Notes: I've used dialogue from the show in the chat between Robert and Mary at the start of this chapter.

June 1913

The first day of June was beautifully sunny, not at all the kind of day to discuss heavy matters, and yet Mary found herself walking across the long, rolling lawn with her father, finally talking to him about the entail that had been causing her such virulent frustration.

'The only one who never sticks up for me in all this is you. Why is that?' she asked, trying and failing to keep the bitterness and frustration out of her voice.

Robert walked alongside her, choosing his words carefully. 'You are my darling daughter and I love you; hard as it is for an Englishman to say the words.'

'Well, then…'

'If I had made my own fortune and bought Downton with my own money, it should be yours without question, but I did not. My fortune is the work of others, who laboured to produce a great dynasty. Do I have the right to destroy that work? Or impoverish that dynasty? I am a custodian, my dear, not an owner. I must strive to be worthy of the task I have been set,' he said, trying to explain the situation he was in as plainly but gently as he could.

Mary gave him a look that made her disappointment with his answer clear.

'If I could take Mama's money out of the estate, Downton would have to be sold to pay for it. Is that what you want? To see Matthew a landless peer with a title but no means to pay for it?' Robert said, willing Mary to understand why he couldn't fight the entail.

'So, I'm just to find a husband and get out of the way?' she asked, still bitter as she saw all hope disappearing of inheriting at least her mother's money even if she couldn't have the house and the estate.

'You could stay here if you married Matthew,' Robert replied, voicing the perfect solution, eyeing his daughter carefully.

Mary shook her head. 'You know my character, Papa, I'd never marry any man I was told to. I'm stubborn. I wish I wasn't, but I am.'

Robert sighed, feeling they had reached an impasse. 'I know, my darling, I know. You have more than a touch of your grandmother in that respect.'

'Then there's nothing more to be said, is there?' Mary said, bleakly.

'I suppose not,' Robert said, quietly.

They reached the bench under the spreading boughs of the large, centuries-old tree near the house and Mary stopped walking.

'Are you not coming in for tea?' Robert asked, not really sure what to do after saying his piece, knowing that he had more or less broken his daughter's heart.

'No, I think I might sit here for a little while,' Mary said, sinking onto the bench, suddenly desperate to be alone.

'Very well.'

Robert took a few steps and then stopped, looking back at her, his face troubled. 'For what it's worth, I am sorry, Mary. And I do love you. Very much.'

Mary looked up at him, offering a small smile. 'I know, Papa. It's just… it's hard to accept, that's all.'

'Yes, I suppose it must be,' he said, sympathy rising within him.

'I'll be all right. I just need to… adjust to the new reality of things. The removal of all hope.'

Robert nodded, briefly thinking how much easier it would have been if he and Cora had had the son they had longed and prayed for. 'Well, I shall leave you in peace.'

With that, he turned and headed back to the house.

Mary sighed, leaning back against the bench, not for the first time cursing the fact that she'd been born a girl. How easy it was for men. And yet as far as she could see, not one of them realised how lucky they were simply because fate had decreed they be born male. It was so unfair.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there before she heard someone coming towards her. She looked up and saw Edith, a parasol balanced over her shoulder, shading her from the afternoon sun.

'What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?'

'Thinking,' Mary replied, willing her sister to go away.

'About what?'

'About the entail if you must know.'

'Ah, that,' Edith said, perching on the other end of the bench. 'Downton is never going to be yours you know.'

'I know,' Mary said, tightly. 'Papa's just spelt it out to me quite comprehensively.'

Edith made a small, satisfied noise, making Mary shoot a fierce look at her. 'I don't know why you ever thought it would be. Or why it should be. If you could inherit part of it, why shouldn't Sybil or I inherit too?'

'Because I'm the eldest,' Mary gritted out.

'And don't we know it. Always trying to lord it over us,' Edith said, snottily.

'Have you actually got anything useful to say or are you just sitting there to be obnoxious?' Mary demanded, feeling her temper stirring.

'I'm just saying. You can't inherit the title, so why should you get the estate? I know you always thought you'd get it by default when Patrick was alive,' Edith said, bitterly. 'That was the only reason you were prepared to marry him.'

'And I suppose you truly loved him, did you?' Mary sneered.

'Yes, I did!'

'Well, he didn't love you. No matter what you think,' Mary said, riled up by Edith.

'Only because he wasn't allowed to because everyone wanted you to have Downton! If anything was unfair, it was that!' Edith cried, certain of that.

