Chapter 1

Slowly, reluctantly Branson withdrew his lips from hers, his hands still framing her face, their breaths still mingling and ragged from the desperate kiss he'd pressed upon her.

Forming a coherent thought through the haze of euphoria rippling through him at that moment was not merely a challenge but a herculean effort, yet reason compelled him to pull back. Opening his eyes Branson actually trembled as he sought out her gaze, afraid of what he might find there; anger, indifference, pity? After all this time, after having his hopes dashed and rekindled once again, he could no longer go on simmering. The revolutionary in him had reached boiling point and he'd kissed her.

In the garage, against his Lordship's car. Tom you dolt! Hardly the most romantic setting, he berated himself. Still, the location was no more inappropriate than the object of his affection and privacy was hardly in abundance at Downton.

"Branson," came Sybil's smoky plea as her lids fluttered open.

Here it comes. The polite rebuff. Tom steeled himself, drawing a steadying breath and stared downcast into those deep dark pools but Sybil said not another word. For a long anxious moment Tom waited not daring to move a fraction. He just waited, looking into Sybil's heady gaze and losing himself all over. He barely registered Sybil's hand move tentatively from its grip on his arm to the nape of his neck until her slender fingers threaded through his hair and gently tugged his head back down toward her own.

Even through her rigid corset Sybil could feel the warm pressure of Branson's firm figure and her breathing quickened in time with his. She tried reminding herself this was wrong, that her family would not approve but her resolve crumbled. If she was honest it had worn thin ever since he'd declared himself. She had been overwhelmed at first, and embarrassed, but dared not admit even to herself how attractive she'd found his promise of devotion, let alone the man himself.

She wasn't the same naive debutante she once was. She'd done a fair bit of growing up since becoming a nurse and a great many realisations had hit home; about the war, society, her own mind. Feelings that scared her before now didn't seem so shocking, particularly that familiar ache in the pit of her belly whenever Branson looked at her the way he did now.

Slowly lowering his head, Branson stilled a hairsbreadth from Sybil's face allowing her time to balk, his eyes locking with hers. He held his breath half expecting her to turn away but found only longing reflected back. Her gaze dropped to his lips and his pulse leapt. He needed no more encouragement and brushed his mouth against hers, softly at first. When her lips moved beneath his - in clear response - Branson angled his head and deepened the kiss. She was actually kissing him back!

Revelling in the increasing pressure of his firm lips moving artfully over hers, Sybil stretched up on her toes, wrapped her arms about his neck and boldly parted her lips under his. His blood pounding urgently, Branson responded sliding one arm tightly around Sybil's waist as he leaned into the kiss, his other arm stretching out, seeking the frame of the car as he steered them back against the chassis for support. His senses reeled from the crush of her body against his and the taste of her sweet mouth.

The rattle of the garage door and the squeak of the rusty deadbolt sliding open forced every alert fibre of Branson's being crashing back to earth. He broke the kiss and stepped back from Sybil's embrace in time to hear Thomas call from the doorway - "Mr Branson? His Lordship wants the car brought 'round and if you don't make it sharpish..." he trailed off as he rounded the car.

Trying to steady his ragged breathing, Branson could see Thomas' sharp eyes assessing the scene before him.

"Oh," Thomas smirked "forgive me m'lady, I didn't see you there."

Her lips still rosy and swollen from being kissed, Sybil's gaze met Branson's for a moment trying to commune her horror. "It's quite alright," she breathed, marshalling her best air of aristocratic authority. "I was just, just coming to find Branson myself... to order the car... for tomorrow."

Even in army uniform instead of his footman's livery, Thomas straightened his posture in Lady Sybil's presence, however insincerely, and stood aside as if awaiting her order. "Of course m'lady."

"Well, I'll be going. Thank you Branson." Sybil caught his furtive glance and strode as confidently as she could toward the door. "Thomas." She nodded.

Thomas regarded Sybil keenly as she left, making Branson bristle protectively.

"I'll bring the car directly," Branson said, stepping challengingly in front of Thomas, drawing his view.

"Very well," Thomas replied, eyeing the immoveable Irishman, before taking his leave.

Sybil hurried into the house as fast as her long gown would allow, ascending the stairs and praying not to run into her family in her present state. Making it inside her bedroom undetected, she pushed the door closed behind her and rested back on the frame releasing a sigh.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she replayed the encounter. Oh Sybil, she scalded herself, call it what it was; a kiss, well two actually. Two unexpected, not totally one-sided, rather wonderful kisses, she reflected, brushing her finger along her lower lip, still in awe.

She hadn't intended to kiss Branson. She'd snuck out to the garage after dinner to check he was alright after Carson mentioned he'd taken ill. He seemed well enough when she found him but he made no bones about being upset about something, though he would not reveal what despite her entreaty.

She very nearly walked away, quite determined to leave him to fume alone. One disappointed step towards the garage door was as far as she managed before turning around. His back was to her, broad shoulders clearly tense as he stared glumly down at the workbench before him. She so badly wished to console him. She couldn't help herself from reaching out, laying a hand tentatively on his shoulder giving a reassuring squeeze.

A long moment passed and Sybil began to question whether she'd made a mistake when she felt Branson wrap his long fingers around hers and rub his thumb lightly across her knuckles. It was an unspoken thank you, of sorts, but Sybil understood.

Taking a deep breath, Branson turned decisively to face her, his expression serious though his blue eyes sparkled. He swept her delicate features as if searching for something and Sybil flushed. She stared at him, following his gaze to where it rested between them, to her hand still wrapped comfortably within his, but she made no move to retract it. The feel of their fingers warmly entwined fixated her, sparking something inside.

"Sybil," he whispered hoarsely, capturing her gaze for a pregnant moment. An instant later Branson released her hand, stepped close, framed her jaw in his palms and claimed her mouth with a searing kiss.

A knock on her bedroom door startled Sybil back to the present.

"It's only me m'lady," Anna announced peering into the room. "I've come to help you into bed."

Sybil caught her breath. "Oh Anna, please do come in." She paced automatically to her dresser and dropped into the chair in front of her vanity mirror.

Anna followed, setting to work on pulling pins from her mistress's braid. "Sorry I was late up m'lady, but we're a bit thin on the ground downstairs and what with the wounded Officers - well, it's been a big change."

Sybil flashed a weak smile at Anna's reflection. "Not to worry," she assured her maid distractedly.

Glancing at Sybil's mirror image, her sombre countenance did not escape Anna's notice. "Still," she proffered, "change comes to us all, isn't that what they say." The portent in her words was more apt than she could have guessed and not the least bit comforting.

Sybil blinked at herself in the mirror. "Indeed." Kissing one's chauffeur might be considered a very big change.