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Chapter 35

Buffy was excited, yet nervous, as the carriage ambled along the path on the way to the Marquess’ home. As with Spike, she’d retained all the memories she and the older man had spent together, his kindly manner while she’d scrambled to prepare for her elaborate wedding to his son. Remembered his hope that he’d live to see her give birth to the next Chadsworth heir – knowing now that his wish would never become reality. But, the conversations mocked her naiveté at the time, thinking that such an event might occur, how she’d blushingly told Spike’s “father” that she wanted a whole passel of children.

In the month preceding her marriage, he’d become her surrogate father, learning shortly after his son’s proposal of her own “parents’” passing. He’d kept the secret so as not to prevent the marriage, pleased with his son’s choice in a wife. Only their relationship had been much different than what she’d apparently shared with her own parents of this time – the fictitious characters created by the false memories of the spell and elaborated upon by the Powers. The Marquess had actually talked with her; his stiff, reserved nature relaxing in her presence, his outward affection trying to make up for what he’d lacked in giving to his son, prior to their rift.

Recalling her own relationship with her real father, the one that had left her and her mom - thus precipitating their move to Sunnydale - the Slayer found herself being selfish. So what if he wasn’t really her father-in-law? He didn’t know that. And, if she could hold tight some sliver of fatherly affection? Something that had been denied her so long she wasn’t aware that she missed it. Craved it.

Yep! She’d take it, thank you very much.

But, she knew that she was going to feel bad for misleading him…for getting his hopes up. And that was something she didn’t want to do.

“Wha’s wrong?” Spike had watched the Slayer fidget in her seat for the last ten minutes, a frown marring her face while she seemed to carry on an internal debate with herself.

“Nothing.”

“Right…You’ve just been sittin’ there wringing your hands for no reason then, yeah?”

Buffy glanced down at said hands before lifting her eyes to look at him. His expression seemed open – as if he were genuinely interested in whatever it was that was causing her distress. It confused her, unnerved her. Made her just open her mouth and blurt out an explanation. About how she didn’t quite know what to say around his “father.” How she didn’t want to misstep or lead him on.

Spike, in a move completely out of character, actually listened to the Slayer voice her concern. Pulled her onto his lap to hold her while she spoke. His eyes were drawn to the necklace resting about her throat, her fingers idly caressing the large pendent nestled between her breasts. It had been an impulsive purchase of his. The jade necklace brought out the green in her eyes, just as the gown she wore had. He liked seeing her wearing things he’d bought – even if he had to rationalize in his mind by saying that as the Marquess of Chadsworth’s heir, it was expected that his wife would constantly be draped in costly jewels.

Still…

Her reaction had pleased him. The promise of how she’d show her gratitude later placating his demon for the time being. She’d fingered the bauble in awe he’d draped it around her neck once she’d been dressed.

“It’s beautiful, William. Thank you.”

She’d called him William, not Spike. Although she’d been looking right at him as she’d said it. Her pleasure had become his…his inner poet thrilling at the Slayer’s obvious enjoyment of her gift.

“Spike?”

Spike shook his head, returning to the present.

“Sorry, luv. Don’t rightly know what to tell ya. Yeah, you’re gonna have to lie to him. Prolly to all them. Hadn’t thought that far ahead myself, actually. Jus’ been wingin’ it. Doyle didn’ exactly give me a play-by-play manual when we showed up.”

Buffy frowned, unsure how to proceed. She was just about to open her mouth again and speak when Spike cut her off.

“I do know you’ve got a good heart. You’ll not hurt the man. Jus’ do what comes naturally an’ everything will fall into place.”

“I…” He’d shocked her. Honest and truly shocked her. Oh, she knew that he was different, but to witness first hand his seeming “humanity.” That he could understand her feelings and almost sympathize. Offer suggestions.

It triggered a whole new awareness within the Slayer. Skewed her outlook on demons – vampires – as a whole.

“Thanks.”

Spike didn’t respond to her whispered gratitude, appalled himself at the words he’d shared. What the hell had made him say that out loud? Let alone be thinking it in the first place.

~*~*~*~*~

Dinner with the Marquess was a wonderful affair. He spent the majority of the time regaling them with tales of William in his youth, and Buffy was constantly covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile that seemed a permanent fixture upon her face. During particularly enlightening tales, she would hazard a glance at the vampire seated across from her to see his disgruntled expression – and if vampires could blush, she was sure that his face would be flaming at some of the comments from the elder man.

In all, it was a peaceful interlude in the usually fast-paced world of the Ton. With just the three present, they didn’t stand upon ceremony. Instead, clustering to one side of the dining table so as not to shout at one another. They were allowed to be themselves… well, as much at the Slayer and vampire were able.

And when talk inevitably turned towards begetting the next heir, Spike surprised her by assuring the Marquess that the matter “was being seen to” – which had the Slayer blushing profusely, and Spike leering suggestively (the heated look performed while his “father” had his eyes on her, of course); and it made her blush all the more, causing her to duck her head to hide her reaction to him. Evil vampire!

Unfortunately, Spike wasn’t as stealthy as he liked to think.

