Chapter Seven

Buffy came down the last few steps, the train of her gown trailing behind her. “Spike?”

William nodded cautiously. “Old nickname,” he said. “Buffy?”

“Old name.”

“She said you christened her Perdita,” Angel said.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” His eyes were still on Buffy. “Who are you?”

Her eyes were steady, her voice calm. “I’m the Slayer.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t - I mean I thought I - the way you - but I never - you’re really the Slayer?”

She nodded.

“Bloody hell.”

Cordelia appeared with a bottle and a shot glass, which she filled and handed wordlessly to William. He emptied it and held it out for more.

“Can I talk to you?”

Buffy nodded and turned back up the stairs. William glanced at Angel and Darla, who leered suggestively, and Doyle and Cordelia, who just rolled their eyes, and followed her.

She took him to a beautiful bedroom, shut the door, and leaned against it, her eyes closed.

“Buffy?”

She looked at him.

“Are you alright?”

She sighed. “William-” she began, and then stopped. “Spike?”

“William is fine. Will will do.”

She gave him a small smile. “See, at least you can choose. In the last three days I’ve had three new names. If I go to another town, what will I be there?”

“Some people would love to have no name.”

“People like you, you mean? People like me?”

He watched her carefully. “Your strength, your skill, your attitude. I should have known... I realised this morning, when you - why did you take my clothes?”

“Couldn’t ride so well in mine. And I didn’t want to be accused of stealing Willow’s.”

He stared. “You wouldn’t steal hers, but you’d nick mine?”

“Yours were probably stolen anyway.”

“The hell they were!” He calmed himself. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I was worried about you.”

“You knew I was the Slayer, and you were worried about me?”

“Well, I didn’t know then. I only suspected... I didn’t know for sure until Darla brought me here.”

“Ah, yes.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Darla.”

“Darla?”

“Stop repeating what I say.” Buffy crossed the room, rubbing at her temples. “How do you know Angel and Darla?”

“Old friends. They seem to know you.”

“Angel does. I think Darla came on the scene after me.”

William’s eyebrows went up again. “On what scene? Were you and Angel-?”

“So he tells me.”

“Bloody hell!” William pulled at the tailcoat he was still wearing - it was very wet around the collar where his coat had let drips in. In fact, all his clothes were wet, his feet were frozen, all he really wanted was a hot bath. And maybe a hot Buffy, too.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m soaked, love. Don’t want me to catch a chill, do you?”

She shrugged.

“Hey, what did I do to you?”

She dropped her eyes.

“If this is about maidenly virtues-”

“It’s not,” she said. “But it could have been.”

William was confused. He carried on undressing, because that was still pertinent, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Instead he put his head out of the door, grabbed the nearest servant, and requested a hot bath. Then he came back in, and Buffy was still standing there, chewing her lip.

“You didn’t know I wasn’t a virgin,” she said. “You were taking advantage of me.”

“Excuse me,” William chucked his shirt on the pile of wet clothing, “I seem to remember you doing a fair bit of taking yourself.”

Her cheeks turned pink.

“Oh, now that’s precious,” William said. “Now she’s blushing.”

“Damn right I am! I can’t believe I let you-”

“Let me?” William stared at her. “Most of the time you were making me.”

Buffy tried hard not to stare at his naked torso. She’d had the image fastened securely behind her eyeballs ever since she’d first seen it. Now it was making thought rather... hard...

He sat down on the bed and pulled off his boots. At least she hadn’t stolen them - the whelp’s shoes would never have fit. And if he’d worn shoes, he’d have to have worn stockings, and William really wasn’t big on stockings.

“Why did you run?” he asked.

She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “I... I don’t know. I couldn’t stay.”

William looked up and pinned his gaze on her. “Are you ashamed?”

Silence, then she said in a tiny whisper, “Yes.”

He got up, strode over, grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re ashamed of me?”

“No,” she shook her head, “not of you. Of me.”

“Why?”

“I behaved - I behaved like a whore. For all I know I could be a whore.”

“You’re not,” he released her.

“And how do you know? Let me guess - you suddenly remember me, too?”

“I do remember you,” William said, “I remember last night and I’ll never forget it. You were nothing like a whore.”

“Known a few, have you?”

“Yeah.”

Fear flashed in her eyes, and he gave a small, mocking laugh. “Don’t worry, I don’t have anything.”

A knock on the door signalled the first few buckets of water and the tub, and both William and Buffy stood back as it was all set up. Cordelia brought in towels and fresh clothes, which made William sneer slightly, knowing they’d be Angel’s and far too big for him.

And then the servants were gone, and it was just Buffy, and a semi-naked William. And then he took his breeches off, and he wasn’t just semi-naked any more.

He got into the bath and closed his eyes in bliss. Heat and cleanliness. So basic, so wonderful. So wonderful they really ought to be shared.

“Care to join me?”

God, yes, Buffy thought, but she shook her head rapidly. She leapt at the sideboard and grabbed the decanter there, drinking straight from it and slamming it back down with a thud. “No. I should, uh,” she trailed off as he opened his eyes and looked at her, his face inviting.

“Sure?”

“I took a bath yesterday.”

“It’s not going to kill you.”

Buffy swallowed. Damn, he looked fine. But she didn’t need to distract herself with him. She needed to go and talk to Angel and find out as much about herself as she could, and then she needed to go and find that schoolteacher and-

“It’s good for what ails you,” William said, eyes half-shut, sleepy, seductive.

“I-”

“I’ll scrub your back,” he offered, and a small laugh escaped Buffy.

“Is that all you’ll scrub?”

His eyes opened fully. “What else did you have in mind?”

Buffy couldn’t possibly tell him. She honestly couldn’t, because she didn’t know the names for most of the places she wanted him to touch her. Her face got hot. All of her was getting hot. Probably she should take some clothes off. This dress of Darla’s was awfully restricting. Too small.

“You all right there, pet?” William cocked his head at her. “You look a little,” his eyes trailed down over her delightfully heaving bosom, “flushed.”

“I’m too hot,” Buffy mumbled, sure it was the alcohol flooding her veins with heat, and not him.

He crooked a finger at her, and she went over to the bathtub. William beckoned her even closer, and she knelt down and put her ear to him as he whispered, “Maybe you should get out of that frock. Lot of heavy fabric there to make you all warm.”

“I, er,” Buffy could feel the heat from his bath-warmed body seeping out to her. Through the herbs in the water she could see his hard chest, tight, flat stomach, and then the darker curls between his legs. She willed her eyes not to look any further.

They disobeyed.

“You want me to help you with that?” William offered, and Buffy thought, I was just about to ask you the same thing.

His hand reached out and trailed down the red and black stomacher.

“This is an amazing dress,” he murmured.

“It’s, uh, Darla’s...”

“Hmm. Well, if it’s someone else’s, then really you ought to be very careful about keeping it nice and clean, and dry...”

Buffy wholeheartedly agreed. William had already undone a couple of the catches on the front of her bodice, and she helped him unfasten a few more. Then a few more. Then she pushed the dress off her body, stepped out of it and flung it on the bed.

“There,” she said, “perfectly safe.”

William looked up at her shoulders, bared by the deep red corset, her arms, soft breasts, bare throat enhanced by a jewelled choker, and thought to himself that the dress might be safe, but she wasn’t.

He held out his hand, and she came back, back to her knees by the bath, and when he curved his arm around the back of her soft neck and pulled her to him, she kissed him readily. Such a sweet, soft mouth. Slight taste of brandy. Tart and delicious.

Buffy’s hand was on his shoulder, his chest, caressing the damp skin. And then it slid down under the hot water. And then William’s sleepy eyes flew open and Buffy’s mouth slipped down to his neck and her teeth gently nipped his skin while her fingers closed around his hard length and stroked it.

“God, Perdi-” her head flew up. “Buffy,” William corrected himself. “Buffy. The Slayer. My delicious, delightful Slayer. Buffy,” his hand tangled in the sweat-dampened tendrils at the back of her neck, and he pulled her back to kiss him. His other hand moved up to caress the silk of the corset, feel the hard lines of whalebone underneath, then the softness of her breast above. She was breathing so hard she was nearly falling out of the corset.

He just helped her a little.