'He was embarrassed by you and how obvious you were,' Mary said, scathingly. 'We had quite the laugh about it.'

Edith glared at her, hatred shining in her eyes. 'You're a nasty, horrible witch. And I hate you,' she almost growled.

'The feeling is entirely mutual,' Mary bit out.

'Well, I'm glad you won't ever get your hands on Downton. You'd have to marry Matthew to get it now, and he's far too sensible to be taken in by you and your nasty ways.'

'Oh, you think so, do you?' Mary replied, staring her sister down.

'I know so,' Edith replied, smugly.

'And I suppose you think he's attracted to you, do you?'

'That's none of your business! But yes, it's quite possible that he is!' Edith retorted, her cheeks flooding with colour.

Mary stared at her then laughed, a cold, dismissive trill. 'In your dreams. Matthew is just being polite to you.'

'Just because you don't want it to be true doesn't mean it isn't,' Edith replied, indignantly.

'You don't think I couldn't have him falling at my feet if I wanted him?' Mary asked, her voice silky and provocative, delighting in playing on all her sister's worst fears.

'No, you couldn't. Not in a million years,' Edith said, her cheeks paling and her voice wavering a little. 'I know you love to think you're irresistible, but you're not.'

'You don't sound convinced by that,' Mary observed mildly, a smug smile on her face. 'Even if you were engaged to him – which you're not – I could take him from you any time I wanted.'

Edith glared at her. 'No, you couldn't.'

'I could. Like that,' Mary said, snapping her fingers at Edith, her smile turning ice cold. 'And you know it.'

'I know nothing of the sort,' Edith said, tightly. 'Matthew would never fall for you. Never.'

Mary rose to her feet, smoothing her dress down. 'You keep telling yourself that, sister dear. Maybe one day, you'll believe it,' she said and then turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Edith fizzing in her wake.

'I heard you and Edith had a set to this afternoon,' Sybil said as she brushed Mary's hair to a shine that evening.

'Well, she's completely ridiculous. Not to mention delusional. She actually thinks Matthew is attracted to her. Can you imagine?' Mary said, rolling her eyes. 'As if that is ever going to happen.'

'Maybe he is,' Sybil said, mildly. 'Stranger things have happened.'

Mary fixed her sister with a horrified look. 'You're not seriously telling me you think that is true, are you?'

'Well, I don't know. Not for sure. It could be true, I suppose. I rather hope it isn't, though. Matthew is… well, he's rather more handsome than I imagined Edith's future husband would be. And more engaging,' Sybil admitted, her cheeks colouring prettily.

Mary stared at her in surprise. 'Sybil, do you have a little fancy for Cousin Matthew?'

Sybil's blush intensified. 'I like him a lot. I find him quite refreshing and… and…'

'And?' Mary prompted, quirking an eyebrow.

'Attractive. Yes, I will admit that I find him attractive,' Sybil confided, avoiding Mary's eyes in the mirror.

Mary stared at her in silence for long enough that Sybil looked up from her brushing to meet her probing gaze.

'Well, I will say that you would make a far more fitting wife for Matthew than Edith ever would. You wouldn't turn the title of the Countess of Grantham into a synonym for boring like she would,' Mary said, eventually.

'Mary! Don't be so mean! And whoever said anything about me marrying Matthew?' Sybil exclaimed, her cheeks on fire. 'I'm quite sure he doesn't see me as anything more than your annoying little sister.'

Mary harrumphed, making it clear what she thought of that statement. 'If he does, he's a fool. It's quite obvious that the annoying sister is Edith.'

'Mary,' Sybil chastised again, returning to brushing Mary's long hair. 'You shouldn't say things like that. It's not nice.'

'Edith's not nice,' Mary replied, bluntly. 'And for what it's worth, if Matthew hasn't noticed you yet, it's only a matter of time. You're turning into quite the beauty, Sybil.'

'Oh, I don't know about that,' Sybil said, feeling self-conscious.

'Well, I do. You may not be as poised as I am, but you are certainly nicer. And when you come out next year, you might even give me a run for my money as the most attractive Crawley sister,' Mary said, a teasing smile on her face. 'Edith certainly never did that.'

'Oh, you are awful about poor Edith,' Sybil said, stifling a giggle.

'Poor Edith, my foot,' Mary said, dismissively. 'Honestly, if Matthew does propose to her, I may have to either seduce him or shoot him. I'm quite undecided as to which it will be at this moment in time.'

