"I don't see that what I'm wearing is at all inappropriate." Matthew's stubbornness apparent in the tone of his voice. He had dressed as quickly as he could upon arriving at Rosamund's Middleburg house. It's rather imposing colonial style three story structure standing in the middle of acres of land that her now deceased husband had bought up in a time before the onrush of construction that had seen the spoiling of neighboring Leesburg into a hodgepodge of housing developments and shopping centers. Rosamund's housekeeper had opened the door.
To his delight at the time he was instructed that Lady Mary's room was on the second floor to his right. So obviously Rosamund approved of their sharing a bed during their week end stay. But everything had gone downhill after that.
Mary's hand reached towards her forehead. She rubbed it in a bit of exasperation. "And under different circumstances I'd agree. But this party is special. Rosamund's friends follow a certain etiquette…." Mary had arrived earlier than Matthew that Friday.
And found Rosamund in a temper. That evening's party was her engagement party to Randolph Asherton, a financial adviser dabbling in investments and television productions. When Mary questioned his breeding, as she knew lineage and family were very important to Rosamund, she was surprised to hear her aunt's response.
"It's not so laid down in America. He's as rich as Croesus." She said practically admitting she was marrying for money. "We get along well enough." It was clear that Rosamund was on edge that everything be perfect and that rubbed off on Mary. The fiancé was an exacting individual whom Mary found rather a cold fish. But it was none of her business. Rosamund was also determined to find just such a man for Mary. That set Mary's teeth on edge but Rosamund would not be dismissed.
This evening would be a test of Mary's nerve. Rosamund had set her a series of tasks to help set up the gala at a nearby Middleburg museum. And already things were not at all how Mary had planned. Rosamund was being finicky about every detail. And every time Mary made a decision, she found Rosamund going behind her and changing it.
At one point that afternoon she was ready to just let her aunt do as she pleased. But without Matthew there, Mary had nothing else to do. So she persisted. But it was not enjoyable.
Neither was the fact Matthew had deliberately decided to stay behind. It wasn't as if he had no choice. Rosamund was agreeable that Matthew join Mary that weekend. She had been looking forward to the getaway for a fortnight as they had again spent very little time together as schedules clashed. Mary was finding her name being circulated in both theatrical and television circles and she even had a couple of agents call her and send feelers towards her goals and ambitions. It was heady and wonderful to be sure. Finally all her hard work coming together.
The timing sucked. That was the terrible reality. Every time Matthew had an afternoon or evening free, she had a meeting or work. When she had a week end free, he was on a field trip with the JAG school.
This trip had been planned as a getaway for them as well as the opportunity for Matthew to be introduced to a member of her family. And he had only told her at the last minute that he would be delayed in Charlottesville on Friday and could not drive with her to her aunt's house.
She was even more put out given the reason for his delay. Thus her sour mood of an evening. And Matthew's deliberate provocations were not helping. Why didn't he just agree that he was underdressed?
"I've got a nicely pressed dress shirt and trousers. Polished shoes. I simply didn't realize this party required I wear an Armani tux." His words coming out more cutting than he meant. "These things don't matter as much as they did. I thought you would know that more than anyone."
He was dating the aristocratic daughter of an earl after all. Obviously social station didn't mean much to her. Or did it? And he was deceiving himself.
She rolled her eyes. "I didn't say that. I said that you should have brought a jacket is all." She paused but continued, "It's just not how we do things."
"I think it's perfectly acceptable." He finished buttoning the pinpoint Oxford.
"Do you at least have a tie?" Mary snapped. She'd never spoken to Matthew in such tones before.
He did not like it.
He groused back. "Mary I wear a uniform all day. I was looking forward to being more relaxed this week end."
He moved over towards her to try to ease the tension between them.
But she was in a foul mood. "I can't understand how you can pack for a formal party at the National Sporting Library and Museum and not realize you need a tie."
"I forgot it. Simple as that." He had rushed back from the JAG school PT testing as fast as he could. Grabbed a shower and picked up his already packed bag and threw it in the car. The drive to Middleburg had been pleasant and uneventful.
But now he felt under the scrutiny of a seasoned Intelligence officer. And he didn't like it.
"Yes but if you had left when I suggested, you would have remembered to do so." Mary was more peeved than she wanted to admit that Matthew had not joined her in traveling to her aunt's in her own BMW on Friday morning. He had the day off after all from school. It had been perfect.