He rolled her hard nipple between his fingers and she let out a soft gasp against his mouth. He leaned over and took the little pink bud between his teeth, and she hissed with pleasure, moving her hand faster under the water. William groaned and sucked hard on her nipple, and she held him to her, stroking, pumping, harder, faster.

“Oh, God,” William gasped, and his whole body jerked, “Buffy-”

She lifted his head and kissed him again as his whole body softened and he almost slid down under the water.

“That’s the way to drown a man,” she observed, smiling coyly, and William looked up at her. Flushed and glistening, her hair in glorious disarray, one tight, deep pink nipple peeping out from over the top of that wicked corset. Her lips swollen and red.

William stood up suddenly, the water sloshing wildly, and Buffy skidded backwards away from it. Dripping all over the floor and all over her, he pulled her to her feet, moulded her body against his, and kissed her hard and deep. She protested at first - he was completely soaking her - but it didn’t last long, and before the kiss was broken Buffy found herself on her back on the bed.

“Stupid dress,” she shoved it to the floor, and William laughed. He ran his hands up her legs, under her petticoats, cupped her bare bottom and stroked her thighs. She quivered under him and he laid a kiss on the soft flesh of her exposed breast.

His hand slipped around to finger the curls between her legs.

“My turn,” he whispered, and Buffy flinched with pleasure as his finger slid between her wet folds. He stroked her gently, licking at her nipple, and she closed her eyes.

Then his head left her breast and his tongue darted out and licked her thigh, and Buffy found herself shaking with expectation.

When his tongue plunged inside her she let out a cry. “Oh, God that’s good,” and William smiled against her soft, slippery flesh. If she thought that was good, then he’d love to hear what she had to say next.

He moved his tongue up to her hard, swollen clitoris and flicked it gently. She moaned, and he was disappointed. Just a moan? He wanted words. He wanted praise. He wanted superlatives.

Gently, expertly, he began to make love to that little bundle of nerve endings, while Buffy writhed and heaved beneath him. Restricted by the corset, she was sucking in sharp breaths, little gasps of pleasure, letting out small whimpers.

Not good enough.

William frowned, and brought his hand back into play.

He slipped one finger inside her, then rapidly another, and was rewarded with a surprised, “Oh!”

Better, he thought. Now, where is it...?

He knew he’d found that sweet spot inside her when she let out a long, low moan. “Oh, God, William. That’s-” her voice suddenly rose to a squeak, “that’s so good!”

And? William thought, circling her clitoris with his tongue.

“That’s - you’re making me - oh my God!”

Her hands moved down to his head, clenched his skull through his hair, held him to her.

“Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop, William, Spike, Will - that’s it!” she shrieked as he drove another finger inside her, curving them all towards her front, stroking her from the inside. “You’re going to - make me - William - I can’t - so good - harder - harder - that’s - oh, yes! Oh, God, God, God - Will!”

Damn right, William thought as her salty wetness flooded his mouth. It’s me down here, not Him.

He licked her a bit more, like an animal cleaning his mate, then lifted his head and looked at her. Her breasts rose and fell wildly. Her head was back, her hair spilled all over the pillows. Her eyes were closed.

“You still awake there?”

A small smile touched her bitten lips. “Not even sure if I’m still alive.”

He grinned and moved back up her body, licking her nipple. She twitched and moaned softly. “Still alive,” he said

“Oh. Good.”

William grinned. “Did you enjoy that?” he asked politely, settling beside her.

Wordlessly, she nodded, her eyes opening and filling with gratitude. “That was amazing.”

There was his superlative praise. William stretched like a cat, feeling smug.

“There is one problem, though,” he said, and she looked startled.

“What?”

He took her hand and slid it down his stomach. Buffy looked down and saw how hard he was.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I suppose something must be done about that.”

“I suppose so,” he agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

Buffy looked back up at him, her eyes met his, and she smiled so wickedly William was almost afraid.

Almost.

Angel winced as something crashed against the floor above his head. “They better not be breaking my furniture,” he grumbled.

“Why?” Cordelia said as she poured some wine in his glass. “You do it all the time.”

“Yes, but-” he caught Darla’s eye, and she was grinning. “It’s still not the nicest of thoughts.”

“What? Big bad Spike ravishing your tiny precious Buffy?” Darla said. “You need to stop being so jealous, my love.”

“She’s right,” Cordelia said. “It’s been years since you had Buffy.”

“She’s not yours any more.”

“I know that,” Angel said, irritated. “I just still don’t like to think of her being - he’s so - you know, he’s just not gentle and-”

“He can be,” Darla said, her eyes misting slightly. Cordelia looked very amused. Angel looked shocked.

“You - and William?”

“Who do you think called him Spike?”

“I thought that was an army nickname.”

“Well, that’s how it started,” Darla purred.

Angel drained his wine. “I think I need another drink,” he said.

William lay on his side, watching the girl beside him sleep, her hands up by her face, her curvy little backside pressed up against him. He had one arm wrapped around her, marvelling at the tight, flat muscles in her stomach. He should have guessed it from that. What kind of girl had muscles like that? Certainly not any of the ones he’d ever been with. There were soft girls, and plump girls, and skinny girls, and downright bony girls - like shagging a skeleton. Ugh. And then there was Buffy. His Lost One. Strong and hard and soft and beautiful.

He ran his hand over her hip and she snuggled against him, wriggling that luscious bottom, and Will sucked in a breath. Maybe that had been less of a good idea. Tight little Slayer bottom plus sensitive erectile flesh equaled wake-up time. For both of them.

He gently brushed the soft hair away from her neck and pressed his lips softly against the skin there. Another little wriggle, and a sigh this time, too. How awake was she?

He let his hand trail down from her neck to her breast and lazily stroke one soft pink nipple. Not soft for long though: it hardened deliciously under his fingers. And it wasn’t the only thing getting harder. William shifted against her, nestling his growing erection in the hollow between her legs and buttocks, and ran his finger in a circle around her nipple. Probably the gentlemanly thing to do would be to roll away and take care of this by himself, but William had never really enjoyed being much of a gentleman.

He gently licked her earlobe and Buffy sighed again, her fingers clenching the pillow by her face. Encouraged, William nibbled her ear.

Buffy frowned lightly and wriggled her legs together. Will grinned. He could feel how hot she was getting down there. Hot and damp. Delicious.

He had one hand on one of her nipples, the other trapped under her head, and he was therefore terribly surprised to see another hand one Buffy’s other breast.

Her own hand.

Oh God, this was nearly too much.

Much as the prospect excited him, William couldn’t let himself slip inside her without her being fully awake. If she wasn’t awake she couldn’t consent, and if she couldn’t consent then it was pretty much rape in William’s book. And he didn’t do rape. He’d never had to force a woman to do anything, and the thought of it made him dreadfully angry. And very sad.

So he whispered, “Buffy,” in her ear, before he got carried away and woke her up slightly more unpleasantly. He brought his hand up to squeeze her shoulder. “Buffy... love...”

This time she made a little moan, and it sounded to Will’s lust-addled brain like, “Spike...”

He nibbled her neck. She grabbed his hand and pushed it back down to her breast. William complied happily, stroking and kneading the soft flesh, the hard, taut nipple, feeling growing wetness seeping between her legs. She wasn’t asleep any more. And she damn well wanted him.

Her own hand slipped down to part her thighs, touch her own flesh, and William had to close his eyes or he’d come right there and then. But then her fingers moved further back, brushing his hard throbbing-

“Oh God,” he muttered, and rubbed himself against her. Buffy lifted her upper leg, parting her folds for him, inviting him in.

Grateful, desperate, he slid up inside her. God, she felt good. All hot and tight, slick and soft. Her little bottom nestled against his stomach and William’s hand trailed to her hip, holding her back against him as he started to thrust slowly in and out of her.

It wasn’t fast and hard and frantic like it had been before. Will was still pretty sleepy and he wasn’t a hundred percent sure whether Buffy knew what she was doing, or if she thought she was dreaming. He was reasonably sure she was mostly awake.

Reasonably.

She was so soft and warm against him. Her hips moved in time with his, her hand at first over his, on her hip, and then moving further up, touching her own breast. Tentatively at first, then with more confidence, pinching and stroking the nipple. Will watched, enthralled, and then realised that her other hand was still down there, between her legs, stroking her own slick flesh.