The shout of laughter caught them both by surprise and they turned towards the elderly man laughing uproariously in his seat. Buffy grinned, pleased to see him happy – even if she didn’t know what it was that had caused the man’s merriment. Her delight soon turned to concern as the Marquess’ mirth turned into a coughing fit that left him gasping for breath and Spike calling out for assistance.

The servant standing by the door soon returned with the butler. As the senior servant knelt by the Marquess’ chair, Spike barked out, “What’s wrong with him?” He’d smelled the blood the elder man had eventually coughed up, even though the butler had tried to hide the evidence of his master’s sickness.

“It’s influenza, m’lord. I’ve sent for the doctor, but it’s best we get him in bed.” The butler moved to get the Marquess to rise, but Spike shoved the man out of the way, easily lifting his father into his arms and striding purposefully from the room.

~*~

Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to do. She wanted so much to follow Spike up the stairs, but refrained, instinctively knowing that it would be unseemly for her to be inside the elder man’s bedroom. Instead, she paced the length of the dining room, waiting for word. For Spike to reappear and tell her that the Marquess was going to be just fine.

About an hour later, time she’d spent imagining the worst, Buffy was startled by the reemergence of the butler.

“Lady Thornton?”

Since Buffy had been waiting for the pricklings along her neck indicating Spike’s return, she’d tuned everything else out. So much so, that her name was called three times before she was aware of the servant’s presence.

“M’lady? The doctor is with the Marquess and the Earl right now. It…it may be some time yet. Would you like me to move you somewhere more comfortable? Say, the drawing room?”

The Slayer shook her head. “The study…I’ll wait in the study.”

“As you wish…if you would follow me please?”

She nodded and walked behind the servant out of the room.

Once in her father-in-law’s sanctuary, she moved towards one of the oversized chairs situated in front of the fireplace. Oblivious to the butler, she curled up on the seat and prepared to wait for news of the Marquess’ health.

The butler, upon seeing the girl’s lost look, had a fire started, along with a tray of tea brought in. Buffy smiled her thanks at the man as the service was set beside her chair before staring off into the flames.

And she waited…

~*~*~*~*~

Spike stuck to the shadows as the Marquess’ valet set about preparing his master for bed. Death seemed to cling to the old man, as if it knew it was just a matter of time before he’d be meeting his maker.

The vampire didn’t like being here, yet knew it was expected of him. The parallel between this man and his mother’s situation had not gone unnoticed. Why he even cared about his fate was a mystery to him – Spike barely even knew him. Even if the vampire had enjoyed the other’s company upon occasion.

It was as if the time spent here in the past was starting to rub off on him. Tame him.

To a point.

The doctor, when he showed up, just confirmed the vampire’s suspicions that the Marquess would probably not live through the night. The advanced stage of his sickness all but signifying the man’s imminent death. He knew the Slayer wasn’t going to take the news well. Would, in fact, rage against the so-called Powers that had seen fit to keep her here in the first place. But, it was probably better this way.

Better for the old man to go before she’d become too attached to him. Too embroiled in the lies she’d have to tell.

~*~*~*~*~

A year later…

Spike looked up from the latest correspondence on his desk. He needed a break. After becoming the next Marquess of Chadsworth on the death of his “father,” the Slayer and he had left London and the whirlwind season behind, retreating to Chadworth Estates to observe the traditional mourning period. In the weeks following his death, the Slayer had been inconsolable. A time the vampire would cheerfully love to never have repeated again.

She’d played the grieved daughter-in-law, garbing herself in the oppressive black gowns, as was custom – so much so, that Spike began to hate the color. He’d hated to see her so morose, so despondent at the man’s death. Doing nothing but staring out into the gardens of their new home. Her passion snuffed so that she barely responded to his touch – which had really sent his demon into a fit.

At the beginning of the third week, he’d snapped, drafting a note to the Marchioness and telling her to present herself at his doorstep with all possible haste. Two days later, Renee had arrived and been led immediately to her grieving friend. Her presence seemed to be working, because a few days later she’d sought him out in his study.

Their joining had been wild…and bloody. The violence of that act could still make him hard just thinking about it. She’d cried throughout, but he knew that it wasn’t from his actions. If anything, she’d spurred him to mark her…and he had. Her body had looked like a bloody pincushion by the end of the day, but she’d not seemed to mind. Had in fact curled up trustingly next to him on the floor and finally slept.

Later, he’d carried her back to bed.

They’d never talked about that day, but he knew that she thought about it. Would catch her watching him at inopportune times, as if remembering what it had been like. How it could be between them again.

So, he’d waited. And while their nighttime activities had returned with a vengeance, they’d never been quite as violent as that time…nowhere near, in fact. Yet, the promise was there…

Shaking his thoughts from that day, his mind turned towards the Slayer. His wife. Somewhere in the huge monstrosity passing itself off as a house, she and the Marchioness of Haversham were no doubt engrossed in the Slayer’s studies. Something his wife had taken to with a vengeance after that night. Like it gave her some sense of purpose. The single-mindedness of her actions annoyed him at times. Oh, he knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to think of him with that same fierce passion…like he was thinking of her.

