V.
He would take Lavinia to Haxby.
It was a rash decision, made by instinct more than anything else. The sight of her writhing on those bed sheets was more than he could bear. He couldn't wait, he couldn't stand idly by like the rest of them, stunned silent and motionless, watching her fade away in front of them. Helpless, hopeless…
Perhaps it would have been wiser to keep her at Downton, but that house was stealing her soul from her body and he wasn't thinking clearly anyway.
He hadn't been thinking clearly in a long time.
For howelse could he explain how they ended up here? In the back of a car, headed to Haxby. Lavinia in her nightgown, clutching at his jacket feebly, mumbling nonsense, wholly unaware of where she was. Or likely who held her.
An hour ago, Richard had been fixated on Mary and keeping her to her faithless word, no matter how little she cared for him or he cared for her. Spite had kept him to the task, with Mary and Matthew's shared glances at dinner just adding fuel to his already tempered flames of indignation.
And Lavinia? An hour ago, they said she was recovering in the upstairs halls of Downton, on the mend and soon to rejoin them. But it wasn't true. She'd been crying over Matthew's hollow affection, and spiraling towards an abyss in the process. And no one noticed.
Not a damn person in that entire, grand house noticed.
"No one notices the little things,"Lavinia's voice from years ago came back to him then. How he wished she would raise her head from his chest and speak those words now. Any words, he amended, noting the labored breaths and shallow gasps that fell on his ears with terrifying irregularity.
But no. It was just memory.
A pleasant one—of a rainy, autumn night in London, years ago, when Lavinia came to see him at his office. It was after hours, everyone else had gone home long ago. She entered quietly, eyes alight with energy, saying those words almost…slyly? Sly was not her natural manner. Reserve and modesty—these were her born attributes. And yet…
A series of late-night rendezvous had made Miss Swire far bolder than she had ever been before or than she would ever be again. She gave him a tell-tale grin as she leaned back against the dark wood of his office door, shutting it tightly and locking it with a simple turn of her fingers, just in case. She added, with a small, near sultry shake of her head, "Oh, the terribly ordinary things that give us away…"
She was quoting his own lines back to him, mocking him? Perhaps, but lightly, with a tease that she only used behind locked doors. And only with him. She knew his powers of observation were better than most. She knew he reveled in those powers, almost as much as he currently reveled in her company.
She teased the possibility that they'd been found out. But that grin on her face said otherwise. And her presence in his office, at this hour, proved it false.
Still, he found her manner titillating and his body began to respond in kind. He met her gaze and held it, wondering where the more reserved Miss Swire had disappeared to tonight? Not that he was complaining.
Lavinia propped her umbrella against the door and peeled off her gloves quickly. She moved with grace, but fast. They only had an hour before her father would expect her back at the house.
"Terribly ordinary things," he mused, encouraging her to elaborate, "Like what?"
He smirked at the wide grin she gave in response. Her pretty face was framed by wispy strands of her red hair, curled by the mist of rain falling in the streets. He drank in the sight of her, as his thoughts were overrun by her lately, despite his intention to keep this…distraction in check. Even before she arrived, he'd been having a hard time concentrating on the missive in front of him, wondering what she was doing, who she was speaking with.
But now she was here.
She laid her shawl over the back of the nearest chair before approaching him. He had been working late, still writing at his desk, despite the late chimes of the bell towers throughout the city.
Lavinia bridged the distance between them in a few steps, her eyes never wavering from his. His smirk softened and he sat back in his office chair, enjoying his view, admiring her form, knowing that his hands would soon be running over her curves and taking out the pins in all that red hair.
When she reached him, she slipped the pen from his fingers smoothly, setting it aside. He gave her no argument, as the work would have to wait. Instead, he reached out, teasing her wrist before pulling her onto his lap, her skirt bunching up to her thighs.
"Like the flush of my cheeks when I know I'll be seeing you in an hour,"she answered his earlier question, her voice going a little husky. Her fingers immediately went for his tie, pulling the knot loose with a talent learned from repeated practice. By then, she'd had months of practice.
As his hands began running up her skirt, fingering the lace of her garters, undoing the ties and slipping them down past her knee, she continued, "Like the stammer in my voice when I tell my father I'll be taking a walk in the rain before bed."
"He believed you?"Richard nearly laughed, too confident that no daughter of his would manage to trick him with such a flimsy excuse.
"Mmhmm,"Lavinia replied, her lips teasing at the side of his mouth before moving to the skin just below his ear lobe. Did he detect a slight shade of hesitation in her voice as she acknowledged, "My father trusts me."
"Perish the thought,"Richard teased, before capturing her wandering lips with his own.
Perish all my thoughts. The memory disintegrated too easily, those nights spent with Lavinia far away and long ago. Buried in regret. Dead and forgotten, she said.
We will never speak of this again.
In the back of that car, Lavinia struggled against him but then went very quiet. Too quiet.
"Hold on, Lavinia," Richard whispered against her hair, hoping she could hear him. Her eyes were closed, her breath shallow. She lay against him, her arms still around his neck, but holding on with a weak grasp.
She murmured something unintelligible against his collar. He wondered if she knew where she was. As he brushed her long, red hair back from her face, he noted that her skin was as warm as an inferno.
No flush this time, just fire. That wanted to consume her and burn her up, in a way that he wouldn't allow. Despite having nearly burned her up himself, once upon a time.
He wouldn't give up without a fight. Not this time.
"Hurry, driver!" Richard urged the chauffeur, praying that he'd made the right decision.