It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. And he’d been to Paris.

His hand slid down from her hip to cover her own wet fingers, stroking with her, and after a while her hand fell away, conceding to his own, much more skilled fingers. She reached back and gripped his hip, his buttock, pushing him deeper into her.

He knew he was hitting that sweet spot inside her, knew it even without her quickening breaths and bucking hips. He gently pinched her clitoris and she let out a silent gasp, tightening around him.

He did it again. Her fingers dug into his buttock.

He did it again. Her hand clenched her own breast.

This time Will syncronised his efforts, pinching and thrusting at the same time, his teeth inadvertently sinking into her shoulder. He was rewarded with a sucked in breath, so sharp it was nearly a shriek, and her muscles convulsing around him.

Relaxing his grip on her, he contritely licked the place he’d bitten her and rocked her harder, still thrusting inside her. He was getting closer, faster, no longer sleepy and gentle. She still held him to her, still tight around him, and it didn’t take long for him to fall over the edge, spurting into her, hot and hard.

They lay still for a few moments, both breathing hard, and it occurred to William that neither of them had said a word since he slipped inside her. In fact, apart from those few tentative enquiries, they hadn’t spoken at all.

Her eyes were still closed.

“Buffy,” he said softly, and she sighed and wriggled against him again.

“That’s the nicest wake-up call I can ever remember,” she mumbled sleepily.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Will laughed softly, bringing his arm up to hold her by the waist again, pulling her against him, soft and warm and delightful.

“As it was intended.”

“Mmm,” he nuzzled her neck.

“Will,” she broke the embrace, pulling away from him, cold air rushing in to take her place, “what time is it?”

He shrugged lazily, stretching out like a cat. “Dunno, love.” He glanced at the long windows, where he could see the glow of the moon. The lamps they’d lit earlier had all burned down low by now, filling the room with a soft, seductive light. “Probably pretty late. We both slept for a while.”

Buffy listened. “I think everyone’s gone to sleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, watching her as she ran her fingers through her somewhat tangled hair. She should always have her hair like that, he decided. Loose and tousled, to frame her slightly flushed face, bitten lips, drowsy eyes. She got up and went over to the windows, glancing at the moon before she pulled the curtains to, stretching out those clever little muscles of hers, the velvet of the drapes brushing the velvet of her skin, her lean thighs, her soft breasts, her curvy little rear...

God, she was making him hard again.

“Come back to bed, love,” he held out an arm, and she looked back at him, lithe and tempting in the moonlight.

“What will they think?” she whispered, pulling the last curtain closed.

“Who?”

“Angel, and Darla. We just... We ran up here, hours ago, and now-”

Will laughed. “I really don’t think they’ll be too fussed, love,” he said, and Buffy remembered Cordelia saying how Angel and Darla usually hardly got out of bed. Her cheeks flushed. “You look... so beautiful,” William added in a low, husky voice, and Buffy felt her hard nipples tighten just a little bit more.

She ran back to the bed and fastened her lips to his. “You too,” she mumbled against his mouth, and her hands were already exploring his beautiful body.

Chapter Eight

“Well, if this isn’t every man’s fantasy, I don’t know what is,” Xander stood in the door, looking over Willow, Tara and Anya, who were all tied back to back, wearing only their chemises. They were all gagged, and all looked furious.

“Mr. Harris, is that really appropriate?” Giles said, stepping forward and taking Anya’s axe to cut the ropes.

Xander started pulling gags off, starting with Anya’s, hoping for a sweet smile. Instead she glared at him and started yelling about bloody men. Quickly, he stepped away and freed Willow and Tara.

“What happened?”

“William,” Willow flexed her arms. “Some woman turned up and threatened us with a musket and set him free. Then she lassoed us all together and gagged us and they rode off. I’m afraid they took your horse,” she added to Giles.

“Another insane woman with a gun?” Xander said.

“How many do you know?” Anya asked.

“What did she look like?” Giles asked.

“She was small...”

“Pretty...”

“Blonde hair...”

“Men’s clothes...”

“Are you sure she was a woman?” Giles asked, and Willow said, “Oh yeah.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Willow blushed hotly. Giles cleared his throat.

“Are any of you hurt?”

“I think I have rope burns,” Anya rubbed her stomach, then looked up at Xander, and held out her arm so he could inspect her flawless shoulder. “Does that look sore to you?”

Xander’s eyes glazed over. “It looks perfect.”

She smiled, showing him a perfect pair of dimples.

Giles rolled his eyes. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any chance of us getting him back,” he said.

“Why would we want to?” Willow said. “He was a highwayman”

“Yes, but he knew this P-Perdita who we think might be Elizabeth,” Tara said. “He might know where she is.”

“But how do we find him?” Anya asked, tearing her eyes away from Xander.

They all looked at each other.

“We’ll start asking in the morning,” Giles said wearily. “For now, perhaps we should all try and get some sleep. And you three, please, put something on.”

“I need to know,” Buffy said to Angel next morning at breakfast. “Everything about myself. Whatever you can tell me. It might help jog my memory.”

Angel pushed a piece of bacon around on his plate. “Starting?”

“When did we meet?”

He thought about it. “You’d have been about sixteen. You were out riding, early morning, before anyone else was awake. And I was on my way home with a nice haul. You looked at me, and I looked at you, and you just rode off.”

“Why didn’t you try and rob me?”

He gave her a disarming smile. “Because what I wanted from you wasn’t your money.”

Buffy blushed.

“Did you-” she was horribly embarrassed, “did you get it?”

He nodded slowly.

Darla grinned. “Are you sure you don’t remember that?” she asked. “It’s quite something to forget.”

Buffy shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Angel said. “Perhaps I should remind you.”

“And then I’ll kill you,” Will said, the first time he’d spoken.

“Calm down,” Darla said. “You know, Buffy, it’s a shame you don’t remember. A comparison might have been fun.”

“Don’t you dare,” Will said.

Cordelia came in and paused at the door. “My God,” she said, “I can hardly breathe in here.”

“What’s wrong?” Buffy asked.

“You four. The air is thick with lust.”

“Actually, that’s bacon-”

She rolled her eyes and handed a letter to Angel. He opened it, frowned, and then said to Will, “Will you come into my study?”

Will frowned too. He touched Buffy’s hand, then rose to his feet and followed Angel from the room. She watched him, admiring the fluid way he moved, and Darla had to click her fingers in front of Buffy’s face to get her attention.

“He had that effect on me,” she said, and Buffy stared.

“You - and Will-?”

Darla grinned. “Don’t tell Angel, but he might have got competition.”

“No,” Buffy said firmly, “he hasn’t. You go anywhere near Will and I’ll cut your fingers off.”

Darla raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t realise it was that big.”

This time it was Buffy’s turn to grin.

“I meant,” Darla laughed, “what you two have. How long have you known each other?”

Buffy sighed. “A couple of days. Darla - did you know me? I mean, before-?”

“No. He talks about you a lot though. The Slayer. You were a big thing in his life.”

“Was I? Were we... Were we together a long time?”

“I think it was a couple of years.”

Buffy was shocked. “And we were lovers, as well as partners?”

“You certainly were.”

Buffy frowned pensively. She drummed her fingers on the table.

“I need to go out,” she said. “I need to ride. Would you have some clothes I could borrow?”

“I’ll send Cordelia up with some.”

Cordelia helped Buffy dress in the smart red riding outfit and tucked her hair under a little veiled hat. “When Angel’s messenger gets back from Virginia he’ll hopefully have some clothes for you,” she said. “Darla’s are all too short and mine would be huge on you.”

“It’s fine, really,” Buffy said. “You’ve already done too much.” They went downstairs, and Cordelia disappeared in the direction of the kitchen while Buffy wandered through the house, trying to find the way to the stables.

She heard voices in Angel’s study, and was about to knock and ask which way to go, when someone shot out in front of her and thrust a hand over her mouth, pressing her back against the wall.

She looked up, surprised, ready to fight, and saw Will’s eyes sparkling down at her.

“Going riding?”

She licked his palm, and he moved it away.

“Want to join me?”