Groaning at the erection straining against his trouser, Spike decided to seek out his wife, see what she was up to. Maybe the sight of her surrounded by dusty volumes of mindless dribble would soften him up a bit. He shuddered at the thought, his mind reverting to his human days spent in the company of his stodgy tutor.

‘Oh yeah, hard-on effectively killed.’

Still…

Anything had to be better than going over mindless legalese on the condition of his expanded estate.

Pushing away from his desk, now that his decision had been made, Spike left his study behind and began his search of the mansion for a hint of his wife. After walking around for a good twenty minutes without any sight of either female, he was just about to make his presence felt when he scented her blood on the air. Panicked, he took off running, bursting into the room he knew her to be within.

And skidded to a halt as he caught sight of the female combatants.

Garbed in the attire of traditional fencers, their slight frames were accented by the cut of the cloth. He leaned against the wall and watched the match unfold, sensing instinctively the vampiress’ skill. Even outmatched as she was, his Slayer was a sight to behold, and his eyes gleamed as his lust returned with a vengeance.

Spike knew that she was aware of his presence. That both of them were aware. Yet neither looked over to him. Instead, their eyes remained locked on the other, the steel-on-steel clash of the rapiers ringing throughout the room. In a sudden burst of speed and power, the vampiress had the Slayer flat on her back, the tip of her blade at the girl’s throat.

He reacted without thinking, flying across the room, a warning growl sounding in his throat. The master vampire had the Marchioness pinned against the wall ready to tear her head off when he felt the Slayer’s hand upon his arm.

“Spike?”

His amber gaze spun towards her, searching her face for any signs of distress. Other than the confusion she exhibited, he could see no other indication of upset. In fact, her face seemed to shine with vitality.

“How long?” he ground out.

Buffy didn’t even think about lying.

“About two months.” She could see the question on his face and rushed on before he could ask. “I was bored. I’m the Slayer, Spike. I’m used to fighting. Besides, I need to keep my skills sharp, and while reading and learning is helping me in other areas, I need this too.”

He cocked his head to the side, regarding what she’d said. Something was nagging at him. Letting the vampiress go, he turned towards her, trying to place whatever it was that she had told him.

Buffy smiled…waiting. It was a secret she’d been keeping from him, having always downplayed her learning whenever he deigned to show himself during her studies. But, right now, she was like a child, bursting to impart her new skill.

“Vous avez parlé le français!” (You spoke French!)

“Yes,” she replied, beaming. “Je suis venu très loin puisque fait les études au Bronze. (I’ve come a long way since my studies at the Bronze.) Never mind…but, about this…you’re ok with it?”

“Seulement si j'obtiens pour jouer aussi, l'amour.” (Only if I get to play, too, luv.)

Who knew that Spike speaking French would make her knees go weak? She swallowed hard, giving up on even trying to hide her arousal. The flaring of his nostrils proved to her that it had not gone unnoticed, and Buffy licked her lips in anticipation of him pouncing. Her jaw dropped when he sauntered out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Vous tombez votre épaule, mon cheri.” (You’re dropping your shoulder, my dear.)

The Slayer stomped her foot in exasperation. One, because she knew he was right, and two, because he’d just walked away…leaving her horny as hell. Damned vampire!

Renee, witness to their exchange, laughed delightedly after the master vampire had departed. Her friend had come a long way this past year. After the death of the Marquess, Lord and Lady Thornton had slipped from the limelight and back to the Chadworth’s estate. The vampiress had every intention of giving her friend the prerequisite year of mourning – her being human and all – but a letter she’d received not long after their departure urged, well, more like demanded, the Marchioness to join the couple in the countryside. She’d packed a bag, intent on spending a fortnight with Buffy and Spike, and had ended up staying a month – before she’d been forced to return to London to see to her own affairs.

For the next year, she’d been a constant companion to Buffy, leaving her side for only brief periods of time. Several others of the Aurelius clan had also visited, the vampires not caring about the enforced mourning period of the master vampire – it being more of a human trait than a vampire’s.

It was during these times that the Slayer got a better insight into how vampires interacted. Yes, there were instances when something was done that had Buffy blinking in wide-eyed astonishment – sex, and their lack of inhibitions during the activity, being the key factor. But, as a whole, their sense of family, honor, and loyalty was astounding. There was nothing that any of the frequent visitors wouldn’t do for Spike…or her.

Looking at her life now, having spent a year primarily among vampires, she wasn’t surprised at her changed outlook. Had the Powers suspected? Was it what they’d wanted? If it wasn’t, it was their own damn fault. What could they have expected, pulling her away from whatever might influence her to behave differently, thrusting her into a world where she was claimed by a vampire, constantly surrounded by them…one even her best friend.

Buffy glanced to where Renee stood laughing at her, frowning as her friend sensed her predicament but offered no sympathy.

“Well… you’re the one that let him walk away. If it were me…” Renee responded to the Slayer’s look.

A determined glint came into Buffy’s eyes and she shot out of the room, hot on her husband’s trail.

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