Sybil laughed out loud at Mary's outrageous statement, taking hold of her sister's shoulders and gazing directly at her in the mirror, her eyes twinkling merrily. 'Mary Josephine Crawley, you are quite terrible!'

Mary gazed back at her and grinned. 'But I'm not wrong, am I? Someone will need to knock some sense into him.'

Sybil pressed her lips together for a moment, trying not to give in to the little devil sitting on her shoulder. 'Yes, they will,' she said finally, returning Mary's grin, and then both sisters erupted into giggles.

Early on Monday afternoon, Tom stood to attention by the rear door of the car, holding it open as Mary came out of the front door.

'Good afternoon, Branson,' she said, accepting the hand he offered to help her into the car.

'Good afternoon, milady,' he replied, the model of a good servant.

'We're going to York this afternoon,' she said from the back of the car as Tom started the motor.

'Very well,' he replied, pulling smoothly away.

Mary waited until they were halfway down the drive before rescinding her instructions. 'We're not really going to York.'

Tom flicked his eyes to the mirror to meet her gaze, flashing her a smile. 'No, I didn't think we were. The cottage?'

Mary nodded, her pulse tripping a little faster. 'Yes, please. If that's all right with you?'

'Of course, it is,' he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 'How have you been?'

Mary sighed, her shoulders slumping. 'Well, let's just say that seeing you at the fair on Saturday evening was the highlight of the last few days. Everything else has been rather… dismal.'

He cast another glance at her in the mirror. 'Really? Do you want to talk about it?'

'Maybe. Maybe not. Let's see when we get to the cottage,' she said, not sure whether she wanted to stir up all those feelings of frustration and worthlessness again.

Tom nodded and returned his attention to the road, taking them to his cottage in a roundabout way to avoid raising any suspicions about why one of Lord Grantham's cars with one of Lord Grantham's daughters in it was heading to an estate cottage.

'Hot milk?' Tom asked as he threw his cap on the dresser and began to unbutton his tunic.

Mary shook her head. 'No, not today. It's too warm.'

'Would you like a glass of cold milk instead then?'

She cocked her head and then nodded. 'Yes, I rather think I might.'

'Well, you go on up and get changed and I'll bring the milk up,' he said, heading for his tiny pantry.

Mary smiled, put her hat on the table and turned to go upstairs.

Tom gave her ten minutes to change her clothing before heading upstairs, by which time she was changed and settled on the bed, her back propped against the headboard, waiting for him to appear.

He pushed the door open with his foot, carrying two glasses of cold milk. He passed one to Mary before setting his own glass down on the bedside cabinet and sitting down to pull his tall boots off. He set them neatly beside the bed and swung his legs up to settle himself next to her.

'So, what's up? Why was your weekend so dismal?' he asked, getting straight to the point.

Mary sighed, cradling her glass of milk. 'Have you heard about the entail on the estate?'

Tom frowned, recalling Mr Carson pontificating about the unfairness of the entail. 'Is it some kind of legal thing?'

'Yes. It's basically a legal device that limits the inheritance of property to certain heirs. My grandfather set up an entail on Downton that says the entire estate and any money wrapped up in it goes to the heir to the Grantham title.'

'Mr Crawley,' Tom said, sipping his milk.

'Yes. Matthew. The entail means that Matthew gets everything when Papa dies. The title, the house, the estate, all its assets, and all of Mama's money.'

'All of it?' Tom said with a frown. 'But what about you and your sisters? Don't you get anything as the daughters of the current earl?'

'No. Well, each of us has a dowry for when we marry and a small legacy that will come to us when Papa dies, but apart from that, no. Everything goes to Matthew.'

'That seems… harsh,' Tom observed, surprised that the whole shebang went lock, stock and barrel to Matthew Crawley, who according to his fellow servants had only been in the picture for just over a year.

Mary nodded. 'Granny asked Matthew to look into the entail to see if it's as watertight as Papa and Mr Murray seem to think it is. And he confirmed this weekend that it is. It's as tight as a drum.'

Tom looked across at her. 'So, it all goes to Mr Crawley.'

'Yes. It all goes to a third cousin once removed instead of me as Papa's eldest child. All because I'm not a man,' Mary said, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice. 'The law says women can't inherit the title, which means I can't inherit anything that goes with it either. When Mama brought her dowry to the estate, Grandpapa linked the family fortune to the title because it apparently never occurred to him that he would not have a grandson.'

'So, does that mean when his lordship passes, you and your family will have to leave Downton?'