“Oh, yes,” Will said, and kissed her. Buffy’s arms wound up around his neck, and his hands slid around her back. The riding outfit wasn’t as tightly corseted as a normal dress, although she still had layers of stays and petticoats under it. She was hardly aware she’d even lifted her leg against William’s waist until she felt his hand sliding up her thigh, over her stocking tops, and she gasped.

“Will, not here!”

He nuzzled her neck. “Why not?”

“Someone might see...” He licked her collarbone, and she let out a little moan. “Or hear.”

“Mmm. I don’t care. I want to be inside you.”

Buffy tried to think of a way to protest, because she really didn’t want anyone to come by and see them, but his hand was doing exquisite things under her skirts and his mouth was hot on her neck and she wanted him to be inside her too, and, hardly of her own volition, her hands pulled her skirts up.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” Will grinned, and unfastened his breeches. Buffy glanced wildly around - Angel was just on the other side of the wall - and then bit her own tongue to keep quiet as Will slid up inside her still rather tender opening. She’d thought it might be painful, after all she was a bit sore, but it just felt good. Like he was stroking away all the pain.

“Oh, you feel so good,” he whispered, lifting her up higher, wrapping her legs around his waist, and Buffy closed her eyes, feeling him move inside her, feeling the heat and the hardness of him. He moved slowly, whispering things in her ear that made her wriggle and squirm and clutch at him, trying to get him in deeper, to make more friction, to move faster, harder.

“Will,” she said desperately, and he lifted one hand from her hip to press his finger to her lips.

“Shh,” he mocked, “someone might hear.”

“Let them,” she said, “I need you harder. Faster.” She squeezed herself around him. “Will, please-”

“Damn it,” he said, “I can’t refuse you anything,” and pushed in so hard she let out a cry. He was so hot, his body so hard, and he felt so good, plunging into her. Buffy’s nails dug into his back through his waistcoat and his shirt, wishing she could feel his skin against her fingers. She was so hot and so desperate for release she thought she might die.

“Harder,” she whimpered, “harder, Will, please, I’m nearly there...”

He obliged, smashing into her so hard the wall rattled and through the wood and plaster, Angel said, “What’s going on?”

Buffy’s eyes met Will’s, wide with panic, and she nearly told him to stop, but then he ground his hips against hers and she forgot all about Angel and concentrated on the gathering heat inside her, building to a fire, spreading inside her, making her arms and legs shake. She bit her lip, then thought better of it and bit Will’s instead, and he let out a hoarse shout, and the door from Angel’s study opened and he came out and said, “What the hell?”

“Oh my God!” Buffy cried, and her body convulsed in an orgasm so intense she nearly passed out.

“Right,” Angel said, and went back inside.

Will was laughing, shaking as he thrust into her. “God, that was funny,” he said, and Buffy barely heard him, clinging to him absently as her mind floated around somewhere on a plane of ecstasy.

Will looked at her bare throat and flushed face and the tendrils of hair escaping the hat he’d knocked askew, and felt the heat build and shatter in him too. He thrust a few more times into her, then erupted, hot and happy, crying, “God, Buffy, you’re amazing.”

And Buffy screamed.

Angel’s door opened again. “Could you two keep it down?” he began, and then he saw what had made Buffy scream, and froze for a second.

“Was it that good?” Will mumbled against Buffy’s neck, and was hurt when she shoved him off her, shoving her skirts down and steadying herself against the wall when her legs trembled. She looked pointedly over his shoulder, and Will glanced that way, and what he saw nearly made him faint.

“Drusilla?”

“My little Willie,” she said, and Angel burst out laughing.

“Hey, less of the ‘little’,” Will said, colouring, fastening his breeches and turning around.

“You know her?” Buffy said.

“We’ve met,” Will said shortly, looking Drusilla over.

“Why is she naked?” Angel said. “Not that I’m complaining, but...”

Buffy rolled her eyes and pulled Will’s coat off his shoulders.

“It’s short for William,” he said, and she hid a smile.

“I know,” she said.

“I’m not-”

This time she let him see her grin. “I know,” she said, and he smiled at that. She took the coat over to Drusilla, who froze, and looked Buffy over warily.

“It’s all right,” Buffy said. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Drusilla clutched the leather around her and inhaled. “William,” she said.

“Better,” Will said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Drusilla didn’t answer.

“We found her,” Angel said. “Wandering around, talking to herself.”

“What happened? She’s all bruised and beaten up.” Will’s sharp gaze swung on Angel. “Did you do that?”

“I’ve been helping her!” the darker man protested. “Honest to God.”

“Drusilla?” Buffy ventured. “Is that really your name?”

“That’s the one she gave me,” Will said.

“We’ll get onto you later,” Buffy warned. “Drusilla, what happened to you?”

“All the pretty dollies,” Drusilla said dreamily. “They didn’t like it. Chop, chop, chop.”

Silence.

“Right,” Will said. “Dru, sweetheart, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Like red wine,” Drusilla went on. “Spill, spill, spill...”

“And I thought I’d lost my mind,” Buffy muttered.

“Spill, spill, spill...”

Cordelia came into the room. “What’s she doing down here?”

“Interesting question,” Angel said. “I thought she was supposed to be staying upstairs.”

“I locked the door,” Cordelia frowned.

“You locked her in?” Will said.

“Well, there’s no telling what she might do if she gets out,” Cordelia said. “She started throwing candlesticks around in her room. We had to take all the sharp things out. And the mirror.”

“The mirror?” Buffy said.

“She screamed whenever she saw herself.”

“Don’t know why,” Angel said. “She’s not bad-looking.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “I think that’s some kind of trauma,” she said. “Come on, Dru, let’s get you upstairs.”

Drusilla shook her head. “Not without my William.”

“Your William?” Buffy arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, but-”

“Not right now, love,” Will’s hand was heavy on her shoulder.

“You have some explaining to do,” Buffy said, shrugging him away.

“Fine, but not right now.” He went over to Drusilla and she reached up a hand to stroke his face. Buffy started forwards, but Angel held her back.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, and gave a look to Cordelia, who nodded and went away.

They followed Drusilla and William up the stairs, Buffy flinching every time she touched him, which was often. She found herself wondering when it was she’d come to regard Will as hers. Probably some time around her tenth or eleventh orgasm.

“Does she have any clothes?” Will asked when they got to Drusilla’s room, where the lock had indeed been forced, and Buffy picked up a discarded nightgown. There was blood on it, and she looked up in alarm.

Drusilla shrieked.

“Red, red, like wine, spilling and pouring, trickling like a fountain, pretty all over the walls, the floor, running, running down the stairs...”

Will tried to calm her and she buried her face in his chest. He looked surprised, but put his arms around her and received a scowl from Buffy for it.

“Where’s she bleeding from?”

The door opened and Cordelia came back in with a cup of something hot. She looked at the nightgown, then back at Drusilla, and sighed.

“She’s not hurt,” she said. “It’s - well, you know,” she looked at Buffy, who understood immediately.

Will and Angel looked blank.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “It’s a female thing,” she said, and watched them both colour.

“Right,” Will said, and released Drusilla.

“It’s not catching,” Buffy laughed. “You two go outside and don’t move and we’ll sort this out. All right?”

They agreed all too hastily and fled the room. Buffy and Cordelia met eyes and grinned.

“Nice to know there’s still some way to intimidate a man,” Cordelia said, and Buffy replied, “Oh, there’s more than one.”

They sorted Drusilla out and gave her the cup to drink from. Cordelia explained that it contained a sleeping draught, and as they left she called a servant to stand outside the door and guard it until she could get someone to fix the lock.

“Right,” Buffy looked at Angel and William, “explanation time.”

It was midafternoon, when Giles had dismissed his class for the day and was walking back to his little house, that he saw the carriage rumble through the main street. It stopped by the tavern, and the driver went inside, coming back out after a minute or so and taking off again. The carriage rolled away and disappeared around the corner.

Giles thought little of it, until he came to his own house and saw the carriage outside.

Frowning, he went in through the kitchen, where Tara was hastily preparing food with Willow’s help.

“Do we have company?”

The maid bobbed a quick curtsey. “Sir. A young lady. Wants to see you. Says it’s important. About William.”

By now surprised and very curious, Giles took off his outdoor coat and hat and went through into the parlour, where Anya and Xander were sitting rather too close for a couple who weren’t courting, opposite a young lady who had her back to him, sitting in the best chair.

