Oh, Mama, must I?" she sighed angrily, her entire body reeling with annoyance as Anna closed the ties on her dress. The very last thing she wanted now was to go on the hunt while Matthew was… with Edith. Not that she'd rather go with them but… Oh, she hardly knew! Her protests made not the slightest difference to her mother's determination. She was going, it seemed, while Matthew was left alone to Edith's devices. The very thought of what they had done together only a short hour or two ago held no sentiment, now; the very thought and memory of Matthew only riled her all evening, and by the time she went to bed early, claiming a headache, the whole thing had stirred so wildly in her mind that she felt hot with anger at him, and at herself for being so weak as to give herself up to him.

That night, as she slept, thoughts of Matthew and Edith plagued her dreams. Perhaps it was irrational; but then some other part of her mind told her that she had no reason to believe it was not. They were in a church, Matthew was commenting on some aspect of the stonework that Edith didn't care a jot about, she approached him… and suddenly it had morphed to the small Etruscan temple, the stone bench, scattered clothes, taunting hands… She awoke in a cold sweat, sitting up sharply and panting in the moonlight, the fire died down to embers. Her throat was dry, and she went to her vanity and poured a glass of water from the jug there, taking a sip to soothe it and clear her head. She tried to sleep again, but still her dreams were haunted, and in them she was weak and pined for him…

By the time morning had dawned, Mary was irritable and, if possible, even angrier than Matthew than when she had gone to bed. She was unable to properly sort reality from her dreams, yet, and so the only thought in her mind was that he had chosen Edith over her to spend his day with on Saturday and now she must join the meet on the hunt and there was nothing she could do about it. And she was angry with herself for wanting to do something about it, for wanting Matthew for herself, because… they held no claim on each other! Or so it seemed, they did not, if he sought to go accepting any invitation a woman threw at him!

Determined to confront him, she picked at her breakfast and forced a small plate down without a word before walking quickly to Crawley House. Isobel answered the door, to Mary's surprise.

"I wondered if Matthew was in," she said without preamble. "There was something I rather wanted to talk with him about."

Isobel peered at the young woman in confusion. Matthew had mentioned seeing her yesterday on his return, and had been in such a state of euphoria the rest of the evening that she'd half wondered if he hadn't something to announce, considering his questioning earlier in the week. But… no, there had been nothing; and now she could see no fondness in Mary's eyes. Well… their matters were their own.

"I'm afraid he's at work," she answered quickly.

"Oh. Of course he is, how silly of me," Mary shook her head briskly. His damned job! How had she forgotten that! The fact added itself to the list of grievances building in her mind against him.

"He'll be back by six o'clock, I know; his train from Ripon usually gets in at half past five. But I'm sorry you've missed him now; if you'd like some tea –"

"No, thank you, I won't." It took an effort for Mary to remember the most basic of manners and smile politely. "If you'll excuse me I must get on – I'm sure I'll see Matthew later."

Isobel nodded, and smiled. "Alright. I'll let him know you called, when he arrives. I'm sure he'll be glad to know."

"Thank you. Goodbye," she smiled tightly and whisked back up the driveway with Isobel's own farewell ringing in her ears.

In the village, Mary sat quickly on a bench, trying to calm herself. If she had felt indignant before, it now burned even greater at her own stupidity for forgetting about his worthless occupation. She hated the fact that she was so angry about him. What was Cousin Matthew to her, that she should care so much about him visiting some churches with her sister? When she forced herself to wonder it, she only felt worse, for she did not want to admit how much she cared for him.

All day, such thoughts spun around her mind, no matter what she tried to do to distract herself. She was not used to feeling so helplessly about someone beyond herself, and she didn't like it one bit. And a part of her hated Matthew for making her feel this way, and while she knew that it was irrational she simply… could not help it.

Well before half past five, she walked to the train station at the other side of the village, relishing the way the cold wind whipped past her ears. She hardly knew what she wanted to say to him, or quite what she expected him to do; she only knew that she was not happy with him and that he had better say exactly the right things to appease her or… or… she didn't even know, but by the time the train drew in with a puff of smoke and she saw him step down onto the platform, she was almost physically trembling with irritation at him which only increased when he had the audacity to… smile broadly at her in greeting.

TBC

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'd be very, very curious to know your thoughts on the developments in this chapter - I admit, in my wonderments of this entire scenario I've surprised myself many times over with how I find M/M reacting to things. I always love hearing what you think, and its a great honour to do so - so if you feel so inclined, please do let me know your thoughts! Until next time! :)