A/N: Distinctly more 'over the top' than previous chapters. I dunno why. And I refused to fight it. I hated finishing this because I have had such a ball with these two and their burgeoning sex life. I thank you for your indulgence!

I just found out that this story has been nominated for The Highclere Awards under the Edith / Anthony category! Someone has made my day! That's for sure. Thanks.

Check out the growing excitement that is the Highclere Awards forum at downtonabbeyfanawards dot forumup dot co dot uk/

/ / / / / / /

In the Crawley's sitting room, everything was most definitely not going according to plan.

After Edith had apologized contritely only to be mostly rebuffed by Mary, their mother felt compelled to stand between them.

Cora then pointed out, "In the future, it would be better if we" (and here, she quite obviously meant Mary) "did not engage in activities we did not want disclosed."

"I can't help it if I have chosen to avoid a life that is boring," an uncowed Mary shot back. "Or if excitement is something that finds me out... if I find it impossible to live a life absent of pleasures..."

Edith blushed, having engaged in the 'pleasures of life' recently enough to be cognisant of how well she was (or wasn't) walking.

"I really don't think..." Edith began, as she instinctively moved to hide certain portions of her anatomy behind the sofa.

"I really don't think this is the kind of discussion we want to have right now. Or possibly ever," her mother interrupted. Hearing her daughters argue about sexual enjoyment before luncheon was not on her list of things to do somehow.

It seemed to take Mary a good 10 seconds of staring at a somewhat discomforted, but obviously very different, Edith to realize that her sister just may have had sex with Anthony Strallan. Repeatedly. And liked it.

"Oh, God," Mary concluded, quietly. "That's disgusting."

Not if you do it properly, Edith was thinking. And last night, things were most definitely done properly.

Given that she could not contain her smirk, Edith decided the correct and lady like thing to do was leave the room.

The luncheon that followed was a dull affair, although Robert did remark on Edith having quite a good appetite.

/ / / / /

To Anthony, it was as if the resolution was palpable as he massaged his wife's back that evening. She had done her best to make her peace with her family. She'd even earned her father's praise for being the one to apologize... although the men remained confused as to just what she was apologizing for.

Edith responded to Anthony's touch, seeming to go liquid under his fingers. She wiggled a bit and sighed happily.

He smiled at her. Silently, he considered her, considered his fortune. His wife was bright and capable, funny, and possibly most importantly, forgiving of who he was. And with the competition and the bitterness of her previous life behind her, she was suddenly more relaxed and happy.

"I can make it up to Mary, I think. Undo some of it," Edith said as she peeked up at him. "I'll look like an envious child. But I don't care."

"What is it you will you do?"

"I'll write another letter. It wouldn't be lying. I will merely say I don't really know what happened between them, Mary and that man. And I don't, thank God, know any details. And I can say I made up the story and wrote the first letter because I was jealous. I have certainly spent years being jealous of Mary, so that would be no lie."

Anthony didn't worry about the details of the scandal, figuring that was the last thing she wanted to discuss in depth. "You aren't still jealous of her?" he asked instead.

"Not in the least," she said without hesitation.

She rolled over to him, pushed her hair back and then gave him a little smile. She certainly seemed content, he just wished he had the courage to ask if any of that had to do with him.

/ / / / / / / / / /

As the weeks went on, things were good between them. Their ill fitting natures fit well together. The relationship often seemed electric, but still easy to each of them. But they never dared declare it so.

On those nights when he reached out to her in the darkness, whispers, like magic, spun between them. And when he reached for her, somehow, she seemed to honestly respond to him.

With each morning, however, there was his doubt. And his pride begged that he not believe the magic of what he remembered.

He felt so much for her now that it actually frightened him. It worried him that his happiness had become so dependent on her of late. And he could not believe that he could be what this vibrant thing both needed and wanted.

She is so young. Why does she put up with the way I need her? That self doubting part of him wanted to know.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

She didn't see his doubt. Didn't understand that it had begun to work at him. That it would finally derail him.

