Previously:
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2015
"Our first Valentine's Day together," he beamed. "Are you looking forward to tonight?"
Mary gave him a small smile. God, he did look gorgeous. Even in the glow of the dashboard light, his entire face was lit up with anticipation, it seemed.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I'm looking forward to all sorts of things," Matthews teased, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the kerb. "At the risk of raising the bar for myself, I think tonight will be a night you won't soon forget."
Mary turned away and looked out the window at the stately homes of St. James as Matthew eased the car towards Pall Mall.
"That it will be," she said quietly.
Chapter 10:
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2005
"I hate this," Sybil whinged folding her arms across her chest. "It's useless, isn't it?"
Mary rolled her eyes.
"Lady Sybil, this is only for your own protection, I assure you," Carson said patiently. "It is my sincere wish that you shall never have to make use of these skills, however it is imperative that you are properly trained in them, when you become old enough to learn, like your sisters before you. For now, observing what is expected of you is a proper way to become familiar with the steps and process."
"Why? We have security, don't we?" Sybil frowned.
"They aren't with us all of the time, though," Edith reminded her. "Anyway, you hate the security as well."
"I hate that we need security," Sybil corrected her sister. "I have nothing against the guards. They're just doing their jobs. But if Papa would just get us out of…"
"Sybil, honestly," Mary scolded her. "You're fifteen! You have no clue what you're talking about so quit with your crusading and just pay attention!"
Sybil glared at her older sister, but quieted down.
"Very well, Lady Edith, if you please," Carson said, gesturing towards the table.
Edith nodded and stepped forward. She picked up the gun and loaded the magazine, just as Carson had taught her. Keeping it pointed at the floor, she moved over to the shooing position and raised the gun with both hands, her left tucked under her right. Staring down the range at the target, she took in a breath, aimed and fired three quick shots before exhaling and lowering the gun. Stepping back from the shooting position, Edith engaged the safety and removed the magazine, placing the empty gun on the table.
"Your turn now, Lady Mary, whenever you're ready," Carson nodded.
Mary reached over and picked up her favourite gun. She turned and loaded the magazine as she walked to the shooting position. In one smooth motion that was markedly faster than Edith's, Mary raised the gun and fired off three shots at her target. She took a quick breath, then fired another three shots before lowering the gun and ejecting the magazine. Returning to the table, she set the gun and magazine down and stepped back next to her sisters, clasping her hands behind her and raising her chin confidently.
Carson pushed the button for the targets to be brought forward. He examined them closely as the girls waited behind him. Edith stood still, a bored expression on her face. Mary craned her neck to see the results for herself.
"Very well done, both of you," Carson said, allowing a slight note of pride to creep into his usually staid baritone as he replaced the paper targets with fresh ones. "Remember, in a real danger situation, we only want to stop an assailant long enough for security to move in and subdue him, or to escape. Always aim for the centre of the chest. Trying to hit the head or a limb increases the probability of missing. We always focus only on the target. Never look at his eyes, his hands or any other part of him besides the small square that you are aiming for. Now, again, please, and this time when the magazine is spent, quickly load another and continue for three more shots."
Sybil watched as her sisters went through their target practice. Even wearing ear protectors and goggles, she still flinched a bit with each bullet fired. Edith was mechanical and rigid, carrying out all of Carson's instructions precisely and accurately, but with deliberate and slow movements. Her sister seemed to be shooting because someone told her to and she just wanted to get it over with.
Mary, on the other hand, seemed to take to shooting with relish. As the eldest daughter, she had trained longer than Edith, and seemed more at ease and comfortable with the task. Mary went through the exercises without even thinking twice, raising the gun from her hip quickly and seamlessly. She even practised shooting one-handed, which Edith did not want to try. After each stage, Mary would glance eagerly at the targets, breaking into a smile before Carson even finished looking them over.
Eventually, Carson declared the session finished and dismissed the sisters to go back upstairs while he replaced the targets and cleaned the guns. Sybil was grateful to remove the goggles and ear protectors and leave the range behind. She bit her lip nervously as she followed her sisters down the hall and towards the stairs.
"What…what does it feel like? Shooting?" she asked carefully.
"It's awkward at first, but you get used to it," Edith replied plainly.
"Mary?" Sybil asked.
"She's right," Mary nodded. "With enough practice, it feels entirely natural and easy. Just point and pull the trigger, really."
"Do you think you could ever actually do it, though? Shoot someone? Someone in real life, I mean?" Sybil asked.
"We'll never have to do that, Sybil," Edith shook her head. "We practice to appease Papa more than anything else. You said it yourself. We have security to take care of any unpleasantness. Besides, who would ever bother targeting us?"
"It's a useful skill to know, nonetheless," Mary interjected. "And it's important to learn. A simple matter of survival. When faced with it, if it comes down to your life or someone else's, you need to be ready to do whatever is necessary. Kill, or be killed."
Sybil swallowed and hurried up the stairs with her sisters, desperate to get out of the basement and back up into the brighter rooms of the house.
L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Covent Garden, London, England, February 2015
"Please tell me that's the last course," Mary sighed, dabbing at her mouth with her linen napkin. "The lobster alone was quite enough, and I couldn't resist the sea bass, but to add the duck and foie gras as well, goodness," she shook her head, putting her napkin back across her lap.
"It was the last course," Matthew nodded, reaching out and taking her hand across the dinner table. "Before dessert, that is."
