Editorial note: Title borrowed from Shawn Colvin. All characters created by Joss Whedon, etc, etc.

This fic is a direct sequel to Lies My Lover Told Me *this contains spoilers for that fic*, in which Buffy takes a holiday in England and finds that her life is in danger from the evil Angelus group. Her mother sends the mysterious Spike to protect Buffy, they fall for each other in a big way but Buffy leaves and comes home to Sunnydale when she believes that Spike has betrayed her. Eventually he comes back to her, the misunderstanding is rectified, and there are hugs and kisses all round. Aww, bless.

That was last night. This is this morning...

Prologue

Joyce Summers peered at her reflection and scowled at the wrinkles around her eyes. It was all Buffy’s fault: finding out she was going to be a grandmother had sent overnight wrinkles to Joyce’s face. Every morning she surreptitiously pulled out grey hairs. Any more and she’d be bald.

Not that she could begrudge Buffy anything: her daughter was working so hard at the moment, taking that course so she could hopefully get herself a decent job and support the baby. Joyce only wished Buffy would give up this stupid stubborn refusal to contact the father. It was ridiculous. He had a right to know, and the baby would need a father. Buffy was one of the strongest people Joyce knew, but was she strong enough to be a single parent for the rest of her life?

No, it just wasn’t good enough. Joyce’s dreams of fat grandchildren had always come hot on the tail of a pair of beautiful weddings. A rich, handsome man for Dawn and a strong, clever one for Buffy.

Spike was strong, and clever, even if he was a bit odd. Joyce’s conversations with her old friend Giles had left her in no doubt that Spike had very strong feelings for Buffy. But Buffy refused to speak to him.

Well, if she was going to be a parent then she’d quickly learn that sometimes a parent has to do what’s best for her child, even if that child doesn’t want it. Like measles shots. Eating cabbage. Exams. Calling Spike.

Joyce nodded decisively at her reflection, and her reflection nodded back. She’d call Giles as soon as she got to the gallery and ask him for a contact for Spike. And then she’d tell Spike to get his British ass over here and see Buffy. Once they saw each other, it would all be resolved, she was sure.

Dammit. If she wanted to be decisive she really needed some of her new lash-building mascara. Now where the hell was it?

She knocked on Dawn’s door. “Are you nearly ready, honey?”

“Yeah, just give me five minutes.”

“Have you seen that mascara I bought the other day?”

“Uh, I think Buffy has it,” Dawn said, and Joyce was sure she heard a slight snigger in her daughter’s voice.

“Right,” Joyce said, and crossed the hall to Buffy’s room. She tapped on the door and opened it. “Buffy, do you have that - penis!”

Buffy’s eyes slammed open in horror and she stared at her mother, who was staring back, her eyes rooted on Spike. He quickly pulled the covers over himself and offered a weak smile.

“Joyce - Mrs Summers...”

“I, er, I’ll just,” Joyce was turning pink and backing away, “I’ll just be, er downstairs...”

She pulled the door securely shut behind her and ran away.

Buffy buried her head in Spike’s shoulder. “Oh God, oh God,” she wailed. “I can’t believe she saw that!”

Spike was laughing. “Come on, love, it was sort of funny...”

Buffy looked up at him. Her face was as pink as her mother’s had been. “Sort of funny? Spike, we were going to be all adult and polite about this, and she, she was not supposed to see-”

“Oh, she’s a grown-up too, Buffy.” He stroked back her hair. “Look. We’ll go downstairs and talk to her and it’ll all be fine. Your mum’s very open-minded.”

“Not that open-minded,” Buffy grumbled as she shoved back the covers and cranked herself out of bed, but Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her back to face him. He ran his hand over her big pregnant belly in some awe, and looked up at her with eyes full of disbelief and love.

“I can’t believe-” he began, unable to find the right words. “You’re amazing...”

She smiled and ran her hand over his. “You’re pretty unbelievable yourself,” she replied, and reached for her nightgown.

Spike pulled on his jeans and shirt and kissed Buffy’s neck as she tied her gown over her big bump.

“Ready to face the music?”

Buffy nodded and sought out his hand as he opened the door. They met Dawn in the hallway, grinning slightly slyly.

“Hey, you guys,” she beamed. “Did you see Mom?”

“Well, she saw us,” Buffy said. “You didn’t tell her, did you, Dawn?”