It was a very ordinary Tuesday, and she didn't know why the man hadn't come upstairs - only that he hadn't. This was the second night in a row that he had avoided her at bedtime. The previous night he had urged her to go upstairs without him, and later she had woken to find his side of the bed empty. For some reason he had gone to sleep in the other room.

She almost joined him there. But she didn't want to wake him.

Tonight, he was in neither bed. She walked the halls in her night clothes. Finally, she found her husband leaning over some open ledgers at his desk downstairs.

"Certainly, any study of efficiency can wait until tomorrow," she teased.

"Ah, Edith. I hadn't heard you come in."

"Penny for your thoughts?" she prompted, gently.

"There's nothing," he lied. "Nothing at all."

"Are you angry with me? Why haven't you come to bed?"

He rubbed at his temples and sighed. He found he couldn't look at her. "I thought you might welcome some solitude," he said into his hands.

"Solitude?" she said with genuine surprise. "Anthony, why?"

"Guilt," he confessed. "I ... Ah. I worry I've been too demanding." That was how he managed to phrase it. The self deriding thought in his head was that he had been clinging, embarrassingly besotted, and boorishly needy of late.

"I don't think I am seeing things the same way you are," Edith told him.

"When we married, I thought us well suited. I liked that you needed me."

"And you think something has changed?" she said feeling a tad frightened.

"You could manage anything now, I think. You are coming into your own. You've become even more capable and confident just as I've fallen in love with you like a needy, ridiculous old man. And I worry now that I'm making a fool out of myself as I clamor for so much of your attention – every day and... every night. I worry that I leave you feeling smothered. Or that you entertain me out of some sense of marital obligation."

She sank to her knees by his chair. Put a hand to his face. "You love me?" she said seizing on that part of his speech. "You really do?"

He merely nodded.

"I love you, too. I have loved you for a while now. I had hoped you felt the same way. But I just couldn't ask you if you did...

"You shouldn't have had to. I should have told you how I felt. I just didn't know that..."

"Shh," she told him. "I love you," she stated firmly. "I don't feel smothered, not at all. I promise you. And I do still need you."

He shook his head as if trying to believe it.

"Now, don't make a woman embarrass herself," she told him as she stood up and tugged on his hand.

"Hmm?"

She smiled at him. He was a wonderfully intelligent man, but he could still miss the point entirely, she found. And merely hoping the other would understand had led to this evening.

"Why do you think I'm down here at 2 am? I am willing to be horribly plain about the whole thing, Anthony ... I want you with me at night - even if it's just to know you are there... because I love you." She paused and grinned, pleased with the way the words sounded said out loud at last. "There is so much like that that I've wanted to say to you these weeks."

"I think it's time all those things were said," he told her as he stood and wrapped his arms around her lightly.

"You wouldn't be shocked if I was to tell you I wanted you to make love to me?" she asked with her head down.

"I'd be relieved," he said. "Ladies are too shy, perhaps. Thinking they can never ask for that second dessert or whatever else they would like. I know it might not seem terribly proper to be more open about all of this. But I don't think we need anyone else's rules."

"Agreed," she told him. "So, will you kiss me, please?"

"Gladly." Then there came his low whisper against her skin. "Was there anything else?"

"Will you kiss my neck that way you do?" she asked shyly.

With quick, careful moves, he sat her on his desk, pressed her knees together and then approached her from the side. He traced a finger down a taunt muscle in her neck and grazed against her skin with his teeth.

She curled her fingers into his hair and rewarded him with an unintended, throaty moan.

She froze then. He felt her muscles tense. "I'm sorry." And she was obviously mortified that she had let loose those gratified sounds.

"Don't be embarrassed. I want to know if I manage to do something you enjoy. I want to know what you want," he said as he pressed kisses into her hairline.

"Anthony?"

"Tell me, Edith, please," he encouraged. He wanted to hear the words at last.

"Could we, please?"

"Hmmm?"

"I want you," she simplified.

His response was to push the hem of her nightgown just above her knees and to ease his hips in between her legs.

She pushed at his shoulders then until she could address him to his face.

"I had meant we could wait long enough to go upstairs," she said containing her shock.