Mary laughed, finishing the rest of her red wine. She played with his fingers, rubbing his knuckles gently with her thumb. He had been taking her hand throughout the meal. He held it as he perused the menu, again when the amuse bouche and caviar were served, and now once more with their scrumptious dinner drawing to a close. Mary didn't mind. Tonight of all nights, she was determined to allow him as many indulgences as he liked.
"Did you enjoy the meal?" he asked, smiling at her.
"I believe I may have enjoyed it too much," Mary blushed, looking down demurely. "It isn't terribly ladylike to eat all these courses, and in front of my boyfriend no less. You must think me a glutton."
"My opinion of you hasn't changed after watching you eat, I assure you," Matthew laughed. "I think Sybil still has you beat. She has the metabolism of an Olympic swimmer. I don't know here she puts it all."
"Yes, but you haven't seen me take on fish and chips yet," Mary joked, looking back up at him. "It can be quite startling."
Matthew laughed and leaned forward. Mary felt a shock of excitement, wondering if he would dare kiss her in full view of the entire restaurant. Then again, they were sitting in a dark corner and everyone in the place was engrossed in their own dates. He could pull her into his lap and no one would notice.
And she probably wouldn't object.
"I'm surprised you didn't reserve us a private table," she commented idly, glancing about the room. "You usually like keeping out of view."
"I don't mind eating amongst the masses," Matthew shrugged, smiling mischievously. "Besides, it's probably better that we don't have a private room to ourselves. Far easier to behave in a public place when there are eyes upon us."
Mary arched her eyebrow at him and smirked.
"Why, Matthew Crawley," she drawled. "Are you saying you're an exhibitionist?"
"No," Matthew shook his head. "Though I could be convinced under the right circumstances."
Mary laughed and slapped his hand, withdrawing hers to a safer distance. She felt her arousal stirring from his lustful gaze and blatant innuendo. Normally she would roll her eyes and scoff at such vulgar suggestions, but after these past months with Matthew, flirting with him felt intoxicatingly dangerous and alluring all at once. It was easy to forget herself around him.
"You're full of surprises," she shook her head.
"I would say the same of you," Matthew smiled.
"How?" Mary asked lightly. "I'm hardly mysterious."
"You're mocking me, surely," Matthew chuckled. "We both know that you hate to be predictable, darling."
Mary blushed and looked down again. "And yet you're still with me," she said quietly.
"Of course," Matthew laughed. "We're a team now, you and I."
Mary looked up at him, her eyes becoming guarded and serious. "Is it that simple, Matthew?" she asked softly. "We've known each other since we were children. I've hardly treated you well over the years. Even when you arrived in London, I was horrible to you from that very first dinner. We've not had the most auspicious of beginnings compared to most couples."
"What's wrong with our beginning?" Matthew asked, surprised by her change of tone.
"It's hardly the stuff of poems and fairy tales," Mary said nervously. "That night when I…when I came to you…when I tried to seduce you…why did you insist on a relationship?"
"You know why," Matthew said easily. "I told you. I don't believe in casual sex, Mary."
"Yes, so you said," Mary nodded. "But you could have just sent me away, turned me out. Why did you want to be exclusive with me? Why even give me the option? Surely you knew that wasn't what I came to you for."
"I gathered that, yes," Matthew agreed. "I also knew we would be good together, and so I wanted the chance to show you."
"Doesn't it bother you, though?" Mary demanded. "That I came into this under false pretences?"
"Are you asking me if I'm bothered that you wanted to sleep with me before you became my girlfriend?" Matthew smiled. "I can't say I'm bothered at all that you were obsessed with my body at first, no."
Mary shook her head at his jest. Was he truly so forgiving, or just delusional?
"I just feel as though I've caught you with a lie somehow," she muttered. "That perhaps you're seeing something in me that actually isn't there."
"Such as?" Matthew asked.
"I don't know," Mary said, watching him carefully. "There's nicer women out there than me, surely."
"What makes you think that I want a nice woman?" he asked plainly.
"There are women who aren't as competitive as I am, who don't argue as much, who don't have such complicated families, and who have lives that are more normal," she continued.
"Yes, there are," Matthew nodded. "I don't see how any of that matters."
"Of course it matters, Matthew," Mary huffed. She didn't know why she shifted their formerly pleasant conversation towards this more serious and rather depressing direction, but now she couldn't stop herself. She stared at the candle on the table between them, weighing her words before proceeding.
"Wouldn't it be better if you were with someone more…more…genuine? Someone less challenging? Someone who didn't have to be convinced to be your girlfriend? Someone who was besotted with you from the start? Wouldn't that be easier for you?" she asked.
"Maybe," Matthew allowed. "But you're here with me now. We're together. Why should our past history matter so much?"
"I just don't see how you can be with me and not be suspicious as to my motives, given how I've chosen to treat you, and others, in the past," Mary sniffed.
"Why are you so concerned about how you treated me before?" Matthew asked, still smiling at her. "Isn't what you do now more important?"
"Aren't all of us stuck with the choices we make?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at him.
"Yes, that's true," Matthew nodded, appraising his wine glass thoughtfully. "If you choose to let the past control you, it shall forever be so."
"You make it all sound so easy," Mary rolled her eyes, reaching for her wine glass, then realizing it was empty, settling for her sparkling water instead.
"Mary," Matthew smiled, raising his wine glass to his lips and taking a sip before continuing. "How do you know it isn't me who has improper motives?"