Mary shrugged. 'Matthew says not. He says we'll always have a place here, but who knows whether that will always be true? When he marries, his wife may not want distant cousins littering the place, acting like we own it.'

Tom put his hand on the bedspread between them, edging his little finger towards hers where it lay by her side.

'It was going to be mine, Downton,' Mary said, wistfully. 'Before Patrick died.'

Tom twisted his head to look at her, unable to place the name. 'Who's Patrick?'

'Patrick Crawley. He was the son of Papa's first cousin, James, who as Papa's closest male relative was the heir before Matthew.'

'I don't understand. How was Downton going to be yours?' Tom asked, unable to follow the logic of how the estate could have been Mary's through a previous heir but not the current one. 'If it's all going to Mr Crawley now, wouldn't it all have gone to Patrick or his father if they'd lived?'

'Patrick and I were engaged. Well, not officially, we weren't, but there was an understanding within the family that we would marry and then when he inherited the title, I would become the Countess of Grantham,' Mary explained.

'Oh. Oh, right. I didn't realise,' Tom said, shocked by the hammer blow he felt that Mary had already been in love at her tender age and had lost him. 'I'm so sorry for your loss. When did he die? He must have been fairly young, mustn't he?'

'Both James and Patrick were on the Titanic when she went down last year. They were lost in the disaster,' Mary said, recalling the shock of the news arriving at Downton.

Tom put his hand over hers, squeezing it briefly before moving it away, conscious that she was speaking of her deceased fiancé. 'Oh, that's awful. I'm so sorry. Were you very devastated?'

Mary slid a look across to him before shaking her head. 'I was sad, I suppose, to an extent – I mean I'd known Patrick all my life – but I wasn't devastated. I didn't love him. He was a nice enough chap, but quite dull. If I told you that Edith was in love with him, that should give you an idea of the kind of man he was.'

Tom frowned, confused. 'But I thought you said you were practically engaged?'

'We were. But it wasn't a love match. It was a tidy solution to an untidy problem. Granny, Papa, Mama and James cooked it up to keep the title and Mama's money within the immediate family,' Mary clarified, taking a drink of her milk.

'But…' Tom trailed off, unsure what to say.

'But what?'

'You would have married a man you didn't love?' Tom asked, the idea alien to him.

Mary looked over at him, shrugging. 'Women like me don't marry for love, Tom. Well, not unless we're very lucky. We marry for money or power or a title. Or a combination of any or all three. Love doesn't generally come into it.'

'That sounds very… mercenary,' Tom said, shocked that naked greed seemed to be the sole reason for marriage in Mary's world.

'It can be, but for most society women like me, it's a necessity,' Mary said, all pragmatism. 'Very few of us have money of our own. If we have brothers, they get the money. If we don't have brothers, the male heir gets the money, however distant he may be. We women are merely pawns to be moved around the board, much like our medieval counterparts, although perhaps not as bad as that, thankfully. I least I wasn't betrothed to a man fifty years older than me when I was only a small child.'

'You'd really marry a man you didn't love?' Tom repeated, still shocked by that notion.

'Well, I would like to love my future husband and sometimes it does happen, or the love develops later – my mama and papa are living proof of that – but I don't expect to love him.'

'But that's so sad and so wrong!' Tom exclaimed.

'Is it?' Mary asked, squinting at him.

'Yes! Marriage is… it's… well, you should marry for love. You should marry because you want to spend the rest of your life with that person. Because you can't imagine living one day without them,' he said, surprising even himself with his passion on the subject.

Mary grinned and nudged him with her elbow. 'Listen to you. You're a romantic.'

'Yes, I am. Of course, I am. Aren't you?'

'No. I'm a pragmatist. I have to be. I have to marry if I want a future, so I have to find a husband. I don't have to love him. Preferably, he won't be hideous to look at, not if I have to go to bed with him. Which, of course, I will. And I'd like it if he isn't dull. But really, he just needs to be tolerable. Or have enough money to have more than one property, so I can live in one and he can live in the other,' Mary said, making a joke of the situation she had always known would be her lot in life.

Tom didn't laugh. Instead, he stared at her in horror. 'Do you really mean that?'

'Yes, I do.'

'But… love… it's the only real reason you should be marrying anyone.'

'Is it?'

'Yes! Of course, it is!'

'So, you're telling me that nobody you know has married for any other reason than love?' Mary asked, tilting her head, curious to know the answer. 'Because that's certainly not the case in my world.'