"Ah," he teased. "Yes. We'll save the desk for another night."

She scrutinized him, hoping to learn if he was kidding. There was his smile to go on, yes, but there was that look to his eyes and the way he faintly pressed forward with his hips while he spoke.

Adjusting to the sense of humor that she only saw in private would take some time, she decided.

/ / / /

Once upstairs, she moved to help with his clothing. He stood with his back to the bed, and as he moved his hands over her, she freed him of his tie, coat and shirt. Her hands were at his trousers then, and the button yielded easily despite her inexperience with this task. Together they pushed the waist band down a few inches before he sat on the bed. She had never undressed her husband before. Nor taken the time to pass her hands over him so tantalizingly slowly. She noted it seemed to be something they both enjoyed.

"Now you," he said, as he looked up at her longingly. She hesitated, but removed her robe, throwing it on the blankets.

"Please," he whispered, "the night gown as well."

There had been nights when she had been naked with him beneath the sheets, but she had never put herself on display for him. She paused now, but finally worked the night dress up with a slowness that spoke more of self consciousness than seduction.

"Oh, Edith. Oh God, you are beautiful," he told her as she handed him the garment.

She blushed. Even in the light of just the small lamps, he could see it. There was a rosy dusting across her face and at her chest that he wanted to pass his fingers over.

She managed a smile then as she leaned in to tug at his trousers. He rolled quickly and helped her push them down. And quite quickly, he was as naked as she.

He reached up from his place on the edge of the bed. She had expected him to climb further in - for them to take up their customary spots.

"Come here," he begged. And he guided her to kneel astride him. And then he leaned back.

"You are amazing, my love," he told her. "Such a wonder. I can't believe you are mine." His hand ghosted up her side making her shiver. He held her breast now and squeezed. Her answering moan was low and protracted.

"And you want me?" he asked.

She wouldn't be coy with him any longer. She wouldn't risk it. There would be no more misunderstandings. "Please, Anthony. I want you so much. I love you so much. Won't you get in the bed?"

She leaned forward and rested her hands on either side of him and took her weight off his legs so he could move back. But he stayed where he was. His one hand now on her bottom.

"Make love with me right here. Just like this," he whispered.

She did not answer. But she leaned forward to kiss him, to show she trusted him. And she rocked back and forth then, brushing against him. He groaned into their kiss.

"Oh, beautiful, Edith. I love you."

"Help me? Show me?" she said, softly.

Anthony nudged her higher. Then he moved her hand so she could guide him.

She keened at the sensation as he pressed into her slightly. And being the one in control, she could back off. Start again. Tease them both at her tempo.

He murmured his encouragement as she moved over him. She tried to prolong it. To avoid completion because it all felt so wonderful.

Patient and constant, he moved beneath her when her strength began to fail. He touched her, kissed her. Held her as she cried out.

Sated then, she rested on him, and he smiled just as contently into her curls.

"Anthony?" she questioned a bit later, mindful of the need he must still feel.

"Sssh, there's time." And he rolled them to ease from her. He arranged her under the covers and wrapped his arms around her. "You are so beautiful. Especially like this."

"But I want you to finish," she said, bravely. "I love knowing I can do that to you," she admitted.

He hovered over her now and kissed her shoulders. "You like knowing you can render me insensible?" he wondered, sounding slightly amused.

"And something a little less than - or maybe more than – polite and stoic," she managed to tease.

/

A month later Anthony and Edith were chatting together at one of her parents' gatherings.

"Is it all what it seems?" the Dowager Countess wanted to know as she spied on the couple from across the room.

"She's madly in love with him. And he is wrapped around her finger," Cora confirmed.

"Who would have thought it?"

"I don't know if even they knew it would turn out this well."

"They always have their heads together like there is some secret!" Edith's grandmother noted.

"I think they are strong proponents of avoiding secrets - at least between the two of them," Cora countered.

"All that horrible bearing of one's soul? On some sort of continual basis?" the dowager said with a touch of melodrama. "Oh, how tiresome!"

Cora laughed and changed the subject.