When he first comes to her on a night when she has come back from the Abbey early; reportedly pleading tiredness but he suspects that was a falsehood. Her eyes light up in pleasant surprise when she sees him. She has unclipped her black earrings and puts them down absent-mindedly in a little dish on the sideboard.

"I expect Matthew will stay up there," she told him, "They offered him to, and he seems evermore attached to Mary these days."

She was not looking at him, she could not see how he was looking at her. But she turned around, caught the look on his face, and the smile that she had been wearing slowly gave way to a much more confused, more serious look. Embarrassed suddenly, he looked down at the floor, thinking it would help to look away from her eyes. He was wrong, his eyes moved downwards over the smooth shining black of the fitted black of her bodice, the rich, crumpled material of her skirt.

"Richard?" She tested his Christian name uncertainly.

Still he hung back.

"Richard."

Him examining her carpet intently, he did not realise that she was coming closer to him until he saw her black shoes appear in his eye line. Before he'd looked up, her waist and her gloved hands had come into his eye line too.

As he looked up, her arms bend lithely at the elbow, taking hold of the end of her black glove, drawing it carefully off. Tentatively, she reached her bare hand out to touch his face. Her thumb ran along the line of his cheek, the tips of her fingers resting by his jaw.

"Richard," she said again, a third time, more firmly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured in reply, "I don't know why I'm here."

She gave him a sad smile; she did not have to tell him aloud that she wished he wouldn't lie to her.

"I'm not asking you to go," she told him.

Desperately, almost, seeking contact, not wanting her to break away, his hand covered hers where it rested on his face.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he murmured hoarsely, "I can't help myself."

Tremulously, he lifted her hand, pressed it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. He felt her eyes on him, watching him with an intensity that was almost alarming in its deep brown.

"Perhaps I don't want you to be able to help yourself."

It consoled him that he heard a slight shake in her voice; quiet but there.

"Oh, Isobel."

He saw her white skin pressed close against the black lace over her collarbone as she inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. His eyes caught, he could not tear them from the beads at intervals in the lace over her bodice; how they moved and glittered softly with her breathing. Her eyes followed his, watched to see what he watched. It seemed to unsteady her breath even more. His hands went tentatively to her narrow waist. Both of her hands were on his face, moving him gently to make him look into her eyes again.

They spoke at the same time.

"I'm in love with you."

"Stay."

She smiled broadly.

"I love you," she told him.

And then she kissed his lips.

And then he was lifting her, carrying her, taking her weight completely, bundling the long fabric of her skirts, taking her up the stairs.

They kissed headily as he laid her down on her bed, her hands keeping her close to him, pulling him to lie down with her. They had locked the door, they would not be disturbed. His lips latched onto her ear as he touched her breasts over the silk of her dress.

"You're incredible," he whispered in her ear, "You enthral me. I can't sleep for thinking about you. I think about you like this. I want you."

"Help me out of this infernal garment, then," she told him breathlessly.

Helping her to sit up, he helped her turn around, undoing to long row of buttons as quickly as he could. As soon as he could she wriggled out of the arms of the dress. He undid the band at her waist as she undid her corset, letting it simply drop onto the floor. He managed to push her skirt away from her legs before he caved in to the temptation to reach around her body and cup both of her breast, running his thumbs over her nipples and kissing her neck.

"I love you, Isobel," he told her again.

Turning her head as far as she could, their lips met, slipping over each other tenderly.

"Turn around," he murmured.

She did so, facing him, leaning towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily once more. His hand trailed down the front of her body, slipping under the waistband of her underwear. She gasped a little as his fingers slipped between her folds. He caught her gasp with his own mouth on hers, let her lips vibrate against his with moans as he pleasured her, the smooth fabric of her underwear brushing his knuckles until he pushed his fingers inside her warmth. She whimpered, her lips leaving his as she started to tighten around his fingers.

"Darling," he murmured, mouthing against her collarbone as her back arched towards, "Yes, darling, that's it," as she keened in pleasure.

She came, and he held her in his arms, smoothing her back as her breathing returned to a normal pace; their bodies pressed close together with warmth and newly revealed love and the heady scent of their love-making.