Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the estate of Winston Graham, various publishers including but not limited to Pan Macmillan and the BBC. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction.

Author's Note: This had to be done because the BBC fades to black just when things were getting interesting and the book was written by a man in the 1940s. Beta read by the lovely Nokomiss. Please do not archive elsewhere without permission.

Demelza Carne thought she knew what she was doing when she slipped into the old faded green silk dress from chest in the library. After all she had taken the time to make alterations as best she could when Prudie was busying herself avoiding her work to the best of her abilities.

Shiftless as though they might be, it was rare day that Jud and Prudie Paynter missed anything that occurred in their domain.

The frock had belonged to Ross's long dead mother, that much she knew. A once fine gown for the once fine lady of the house. Demelza knew she could never aspire to such heights, as low born as she was, but she could pretend on afternoons when outside work was not possible. Prudie had filled her head with stories of extravagant parties with elegantly dressed ladies and dancing.

She'd give anything to be able to see such a thing for herself just once.

Dwelling on things that could never be was something she'd learned early in life. In the past year or so Ross had taken her under his wing as only he could, gruff and firm, but never unkind. She more often than not took the evening meal with him sitting at the dining table in the large parlor. Many a long evening was spent sitting on the threadbare Turkish carpet at his foot before the fire as he smoked his pipe. He unfailingly answered her many questions and gently corrected her when she misspoke. In time, he began to seek her opinion on matters concerning the mine or his tenants.

It made her heart flutter at the thought that he trusted her, valued her opinion enough to take her into his confidence.

She'd just ignore the fact that life on the coast was isolated, leaving Ross little choice for social interaction beyond the inhabitants of the local mining villages. Relations with his relatives three miles away at Trenwith was strained at the best of times. Jud was in his cups more often than not well before supper and Prudie as soon as she felt she could escape the indignities of actual work. It became a nightly ritual that Demelza always looked forward to with Ross being so worldly and knowing all sorts of things she had no hopes of ever learning about before he came into her life. He encouraged her attempts to learn to read when he caught her one rainy afternoon in the library trying to sound out the words written on the various papers scattered across his desk.

She lived for one his rare smiles of approval.

Was it any wonder she'd loved him almost from the moment Ross brought her to his home to be a kitchen maid at thirteen? He'd saved her from yet another beating by her father and given her a true home with enough to eat, proper clothing, and for the first time in her life, a real bed with sheets and pillows and a blanket. She'd not known such luxuries existed.

And her father. Damn him. He was going to ruin everything! Turning up uninvited like he did to see Captain Poldark to demand she return home like a good daughter to see to the lying-in of a stepmother she did not know. It'd been near on four years without word from the man that had fathered her. He couched his demands on rumors he had heard as far away as Illogan that unsettled him. Tom Carne had been saved he claimed, living clean since his marriage to the Widow Chegwidden a while back, and it would not do for his daughter to be living in sin. He promised to return next week to fetch her if she wasn't home sooner since the captain was unavailable.

Thankfully Ross had returned from Truro much later than expected.

The time between her father's lingering departure and the arrival of the master of the house allowed Demelza to work up the courage to throw caution to the wind. She hurried through her chores half afeared Jud or Prudie would chose this night to be on their best behavior. Jud did stay up a while beside the fire in the kitchen whittling a piece of wood before he'd finally tottered off to bed, bottle of rum in his hand.

She took her time while discarding her dirty, too short work frock, thinking over what she was going to do, what she was going to say, as she washed away the day's labor with a rough cloth and icy cold water from the pump. The silk of the dress was slick and cool and sinful against her naked skin as she wiggled into it, the rustling of the old material was like music to her ears. She hummed softly to herself while carefully combing her hair and tying it up with a scrap of an old ribbon.

They argued when he'd finally taken full notice of her. Ross was full of fury and regret and cheap rum he'd swilled before finally returning home that evening. Jim Carter had been sentenced to two years at Bodmin for poaching. Demelza was the target for his angry, bitter self-loathing. How dare she rummage through things in his library and who did she think she was wearing his mother's dress? He was in no mood to be trifled with and she'd crossed his even most indulgent line, culminating in threat to see her returned her to her father first thing in the morning and a waterfall of tears on her part.

He tried to send her to bed like a naughty child after he'd kissed her.

She had other ideas.

The old silk barely made a sound when the dress slipped from her shoulders to pool at her feet; Ross's breath was hot on the back of her neck. Demelza had said she'd needed help. The dress laced down the back.

She had lied.

He didn't care.

When his lips ghosted along the curve of her shoulder, the prickle of his dark stubble caused her breath to quicken. Work roughened fingers skimmed the swell of her hips as he pulled her back against him. There was little said between them before he released her long enough to light another candle then tug her down on the four poster bed.

She thought she knew what to expect.

It wasn't as though she had the benefit of a mother to guide her, but having grown up in a rough mining village there was little was left to the imagination, even for one so young. She mostly knew the how, but the why always escaped her.

Until now.

Ross was single minded in his determination, as if she would cry foul at any moment. Demelza relished the feel of his hands and his mouth on her, the tingles and warmth left in their wake. Despite his doggedness, he had care for her pain when he took her, softly kissing away the moisture that pooled in her eyes. She placed all of her trust in him.

It did not go amiss.