"Is that what this is really all about?" Matthew's turn to give her an exasperated side eye. "Because I stayed in Charlottesville?" He scoffed. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were actually jealous."
"Don't be ridiculous." Mary's voice icy. She pulled her hair back with a pin.
He moved back towards the mirror to finish buttoning the shirt. "I stayed to help a friend. That's it. I told her I would see her through the test and I did. If that makes me an awful human being and underdressed for your aunt's swank party, then I can live with it." Matthew was fuming by this point. Why didn't Mary trust him?
"That's not the point. I told you in plenty of time that this party required a certain style of dress and you just didn't listen." She refused to let him know that he was more on target then he knew. That a part of her was jealous of his attentions to Lavinia. That he was so carelessly willing to dismiss their weekend away in Middleburg so as to accommodate his JAG partner's scheduled PT test. It wasn't as if Matthew hadn't already spent an inordinate amount of time together with Lavinia in Mary's opinion.
Instead she turned around as if to prove her argument. She was dressed in an immaculately designed couture gown. Subtlety showing off her best assets while still maintaining a demure appearance so as not to show up her aunt.
"You look beautiful." Matthew acknowledged. More stunning than he had ever seen her in fact. "Can I kiss you?" He asked softly, slowing making his way towards her. "Because I need to…"
She gazed into his clear blue eyes. He blinked. "I need to very much."
"Are we calling a truce?" She asked. Her tone softening a bit.
"Yes." Said gently. His fingers nimbly tickling her exposed forearm. The gown was sleeveless.
"Then don't make me untidy." Her anger subsided, her tease provocative.
"I won't." He promised. Brushing a strand of hair back across her ear, his lips softly met hers in a deep kiss. "At least not until after the party is over." Whispering this in her ear, feeling her body shudder as his breath, his suggestive comment overtook her.
XX
The party was swank. The attendees insufferable.
Having had a dose of Mary's change of attitude that afternoon, it was just what Matthew predicted. Was there something in the air? Friends of Rosamund judging him as soon as he walked in the door. He was made to feel as if he did not belong. That he had invaded their private space. Especially as he walked in with Mary whom they all swarmed around as bees to honey, while giving him the once over and judging him unworthy of much more than cursory attention.
Mary had been swept into their midst and away from him. She was to be one of the bridesmaids at her aunt's second wedding and Matthew knew that he probably would not therefore be able to spend much time with her this evening. Maybe that's why he was in such a foul mood earlier.
The anticipation of getting together with her later that night was his only consolation. Though the late evening's argument made that a remote chance at best.
Instead he roamed the room. Mary had been correct on the dress code. Although the invite had read "semi-formal," the room was full of couture gowns and men attempting to outdo each other's curb appeal in the latest sleekly tailored Spencer Hart suit.
Matthew refused to feel out of place. He had been around these sorts ever since university. He was comfortable in his own skin and his own choices. And that was all that mattered. He had hoped Mary would see that as well. He chalked her earlier iciness up to Rosamund and nerves.
Everything would be better later.
The National Sporting Library's Founder's Room was impressive. He had already spent time wandering around the collection of hunting and racing paintings in the Civil War era brick house. Now he was in the newer addition carriage style house Library that held an impressive collection of first editions related to horses and field sports.
Mary had previously warned him about Middleburg's obsession with horses, field sports, and hunting. It was the culture Rosamund reveled in. Her friends the same. They formed a tight clique for sure. One of old money joined to new wealth. A potent combination, Matthew concluded, one where one's status was tied to what you could bring. And since he brought no wealth or social rank, he was merely to be tolerated as Mary's companion of the evening.
This had also been made more than clear to him.
He was treated as if he had been hired by an agency to accompany her. Handsome arm candy, he had actually heard one Rosamund's acquaintances comment. But given his, to their mind disheveled state of dress, one who needed some fashion advice. The same woman giggled over her champagne cocktail that she'd like to take him into a dressing room anytime he wanted.
"Typical of Mary to bring the best looking man in the room. But I hear he's in the army or something. Can't see that lasting any time." Her friend rejoined.
Matthew frowned.
He started to escape but they bore down on him. "Hello." The one with the bleached blonde highlights spoke first. It was of course beautifully coiffed, but it was still a bit much. "You're Matthew right? We're Rosamund's oldest friends here in Middleburg. Meg Whitely." She held out a rather limp hand.
Was he supposed to kiss it? Matthew grinned to himself. Behave! He shook it instead.