"What?" she exclaimed, gulping down her water rather abruptly.
"I could be using you," Matthew said lightly. "I could be using you for sex, distracting you while I seize control of the company, pretending to want a relationship with you to ingratiate myself further to your parents, manipulating you for the sake of all manner of ruses and schemes that you don't know about."
"But you said that…" Mary frowned.
"And how do you know that I was being genuine?" Matthew asked. "Because you think me nice? What makes you so sure that I am?"
"I…" Mary hesitated. "I just…know. You would never…"
"I would never what?" Matthew asked. "Take a woman to bed and lie to her? You don't think me capable of that?"
"No," Mary shook her head, her voice gaining strength. "No, absolutely not."
"Interesting," Matthew smiled. "Well, by the same token, I don't think you capable of being with me for the past three months and not feeling something for me in return; something genuine. So, either we're both fools, or perhaps one of us is a very good liar. Are you a good liar?"
"I…" Mary swallowed. "Not at everything, apparently."
"Good, so whether we be fools or not, we are equals, regardless of how we came into this," Matthew grinned, reaching out and taking her hand again. "Now, was there anything else you felt the need to tell me, or can we get back to our date?"
Mary squeezed his hand and gave him a smile she didn't entirely feel. "I need to go freshen up," she stated.
"Don't be long, darling," Matthew said, kissing her hand before letting it go. "The dessert is specially made for two, and it would be rather embarrassing if I was alone when it was served."
She nodded and rose from her chair.
He got up out of his seat and stood by respectfully as she turned and went off in the direction of the washroom, carrying her purse at her side. Matthew watched her, not sitting back down until she disappeared from sight.
Bob Bob Ricard Restaurant, Soho, London, England, February 2015
"Thank you," Anna smiled as Alex held her coat open for her. She slid her arms into the sleeves and stood still as he wrapped the coat around her, using it as an excuse to hug her back against him for longer than was necessary.
"I think I can manage with the rest of it, Mr. Lewis," she joked after a moment, looking back up at him.
Alex laughed and finally released her. Taking her hand, he walked her out of the restaurant and down to the kerb where he handed his claim ticket to the valet.
"Right away, sir," the valet nodded, and sprinted down the pavement and around the corner.
"Oh, shit," Anna frowned, letting go of Alex's hand and searching through her coat pockets.
"What is it?" Alex asked.
"My gloves," Anna muttered. "They must have fallen out in the coat room."
"I'll go and get them. Wait here," Alex said, leaning down and kissing her cheek.
"My hero," Anna smirked.
Alex quickly went back inside.
Anna buried her hands in her pockets and turned away from the restaurant door. She looked down the street in the direction where the valet had disappeared to, waiting for him to bring Alex's car around.
She was so focused on watching out for her boyfriend's car that she did not notice the silver BMW with dark tinted windows parked a little ways down on the opposite side of the street.
London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015
"Have you got the Master Key?" he asked, holding out his hand.
"Here," she said, passing the keycard to him.
He waved it in front of the sensor and pressed the button for the 38th floor. The lift moved quickly and smoothly upward. Once they arrived, they walked briskly over to the suite. He pressed the Master Key to the panel, a pleasant chirp signalling the door unlocking.
"Hurry up," he ordered, opening the door and ushering the rest of the crew inside. "They're at dinner now. We don't have much time."
Inside the suite, they each went about their tasks, moving the furniture in the living room so they could place the small electronic boxes out of sight. After each one was positioned correctly, the technician tested them all to make sure they were functioning properly.
It took them less than an hour to finish the job. Looking around the room, he smiled in satisfaction as another member of the crew watched their time.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Perfect," he nodded. "They're all hidden and out of sight. He won't even know they're there at first glance."
"He's sure got a lot of flowers in here," she remarked, looking at all the glass vases spread out in the suite, each one filled with expensive looking floral arrangements.
"It's Valentine's Day," he shrugged. "He's probably hoping he's in for a big night when he brings her back here."
"It'll be a big night, all right," she smirked.
"Absolutely," the man laughed. "All right, let's get out of here before anyone turns up."
They left quickly and quietly, closing the door to Matthew's suite behind them and disappearing into the elevator.
L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Covent Garden, London, England, February 2015
Mary locked the stall and sat down on the covered toilet seat. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the handles of her purse, trying to slow her pulse and calm her breathing.
Everything about tonight had been perfect, and why wouldn't it be? She expected no less from Matthew. The food was delicious, the atmosphere luxurious and romantic. Their banter had been lively and delightful, save for Mary's panicked rant just now. She could only imagine what surprises lay in store for her back at his hotel room. Their first Valentine's Day as a couple was already a smashing success.
If only she didn't have to go and ruin it.
She slowly opened her purse and pulled out a small leather case. Clenching her teeth, she slowly opened the case and stared at the black Glock 36 pistol held within. Identical to the same gun she practised with at Downton Abbey. Brand new. Unused. No registration numbers. No markings. Virtually untraceable. The specially made silencer barrel sat in its moulded tray next to the gun, appearing almost elegant in its design and shape.
Mary closed the case and put it back in her purse. She closed her eyes and had to bite her fist to stop herself from gasping out loud. Her stomach lurched again and for a moment she thought her dinner might come back up. Eventually, her nausea abated, though she still felt very ill. And so she should, she thought.