“No. Why would I do that?” Dawn said, but she was grinning just a little too knowingly for Buffy’s liking.

Spike insisted on helping Buffy down the stairs, although she assured him she’d been managing it perfectly well for months. His concern for her was adorable, she thought. Although it could get annoying if she was never allowed to walk anywhere without help. She hoped he’d let her visit the bathroom by herself.

Delicious cooking smells came from the kitchen and Buffy gripped Spike’s hand a little tighter as they walked through and found Joyce manically cooking pancake after pancake.

“Are you two hungry?”

“Uh, I could eat,” Buffy said.

“Great! I made you some tea, Buffy, but it’s the last of your special stuff.”

“Special stuff?” Spike enquired, as Buffy took a mug full of greenish liquid from her mother.

“Anya got it for me,” Buffy explained. “She has an alternative health store. It has herbs to stop my ankles swelling and herbs to keep my blood pressure down and herbs to stop the herbs tasting icky... Want some?”

Spike took a sniff and hurriedly shook his head. “No. Thanks. You shouldn’t be wasting it.”

“Wuss.”

Spike rolled his eyes at her but refrained from saying anything else on the subject. Joyce, still flitting around the kitchen like a giant hummingbird, barely looked at Spike as she asked, “Would you like some tea? I have some English, uh, Earl Grey.”

Spike, who was more of a coffee person, nodded and smiled. “That sounds great. Thanks, Mrs Summers.”

He watched her carefully. Still avoiding eye contact, she said, “No, call me Joyce. After all, you are going to be, er, going to...”

“Going to be your son-in-law,” Spike said gently, and added when Joyce went very still, “with your blessing.”

Buffy looked nervously up at Spike. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her back against him as Joyce slowly put down the teapot and turned to face them.

“You’re-”

“Gonna get married,” Buffy said. “Surprise!”

Joyce felt for the table and chair and sat down.

“One of these days I’m going to die of a heart attack,” she said. “Spike - William-”

“Spike,” Spike said firmly.

“When did you even get here?”

“Last night. Thought it was time I mended a few things. Didn’t know Buffy was, er...”

“Big surprise for everyone,” Buffy said wryly. “Mom? Are you okay?”

Joyce nodded weakly. “I think I need that tea.”

Buffy moved to make it, but Spike got there first and pushed her gently towards her mother.

“Mom,” Buffy sat down and touched her mother’s hand. “Look, I know it’s a shock, but we worked everything out. I know I kept saying I didn’t want Spike to know and he was evil, blah blah blah-”

“Evil?” Spike raised an eyebrow.

“But I was just being stupid. We love each other. We’re going to get married.”

Joyce’s head was down and her shoulders were shaking. Buffy cast a horrified look at Spike. “Mom? Are you crying? Hey, look, it’s not that bad, I mean, we’ll still be here all the time, and you’ll see the baby, and, and it’ll work out so much better this way, because Spike’ll be here too and-”

Joyce lifted her head. “I’m not crying, Buffy.”

“You’re laughing?” Buffy said incredulously.

“I was going to call Spike today. I wanted you two to get back together.”

“Duh,” Dawn said from the doorway, “she’s only been going on about it for months. Mom, we need to go, or I’m gonna be late for school.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Joyce said, standing up. “I’ll see you two later?”

Buffy nodded and hugged her mother, and then Joyce hugged Spike and Buffy laughed at his surprised expression.

“Bye, Mom. Bye Dawn. Mom, let go of Spike.”

Blushing, her mother withdrew, and she and Dawn left the house. Spike drew Buffy to him and kissed her, and she stretched her arms around him happily, and then she pulled back from him, wincing.

“What?”

She took his hand and put it on her belly. “It’s kicking.”

Spike felt it, and Buffy watched a smile come over his face. “Got a right little Beckham in there, love.”

“Does it have to be a boy to kick?”

“No, could be like that Keira Knightly girl. She could kick. And she was hot.”

“Hey, less of the ‘other women are hot’ talk.”

Spike ran his finger along her lips. “Not as hot as you,” he said. “No one is. Now come on, breakfast, before it goes cold.” He started piling them onto a plate for her.

“I don’t think I can eat all those pancakes,” Buffy eyed the stack doubtfully.

“Come on. Bit of maple syrup and you’ll - you don’t like maple syrup?”