The other woman "Reina Haines." They went through the same handshake.
"Very glad to meet you both." His accent obviously surprised them.
"Are you English as well?" Meg turned to Reina. "Rosamund could have told us that at least. She just said you were Mary's escort this evening."
He looked pained at that admission. Was that all he really was?
"I am from Manchester. Here doing a course with the American Judge Advocate General's School in Charlottesville." He supplied the relevant information they were obviously fishing for.
"That would make you a…" Meg hated to be in the dark.
"An Army lawyer by profession." He pursed his lips. "At least for now."
Reina eyed him with greater approval. "Well aren't you the dark horse? We took you for one of those actor friends Mary is always dragging around."
Tired of being assessed like a prize pig at a village fete, Matthew madehis excuses.
He walked towards the drinks table. Crowds mingled both outside the museum and within the tent set up to host the sit down dinner. Many were wandering in and out of the structure to take advantage of the late summer's daylight.
He chose a whisky neat and took himself over to the party tent in search of Mary.
Upon entrance he could see Mary chatting with some friends. The old world style décor, wood beams holding the tent roof in place, and subtle touches of summer flowers made the area both expansive yet intimate. The guests were mingling, finding their seats. Ever increasing numbers of them to Matthew' way of thinking.
But even within the crowd of the socially correct, Mary stood out. Her floral print gown complemented rather than clashed with the décor. Maybe he had been overly stubborn in refusing to cave into to Mary's wish that he accept Rosamund's offering to give him a tie and jacket from her husband's wardrobe.
Matthew had no interest in wearing the clothes of the deceased Archie Painswick. Even if the tie was silk, it was of a pattern Matthew disliked. And the jacket was too big. Slightly to be sure, but enough for Matthew to politely decline. Rosamund gave him a withering glance, huffed a little too vocally, and snatched them back from his hands.
"Go as you will then." She sniffed. She was losing patience with this one she'd tell Mary later. "Good thing he's only around for the summer." At that moment Rosamund determined to find Mary an equivalent man to her own fiancé. Someone who would secure Mary's economic status outside her family's wealth but also aid her career goals which Rosamund highly approved of.
To Matthew Rosamund continued to be a mystery. Polite enough, most of the time, towards him. She certainly did not mind that he share a room, a sexual relationship with Mary.
Yet Matthew had begun to realize then he had been accepted by Rosamund on this week end on approval. And her approval was fading with each decision he made. `
But Matthew did not seek Rosamund's approval.
Instead he concentrated of figuring out Mary. He knew well enough from his army experience that people acted differently in a given situation. The same friends he knew to be disciplined on the training field were absolute hooligans at a pub during the World Cup.
He just had not considered the same of Mary. Yet the evidence was before his eyes. She was nodding politely to a woman whispering over her shoulder while at the same time keeping up a conversation with the man to her left. She was poised and elegant.
Of course she was always that he considered. She could make drinking beer from a solo cup stylish. Nor was it that she physically changed herself, although her clothes were a lot more expensive here. It was more in her mannerisms, her body language.
These were friends she made in Middleburg when visiting Rosamund in the summer and getting out to parties and charity functions with her aunt. And unlike the acting group, these were more similar in social status and money to herself.
And, Matthew noted silently to himself, while she let her down metaphorically speaking, amongst her actor friends in a grungy Greenwich Village flat where, around acquaintances of her own economic status, she played the ice queen and English rose aristocrat to perfection.
She was doing so right now. What was it she had said to him earlier? 'It's just not how we do things…' Looking around at the wealth, the old and the new around him, he realized the 'we' included those of her own kind. A 'we' he ever only see from the status of an outside interloper. A polite home invader whom they feared would upend their known world. Why Rosamund he suspected was growing more suspicious of him as the day and the evening wore on. That his relationship was Mary was not quite the one she had expected. That it was deeper. Intense both physically and emotionally.
And she was pulling Mary away from him. Drawing her back into her own kind.
But was Mary going along? He doubted it. But it was difficult to be certain watching her put on the act he was witnessing. If indeed it was acting? Or was this her true self? And he saw the guise? The playacting of someone used to a very different lifestyle attempting to live among the unwashed masses?
He laughed at the notion. No. Her friendliness. Her openness. It was everything he loved about her.
Loved.
That word he dropped at the airport. It had been a risk. He wasn't even sure what the word meant. In all its incarnations. But he felt it. He knew it.