She got to her feet and leaned her hand against the stall door, taking deep breaths before finally stepping out and heading over to the sink. Grateful that no one else was in the washroom with her, she splashed cold water on her face and dried herself with one of the linen hand towels placed nearby. Mary turned for the door quickly, not wanting to look at the mirror as she left the washroom and made her way back to Matthew.
Bob Bob Ricard Restaurant, Soho, London, England, February 2015
Alex came back outside and returned to Anna, smiling smugly as he reached his hand out to her.
"Thy gloves, my lady," he said formally, bowing his head and handing her the almost lost leather gloves.
"Thank you, sir," Anna said haughtily. "You may have the privilege of putting them back on my delicate hands."
Alex rolled his eyes as Anna held out her hands to him in an exaggerated dainty pose. He eased each glove back across her fingers and over her wrist. Satisfied that they were on tight, he lifted her hands to his lips, kissing her them lightly.
"There," he said, releasing her one hand and holding on to her other. "Better?"
"Much," Anna nodded, grinning at him.
They would have kept staring dumbly at each other like teenagers but for, at that precise moment, the valet pulled up to the kerb in Alex's blue Mercedes. Squeezing Anna's hand, Alex moved forward and opened the passenger's side door for her. She stepped into the now familiar seat and smiled at him as he closed her door. Circling around the front of the car, Alex glanced down the street as he walked past the valet holding the car door for him.
"Have a good evening, sir," the valet said politely.
"Same to you," Alex nodded, handing the valet a £10 note and getting in behind the steering wheel. The valet closed the driver's side door and Alex looked out the window as he fastened his seat belt.
"Where to now?" Anna asked as Alex steered the car away from the kerb.
"I thought we were going back to yours," Alex said, checking his rear-view mirror.
"You're rather eager," Anna smiled, looking out at the frosted trees of Golden Square. "Dinner's over and now you expect to take me straight to bed, do you?"
"I was rather thinking of some tea and pleasant conversation, rather," Alex smiled. "But since you brought it up…"
Anna laughed and shook her head. Alex moved his hand over and rested it on her stocking-covered thigh.
"Mind the road," she scolded him, though she did nothing to remove his hand.
Alex turned on to the A4, keeping his speed steady. He glanced in his mirror again, then returned his eyes to the road ahead.
"Anna," he said, squeezing her thigh gently to get her attention.
"Yes?" she smiled at him.
"I want you to look in your mirror," Alex said. "There's a silver BMW about twenty metres behind us on your right that has rather unusually dark tinted windows. It's been behind us on your right since we left the restaurant. Don't turn around. Just see if you can spot the number plate. The first two letters are 'ED' but I can't make out the rest without taking my eyes off the road."
Anna frowned, then glanced over at the side mirror. Alex fiddled with the electronic controls on his door and adjusted the angle of her mirror to give her a better view.
"ED…12…looks like…MJL?" Anna said, staring at the mirror.
"ED12MJL," Alex nodded. "Text me that, would you, love?"
"Who do you think it is?" Anna asked as she sent the message from her mobile to his.
"Could be nobody," Alex shrugged, glancing in his mirror again. "But it never hurts to be cautious. Then again, it is Valentine's. Is there something you're not telling me? Do you have a jealous ex that I should be aware of?"
"Of course not!" Anna said indignantly, smirking as she glanced in the mirror again. "I already told my husband that I would be out late tonight."
Alex shook his head and turned off at the next street. He spent twenty minutes driving in a circuitous route well away from Anna's flat. He finally pulled over on a random street and shut off the engine, glancing around for any sign of the silver BMW.
"It seems we've lost them," he declared after several minutes. "Probably weren't following us anyway."
Anna glanced back as Alex started the car again. He returned his hand to her thigh as he resumed their drive. She covered his hand with hers, and held it there until they reached her place.
London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, February 2015
"Have I ever told you how much I adore this scent?" Matthew asked Mary, kissing her neck as he held her close.
"It's Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, if you wanted to buy a bottle," Mary replied, looking at their reflection in the polished mirrors that surrounded them as the elevator rose to Matthew's floor. Coloured lights flashed over them from the video screens in the ceiling. They looked decadent, immaculately dressed, bodies pressed together, her dark eyes staring back at her.
"I just might do that," Matthew murmured, kissing the pulse point below her jaw. "So long as I get to choose where on your body it should be applied."
Mary normally would scold him for putting them in a potentially embarrassing position should anyone else come into the elevator. This time, though, she had no wish to dampen his enthusiasm. It was the least she could do, she thought. It felt wrong to enjoy his touch so much, but she was. She stopped being shocked by how much he affected her months ago.
"Is this a new dress?" Matthew enquired, his mouth so close to her skin she could feel his voice move through her.
"It is," Mary nodded, closing her eyes and leaning back against him. "Do you like it?"
"Very much, yes," Matthew said, his fingers running over the fabric across her stomach. "I can't wait to get you out of it."
"Naughty," Mary whispered, opening her eyes and kissing his cheek.
"I fully intend to be," Matthew smiled. He moved his hands away as the elevator doors opened on his floor. Tugging her gently to his suite, he unlocked the door with a wave of his keycard and walked her inside. Mary held on to him as they went, memorizing everything about his touch, the warmth, the weight, the feel of him. She wanted to remember him exactly this way – playful, mischievous, randy, lusting for her, the night and the rest of their lives full of promise, everything still possible.
Mary gasped as they came into the living room. The furniture was moved and rearranged and around the periphery, leaving a large open space in the middle.