Afterwards, when all was quiet except the persistent rattle of the window pane from the wind, she smiled shyly, delighting in everything that was wondrous and new between her and Ross. Demelza stretched lazily like an old cat before the fire, enjoying the feel of the fine linen bedclothes against her bare skin.

He watched her beneath half-hooded eyes in the golden glow of the candles.

"When'd it happen?" she ventured, feeling brave enough to reach out and trace the scar on his cheek with a single calloused finger. She always did wonder.

He sighed wearily. "Virginia. In the army."

"It was that bad?"

"It was."

"You have your scars as well. I saw earlier." He drew his hand up along her back where she had known the bite of a leather strap and buckle all too well.

"Yes. Father," she mumbled, embarrassed and afraid the reminder of her coarse upbringing would make him send her away. A muffled sob escaped from her.

He moved quickly to gather her in his arms, shushing her gently. "Demelza, quiet now."

It was almost as if thinking of her father would conjure him up to drag her away from her home to beat the sin out of her. She couldn't leave Ross. Not now. He needed her. She wouldn't leave. Especially now. She had to make him see.

"I won't allow it to happen again," he said. Demelza nodded into his chest where he cradled her and quieted her sniffling. "That's better, now go to sleep."

She slowly leaned back, brushing her lips against his throat because she could. "No."

"Demelza," he said, trying to muster some sternness in his voice, but failing when she kissed his jaw. "Demelza, enough of this."

"No," she repeated and pressed her long, slender body along his. It should feel shameful to be naked in bed with a man who was not her husband, but she found she didn't care, not when he reached down to pull her more fully against him. She gasped.

"Damn you," muttered Ross against her temple, "damn you."

She didn't take his words to heart instead; she pulled him down to kiss her again because she could. In that moment they ceased to be master and servant, Ross and Demelza, they just were. Her fingers tangled in his unruly curls, back arching, wanting desperately to get closer to him. His mouth was on her breasts, nibbling and sucking each in turn until she quivered beneath him.

The only discernible sound in the room was her breathy mewling which he seemed to delight in. She rocked her hips and tried to bring a knee up to block him from moving lower down her torso in conquest of her body and soul. He was not to be deterred. She felt as if her bones had turned to liquid by the time he raised his head from between her legs, a satisfied gleam in his dark eyes as he traversed the messy landscape of the bed to lay at her side once more.

No words were employed between them as he took her hand to press a tender kiss against the underside of her wrist. Another kiss followed and another, inching his way slowly toward her shoulder then her neck. She knew what was to follow and welcomed his solid weight upon her when he settled between her thighs.

She pulled her coltish legs up to wrap around his narrow hips.

He entered her gently, mindful of the tender flesh he had rent earlier, moving slowly, allowing her to direct him in pleasuring her. She lost herself to everything but Ross. They moved together as one this time, absent the awkwardness of their first attempt at getting to know one another on the basest level.

He stilled abruptly, hovering over her like some dark angel in the wavering light of the nearly gutted candles.

"Did I do something wrong?" she begged, nearly on the verge of tears. She tried to urge him with a lift of her hips, her need for him desperate, but he remained unstirred. "Tell me!"

"Say my name," he commanded of her.

"Ross," she replied obediently in a husky voice she did not recognize as her own. A voice which elicited a deep growl from him that caused her to shudder.

"Say it again." He moved against her hard, demanding, and she met him straight on.

Demelza dug her work-worn fingernails into the slick skin of his shoulders. "Ross!"

It was his turn to cede to her demands, a hand beneath her buttock to hold her tight as he drove into her over and over again until she'd lost all sense of beginning and end, just the strive for something undefined. When it came it was like the most wicked stormy day with the ocean roiling and tumultuous, crashing violently against the jagged cliffs in darkly savage beauty.

"Judas," breathed Demelza when he'd collapsed in a spent heap beside her, legs still tangled together, both of them struggling to fill their lungs with warm night air. He chuckled tiredly and twined one of her wayward red curls around his finger. There were no more words between them for she feared what he might say.

The lone remaining candle sputtered out, leaving the pale waning moon to cast shadowy relief in the darkened room.

Sleep was a long time in coming for her, more than content to listen to Ross's steady, deep breathing next to her. Even if he acquiesced to her father's demands to return her to suffer her previous rough and tumble life, she would always have those few hours to sustain her for a lifetime.

There would be no other for her.

She stole from the room like a thief in the night with the first stirring of the wrens roosting in the eaves of the rambling old stone house, careful not to wake him with the rustle of the old silk dress she slipped around her to cover her nakedness.

Demelza was always the first abroad in the mornings.

The grass was cool and wet beneath her bare feet when she stepped outside into the first light of the brand new day. Garrick greeted her with his usual enthusiasm, joyfully following along behind her, wagging his stumpy tail, as she hummed and sang to herself while roaming the meadows picking flowers to adorn her messy hair. Countless hours were spent daydreaming in the warm sun while it worked its healing magic on the pleasantly dull ache in her back and thighs.

Jack Cobbledick's voice drew her attention to the sound of reaping in the field below. Ross was there, stripped to the waist in the afternoon heat, swinging the long scythe to fell the overgrown grass while Jud stood by watching and complaining. She smiled slyly at the sudden flutter in her lower stomach as she watched, half hidden amongst the tall stalks of wild flowers.

There would be no going back now for her.

What's done cannot be undone.