Buffy shook her head, making a face. “Well, yes, I love it, but I can’t eat it right now.” She reached into a cupboard and took out a bottle of soy sauce and poured it all over her pancakes.

Spike went pale.

“You think this is gross, it’s a good job you weren’t here when I had morning sickness,” Buffy told him, tucking in. “I know it’s disgusting and I cannot believe I’m actually eating this, but I guess that’s hormones for you.”

Spike pushed his plate away. “Suddenly I’m less hungry.”

He helped her dress and was so distressed at the state of her wardrobe of mostly second-hand maternity clothes, that he insisted on taking her shopping.

“Well, only if you stop twisting my arm,” Buffy said. She felt at his forehead. “Seriously, taking me shopping? Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m not having my fiancée wearing second-hand rags,” Spike said firmly. “And you need some more of that tea. And you have to help me choose a ring.”

“What for?”

“For you, you silly bint. An engagement ring?”

All Buffy’s tiredness seemed to vanish as she set off in Spike’s borrowed car. For months she’d been not just physically exhausted from carrying the baby around, but emotionally drained, too. For the rest of her life she’d be a mother, a single mother. Part of her had wanted to contact Spike, but her pride hadn’t let her. If his sisters hadn’t made him come around and see her, then he’d never have known.

“This is it,” she pointed out of the window at an alternative health store.

“Anya has a health food shop?”

“Yeah. She’s really good at it. She can give all kinds of advice about diets and exercise and what to use on all kinds of stuff, like Dawn had this skin thing and Anya got her some cream for it and it cleared up in about a week. And when Mom started getting these headaches, Anya found her some tea that just stopped them.”

“This stuff really works?” Spike looked doubtful.

“Does for me.” Buffy pushed open the door and a bell tinkled. Anya was behind the counter, her hair longer and blonder than it had been last time Spike saw her. But then last time Spike had seen her they’d been chained in a cellar being tortured...

She stared at Spike.

“Buffy, I know you miss him but did you need to go out and find a Spike clone? And isn’t it the height of bad taste to date when you’re pregnant?”

Buffy laughed. “Anya, this is Spike.”

Anya stared a bit more.

“William the Bloody?”

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him.

“It’s just a nickname,” he said. “Where did you even hear that?”

“In the cellar,” Anya said, and added to Buffy, “he was trying to distract me from the fact that he was naked.”

“I do not need to hear this,” Buffy held up her hands.

“Not naked on purpose, love, I had just been kidnapped, if you recall?”

“Anya, do you have any more of that tea blend for me?” Buffy asked loudly.

The door at the back of the shop opened as Anya was weighing out the tea, and Xander came in, wearing a tool belt. “Hey Buff... and Spike... Buffy, did you know Spike is standing right there?”

Buffy nodded and beamed and put her arm around Spike’s waist. “I want you guys to be the first to know.”

“Well, second, really, after your mum and Dawn,” Spike looked at her.

“Shut up, honey. We’re getting married!”

Anya squealed and ran over to hug them both. Xander was more reticent.

“Married? Since when?”

“Last night. Spike came over and we talked everything out, and we’re going to get married. In England, probably.”

“After the baby’s born?”

“No, before. You see, Spike needs a legitimate heir, so we need to be married before it’s born.”

“Heir?” Anya asked. “Why, is he secretly the king?”

She laughed, and Xander attempted a smile, but it faded when Spike grinned and said, “No, but my dad is an earl. It’s not a big thing, doesn’t mean anything really, but I have to carry the family line on.”

“So you’re marrying Buffy to get a legitimate heir?” Xander asked.

“No,” Buffy said, but she looked slightly uncertain.

“No,” Spike said, not looking amused. “I’m marrying Buffy because I love her. I’m marrying her soon because of the baby.”

“But you’ll be going to England soon?” Anya asked. “Because pretty soon you won’t be able to fly.”

Buffy frowned. “That’s true. Spike, should we just wait, and maybe get married later? Or do it here?”

“You don’t want to go to England?”

“Well, yes, I mean I do, and I want to meet your family and - oh, did you guys know Harmony Kendall is Spike’s sister?”

Xander shook his head. “Valley girl Harmony?”

“Half-sister,” Spike said. “My mum died when I was little, and my dad remarried. Harm’s lived over here a lot. She puts on the English when it suits her.”

“She comes in here looking for wicca remedies,” Anya shook her head. “She likes tasteless unicorns.”