He cleared his throat. “I do apologise for keeping you waiting, miss-”

She rose gracefully to her feet and turned to face him. She was quite young, perhaps only fifteen or so, with dark hair and big blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. Her dress was velvet and her hat was very fashionable. “Mr. - Giles, is it?”

He nodded.

“You are the schoolteacher.”

He nodded again.

“Your niece tells me you may know something of William the Bloody?”

“Well, yes, yes, I do, but not a huge amount,” Giles said, gesturing for her to sit down again, which she did, after shaking his hand and introducing herself.

“Miss Chaleur,” she said. “Do you know where Mr. Darling is?”

“Who?” Xander said.

“William. That’s his name,” Giles explained.

“William the Bloody’s surname is Darling?” Xander said, and Anya giggled.

Giles and his guest ignored them. “Mr. Darling,” it did sound odd, now he thought of it, “was here yesterday,” he said, “but I’m afraid he left last night.”

“Do you know where?”

“No, although I would very much like to.”

“Did he rob you?” Miss Chaleur said dejectedly.

“No, but he tried,” Xander said proudly.

“Did he? I didn’t know that,” Anya said, and Xander puffed up proudly.

“Oh, sure. He tried to rob us, but we vanquished him.”

“Actually, Perdita vanquished him,” Willow said, coming in with a tray of cakes. She was followed by Tara, who had tea and cups.

“She’s not Perdita,” Xander corrected, “she’s Elizabeth.”

Miss Chaleur looked at Giles for help. “I’m confused.”

“My goddaughter, Elizabeth Summers,” Giles explained. “She went missing and we have reason to believe she may be the Perdita who rescued Mr. Harris and Mr. Rosenberg from William the - from Mr. Darling.”

“I’d like to meet this Perdita,” Miss Chaleur said with a bit of a smile. “Why is she using another name?”

“We don’t know,” Xander said. “We think she was hiding - afraid of something. She, uh, rescued me and Willow,” Anya looked disappointed at that, “but she had no idea who she was. But Mr. Giles thinks she might be his friend’s daughter.”

“I see,” the guest nodded. “But she wasn’t here with him?”

“No, she left the night before,” Xander said. “Before we got here. With Mr. Darling,” he sniggered as he said the name.

He was ignored.

“I have a proposal,” Miss Chaleur said. “I believe I know where Mr. Darling may be. He told me I was to meet him here but since he is quite obviously not here, I am pretty sure I know where he will be. I will take you there and vouch for you, and you can ask him about your Miss Elizabeth. In return you will protect me on the highways. There are evil men out there. Do we have an agreement?”

Giles looked doubtful for a second.

“I’ll come with you,” Xander said. “I survived William once, I can do it again.”

“You just want to see Perdita again,” Willow said.

“I’m coming too,” Anya volunteered quickly, and Xander tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile.

Giles looked at them, saw the resolve on his niece’s face, and sighed. “We have a deal.”

“We met on the boat over,” Will said, rolling a cigarette and lighting it. “Not much in the way of conversation. She was leaving England for a new life in the new world.”

“With her family?” Buffy asked, and he nodded.

“Mother, father, older brother and younger sister.”

“Sister?” Buffy frowned. “There was no sister...”

“No, well, there wouldn’t be, love. She died on the ship. Not long before we reached port. Mumps. Spread through the ship like wildfire,” his eyes were distant.

“You didn’t see any of the bodies at the farm,” Buffy said. “So you wouldn’t have recognised them. But do you remember what they looked like?”

He shrugged. “Her mum looked like her. I remember that. The cheekbones, and the eyes. Really odd pale eyes. Her brother had them, too.”

Buffy closed her own eyes and brought to mind the three bodies they’d found at the farmhouse.

“I think that was them,” she said. “I’m almost sure of it. I knew Drusilla reminded me of someone when I saw her. That’s who.”

“So someone attacked the family,” Angel said, “killed Ma and Pa and big brother, but not her.”

“From the look of her I’d say she’d been raped,” Darla said, and Buffy shuddered. Will put his arm around her. “And brutalised. She’s still in a hell of a state.”

Buffy nodded. “You saw her reaction to the blood. And what was she saying about it flowing down the stairs?”

“She rambled even when she was sane,” Will said, blowing out a smoke ring. “Always on about the bloody stars.”

“How well did you know her?” Angel asked slyly, and Will glared at him.

“As well as you know her,” he gestured at Darla.

“You were sleeping with her?”

“Don’t recall much sleeping,” Will said with a smirk, which vanished when he felt Buffy stiffen under his arm. “Buffy, love, it was ten years ago. More than that. Twelve, thirteen...”

“She must have been young,” Darla said.

“Not much more than a kid.”

“And still unmarried at this age.”

“Too bloody weird to get married,” William inhaled on his roll-up.

“You didn’t want her?” Buffy said tonelessly.

“Used goods, love. She was just for then.”

“Like me? Am I just for now?”

Angel and Darla exchanged looks.

“Why don’t we go and check on Drusilla?” she said, and dragged him to his feet. He looked disappointed, but went.

Buffy got up too, and Will stood, thinking she was going to leave, but she just paced around the room, still wearing that red riding costume, looking lush.

“Am I just for now?” she asked, and he sighed.

“Love, do you know who I am?”

“I’m starting to think I don’t.”

“I’m a highwayman. I don’t do permanency.”

“You just do whoever passes by,” Buffy said. “Right.”

“No,” he reached for her, and she shook him off. “No, listen. What I mean is, it would never really work between us.”

“Why? Because a highwayman and a highwaywoman are so very different?”

“No, because this time next week, you or I could get shot in the head by the militia. And if I spend any more time with you, then I’m not going to be able to live with you getting shot in the head.”

She was silent for a few seconds, and William stepped closer.

“Buffy. Pet. You’re one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met. You’re - the things you do, the way you move...”

“So it’s just about what we do in bed?”

“The way you breathe,” William finished. “Hell, I wanted you when you were throwing rocks at me. But we can’t get involved, Buffy. We just can’t. Maybe you can go on to a normal life, but not me. I’m set. I like being a highwayman, I’m good at it. I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

And besides, he thought, what would I ever get from you? You don’t even seem to like me most of the time.

“You’re right,” she said, and he looked up in surprise. “You’re right, it would never work. And its not like we have a lot to throw away. Not like this was a grand love affair or anything...”

It could be, Will thought, and sighed. In a perfect world, it could be. But then he’d get shot in the head and she’d be alone again. Or worse, she’d get shot, and he wasn’t sure he could go on without her.

It was ridiculous. A few days and he was ‘what-if’ing. No. It had to stop now, before he lost concentration.

Someone tapped on the door, and they both looked up. It was Doyle.

“We have visitors,” he said. “Well, you do.”

“Who?” Buffy asked. “Me or him?”

“Both of you,” Doyle said, and Buffy and Will looked at each other in confusion.

Then, “Willow and Xander,” Will realised.

“How the hell did they find us?” Buffy said. “Matter of fact, how did you find me?”

“Angel,” Will said. “I’ll explain later.”

He headed out of the room, and Buffy followed, frowning.

They were in the drawing room, more of them than she’d expected. The only one she recognised was Xander, who leapt up in delight when he saw her.

“Perdita!”

“Buffy,” she corrected.

“You’re not hiding any more?”

“I, er-” Buffy looked around, and saw an older man standing there smiling broadly at her.

“Elizabeth,” he said. “I’m so happy to see you safe and well.”

“Er, yes,” she said. “Er...”

“Buffy,” Will’s hand rested on the small of her back, “don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your godfather, good old Rupert?”

“Rupert,” Buffy repeated, looking him over closely. Nope, didn’t ring any bells.

“It has been a long time since I saw you,” Giles said, laughing. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You must have been quite small.”

“But you recognised me.”

“You look exactly like your mother did at that age.”

“My mother?”

“Ah, yes,” Giles took off his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. The ship you were on, The Redoubtable, you survived the sinking?”

Buffy nodded. “Just.”

“But your mother... I’m afraid we found her on the beach. It appears she drowned.”

There was silence for a few seconds.

“Buffy?” Will said gently.

“I thought so,” she said quietly. “I thought she must be dead. “Angel, you can call off your messenger.”