"What did you do?" she asked, placing her purse on the side table and walking into the empty centre of the room. There were vases full of flowers scattered all around. The obligatory roses were included here and there, but the she saw peonies and stargazer lilies, bunches of alstroemeria and even orchids, in splashes of red, pink, champagne, lilac and white. Mary breathed in the beautiful fragrance, smiling as she slowly turned around to take in the entire room. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm glow over the floor, soft enough to be romantic, but not so low as to stop her from appreciating every beautiful detail. It was as though they were no longer in a hotel suite, but in some grand ballroom, just the two of them.
"The furniture was in the way, so I had the staff move it," Matthew smiled, watching her intently. He pressed his phone screen and music began playing, the notes flying all around them. Mary looked over at him inquisitively.
"Wireless speakers," he smiled, putting his phone down next to her purse. "They were installed while we were at dinner."
Matthew approached her and bowed his head formally. He held his arms out and smiled.
"May I have this dance, Lady Mary?" he asked.
Mary laughed in disbelief. Holding his expectant stare, she came into his arms. He held her right hand in his left, just out to the side, his right hand sliding around to the small of her back. She placed her left hand on his shoulder, not resisting as he drew her in close. Keeping his eyes on hers, he stepped to the left and turned her to the beat of the music, leading her slowly and confidently around the makeshift dance floor.
"Maxwell, Pretty Wings," she whispered as she recognized the ballad that they were moving to. She shook her head and looked up at his smiling face. "This isn't a coincidence, is it?"
"In what way?" he asked with false confusion, his smirk betraying him.
"I used to listen to this song constantly. That was years ago," Mary smiled. "Who told you? Sybil? Edith?"
"No one told me, thank you," he replied indignantly before smiling as though he knew an important secret. "It was actually rather easy. I learned early on that when you become obsessed with a song, you play it non-stop for days. I just remembered to make a note of them over the years, is all."
She swallowed and turned her head into his shoulder as his hand caressed her back. The song was almost six years old. He had heard her listen to it for perhaps a few days at most during Christmas of that year, if at all, and yet he remembered ever since.
"Have you recently improved at dancing?" she asked, smiling as she followed his easy stride. "Or is this another of your talents that I never bothered to notice?"
"Not a new talent, no," Matthew chuckled. "Mother felt that all young boys should know how to dance properly. I expect that I may have had just as many lessons as you did growing up, though I didn't put them to much use, admittedly."
"Why not?" Mary asked, still not looking at him. "You were at the Servants' Ball every year, and for our parties in the summer, in addition to whatever you got up to in Manchester. Surely you had plenty of chances to sweep unsuspecting young ladies off their feet?"
"Well, Sybil and Edith were always kind enough to partner me over the years," Matthew nodded. "However I never got around to asking you, so I thought tonight was as good a time as any to correct that oversight."
"And why didn't you ever ask me?" Mary asked quietly, looking up at him.
"For the same reason I never asked you out on a proper date," Matthew smiled sheepishly. "Too stupid, too scared. But, better late than never, don't you think?"
"I agree," Mary said, closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder, letting him lead her wherever he liked as one of her favourite songs shifted into another.
Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, February 2015
"Are you all right?" Alex asked, closing the door and locking it.
"Of course I am," Anna nodded, removing her coat and hanging it up. "Why do you ask?"
"Because," Alex said, removing his shoes and following her through to the kitchen. "I just want to make sure you know that you're safe."
"I know that," Anna smiled, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water.
"You could be forgiven for being a bit shaken, if we really were being followed tonight, that is," Alex said carefully, standing next to her as she poured them two glasses of water. "You might wonder who they were, what they want with us, what may have happened if they had caught up to us at some point."
"The Bimmer?" Anna frowned. "That was nothing. I've been working for Crawley Group long enough to know to stay on my guard."
"Yes, you have," Alex agreed, following her out to the couch in the living room. "That doesn't mean you ever get used to it, though."
Anna sipped her water as they sat down together. After a moment, she placed the glass down on the coffee table. Turning towards him, she reached out and touched her hands to his chest.
"Alex," she said. "I'm not some junior employee. I know what the company does. I know the truth about the family. I don't have to be coddled or protected. You don't need to worry about that."
Alex placed his own glass on the coffee table and pulled her closer, his forehead touching hers.
"I know," he whispered. "It's just that…I like to think that I'm able to protect you."
"You are, and you do," Anna replied. "And I quite like that you want to."
Alex leaned forward and kissed her softly, his hands moving to her waist and pulling her closer. Anna ran her hands into his hair, then leaned back until she was laying down on the couch, pulling him with her. He covered her body with his, his hand moving down and cupping her bottom, drawing one leg up and over his as his tongue caressed hers.
"If we were being followed tonight," he said quietly when they drew apart for air. "I'll find them, Anna. I won't let anything happen to you."
Anna nodded and kissed him again. Plans and strategies played through her mind. They could search the government vehicle registration database and use the number plate to find the owner of the silver BMW. If that person was hired to follow them, they could get him to talk and divulge the name of his employer. Perhaps this was related to the murder of Mr. Patrick somehow. Was his death part of a larger attack on the family and their associates? Was Green a part of a bigger conspiracy than he let on?
Alex pulled the strap of her dress across her shoulder and down her arm, kissing her skin as he uncovered more of her. Anna closed her eyes and held on to him. She had a lemon raspberry mousse cake waiting in the fridge for dessert, and his Valentine's Day present was hidden in the bedroom. She arched her back as his fingers found the zipper of her dress. Her plans for the evening and strategizing over their investigations could wait, she thought, as they moved to undress each other.