But it had never been spoken again. For he sensed Mary's discomfort. He had pushed it. And she had silently pushed back.
He understood her rules. The ones they had spoke of earlier in the summer. The ones that protected her she said. From being hurt he assumed. He knew more about her previous love life. Anna had been forthcoming that late night conversation in New York. Although still some was left private, he knew she had been burned by the man that had accompanied her to New York the summer previous to his own arrival. The one who had left her in the lurch by the fall of that same year.
Was he to destined to leave her feeling burned? Because of his awkward words of love? He did not want that. They had been living in a kind of bubble most of this summer. One filled, when together, of love, lust, a passion he had never felt with any other woman. He wanted it to go on forever.
But it could not. They had separate lives to live. He did not want to burden hers with his responsibilities.
But there was her odd jealousy towards Lavinia. Maybe she really did love him? And was just unwilling to admit it. In that case, their situation had gotten far deeper than either had intended. Matthew's mother had always told him he wore his emotions on his sleeve. He did fall in love easily. But it had also been very easy to get over the kind of youthful, more sexual than soulful, passion he had felt for others.
This, this with Mary. This was not that.
This was something completely different.
He was thrown out of his reverie by the woman herself.
Mary walked over with an easy, long legged stride. Slow. Everyone else fell by the wayside as he watched her. They watched each other's reaction. Her's with a languid smile and a deep eyed unblinking stare. A stare as if she wanted everyone in the room to notice. A frisson of delicious tension between them. They had a rocky afternoon. One she felt partially to blame. She intended to make it up to him.
She also used the walk to admire him. Something she dangerously realized she did far too often that evening. Usually when he was not looking back at her. Mary had been whisked off by various other wedding committee members to deal with minor crises. It had calmed her to find Matthew in the crowd. He did stand out. Indeed it was impossible not to notice his good looks. His clothes, the crisp Oxford with one undone button, did make him stand out amongst the fashionably clad. But it also spoke of his confidence. And it gave her a jolt of sexual need every time she took him in.
He was his own man.
She wondered if he had done it deliberately? As if to take some kind of strategic advantage by being underdressed. That he had nothing to prove to Rosamund's clique. She knew they had not hit it off exactly well that afternoon.
Rosamund loved to speak her mind. She saw it as her best quality. But sometimes it also simply demonstrated tactlessness, a coarseness she would deny.
Mary had given up trying to point out the difference to her.
She loved her aunt. Loved her snark. Her ability to call a spade a spade. She had supported Mary throughout her life. She had always felt special around her.
Mary had always felt more confident, more self-assured when visiting Rosamund.
But this week end had upended that close bond. Her loyalties had ever been with her family. Even when she had a boyfriend visit on approval from her aunt. This time had seemed no different.
Except this time it was Matthew under the scrutiny. And it was completely on his terms. He refused to play their games. To be anyone but himself while she fell into the habit of a lifetime. It had been unintentional, the falling into old behaviors in Middleburg. She hardly realized she did it until she saw it through the outsider's gaze. Matthew's gaze. She would have to watch that.
How this man threw her off his game. He seemed to know her, when she did not know herself. How much was she willing to admit to him was true?
Mary, approaching him, held out her hand. He smiled and took it. Pulled her close. "Hello." He said, in that tone she loved.
She was just about to speak equally intimate when some friends of hers approached from the rear. Obviously ready to finally get their chance to speak to Mary and this mysterious new boyfriend together.
"Mary." A cool, dry voice spoke. "Are you going to introduce us?" She turned to find Carter Seymour Glass, one of the formerly close knit friends she had made while visiting Rosamund in college. He wasn't English, but his Southern tone showed the slight timbre of the English origins of the accent. He was accompanied by his own fiancée Aster Whitcourt, a woman who thought just a little too highly of herself.
Mary realized in a start that Matthew would probably hate the both of them.
"Of course Carter." She turned to do the introductions. Matthew, she noticed in relief, had put on the face she had witnessed at the Army reception. The one that knew how to be diplomatic when called upon. Even if he thought the names reflected the insufferable personalities he was presented, he would not say so. The merest hint of a mocking smile crossed his lips when he repeated the names.
"Mary tells us you're in the Army." The affected Southern drawl again.
Unfortunately at that moment Mary got called away again. She gave Matthew a rueful smile, touched his arm, and murmured a "I will catch you later."
Matthew turned back towards her friends.