He nodded and left the room.

“So he’s the master of Sunnydale House?” Xander said. “Friend of yours?”

“Old friend,” Buffy said, and looked over the two women who’d come with Xander and Giles. One was sitting on the chaise, looking possessively at Xander. Buffy smiled at that. She was delicate and very pretty, and there was a stubborn set to her face that Buffy had a feeling Xander might enjoy.

The other was looking at William, or rather trying to, because Giles was in her way. She was small, quite young, and had dark hair tucked up under her large picture hat. When they’d come in the girl’s face had been hidden by the hat, but now it was on show as she looked up. At William. Straight at William. Despite what they’d been saying just a few minutes ago, Buffy felt a flash of jealousy. Will was still hers, at least for now.

Should she ask who they were? Or was she supposed to know?

But Will did it for her. Still unaware of the dark-haired girl, he looked at the girl staring at Xander, and grinned. “This is your godfather’s niece, love,” he said. “Anya. Does that make you cousins?”

Buffy opened her mouth to say hello, but she was cut off by the younger girl speaking for the first time.

“That depends on if they’re related by marriage,” she said. “If there’s no marriage certificate, there’s no relationship. Right, Spike?”

Will froze. Buffy stared at him, and then he shoved Giles aside and stared at the girl.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“You said you’d meet me at Mr. Giles’s. But you weren’t there. I thought you might still be here. And you are. With all these...” she looked around, “interesting people.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t sure she liked the ‘interesting’.

“Friend of yours?” she asked Will.

“No,” he said.

Silence. The girl stared stubbornly at him.

“Not a friend, not a relation,” she said eventually. “Would you like to tell them who I am?”

Buffy had a dreadful feeling he was going to tell her the girl was his mistress.

Will swallowed. He took a deep breath, and he let it out. “This is Dawn Chaleur,” he said, and his fingers curled into a fist. “My daughter.”

Chapter Nine

Buffy downed her whisky and held the glass out for more. Will refilled it wordlessly. So she’d get drunk, fall into bed with him and wake up sure she’d forgiven him.

Right.

He looked at her face, and drank a lot of whisky straight from the bottle.

Maybe.

He waited nervously. It wasn’t going to be pretty. They’d come into Angel’s office to talk, at Buffy’s insistence. He hadn’t dared say no.

“Is anyone going to say anything?” Dawn asked. “Or are we all going to sit here glaring at each other?”

“No one’s glaring at you,” Buffy said.

“He is.”

Right on cue, Will swung his hard blue gaze on her. She stared back, unflinchingly. She didn’t seem to be very afraid of him, Buffy thought. Not your average meek, polite English daughter. But then she didn’t even sound very English. She had the same flat Colonial vowels as Buffy and Xander and Willow. But Will had come over to America ten or twelve years ago, which must have been after Dawn was born. She was several years too old to have been born after he’d arrived.

Buffy was confused.

“How old are you?”

Dawn lifted her chin. “Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen soon.”

“Six months,” Will glowered.

“Oh, you remembered,” Dawn sounded bitter.

“Of course I sodding remembered, you stupid little chit, I can’t forget the day my marriage prospects were ruined forever.”

“You had marriage prospects?” Buffy asked with heavy sarcasm.

“Damn right I did. I was bloody eligible.”

Dawn snorted. “Didn’t seem to do you too much harm. You completely hid me away. If it hadn’t been for my grandmother-”

“Don’t you bring my mother into this,” Will rounded on her.

“Oh, right, because she’s your mother, and not my grandmother,” Dawn said. “I was forgetting. I’m so sorry, Miss Buffy, I shouldn’t have introduced myself as his daughter when I’m plainly not.”

Buffy privately thought that she’d never seen two people more alike. “So then... what are you?”

Dawn looked stubborn, and not a little bit proud. “Illegitimate.”

“...Oh.”

Will sighed and drank a bit more whisky. “It’s not what it looks like,” he began.

“Oh? So you don’t have a sixteen year old illegitimate daughter hidden away somewhere?”

Will looked wretched.

“It’s quite simple,” Dawn said. “My mother was a French girl he met when he was a green young ensign, fresh out of the nursery, serving drinks to his colonel in Paris. Spike came home, and found out she’d got there ahead of him, some clerk had taken pity and given her my grandmother’s address in London, and when he got there she was already on the payroll. Working in the kitchen until I was born.”

“You got some French maid pregnant, then left her?” Buffy said.

“No!” Will said. “Well, yes. But I didn’t know. I just left with my regiment and she stayed in Paris and the next I knew was when I came home for Christmas and Marie was out here with Dawn.”

“So you sent her to work in the kitchens?” Buffy’s voice was getting higher and higher with incredulity.

“No, his mother did,” Dawn said matter-of-factly. “She could have just turned her out. It was quite good of her to keep my mama on. She didn’t have any proof that Spike was anything to do with it.”

“Why do you call him Spike?” Buffy sidetracked.

“To annoy me,” Will said. “Look. When I found out what had happened I offered to set her up back in France.”

“Send us both away because you didn’t want us hanging around to shame you,” Dawn nodded.

“No,” he rubbed his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. Stop twisting what I say.”

“So you didn’t want me out of the way?”

“Kept you on, didn’t I?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “You had me living in the cellar with the coalboy.”

Buffy stared at him.

“His mother looked after them,” Will defended, “they were the same age and he - she - she was fine, all right?”

Dawn folded her arms and gave him a hard look.

“Tell her about Cecily.”

Will looked sulky. He reached for the whisky but Buffy put her hand over it and asked in steely tones, “Who is Cecily?”

Will drummed his fingers nervously on the desk. He glanced at Dawn, who sighed impatiently and said, “His wife.”

Buffy gaped. “You have a wife?”

“Had,” he corrected. “She’s dead now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Will muttered. “I wasn’t.”

Buffy’s swift contrition vanished as soon as it had arrived.

“Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to get Dawn to spell it out?”

Silence. Eventually Dawn rolled her eyes and explained, “Cecily was the girl his parents wanted him to marry, because she came from a good family and had lots of money.”

“Of course.”

Spike missed the daggers look Buffy shot him, so busy was he staring fixedly at his hands.

“Only as soon as they found out about me, they suddenly stopped being so interested. And so did everyone else.”

“Lots of men have illegits,” Will said sulkily. “They just don’t have them around buggering up their home lives.”

“So eventually he had to resort to dastardly tactics,” Dawn went on. “He compromised her.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“I was in love with her,” Will said defensively. “And she could have said no.”

“Evidently ‘no’ wasn’t a word in her vocabulary,” Dawn muttered.

“Meaning?”

“Even I knew about her,” Dawn said scathingly. “As soon as you went back to your regiment she was off with every young man around town. Looking for ‘comfort’ because her husband was away and she’d no children to keep her company.”

“Yeah, well, that changed, didn’t it?” Will muttered.

“You have more children?” Buffy asked nervously.

“No,” he said shortly. “Cecily did.”

He refused to say any more on the subject, so it was left to Dawn to explain. Again.

“He was off in France and Spain a lot,” she said. “War, war, war. England’s really good at war. No one’s happy unless they’re advancing on someone. Anyway, I think I must have been about five - just old enough to start learning how to clean the chimney - when the rumour spread around the house that Cecily was expecting.”

“How nice,” Buffy said coldly.

“Was for her,” Will said viciously.

Buffy blinked at his violent tone.

“And right about the same time,” Dawn went on, “Grandm - his mother,” she changed it pointedly, “got quite sick. So she wrote him to come home. Which he did. And then,” she flicked her eyes at Will, who was leaning against the desk, looking sullen, staring at the opposite wall. “Then he told us the news.”

“What news?” Buffy asked in dread.

“The same fever that killed Marie a few months after Dawn was born also... affected me,” Will said stiffly.

“What kind of fever?” Buffy asked, suddenly cold with sweat, certain it was some kind of sexual disease she’d now have picked up from him.

“Mumps,” Dawn said. “I think.”

“The same thing that killed Drusilla’s sister,” Buffy said softly, looking at Will, who gave a bare little nod, not looking at her.

“Who?” Dawn asked.

“It doesn’t matter for now. I’m not sure I understand what this has to do with anything,” Buffy said. “Why was it important that you’d had mumps?”