London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015
"It seems that you enjoy dancing," Mary smiled, closing her eyes as he kissed her again. Her hand travelled down his front and boldly rubbed his growing arousal through his trousers.
"I enjoy dancing with you," Matthew corrected her, kissing his way along her jawline and moving to her neck. His arms pulled her in tighter to his body, his one hand moving down to caress her bottom.
"I had no idea that a mere dance with me could affect you this profoundly," Mary whispered, her pulse speeding up as their kisses grew more heated. The music continued in the background, Beyoncé's Best Thing I Never Had now playing. They held each other close, kissing and touching, no longer dancing so much as they were swaying as one.
"You do affect me, Mary," Matthew growled. "You affect me a great deal. God, it's like you said that night when everything changed between us. I've always wanted you."
Mary kissed him again, darting her tongue past his lips, a moan flying from her throat as his mouth met hers eagerly.
"Don't you want your gift?" he struggled, swallowing as their kisses continued.
"I thought you were in the process of giving it to me," she teased, continuing to stroke him through the smooth fabric of his clothes.
"I do have a present for you, a proper present," Matthew said, kissing her lightly, then stepping away with a great effort. "Wait here."
Mary arched her eyebrow curiously as he backed away from her, a smug smile on his flushed face. He turned and disappeared into the bedroom.
She wandered over to the window, hugging herself as she suddenly felt cold from the loss of his warm embrace. The pleasant fragrance of the flowers came to her and she smiled. Everything about this evening seemed like the grandest of the grand, and yet perfectly intimate – the dinner, the flowers, the dancing, and now his mysterious gift. She closed her eyes and grimaced as the panic that had hit her throughout the week returned. She swallowed, trying to remain in the moment, thinking only of Matthew and ignoring everything beyond being with him in the present.
"Mary," he called softly.
She opened her eyes and quickly composed herself before turning around to face him. Her eyes widened in surprise as she found him holding a rather large package, wrapped in blue paper.
"No ribbon?" she joked, coming over to him.
"I'm afraid not," he smiled. "I'm hoping the gift itself will overcome any oversight in its presentation."
She smiled at him, taking the package from his hands and setting it down on the table against the wall. Pulling at a corner, she tore the paper away and blinked as an ornate antique picture frame was revealed. Mary looked over at Matthew in bewilderment. Matthew merely smiled back at her, nodding toward the frame for her to take another look.
She turned back and looked more closely. The frame contained a rather old looking document, but what did it have to do with them? And moreover, what made this a proper Valentine's Day gift? She read over the page, her eyes widening as she recognized words and names. Her pulse beat faster as she began to understand what she was looking at.
"Is this…what I think it is?" she asked quietly.
"A copy of the instrument that proclaimed that the title of the Earl of Grantham would pass to the eldest born son of the Earl, or the next male descendent, and that the Estate would be tied to the title in perpetuity" Matthew explained. "The original is still stored somewhere at Downton Abbey, but this was one of several copies signed by the sixth Earl, who entailed the Estate. I tracked it down at a library in York, and convinced them to sell it to me."
"And how did you do that?" Mary asked.
"I may have exaggerated my connection to your family," Matthew blushed.
Mary rolled her eyes and laughed.
"I don't think I've ever seen this," she said, reading the document more carefully.
"Well, there's no reason you would have. It's obsolete," Matthew smiled. "Entails were abolished with The Law of Property Act in 1925, but I thought it would be symbolic for you to have this just the same."
"Whatever for?" Mary asked. "Doesn't it belong in the family archives?"
"You can keep it as a reminder," Matthew said. "I know how important your family history is to you, and I think this helps show just how far you've come, just how much you've achieved, all on your own."
"It wasn't all on my own," Mary scoffed. "I've used the family name and Papa's money."
"Perhaps, in part," Matthew nodded. "But if the Crawley name and some money was all it took to be successful, then this document would never have been required in the first place. This entail would have sealed your fate in another era, Mary, for the mere reason that you'd been born a girl. But now, today, your future is entirely yours to shape."
"The document may be obsolete," Mary said quietly, touching the glass. "But the attitude remains to a degree. Women still aren't necessarily trusted in our family. If we were, Papa wouldn't have brought you here to come to our rescue."
"You don't need me to rescue you from anything. You don't need anyone. You're strong all on your own. You're the strongest woman I know," Matthew said softly.
Mary turned away from the framed entail and met his blue eyes. She reached her hand out and cupped his cheek, drawing him to her, their lips meeting in a warm kiss.
"Take me to bed," she whispered.
Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, February 2015
"What?" Anna grinned, blushing as she came out of the bathroom and looked at his dazed face.
"Nothing," Alex smiled, eyes still looking her up and down. "Just…you."
"What about me?" she asked, coming back to bed. He watched her as she approached, making her feel lightheaded. She never used to parade around naked, even when she was home alone. But she felt different doing it for him, especially for him.
"You're gorgeous," Alex said warmly, shifting over and making room for her. She leaned on to her side, her hand moving over his chest.
"You're being ridiculous," she shook her head, still smiling at him. "Give it a moment. I'll go back to looking quite ordinary soon enough."
"I've never found you ordinary, Miss Smith, not from the first moment we met," Alex said confidently, reaching out and caressing her cheek. "And when I say that you're gorgeous, I'm not just referring to your looks, I'll have you know."