He and Carter began a conversation about the older building at the Museum and Library. Claiming J.E.B. Stuart as a blood relative Carter began a recitation about his family's role in the Battle of Middleburg, 1863.
"After being roused from some activities with the ladies," He leered knowingly in Matthew's direction, "Stuart's forces easily routed the Rhode Islanders that had been sent after him."
Matthew's knowledge of the American Civil War was limited. Carter actually bristled when he referred to it by that name.
"We prefer The War Between the States. Or" he paused for effect. "The War of Southern Independence." He stood, if possible, just even more straight backed.
Matthew's eyes rolled internally but he gave nothing away. "I see. I'm afraid my studies took me in a different direction."
Carter said, "I'm surprised that you did not learn that at Army College or wherever." He practically dripped with superciliousness.
Matthew maintained an even strain however. "I attended Sandhurst for a year of specialized training, yes but we studied more modern warfare." He couldn't resist just a little dig at this guy who obviously seem to think the civil war just ended yesterday.
"Well that's right. If you're a lawyer, you must have studied somewhere?" Aster finally entered the conversation. "But I went through the Law School at UVA and you weren't a student there." As if any other school was not worthy of attention.
"No." he said with a forced smile. "I was at Brasenose College."
Carter had to admit defeat. "Where is that?" He asked. "Back in England?"
Matthew paused, deliberately. Then answered with the most innocent expression he could muster on his face. "Oxford. I went to Oxford University."
Their looks were priceless. Matthew leaned back on his heels and enjoyed the moment. Insufferable prick, he had apprised Carter. They guy reveled in putting people ill at ease. It was good just to get back a little of his own.
He made his excuses and walked back to the drinks table. He downed another whisky neat in one gulp.
XX
The rest of the night did not go as planned. When they got back to Rosamund's house, the aunt had indicated she wanted a private word with Mary.
Not meaning to linger in the hallway eavesdropping, Matthew did wait for her to come back. What he heard disturbed him so much however, that he walked swiftly upstairs and closed their shared bedroom door.
Rosamund seemed intent for some reason in putting Mary off Matthew. He heard snatches of words about his family's name. Research she had done. Information she had stored up. And that while he was fine for now. Fine as a summer romance, she wanted to make sure Mary had no long term interest in the man.
"What I saw this evening showed me that I may have miscalculated in letting him stay here." Rosamund had said. "You are getting in too deep Mary. It has to end."
Mary scoffed. "I don't see that it's any of your business."
Her aunt cut her off. "Of course it is. You don't see yourself married to him surely?"
Mary's pause was a chasm. Mathew waited. But the answer, a brisk "no of course not" made him tear himself away from the spying and take the stairs two at a time.
He was burning with righteous anger. Who did this woman think she was, making Mary make such declarations. And why did Mary listen to her?
By the time Mary had come up, Matthew was in bed. He was in no real mood to talk to her. The whisky had dulled his senses. Sleep was all he could muster. He was afraid if he spoke, he would say something he'd regret. So he said nothing. He felt her presence however.
Mary for her part, taking in the sleeping form under the light covers, did not try to wake him. She was exhausted. The evening had done her in. And the conversation with Rosamund more forceful than she expected. Things were coming to a head and she wasn't ready to deal with the reality of their situation.
She wanted to stay in the moment. Just for a little bit longer.
Mary took off her clothes, donned a light tee shirt and yoga bottoms and slid in between the sheets beside Matthew.
He eased closer to her without saying anything. His hand came to rest on the curve of her hip.
They slept.
XX
The morning light hurt his eyes. Matthew woke up, rubbed the sleep from his eyelids, and sat up.
Mary was already gone. Her side of bed was cold.
He got up and dressed quickly in jeans and a long sleeve Henley.
Matthew walked downstairs. Rosamund was in the kitchen. But he had little desire to speak to Mary's aunt after what he had inadvertently eavesdropped upon the previous night. His family had never been spoken of in such disdain. He tried hard to remember that it was Rosamund and not Mary that had said the words. That Mary had never indicated as such she was embarrassed to be seen with him. Certainly not when they were physically intimate. Surely he would have known?
Their intimacy belied the connection they had forged. Despite the limited time of their acquaintance both felt the bond. The love?
But the doubts crept in. Was that enough for a lifetime? Then a frisson of dismay at the mere thought that had crossed his consciousness. Was that what he wanted? What Mary wanted? He knew it to be otherwise. Their lives were so complicated at the moment.
