"Do you want the world to know how the late Mr Pamuk died? In your bed?"
Realisation dawns gradually for Richard as he looks at each person in turn. Mary and Cora's eyes are trained on the Earl, whose expression is a combination of anger and confusion.
"Is anyone going to enlighten me?"
The booming question reverberates over the stunned silence. The next moments seem to pass as a play with Richard a mere spectator. Mary recovers first:
"I need to talk to you, Papa."
"Mary...You don't need to..."
"No, it's alright." She gives her mother a decisive nod and looks up at her father. "Shall we go into the Library?"
As Richard watches them leave, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place - his agreement with Mary, Cora's eagerness to see them wed and to remain in his favour... As soon as the Library door shuts, he turns to her:
"You haven't told him? He doesn't know? After eight years?"
"You're the newspaperman, Richard," she hisses, making no effort to control her rage. "I'm surprised you haven't guessed that already."
"It was hardly something to talk about."
"No, so you just held it over our heads."
"I wanted Mary to marry me," he snaps. She looks round nervously as they both become aware of the conversation in the Library and their own exposed position. She gestures him into an empty room, where they talk in hurried whispers:
"I wanted Mary's love and affection," he pleads. "What's wrong with that?"
"Because love takes time and effort , Richard..."
"I realise that now..."
"...not threatening her with ruin."
"Threatening her with ruin?" He steps closer until he is almost whispering in her ear. "Do you think it's been easy? I've had to bribe most of Fleet Street, threaten the Turkish Embassy, call in favours from friends...I've tried Cora! And yet every time I come to Downton, Mary taunts me, the rest of your family are condescending...and as for Matthew Crawley..."
"I know..." The words are spoken so quietly he wonders whether he has heard them at all. "I'm sorry, Richard...I'm sorry for the way you've been treated..." She is so close now - close enough to feel the rhythm of her soft breathing against him. His studies at her, eyes tracing the contours of her face - across her jawline, down to her neck, her collar bone, back up to her lips. He knows exactly what to do next...
"You and Mary aren't well suited..." He is mildly annoyed that she is trying to continue the conversation, oblivious to the charged atmosphere and their intimate position. His body craves release from the growing tension...
He kisses her abruptly; she pulls away with a yelp of surprise.
He tries again, briefly meeting her eyes, gently touching her lips...He feels her tremble, hears her quiet moan into his mouth. The kiss is soft, experimental, improvised. Her hand reaches up, brushes his shoulder...
She jumps away with a start, staring at him in horror. He cannot help but stare back. Her cheeks and neck are stained with a rosy blush, she is running her tongue over her lips...He is in danger of losing control of his emotions and actions...
Eyes pressed firmly shut, he takes a deep calming breath...Exhales slowly...Opens his eyes...
He is alone. She has left him.
"It's your personal space, Richard." She shrugged. "So personalise it."
He expected her to critically survey the room and offer suggestions. Instead she stood next to him looking slightly bored. It was hardly the response he wanted.
"What about the Earl's dressing room at Downton? How is that personalised?" He saw a small flicker of surprise and annoyance in her expression, yet he was no longer able to shock her. "Let me guess. Candles, academic and sporting prizes, hunting scenes, a narrow, uncomfortable bed-"
"You will never know, Richard," she interjected. " And it's not relevant to this room." She had adopted the authoritative tone she probably used to admonish servants.
He sighed. Their conversation had always skated over the boundaries of what was strictly proper. Talk of beds and dressing rooms was clearly a step too far.
He imagined her private arrangements with her husband. How much had she seen of his dressing room? Had she ever slept in his bed? More importantly, how often does he share his wife's bed?
God, how he envied that man.
She stands uncertainly outside her husband's dressing room. She will surely be missed downstairs, but is in no mood to make conversation or play bridge. What had happened in the Music Room? Why hadn't she walked away earlier? She he had welcomed his kiss, responded, enjoyed it. She could still feel him pressed against her, feel the way his tongue gently explored her mouth, feel the exquisite rush of pleasure wash over her...
