I've used dialogue from the show at the start of this chapter.

Mary sat at her dressing table and closed her eyes, her mind full of everything that had happened this evening.

There was a soft knock on her door, and she sighed, calling out to her maid. 'What is it, Anna?'

She heard the door open then a soft Irish voice said, 'It's not Anna.'

Mary's eyes flew open and she spun around, rising to her feet.

Tom stood just inside the door, holding it open slightly, as if unsure whether to come in or stay on the threshold. 'How is he?' he asked.

Mary raised her hand, rubbing wearily at her forehead. 'He's all right. The surgeons operated on him and they said he's going to be all right, although it's knocked the stuffing out of him.'

Tom nodded, thoughtfully. 'We'll have to lighten the load for him when he comes home.'

'We'll have to do more than that, Tom. You and I will have to take on the running of the estate in its entirety. We'll involve him in the big decisions, of course, but everything else will be on us. He can't have any more worry. That's what gave him the ulcer in the first place.'

'We'll do whatever we need to do, Mary.'

Mary looked up at him, her chin beginning to wobble. 'Oh, God, for a minute tonight, I thought… I thought…'

She stopped unable to say the words then she put her hands to her face and started to sob.

Tom shut the door and crossed the room, folding her in his arms as the dam burst.

'All that blood, Tom,' she wept, reliving the shocking sight of her father spewing bright crimson blood all over the pristine white cloth of the dining table. 'There was so much of it. I thought we'd lost him. I thought…'

'I know, darlin', I know,' he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair and tightening his hold on her.

Mary slid her arms around him, clinging on tight as the horror continued to unfold over and over behind her eyelids. Slowly, her sobs subsided as he shushed and soothed her, kissing her hair again.

She raised her head to look at him, the air between them charged with tension. Tentatively, Mary leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, not breaking eye contact with him, then pulled back, waiting to see what he would do. For a second, Tom stared at her, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips, and then they both surged forward, mouths crashing together, his hands moving to cradle her face, hers to clutch at the front of his shirt.

They moved as one, him walking her backwards, her pulling frantically at the front of his trousers. They hit the bed, Mary tumbling backwards, Tom falling on top of her. She yanked up her nightgown as he pushed down his trousers and underwear, freeing himself to plunge inside her.

Mary heard him groan as he sank into her, even as she couldn't hold back her own moan at the feel of him filling her so completely again. She wrapped her legs around his hips and clutched at his shoulders, arching up to meet his strokes. Her body felt like it was on fire, sparking into life everywhere it met his.

They devoured each other, lips and tongues crashing together, as Tom thrust in and out of her, faster and harder with each stroke. Mary welcomed it all, slamming her hips up to meet his, desperate to feel every single touch, every single second of this.

Too soon, she felt herself reach the pinnacle, clenching hard around him as she jerked and shuddered against him, biting down on his shoulder to keep her cries from echoing through the house. Tom stiffened, bucking against her, shoving his face into her neck to muffle his own cry of release.

He lay on top of her, both of them panting, neither of them saying a word. Tom raised his head to look at her. Mary stared back at him.

'I'm sorry,' he said, looking away as he pulled out of her. He dragged his trousers back up, tucking himself in and fastening his buttons before sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. 'I shouldn't have done that.'

Mary pushed her nightgown down, covering herself, and sat up beside him. 'You didn't do it,' she said. 'We did it.'

'I took advantage of you when you were upset.'

'Oh, for God's sake, Tom,' Mary snapped, annoyance flaring inside her. 'I'm not some fragile virgin. We both wanted that.'

'We said we wouldn't do that again.'

'No, you said we wouldn't. I didn't. You decided that for the both of us.'

'Mary, I –'

'No,' she said, forcefully. 'Shut up. It's my turn to speak. I would do that with you every day and every night if you let me. But you've decided for whatever reason that we can't. Well, I don't agree with that decision. I'll tell you here and now, Tom Branson, I want you just as much as I ever did. That hasn't changed for me. And judging by tonight's performance, I don't think it's changed for you either.'

Tom was silent, rubbing his fingers over the spot on his shoulder where she'd bitten him.

'Am I wrong?'

'No, you're not wrong,' he admitted.

'Then why are you so determined it's over between us?' Mary cried in frustration, at a loss to understand why he was taking this stance.

'Because we can't keep on like this.'

'Why not?' she demanded.

Tom put his hands to his face, rubbing at his eyes, shaking his head.

'It's because of Sybil, isn't it?'

Tom jerked his head up, staring at her, his eyes full of guilt.

'I'm right, aren't I?'

He stood up, walking away, keeping his back to her. 'Stop it.'

'You still feel guilty, don't you?'

He whirled round, guilt and pain written all over his face. 'Of course, I feel guilty! How can I not? You're my wife's sister, Mary! You're my wife's sister, and I know how you taste. I know how you look and the sounds you make when you come. I know all of that and more, and I… I shouldn't. I shouldn't know any of that.'

'But you do! Because you've tasted every inch of me, and I've tasted every inch of you. And it's been glorious! Every single second of it. And I don't understand why you're fighting this when it could go on being glorious!'

'Because I can't do it anymore! I just can't.'

'Well, quite obviously, you can because you just did.'

He took a deep, shuddery breath and shook his head. 'That was a mistake. A moment of weakness. It won't happen again.'

'Are you sure about that? Because you said the same thing two days ago and yet here we are.'

'I mean it, Mary. I can't do this anymore.'

'Because of Sybil. Because you loved her so much.'

He looked away, clenching his jaw.

'She's dead, Tom,' Mary said, quietly. He whipped his head around, staring at her in shock, but she ploughed on. 'She's dead and she's not coming back. I loved her too and I knew her for longer than you and I know she wouldn't have wanted you to be alone and miserable. She would have wanted you to move on.'

'But not with her sister! Not with you!' Tom spat out, his eyes bright with anger. 'She'd be ashamed of us and what we've been doing.'

'It sounds more like you're the one that's ashamed!'

'Maybe I am!'

Mary stared at him, taken aback by the pain and anger on his face. 'Do you know what I think?'

'No, I don't, and I don't want to know.'

'I think you went to America and started going to mass again and some priest or God-fearing cousin of yours has been whispering in your ear, stirring up all your Irish Catholic guilt.'

He shook his head, pressing his lips together in a tight line and crossing his arms over his chest.

Mary walked over to him, reaching out to lay a gentle, careful hand on his cheek. 'But it's not real, Tom. It's only real if you let it be.'

He stared at her, then took a step back, shaking his head again. 'You don't know what you're talking about. It's over, Mary. I mean it.'

Then he walked out, leaving her to sag down onto her bed, devastated.