But those thoughts had invaded his mind. And they weren't going away.
He needed to express them to Mary. To sound out where she stood. But this week end had only proven that they had more than their own love to settle. The differences had been laid bare that she came from the rarefied air of the aristocracy.
And he did not belong there.
But he did not need Rosamund's interference to embellish and heighten those differences to influence Mary.
He walked into the kitchen.
His words were curt. "Where's Mary?"
"She's at the Gallops." Rosamund gave no quarter either. Her cup of coffee at her lips.
It was all he could do to keep a civil tongue. "And where is that?"
"About half-mile down the lane." She pointed out the window to a gate and a walkway through some wooded gardens at the back of the house.
He turned to leave.
"You know," Rosamund spoke to his back. "Mary will make the decision that will best serve her family."
He turned back on his heels.
"I'm not your enemy." Matthew said evenly. "I love Mary. She can succeed on her own terms. I'm amazed you even approve of her career choices. Wouldn't you prefer she spend her life as an arm ornament to some duke or other?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I want her to pursue her dreams. And if she meets and marries the right man those dreams could become reality. But that person is not you." She breathed over the coffee.
His mouth was agape. His eyes narrow.
"Oh Matthew come on you know this. You're a smart man. Mary's not going to spend her life as the wife of some poor army officer."
"You know nothing about me." His mouth spluttered venom. This conversation was beyond anything he had anticipated.
Rosasmund's condescension was without shame or subtlety. "Matthew we've had knowledge of your branch of the Crawley family for generations. I believe a Manchester Crawley was hired as a groomsman in my grandfather's day."
"And that proves what exactly?" Matthew could not believe his ears. Was this the 21st century? Or 1912?
"That you're not our type. Do you expect me to be welcoming? Happy about this? Mary is the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. I've tried to put the right sort of men in Mary's path. But she's young. Don't credit yourself Matthew. She'll have some fun with you. But that's it."
"You don't know what you're talking about." But his mouth quavered.
She gave him a direct gaze. "We'll see."
He slammed the back door. So tense his fists were curled up against his palms until he thought his fingernails bled into his skin.
He had to find Mary.
Walking to the barn was easier than he thought. It was just about a half mile down the lane. He heard the snuffling of the horses in the stalls. Poking his head into the first of three stables to find Mary he saw only horses. The next one as well. With a sigh he checked the last one.
There she was. Mary rubbed a strong muscled thoroughbred down with a brush. Cooing to him with sweet words. She was oblivious to all else in the world. It showed to Matthew yet another side to Mary. The horse snickered in delight to her ministrations.
He waited and watched for several minutes, not wanting to interrupt this private moment between rider and horse.
The image was intoxicating. Her back was to him. She was dressed in her riding gear. A tight blouse across her breasts. Form fitting pull-on knee patch breeches forced his attention to her curved rear end. The boots highlighted her long legs.
He regarded her discreetly up and down.
She turned abruptly, sensing she was not alone. He blushed when he realized he had been caught admiring her back side. God he wanted her. He bit back thoughts of taking her in this barn. Of thrusting her against the brick wall and grabbing and biting that inviting lower lip.
They had too much baggage to carry this morning for such insolent thoughts. So instead he stayed hovering in the doorway.
"Matthew." She said equally needing him more in that moment than she ever would admit to. "Come over and let me introduce you to Diamond."
Nothing had changed. They still had all the same problems that had kept them apart the night before.
But Matthew walked over. His hand, faced upwards, moved towards the horse's mouth in order to let him sniff him. He then gently stroked the horse's neck. Scratched as Diamond liked the touch.
Mary was impressed. "You know what you're doing." She did not intend the words to sound surprised, but that's how they came out.
He appraised her with a slight side eye. "I do know how to ride. I'm …." He moved towards Diamond's withers for another scratch and rub. "I'm just out of practice."
Mary moved closer to him and they touched and intertwined fingers and hands and knew this was going to go much further than either had anticipated.
But would it really solve anything? At that moment Matthew's right hand snaked around her back and came to rest on her rear end; Mary's left pulled his head towards hers, her fingers pulling at strands of his hair, her lips bruising into his own that made him groan and insensate to the world around him.
At that moment ,neither cared.
XX
Yes I know… sex doesn't solve everything…dammit! We'll deal with all the repercussions and fall out in the next couple chapters.
Please Review! I really really do mean it! I love reading comments and insights!