It's wrong. It doesn't matter that a number of their acquaintances have taken lovers - and even Robert is still carrying on with Jane. She is contemplating adultery with Richard Carlisle, infamous media mogul and her daughter's supposed fiancée. If they were ever discovered, the consequences didn't bear thinking about.
"Robert?" She knocks on his dressing room door, pushing it open when she hears his voice inside.
Carson seems to disappear the instant she comes in, leaving her husband half undressed. Another time, they would have found the situation amusing. She would have smiled, joked and helped him with his shirt, although the outcome of her "helping him dress" would inevitably lead to frenzied undressing.
She hides a small smile at the memory. Now it seems he is only willing to talk to her when fully dressed. She waits awkwardly, wondering just how honest Mary has been. Finally she is granted his attention:
"Carlisle's going to London tomorrow. Mary will break up with him when he gets back."
"So she's going to break with him?"
"I won't have my daughter married to a man who threatens her with ruin." She recognises his tone - the decision has already been made. There seems no point in questioning it. "I thought she could stay with your mother until the scandal passes?"
"Of course," she replies automatically. "It's probably for the best. Darling..." She doesn't know what to say, only what she wants - a frank discussion, forgiveness, reassurance?
"I've got to be up early for the trial tomorrow." He gestures towards his bed.
She nods; it is clearly not the right time to talk to him.
"Good luck for tomorrow, darling." She pecks his cheek and goes back to her room.
Richard is angry. He was not surprised that Mary had ended their engagement, but he is furious that it took the involvement and supposed support of Matthew Crawley, irritated that Cora has not deigned spoken to him, upset that she has been positively avoiding him. He vents his fury at the man standing in front of him:
"How smooth you are," he spits. "The model of manners and elegance. I wonder if you'll be quite so serene when the paper are full of your eldest daughter's exploits."
"I shall do my best." The reply is calm and measured; Richard recognises the way the Earl places himself between him and his daughter. There will be no further interaction between them. He storms out.
His only thought the next morning is to leave as soon as possible. Downton Abby has been the setting for incalculable humiliations and frustrations. He can take revenge on Mary and the Earl of Grantham from afar - the publication of her scandal and his valet's arrest.
He doesn't expect Mary to seek him out. Their last conversation is the most kind and genuine conversation he has experienced with Mary since their engagement: "I just didn't want our final words to be angry ones."
"I loved you, you know. More than you knew. And much, much more than you loved me."
"Then I hope the next woman you love deserves you more than I did." His thoughts turn inevitably to her mother, reminding himself that he may never see her again either. He forces his demeanour to return to that of the brash, unconcerned newspaper baron.
"Don't worry about Haxby, " he declares, strolling through the entrance hall for the last time, determined not to look behind him. "I'll sell it at a profit. I usually do."
He is about to step into the car when he sees her waiting for him. His eyes take her in - hair swept up on top of her head, pearl-drop earrings and matching necklace, flaming orange blouse with circular patterns...
"You look cold," he whispers, drifting his fingers down her arm. He hears the sharp intake of breath and sees her eyes flick to his face. He knows just how to relieve the tension...
She shakes her head quickly, looking beyond him to the car and the waiting chauffeur. "I just wanted to say goodbye."
"Why goodbye?" He speaks slowly and seductively, his fingertips tracing lazy patterns on her arm. "The renovations at Haxby are complete. Do you not want to see the results?"
"There doesn't seem much point now..."
"There's every point, Cora. Haxby is your creation. You chose all the furniture and decor. That's quite an achievement."
"I thought you were selling it."
"Maybe," he shrugs. "We make a good team, Cora." He leans closer. "And we're both more relaxed away from Downton." She swallows; her breathing against his neck has deliberately slowed down. It takes all his self-control to step away from her.
"Tomorrow at Haxby," he pronounces, neither a statement nor a question. Tipping his hat, he steps into the car.
The motor drives off with Richard ensconced in the back. He smiles to himself. Perhaps he will see Cora again.
Thank you so much for MissPixieWay for beta'ing and generally boosting my confidence! As you can see, this fic will probably change to an M rating at some point!