Will reached for the whisky bottle, and this time Buffy let him have it. He drank a lot, shuddered as it burned through him, then took a breath. “Before Marie there hadn’t been anyone else,” he said slowly. “And there weren’t any since, not until Cecily. And we were married for nearly five years. I was home a lot, she came out to see me when she could tear herself away from her young men. I wasn’t celibate, Buffy. But Cecily never got pregnant. Not from me. We thought there was something wrong with her. She was barren. I thought...”

He trailed off, staring off at an unseen distance. After a while Dawn spoke again, more softly.

“They thought the problem was with Cecily. As it was so abundantly clear to everyone,” she gestured to herself, “that he was perfectly manly.”

Will suddenly grabbed Buffy’s empty glass and hurled it at the wall where it shattered noisily. Dawn shrieked and covered her face with her arms, but Buffy sat still.

“The mumps sterilised you,” she said, and he gave a little affirmative shrug, still not looking at either of them. “You knew that, so you knew Cecily’s child couldn’t be yours... What did you do?” she asked, fascinated.

“Got on a boat and came over here.”

“Just like that?”

“Pretty much.”

“And you?” Buffy glanced at Dawn.

“Wasn’t like I was ever going to have another one,” Will muttered, and Buffy stared at him. Somewhere in there was something that was quite sweet.

Somewhere.

“What about Cecily?”

“Left her to rot in hell.”

“After making sure everyone knew,” Dawn added, looking a bit gleeful. “No one would talk to her. People spat at her. It was fantastic.”

“Sounds it,” Buffy said faintly.

“Of course, then she died in childbirth,” Dawn added, frowning a little. “But I think she deserved it.”

Buffy opened her mouth to comment, then closed it again when she realised she couldn’t think of a thing to say. It was rather an awful, emasculating thing to happen to him, and it was dreadful that his wife had cheated like that, but on the other hand he’d been hiding an illegitimate child in a chimney somewhere. So to speak.

She was just about to ask where Dawn lived, and if Will lived there too, and how the girl had tracked him down, when Will stood up abruptly, bottle in hand, and announced, “I’m going to bed.”

Surprised, Buffy managed to nod, and it was only as he brushed past her that she started to tell him to stay. But then she saw him blink furiously, and had an awful feeling he was going to cry.

“Will, don’t-”

“Sod off,” he snapped. “Just - go away. I don’t need to - just sod off. You too,” he glared at Dawn, who looked like she was about to say something. She backed away, hands raised, and the two women watched him stalk out of the room, slamming the door as he went.

“Well, that went well,” Dawn said.

“Yes,” Buffy said numbly.

“Are you all right? You look sort of pale.”

“I - I think I need to go after him.”

She rose to her feet, but Dawn caught her arm, shaking her head.

“He’s too angry now. Let him calm down. Come with me and we’ll talk with the others. The gentleman who owns this house, and your godfather and his friends. He seems nice.”

“Yes,” Buffy repeated, just as vaguely as before. She let Dawn lead her from the room, followed the smell of food to the dining room where dinner was being served, and then she sat and made polite small talk with everyone, glossing over what she couldn’t remember with feigned distress about the shipwreck and her mother, and looking to Angel for help when Giles asked her something she was supposed to know.

She learned about her father’s plantation in Virginia and how her mother had gone on running it after his death. She learned about how Henry Summers and Rupert Giles had been very good friends in England, had come over together and started life in Virginia, before Giles had moved up to Massachusetts to look after his sick sister, who had died leaving him Anya to care for. She ascertained that Giles had no idea about anything untoward in her history: if Angel was telling the truth and she really had robbed coaches in Virginia, then Giles was completely and quite happily ignorant of it.

She also learned that Anya and Xander were extremely interested in each other, although no one had to tell her that. There were practically flames leaping up across the table where they smouldered at each other. As Cordelia passed her with a carafe of wine, Buffy caught her sleeve and murmured, “Could you see they have rooms nearby each other?”

“Already have,” Cordelia gave her a smile and a little wink before moving on, and Buffy sat back, satisfied that at least someone was going to have a good night.

Eventually Giles excused himself to retire to bed, apologising that he was old and the journey had been long. He thanked Angel elegantly and left the room, followed by his niece and Xander, yawning fakely. Buffy glanced at Dawn, who rolled her eyes and said, “All right, I’ll go to bed too. I’m not that much of a child, you know.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Angel said, but the lascivious look he gave her sent Dawn scurrying. Darla smacked him.

“Stop lusting after other women,” she said, “or I’ll have to hurt you.”

“Oh, please do,” Angel leered.

“I think I’ll go to bed too,” Buffy rose to her feet before it all started getting inappropriate. “I’ll see you in the morning, before we leave...?”

They nodded, hardly noticing her, and Buffy left the room wearing a faint smile. Objectively, she could see that Angel was a very attractive man, but she wasn’t sure what she’d ever really seen in him. Part of her suspected he may have been pulling her leg. And then part of her suspected he’d pulled a lot more than that.

Her room was empty, the bed looking big and cold without Will lying in it. She supposed she should go and see him. Talk to him. Console him.

She brushed her hair, bit her lips for colour, then went in search of her missing lover.

First she got hold of Doyle and asked if Will had taken another room. Doyle said that no, he hadn’t, and in fact he’d left the office and gone straight to the stables. Buffy was terrified he might have run away, but Doyle assured her he’d left his greatcoat behind, and he’d definitely be coming back for it.

Reassured, Buffy went got herself a cloak and stepped out into the dark night. The sky was clear and full of stars and the air was cold and biting. She shivered into her cloak, pulled the hood up over her loose hair, and crunched over the gravel to the stableblock. It was full of horses, but empty of Will. Buffy searched everywhere, annoying the horses, and eventually stomped out, hot and frustrated, and was about to give up and go back up to her big cold bed when she caught the scent of smoke. Tobacco smoke. And if she looked carefully, she could just see a glow coming from the direction of the terrace.

She set off as stealthily as she could, which was pretty silent, and crept up behind him as he sat on the low wall surrounding the terrace, smoking moodily, his back to the house. She had one hand over his mouth and the other over his eyes before he even knew she was there, and she enjoyed the sensation of him struggling against her before she whispered in his ear, “Shh or you’ll wake the whole household.”

He stilled. “Buffy?”

She moved her hands to rest on his shoulders. “Who else?”

“I dunno. Could be bloody anyone.” Spike sucked in some smoke and blew it back out again. “Everyone around here’s got some reason for sneaking around. Half of ‘em’d like to kill me.”

“You really think so?” Buffy was amazed at his vanity.

“Well, your Angel’s still got a candle burning for you. Good old Rupert probably thinks I’m after your virtue-”

Buffy snorted.

“And Dawn’s had a gun on me more than once.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Dawn?”

“Scarier than she looks, love. How’d you think she got me to bring her over here?”

“Wasn’t she five?”

He was silent for a bit, and Buffy had to hide a giggle, slipping her arms around his neck and holding them loosely there.

“Spike,” she said, and felt him stiffen. “Why do people call you that?”

“Army nickname.”

“Because...?”

“Various reasons.”

“Such as?”

He hesitated, and Buffy sighed. “I’m not going to be shocked.”

“I impaled three people with the King’s Colours.”

“The-?”

“The Union Flag. You know? Red and white crosses on blue. It’s everywhere. Must be held high at all costs. Some poor little bugger’s got to stand around like target practice, carrying this bloody great flag. Red, white, and blue are hardly what you might call subtle on a battlefield.”

“Why couldn’t you just shoot those people?”

“Takes too long. Got to keep reloading.”

“But, surely...” Buffy trailed off, and Will leaned back against her.

“They were after the flag,” he said simply.

“So you stabbed them with it?”

“Yep.” He looked back at her as she stood with her arms around his neck. “Shocked?”

Buffy considered it. “Seeing as how I met you holding a gun on two defenceless people, no, I don’t think so.”

Silence. A chill wind blew across the terrace, and Buffy instinctively moved a bit closer.

“What do you do with it?” she asked.

“With what? The flag?”

“The money. The money you steal from travellers.”

He shrugged in her embrace. “Dawn spends most of it.”

“You live with her?”

“Officially. She has the house to herself. Buys horses and dresses and things like that. Pretty things. Goes to parties.”