She couldn't help but laugh and allow him a long lingering kiss. When he finally pulled back, she closed her eyes and relaxed against his shoulder, snuggling against his body and humming in bliss. She was practically purring, but she couldn't care how it sounded.
"Has it really only been a few months that we've been together?" she asked.
"Feels much longer…in a good way," Alex smiled, rubbing her back. "Are you as surprised as I am?"
"More, I expect," she laughed. "Oh God!" she groaned, covering her face with her hand.
"What is it?" he asked, amused by her behaviour.
"Nothing," she replied, stroking his stomach and avoiding his gaze. "It's just…in my whole life, I never thought I could be as happy as I am at this moment. Shit, now I sound ridiculous. You must be terrified."
Alex touched her chin, nudging her to turn and look at him.
"I love your honesty, Anna," he said softly. "And I'm not terrified. Not at all."
Anna gave him a brave smile, nodding before she settled back down against his body and closed her eyes.
London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, February 2015
No one would ever call Lady Mary Crawley a sentimentalist. She appreciated the customs of Valentine's Day, but didn't see it as a celebration of love or anything so sappy as that. In the past, she met the day with annoyance, the small satisfaction of seeing Edith's jealous glare wiped out by having to deal with the cheap chocolates and garish roses she received from admirers that would all end up given to the servants or thrown in the bin by the next day. When she was older, on the rare occasions that she had a boyfriend on the particular day, her routine was a simple one. It involved an expensive dinner and a gift for her – flowers and jewellery usually – and cursory sex for the forgettable man in return. She did it out of duty, more than anything else, and she didn't think twice about it. She most certainly never bothered to wonder what any of it meant.
As Matthew slid her dress off her arms and down to her waist, she swallowed in anticipation. She tried to remain composed even as he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, his mouth immediately closing on one breast, while his fingers played with the other. Rational thought was quickly being erased from her mind by searing desire. It wasn't as though Matthew was doing anything new that she had not experienced before, she told herself, trying to grab hold of logic in the face of the sensations coursing through her. No, he just did everything so damn better.
Her dress fell to her feet and she stepped out of it. His free hand moved down and past her panties, fondling her bottom as his tongue continued to dance across her breast. Her fingers played with his hair, urging him closer to the spot she desperately wanted him to touch. When his lips found it and suckled lightly, she groaned, loudly and freely.
Matthew released her long enough to turn her around. He gently pushed at her back, bending her over the bed as his hands slid her panties down. She kicked them loose and spread her legs for him, crying out and cursing as he pushed a finger inside of her from behind. He growled with satisfaction at discovering how aroused she was and added a second finger, making her shut her eyes and moan.
Mary tried to slow her hips and pace herself, but instead she arched her back and rode his hand faster. That was the difference with him. Before Matthew, she would lay back and think of England during sex, or participate just enough to get the act over with quickly so she could get on to something actually important. Matthew made her want, and crave, and think wanton thoughts that she was taught had no place in the mind of a proper lady. It was frightful and liberating all at once; how she wanted to be everything and anything with him. An innocent, a temptress, a queen, a whore, a partner. All the men from her past just wanted to fuck her body, so they could brag about their conquest. Matthew wanted to make love to her mind, to let her set the limits, or obliterate them completely, without fear or reservation.
His fingers found the precise spot inside of her that he was seeking, while his other hand moved between her legs. Her eyes shot open a second before he rubbed her inside and out and sent her flying, all thought of being quiet long forgotten as she moaned out her bliss.
She fell to the bed as he massaged her back. Catching her breath after several attempts, she turned over and sat up, looking up at him with flushed skin and dark eyes. Her hands attacked his belt, casting his trousers and boxer briefs off in turn as he removed his suit jacket, shirt and tie. She closed her eyes as she took him into her mouth, his long groan exactly what she wanted to hear. Tonight was about doing everything he wanted, her goal to shock and dazzle and bewitch him, give him the best sex he'd ever had and ever would have. For all the things she couldn't tell him, she would grant his every wish tonight. It was hardly a fair trade, but it was all she could give him, and she focused entirely on her objective, refusing to think of what would happen afterward.
Her eyes looked up at his face, pleased to see him watching her, enraptured. Let him see how much she was enjoying this, how much she wanted it. Let him remember her this way, eager, enthusiastic, entirely devoted to his pleasure. Let him know how much she cared for him in this moment, when they were alone, where titles and money and power didn't matter. Where they were just Mary and Matthew, and the rest of the world was far away.
Mary released him and kissed her way up his body, hugging him close, her breasts against his chest, her hips grinding into his. She pulled him back on to the bed, and he eased her on to her back, shifting himself between her spread legs, his eyes searching hers.
"Fuck me hard, Matthew," she whispered. "Please."
He lifted her legs, resting them on his shoulders, tilting her hips upward. She felt small, bared open, at his mercy, his hands finding hers and pinning them above her head as he leaned forward. He thrust deep and she shouted. He moved faster in response to her harsh and vulgar commands, every grunt and growl that she coaxed from him only leading to more scandalous words to fly from her lips. He had never seen or heard her act quite like this, and his blood raced from knowing that he could bring this out of her.
This was the Matthew she wanted tonight. She wouldn't be able to stand tender and considerate. She needed savage and dominant. It was insane to think that submitting to his desires would solve everything, or justify anything, but she yielded to him just the same. When he turned her over, she rose to her hands and knees and pushed back against him. When his fingers slid into her hair, she moaned in consent. When he moved to his back, she got on top of him, closing her eyes as she rocked back and forth.