“Yep, that’s Harm,” Spike rolled his eyes. “Okay. Well, Buffy and I have some shopping to do. A suitcase, huh, Buffy, if we’re going to elope?”

He paid for Buffy’s tea and took her out of the shop, and Xander and Anya stood together, watching them drive away.

“Did anyone else think that was slightly wrong?” Xander said.

“He said he loves her,” Anya said doubtfully.

“Yeah, An? Guys say that whenever they want, to get whatever they want.”

“Even you?”

“Well, what I want is to be with you. So that works out okay. But didn’t it seem to you that maybe, he’s just doing this to get that heir?”

“It is a bit sudden,” Anya agreed.

“Too sudden. I don’t trust him.”

“Xander, you don’t trust lavender oil, and its properties have been proven over and-”

“I just don’t trust him,” Xander repeated, looking annoyed. “Can we leave it at that?”

“Oh, this is one of those thriller movie things. I get it,” Anya said. “Don’t trust him. Right. No. We don’t.”

“Anya?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up, honey.”

Chapter One

Buffy had laughed at Spike’s fussing before they got on the plane, but now she wished she’d given in and let him hire a wheelchair or whatever. Anya’s herbs had only helped a little with the ankle-swelling and Buffy’s back ached horribly. She didn’t want to have to walk the massively long distance to baggage reclaim, she didn’t want to stand in a queue for hours at passport control, and she didn’t want the long, frustratingly late train journey at the other end.

But Spike sent her to sit down, got her something to drink, and got the bags himself. He was treating her like glass. It was rather nice to be pampered.

And then they walked out into Arrivals, and there was someone holding a placard reading Lord Spellingdon, and Buffy laughed until Spike led her over and said, “Buffy, this is Michael. He’s my chauffeur.”

Buffy gaped. “You have a chauffeur?”

“Well, technically he’s my dad’s, but I didn’t fancy driving after all that time.”

“Are we going to your parents’ house? I thought we were going to your place.” Buffy had imagined a smart London apartment. She hadn’t really asked Spike too much about it.

“No, we’re going to my place,” Spike said. “Come on.”

Michael led them out to a limousine, and Buffy laughed out loud at the bizarreness of it all. Inside it was hugely spacious, there was food, and hot and cold drinks, and a little TV screen. Spike put a news channel on, turned the sound down, and Buffy fell asleep with her head on his lap.

He looked down at her, blonde hair spreading across his knees, and touched her swollen stomach with his fingertips. Last week he’d been a miserable bugger moping around his sister’s house, and this week he was engaged to the only woman he’d ever really, really wanted. Sure, he’d thought he loved Drusilla, but really he’d been mostly excited by her. With Buffy, he just wanted to take care of her. Make her smile, watch her sleep, hold her close and smell the scent of her skin, kiss her soft mouth and run his hands over...

Okay, he had to stop thinking like that or he was going to wake Buffy up.

Spike concentrated on the news. He’d missed what was going on at home while he’d been away - American news channels rarely reported anything that happened outside of America.

By the time Spike had heard Tony Blair’s most recent speech to the Commons about six times, they were getting close to his home, and Spike gently shook Buffy awake.

“Nearly there,” he said. “Nice sleep?”

“Why is doing nothing so tiring?”

“Because you were only doing nothing on the plane, and before that you were being quite exhausting.”

Buffy blushed, and Spike grinned.

“That is pretty damn adorable,” he said. He bent down and kissed her, and Buffy wriggled around so she was sitting up, her arms around him, holding him as close as she could get him.

“You taste really good,” she said.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“You usually taste like ashes.”

“Cheers.”

“Not that I didn’t get used to quite liking it...”

“Does that mean I can start smoking after the baby’s born?”

Buffy shook her head vigorously. “Smoking is damaging to children as well as unborn babies,” she said, and Spike made a face.

“Guess I’ll have to find a new addiction,” he said, and slid his hand up under her top.

“Didn’t you say we’re nearly there?” Buffy asked, not really wanting him to stop, but not really wanting to be half-naked when they pulled up, either.

Spike hit a button on the centre console. “Michael, go the long way around.”

“Yes, sir.”

Spike grinned at Buffy. “Not nearly there at all.”

“Oh, no, what a shame...”