“I thought you were ashamed of her.”

He sighed. “I was ashamed of her when she was this big-eyed kid my mother said I had to provide for. People tell you something’s a mistake and it’s not so hard to believe. Could have had a much better time without her. Marie, too. She didn’t deserve to die, not like that, alone in a foreign country, brand new baby and no family to care for it.”

“Your mother cared for it.”

“My mother said someone must look after it. She didn’t actually do it herself. She and Dawn hardly saw each other. Kid was like a charity case. No one wanted her. Not even the woman feeding her. It was just my mother trying to make me feel guilty.”

“Did it work?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Are you still guilty?”

Will sighed again. “Of more things than I can remember. But I don’t feel ashamed of her any more. Look at her. She’s grown up so well. Despite me.”

“Why did you really bring her over?”

He was silent for so long Buffy thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “I walked out of the house when I heard Cecily’s news. Went to my club and got drunk. Three days later I rolled up at home, proceeded to tell the entire household the whole sordid story, and walked out again. I was still half-cut. Really all I wanted to do was make sure Cecily got what she deserved. And then the damndest thing happened. This tiny little urchin came out of the drawing room with a duster in her hand, and Cecily yelled something about me disowning all my children, and I just thought, ‘I’ll never have another child. I can’t lose this one.’ And I grabbed her grubby little hand and took her with me.”

“No regrets?”

“Every bloody second. She was a whiny little brat. Cost me a fortune too: had to kit her out properly so people wouldn’t question it when I said I was leaving for a new life after my wife had died. My cover story,” he explained. “I was leaving everything. Mother, Cecily, the army, everything.”

“You deserted the British Army?” Buffy said.

“I did. Are you impressed?”

“Oh, very. What rank were you?”

“When I left? Lieutenant.”

He said it the English way, Leftenant, not the American literal pronunciation, and it took Buffy a while to realise what he meant. Something in her was tugging familiarly, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“And then what? You met Drusilla on the way over...”

“I think the word there is ‘rebound’.”

“Probably what drove her crazy,” Buffy muttered. “And now? Where do you live?”

Will hadn’t missed her crack about driving Dru crazy, and he smiled at the dark garden. “Up in the north of the colony. Past Boston. Quite a way. I wonder what the hell Dawn came here for?”

“You didn’t think to ask her?”

“When was I supposed to do that?”

“Before you stormed out like a child, maybe?”

Will made a face Buffy couldn’t see in the darkness, but didn’t really need to. She was still standing behind him, his head resting on her chest, his soft hair tickling the tops of her breasts where her cloak had fallen away.

“Listen,” she said, and she really didn’t want to have to say the words. “Tomorrow, I-”

But at the same time, Will started speaking, and Buffy shut up to hear him, especially after he began with, “Can I ask you something?”

“I probably won’t know the answer, but sure. Go right ahead.”

“Will you talk to Dawn for me? Tomorrow? I just have the feeling she won’t tell me why she’s here. I think she kind of liked you. She might talk to you.”

Buffy was silent for a while, and Will bit his lip. Dammit. Shouldn’t have asked her. He just wanted her to bond with Dawn. Maybe if they became friends, Buffy would still occasionally come into his life.

Bad idea, Will. On all counts.

“Are you afraid of talking to her?” Buffy asked, and there was laughter in her voice.

“No, of course not,” Will said hotly, then realised she was teasing him. He turned his head, saw her smiling down at him, and reached up to the back of her head to pull her down to him. Her lips were cold but her mouth was warm and her body curved around his until she was sitting beside him, her back to the garden while his faced the terrace, kissing and touching with more sweetness than ever before. Buffy knew she was leaving in the morning, and Will knew he couldn’t keep her in his life. Best not to allow either of them to hope for more, he reasoned.

Still, a good send off would still be in order. Something to remember each other by.

“It’s cold out here,” Buffy murmured as she kissed his neck.

“I don’t feel it. You’re keeping me warm.” His fingers started unfastening her riding habit. His hands, warmed by much activity under her cloak, were gentle and reassuring as he stroked the bit of her breast that was above her corset, and then started to free the rest of it. Buffy gave up on trying to get him to come indoors and decided she’d just have to keep busy if she wanted to be warm.

She unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled his shirt out from his breeches and stroked the warm skin of his stomach. Odd how his skin should be so soft but the muscle under it so hard. Will had freed one of her breasts now and was stroking it as he kissed her mouth, rolling the cold hard nipple between his fingers, making her moan into his mouth and arch a bit closer.

“Buffy,” he whispered, lifting his mouth from hers for a second. “I want you. Now. Out here.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, hand slipping down to his crotch and finding a pleasantly large bulge there. “I can tell.”

He suddenly reeled away from her to swing around and stand up on the terrace, reaching for her and pulling her down to the ground beside him. Her cloak - one she’d borrowed from a knowing Cordelia - was thick, and so was the velvet of her outfit, and she didn’t feel the cold stone beneath her as Will laid her down and started kissing and stroking her again. She gasped a bit as the cold air hit her thigh when he bared it, but she was soon warmed by his insistently hot touch.

His mouth descended on her breast, and Buffy held him there as he spread heat through her entire body. His fingers crept up between her legs, and she returned the favour by slipping her hand inside his breeches and finding him hot and hard and ready for her. They stroked each other for a while, Buffy biting her lip to try and keep herself quiet as he nibbled at her breast and slipped his fingers up inside her.

“Spike,” she gasped, and neither of them really noticed her use of his nickname until much later, “I want you. Now. Out here.”

He looked up and grinned at her echo of his own words, then he kissed her thoroughly as he parted her thighs and settled himself in the best place in the world. Well, nearly the best. He slid into her, and felt like he was coming home.

Outside the air was freezing, and the bits of Buffy’s skin that weren’t covered by her clothes or by her lover, were covered in goose-pimples. But she didn’t notice, because inside she was burning up. She was sure she’d just burst into flames, the heat inside her was so intolerable. She bucked her hips up and tightened around him and was rewarded with a groan of pleasure. He fit her so well, felt so right and so good between her legs, like they were made to lie together like that. And then when he moved inside her, Buffy’s eyes rolled back in her head and she clutched at him, trying not to moan so loudly she’d wake everyone up.

“Please don’t stop,” she gasped.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Don’t ever - ah! - stop...”

Spike looked down at her heaving breasts and flushed face, and knew he never wanted to stop.

But eventually he had to, because she started moving faster and slicker against him, pulling him deeper inside her, writhing closer, gasping incoherently wanton things, and he only just had time to acknowledge that she was breaking and falling over the edge before he fell with her, and they collapsed together in a tangled heap on the cold terrace, panting and clutching and heavy and sated.

“We should,” Buffy dragged in a cold breath, “go inside.”

“Mmm.” Spike’s face was buried in her neck, breathing in the scent of her, hot and aroused and helplessly desirable, and he wasn’t really listening to what she was saying. Then she started pushing him off her, and he looked at her, hurt.

“We’ll freeze,” she explained, and without her heat surrounding him, he realised she was right. It was bloody cold out here.

He hastily rearranged his clothing as Buffy did the same, and then he took her hand and led her back inside, sniggering suddenly when he realised the back of her cloak was smudged with dust and dirt. Buffy frowned at him, and he tried to clear his face.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just... uh...”

“I know,” her cheeks got a bit pinker. “I can’t believe we just did that, either. Anyone could have seen us.”

“Yep,” he pulled her against him and kissed her neck, felt her pulse kick up. “And wouldn’t that have been dreadful?”

Buffy was saved from answering - because she had a feeling she wouldn’t have found it so dreadful after all, and she was shocked at herself - by footsteps along the corridor. It was Cordelia, a quilted and embroidered gown over her nightdress, carrying a cup of drugged milk to Drusilla’s room. She raised her eyebrows.

Buffy felt her face get hotter. She quickly untied the cloak and handed it over, eyes averted, because she knew Cordelia had seen her necking with Spike.

The brunette eyed the stains on the cloak and glanced up to meet his eyes. He winked and pressed his finger to his lips, then said out loud, “Night, then,” and towed Buffy away to her own room.

Cordelia looked at the cloak, at the disappearing couple, and resolved to get the garment washed immediately. Thoroughly.

Twice.

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