Of Lovers and Liars

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. The names of characters are used for creative purposes only.

Prologue

Yorkshire, 1912

"I shall be going away to London for University."

The evening breeze, which had drifted so comfortably through their idyllic garden, was suddenly a bit too chilly for her liking. She shivered a little, although it was uncertain whether it was due to the cold or his words. Going away…

"Have you heard a word I've said, Mary?" He had turned away from her so that she could not see the expression on his face. His broad shoulders, which had once upon a time appeared so frail to her, now only served as another barrier between the two of them. Not for the first time she wondered how their deeply cemented friendship had warped into this awkward farce of polite civility.

Why are you leaving us again, she wanted to yell. She wished he would turn around, wished there was some way to close the widening gap between them. She wished for anything but this. Instead, the only words that came out were "so when are you leaving?"

He barked out a bitter, mirthless laugh. "How eager you sound at the prospect of my departure." He paused, still refusing to face her. "On the morrow, if you must know."

"On the…" At his words, she rose abruptly from the swing, incredulity overcoming her initial shock. "Tomorrow?" She heard the blood pounding in her ears now. "Tomorrow? And for how long have you been keeping this from Dickon and I?" Her long-controlled temper flared to life. That, along with the frustration of having suffered months of his cool indifference. "Does your father even know? Look at me, Colin Craven!" She closed the distance between them in a few strides and grabbed his arm.

He finally turned, jerking himself free from her grasp. "Of course my father knows, but that is beside the point. Why should my departure make any difference to you?" Their gazes clashed, held. His flashed silver under the moonlight, and she was once again taken aback by its intensity. Lately, it had become increasingly difficult to hold that gaze. It made her uncomfortable in a way she could not explain. "After all," he added sardonically, "you have your beloved Dickon, isn't that right?"

She recoiled as if he had physically struck her. Did he know, then? His expression remained unreadable, yet he scrutinized her intently, waiting for her response.

"You are a fool," she bit out derisively, "if you believe we would really be complete here without you. Perhaps you have forgotten the significance of our friendship, along with this garden!"

"I have not forgotten," he answered gravely. "But people change. We are no longer the ten year-olds we used to be. And this place," he gestured to the garden, "is merely a shadow of our past, a faded letter that's been read one too many times. Am I wrong, Mary?" She saw then, the pain in his eyes, a pain he had tried to hide so well for nearly a year now, since his return from three years of boarding school. And despite her anger and hurt, she knew that she needed to attempt one last effort before he was lost to them for good.

"Oh Colin, but you are wrong." Putting aside her pride, she gingerly grasped his hand with both of hers and held it to her bosom. She ignored his inquiring stare as well as the strange pounding of her own heart. "The garden will always hold the same magic for all of us. It needs you, don't you see?" she exclaimed fervently, her small hands tightening around his bigger one. "We need you."

"And you?" He leaned in closer now, lowering his face to hers, as if deciphering the sincerity in her expression. The same intensity had returned to his eyes. "Do you need me, Mary?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She held her breath. He was so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, smell the scent that was uniquely him. His unwavering stare unsettled her, making it difficult for her to form any coherent thought. Dickon, the man she had come to love, had never made her feel such discomfort before. With Dickon, she had only ever felt warmth, security, and an unwavering loyalty. Yet despite everything, she would always need Colin by her side no matter what, didn't she? "Yes," she answered almost hesitantly, "I need you most of all."

For a brief moment, a dark emotion passed over his face. Was it triumph? Satisfaction? She never had the chance to find out, for in the next instant, she was in his arms and his mouth was covering hers.

Oh dear God, what is this? His lips were warm and smooth upon hers, molding her insistently to his unexpected ardor. Mary tried to push him away, yet her limbs had turned weak the moment their lips had touched. Her blood was roaring in her ears now. Her mind screamed that this was wrong, that they were cousins. And what about Dickon, the one she was in love with?

Her hands came up to push him away, yet they only succeeded in clutching onto his broad shoulders. He deepened the kiss, his mouth opening hers quickly, exploring her warmth with his tongue. When both of their tips touched briefly, she whimpered against his mouth, her belly clenching with an unfamiliar ache.

He suddenly tore his mouth away from hers, his breathing ragged and harsh. Staggering backward, he released her from his hold, yet continued to regard her with those tempestuous eyes. Save for the intermittent sounds of their uneven breathing, the night had become peculiarly silent.

With clarity finally seeping into her muddled senses, Mary was suddenly confronted with the enormity of what had transpired. Dickon, Uncle Archibald…what would they all think? "Oh God," she whispered in disbelief, "what have I done?"

"Mary," Colin began, reaching for her once more, "I'm so…"

"Don't!" she blurted out, recoiling from his touch. In her distress, she did not see the hurt that flitted across his features. All she knew was that she could not bear to be near him right now. She could not betray Dickon or herself a second time.

Without another thought, she turned on her heels and fled, away from the garden and away from Colin. Running as fast as her legs would allow, she prayed that he would not follow her. Not that he had done anything of the sort since before boarding school. She knew that he would undoubtedly be hurt by her actions, yet staying would only lead to further complications. She would speak with him the next day, she silently promised, when the memory of his lips no longer made her weak in the knees. When Dickon was there to make sure that a repeat of tonight would not occur. Only then would she convince him to stay, to try and mend their strained relationship, to forget these misguided feelings…

Little did she know that he would already be gone when she awoke the next day, and that it would be another two years before she saw him next.

Author's Note: Seeing that there are so few Colin/Mary stories on the web, I thought that they deserved their own tale. This fic will be multi-chaptered, and will span across several years, in which Colin and Mary's relationship will develop gradually. The prologue may appear a bit confusing, but it is intended for that purpose. As usual, suggestions and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.