Mary didn't count the number of times she spent, instead doing all she could to satisfy him and prolong his release. She chanted his name as he pushed inside of her over and over, her arms and legs wrapped around him, the heat and weight of his body on top of her.
Time didn't matter, even though she knew they were running out of it.
Mary slipped out of bed and walked quietly from the bedroom, the carpet masking the sound of her steps. She crossed the living room and took her purse from the side table. Sitting down on the carpet, she took a deep breath, then opened her purse. She put the gloves on first, the supple leather wrapping over her hands. Taking the gun and silencer, she wiped them with a cloth. This had to look professional, no fingerprints if the weapon was ever found. She glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to the bedroom and heard no sound. Matthew was still asleep.
She unscrewed the cap from the threaded end of the silencer, then fixed the silencer to the gun. She looked down the barrel to ensure the silencer was properly mounted, the cold feel of the metal such a sharp contrast to Matthew's warm skin that had just been beneath her fingers.
Mary closed her eyes and swallowed, trying desperately to clear her mind.
He won't feel a thing, she said to herself over and over. It'll be done in less than a second and he won't have any pain. Even the voice in her mind seemed not to believe the words.
Get dressed, leave the suite, casually walk to the elevator and down to the lobby, take a cab back to Grantham House as though she were never meant to sleep over. He wouldn't be discovered until the morning, and she would claim that he was asleep and very much alive when she left him.
Mary opened her eyes and remained still for several moments, trying to calm her breathing. The room felt cold, so different from the soothing heat of Matthew's body lying in the bed she had just left. She felt a slight itch along her neck where his lips had lingered, a dull ache across her breasts and down her legs from their lovemaking. His scent was on her skin, his taste on her lips and tongue. She shut her eyes again, trying to block all of it out, but it was useless. She would never be able to scrub him off of her after tonight.
Forcing herself to her feet, Mary turned for the bedroom, willing her sore legs to move. Collateral damage. That's all he was. The family had lost men before. Cousin James. Patrick. They lived in a cruel world and these things happened. She had to do whatever was necessary to stay on track for control of the company, to earn the position of power that she deserved. She had to forget Matthew; forget his blue eyes, his soft blond hair, his warm lips, his firm body. The way he looked at her differently than anyone else. The way he touched her, kissed her, made love to her. One more job to do and her scandal would be safe forever, her past no longer a threat, her future secured.
Mary took another step, then a glint of light caught her eye. She paused and looked over at the coffee table, the lights of evening London filtering in through the windows and reflecting off the glass of an antique picture frame.
Her breath caught as she saw the copy of the entail, the flickering lights of the London skyline blinking off of the glass. She stared at it for a long moment, transfixed by the combination of the sharp typed words and the flowing cursive script. Her lip quivered as she read the document again, her mind filled with images of Downton Abbey from another time, when the Earls of Grantham wandered the hallowed halls and toured the vast fields, when women wearing corsets and layered dresses paid calls and worked for charity and did the Season, stuck in a waiting room until they married, when a woman her age would already be committed to a life of having children, hosting parties, parroting her husband's opinions and nothing more.
Her hands shook and she set the gun aside, leaning on the table to remain upright. One hundred some-odd years ago, this piece of paper would have controlled her destiny. Her father would have married her off to the son of a fellow nobleman who would give her a position, and she never would have worked or held any authority or control of her own. She wouldn't have her own money, would be given an allowance to buy clothes every so often, and her husband would be paid a settlement when he married her, as though she was but a pretty thing to be sold off to the right buyer.
Mary tore her eyes away from Matthew's gift and picked up the gun again. She steadied herself, the tears brimming in her eyes, her pulse racing.
"You don't need me to rescue you from anything. You don't need anyone. You're strong all on your own. You're the strongest woman I know."
She looked at the dark doorway of the bedroom, where Matthew lay within. Matthew. Her childhood family friend. Her business colleague. Her lover. Her boyfriend.
The tears fell and Mary backed away, gasping as she tried to stifle her sobs. She reached for her purse and quickly disassembled the gun, placing it back in its case and hiding it with the gloves before putting her purse back on the table. She turned away and walked over to the window. Covering her mouth with her hands, she looked out on to the dark River Thames and shook as she cried, clenching her teeth and pursing her lips in a thin line, pushing the shame and remorse she felt back down into her stomach.
She didn't know if she stood there for mere minutes, or long hours, but she eventually stopped crying and her breathing returned to normal. Wiping her eyes several times, she swallowed, then returned to the bedroom unarmed.
Matthew lay in the same position she had left him, the duvet bunched across his waist, his bare chest rising and falling with his steady breathing. His arm lay splayed to one side of the bed, her side, his hand open, palm up, his fingers seeming to reach out for something to grasp, for someone to hold.
Mary removed her robe and came back to bed. She pulled the duvet over her bare shoulders and returned to his chest. Pausing over him for a moment, she watched him sleep, his face serene and beautiful, his lips parted, his head turned slightly towards her. She reached out and touched his cheek lightly, the warmth of his skin felt almost tangible against her fingers.
Mary nestled in to her usual place against his chest and shoulder, breathing in his scent. She closed her eyes as his hand moved across her back, his arm finding its customary hold around her. Her worries quieted and she fell asleep in Matthew's arms, refusing to think about what tomorrow would bring.