'I… I… well, we ordinary people obviously don't have the same outlook as you aristocrats do,' Tom replied, a little condescendingly.

Mary raised an eyebrow. 'Well, maybe you don't have the same dynastic concerns some of the peerage do, but surely you must know people who married for benefit rather than love?'

'No, I don't,' Tom said, firmly.

'Really? Don't you know any women who married someone because he was a good worker and earned a good wage? Or a man who took a wife because he wanted a child to carry on his name or his trade?'

'Well, maybe, but…' Tom's voice faded out as he thought about that.

'But?'

'All right, I take your point, but I could never do that,' he said, stoutly.

'Couldn't you?'

'No! I want to love my wife and I want her to love me. I can't imagine marrying anyone for any other reason.'

'No? What if you got someone pregnant?' Mary challenged

Tom's eyes widened in shock and a slight blush stole across his cheeks. 'Mary!'

Mary gazed steadily back at him. 'What? When I first came here and told you everything, you told me you'd been to bed with at least two women. What if you'd got one of them with child? Are you telling me you would have just walked away and abandoned them? Given them your special tea and then disappeared?'

'Well, no, of course, I wouldn't have,' Tom said, feeling very awkward to be having this conversation.

'So, you would have married one of those women if she'd been having your baby then?'

'Erm, well, yes, I suppose I would have.'

'And did you love either of them?' Mary continued, quirking an eyebrow again.

Tom was quiet for a moment before relenting. 'All right, all right, I see what you're saying. People marry for different reasons. I still think love is the best one.'

'I didn't say it wasn't. I simply said I didn't expect to love the man I end up marrying, not really,' Mary said, quietly. 'I've always known that I was meant to marry the heir. Right from when I was young, but especially since it became obvious that Sybil would be Mama and Papa's last child.'

Tom looked across at her, a slight frown on his face. 'Does that mean you're supposed to marry Mr Crawley now that he's the heir then?'

Mary blew out a sigh. 'Oh, don't you start! That's what Mama, Papa and Granny are all hoping will happen. They've been pushing that at me as something to consider right from the moment they discovered Matthew is a bachelor, both eligible and of marriageable age.'

Tom stared at her, a cold lump forming in his chest. 'And what do you think?'

'I think Matthew and I would be a disaster,' Mary said with a small laugh. 'We'd annoy each other and argue all the time. Although, to be fair, we've been getting on a lot better lately than we did initially. We're almost friends now. That's what Sybil says anyway.'

Tom felt the cold lump turning into a knot of jealousy.

'But isn't he "tolerable"? He's always seemed like a decent man to me, has Mr Crawley,' he pushed, unable to stop poking at the thought of Mary marrying Matthew Crawley. 'And he's not hideous to look at.'

Mary tipped her head, gazing ahead of her, considering that. 'I suppose you're right; he is tolerable. More than tolerable really. And he's definitely not hideous. Nor is he as dull as I thought he would be when I heard he was a solicitor.'

'Then you'd consider marrying him?' Tom asked, hollowly.

'I perhaps would, but there's one thing that makes that quite unlikely.'

'And what's that?'

'Matthew himself. I don't think he's remotely interested in me. Or getting married at all at the moment, for that matter.'

'You don't think your father will push him into it?'

Mary laughed, shaking her head. 'Papa might mention it to him – in fact, I'm sure he has already if Granny and Mama have had anything to do with it – but he has no leverage over him. With Patrick, Papa and James made a deal. And, of course, Patrick and I grew up knowing we were supposed to marry. It's not the same with Matthew.'

'Isn't it?'

'No. In the eyes of the law, Matthew is the heir presumptive to Papa's title, but he's under no obligation to marry the current earl's eldest daughter. He can marry anyone he wants to. And I can't imagine he will marry anyone simply because he's told to. That's not Matthew at all.'

'So, he doesn't want to marry you?' Tom asked, holding his breath.

'No, not on current evidence. Why? Do you think I should marry him?' Mary asked, looking sideways at Tom, waggling her eyebrows at him.

'No, I don't,' he said, emphatically.

'Why's that then?' she pressed, smiling playfully.

'Because you deserve a husband who will worship the ground you walk on,' Tom said softly, unable to hide how he felt about this subject.

Mary's smile faded a little as she stared at him. She leaned over him and put her glass of milk on the bedside table, and then took his glass from his unresisting hand and placed it next to hers. She pulled back, gazing at him, only inches between them.

'You are the sweetest man, Tom,' she said, her voice low. 'But I doubt very much that that is going to happen.'

She picked up his arm and looped it over her shoulders, tucking in close to him, slipping her arm over his midriff.

'Shall we try and have a nap, now? I'm quite tired after everything that's gone on this weekend and I've hardly had any sleep with all of it going around in my head,' she said, unable to look him in the eye anymore, scared he would see right through to her soul.

'All right,' Tom said, his thumb rubbing gently at the top of her arm.

'Will you read to me?'

'Yes, of course.'

Mary settled in, closing her eyes, trying to relax even as her heart raced.

'It's a very strange world you live in, Mary,' Tom said quietly above her head.

She was silent for a moment before answering. 'Maybe. But it's the only world I have.'

Tom made a small huffing noise and then picked up A Tale of Two Cities and began to read it aloud, his thumb still rubbing her arm.

Mary opened her eyes, taking in the now familiar surroundings of Tom's bedroom. She felt the warmth of his chest under her cheek, rising and falling with his breathing.

For once, she'd awoken before him. She tilted her head, looking at his face, allowing herself to drink in the sight of him without the risk of him seeing her do it, that now familiar feeling blooming in her chest as she looked at him.

She'd never felt about a man as she did about him. None of the suitors who had pursued her in the last few years had made her feel anything even remotely close to the way she felt about Tom. Occasionally, there had been a man who attracted her attention physically, but she'd never felt this for any man before, this heady combination of physical attraction and genuine affection.

She dropped her eyes to his lips, licking her own, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, wishing she could press her lips to his and see how it felt, find out if it gave her more of the butterflies she felt when she lay in his arms to sleep.

A thought occurred to her, making her heart beat faster; perhaps she could kiss him now while he was sleeping. He wouldn't know, but she would.

She shouldn't, she knew that, but that little voice in her head – the wicked demon inside her – urged her on. Go on, it said, do it, you know you want to.

Feeling both nervous and excited, she leaned forward before she could talk herself out of it and pressed her lips to his, revelling in the feel of them against hers, softer than she'd imagined.

Then Tom jerked awake, his blue eyes inches from hers and she pulled back slightly, shocked that he'd caught her kissing him, her heart leaping into her throat, guilt washing through her.

He gazed at her, saying nothing, and then just as she was about to apologise for her behaviour, he closed the tiny gap between them and kissed her.

Mary groaned as he tightened his arm around her. She grasped hold of his waistcoat, not wanting the kiss to end. He kept kissing her, his lips moulding to hers, making the feelings in her chest swell until she thought she wouldn't be able to contain them anymore.

When he broke the kiss, she sighed, chasing his lips to drop smaller kisses on them, unable to leave him alone.

'Mary,' he groaned, his voice wrecked. 'Mary.'

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, pulling back, unsure what else to say.

He shook his head. 'No, don't be sorry. Don't. I don't want you to be sorry.'

'I just… I woke up and I… I just wanted to kiss you. But I shouldn't have done it while you were asleep. I'm sorry. It was wrong of me.'

He lifted his hand and cupped her jaw. 'If you only knew how many times I've wanted to kiss you awake,' he said, softly.

'Really?' she whispered, happiness flooding through her.

He nodded, his hand still on her face. Mary leaned forward and kissed him again, her heart beating a rapid tattoo in her chest.

Tom groaned, his lips parting under hers, the kiss deepening as Mary pressed herself against him, desperate to feel as close to him as she possibly could. She gasped as he suddenly rolled onto his side, pushing her onto her back, leaning over her, dipping his head to keep kissing her.

Mary slid her hands up his chest, one coming to rest on his cheek, the other slipping to tangle in his hair as he stole her breath with his soft but insistent kisses.

She kissed him back, her stomach swooping with joy, her feet tangling with his on top of his bedspread.

'Oh, God, Mary,' he breathed as he finally pulled back a little, gazing down at her.

'Don't stop,' she murmured, darting her head up to scatter small kisses on his face. 'Not when it feels so lovely.'

He made a small noise in his throat then leaned down and kissed her again, scooping her into his arms once more.

Mary settled against the pillow, pulling him against her body, tightening her fingers in his hair, and let herself enjoy this wonderful and exciting new experience of lying in Tom's arms and being thoroughly kissed. Already, she knew that this was going to be addictive, something she would want to happen again and again and again.

This was going to be dangerous, this escalation of their relationship, she knew that. But right now, with Tom's lips on hers, his arms around her, she couldn't bring herself to care.