Buffy wasn’t as flexible as she used to be, but Spike didn’t mind at all. It had been a while since he’d had sex in a car and he was looking forward to remembering how it went. He pulled off Buffy’s new oversized shirt and nuzzled her neck. God, she smelled good. Her fingers were pushing up his t-shirt, playing with his stomach muscles, and she was kissing his ear, nibbling on it, whispering all sorts of naughty things to him.

Spike pulled down one of her bra cups and stroked her nipple, and Buffy gasped, because they were so much more sensitive than they’d been before. He licked and sucked at her breast, and Buffy moaned, her head back, holding him there. His hand was pushing up her skirt, stroking the back of her knee, her thigh, her buttock, and she reached down to his crotch to free the big hard bulge in his jeans.

She ran her finger over the tip of his erection, and Spike sucked in a breath, his own fingers kneading the gusset of her knickers. Buffy writhed against him, and Spike, unable to stand it any more, pulled her onto his lap, her back against him, and shoved her knickers aside. He slid into her, big and hard, and Buffy moaned so loud that Michael, driving the car up the long main drive to the house, raised his eyebrows and made a wide U-turn over the grass to drive around the village one more time. Good job the windows were blacked out.

Spike kept his hand between her legs and stroked Buffy as she moved herself up and down on him. They’d been apart only six months, but that was six months of sex they’d both been missing. Spike planned to take Buffy straight to bed when they got home, and not let her out until - well, until she went into labour. Harmony’s husband was a doctor and he’d told Spike there was nothing wrong with having sex while Buffy was pregnant. Spike took this advice to mean they should have as much sex as possible. Hell, he was just following doctor’s orders.

He took her earlobe between his teeth and bit down gently. Buffy cried out, and came, tightening around him, and Spike gave in and came too, exploding inside her, holding her tight, breathing hard against her neck.

“Never, ever, stop doing that,” he said.

“What did I do?”

“I dunno. Just keep on doing it.” He kissed her neck. “I love you.”

“I kinda like you too,” Buffy replied, moving off him and reaching for the box of tissues on the bar in front of them.

“Just ‘like’?”

“Adore. Need. Want.”

“And?”

“Love. I love you.” She kissed him, feeling happier than she could ever remember.

They pulled up at the house five minutes later, after Buffy had frantically cleaned herself up and re-done her make-up and tried to make some sense of the birdnest Spike had turned her hair into. But as soon as she stepped out of the car, she knew everyone knew what they’d been doing.

Everyone, that was, who was standing outside the house. The house that was bigger than Sunnydale High. No - scrap that, she thought in awe, it was bigger than the whole of Sunnydale.

“So,” she asked nervously, “which bit’s yours?”

Spike laughed. “All of it, love.”

“Very funny.”

“No, just very expensive. Viscount Spellingdon doesn’t earn that much legitimately, you know.”

“And illegitimately?”

“He brings home quite a lot. Come meet the servants.”

Buffy felt like she might faint. It had been enough to learn that Spike’s father was an earl, and then she’d had to try and understand the whole ‘courtesy title’ idea. Viscount Spellingdon was really just one of the Earl of Stanchester’s minor titles, but Spike, as his eldest and only son, was allowed to use it until he inherited the earldom. This meant that Buffy would become Lady Spellingdon, a viscountess, and her baby would be known as ‘honourable’.

And then there was this massive house.

And then the servants.

“This is Davis, the butler, and Jones, the housekeeper.”

“They don’t have first names?” Buffy whispered.

Spike laughed. “Our butlers and housekeepers have always been called Davis and Jones,” he said. “It’s like the earldom itself. It’s passed on through the family. My Jones is Dad’s Jones’s sister, and my Davis is Dad’s Davis’s cousin. They’ve been with us for centuries.”

“I see,” Buffy lied.

“Look, we can do this later,” Spike said, looking at the tired confusion in her eyes. “Do you want something to eat? Bath, shower? Bed?”

“Bed,” Buffy said gratefully.

Spike’s eyes gleamed. “Me too. Jones, is it all made up?”

The middle-aged woman nodded. “All ready for you, sir.”

“Excellent. My lady, may I show you your bedchamber?”

“I don’t get to sleep in yours?”

“No,” he laughed again, “I was being ironic.”

“I don’t understand British humour.”

“Neither do a lot of Britons. Come on.”

He took her up a huge, very long staircase, and Buffy wondered if a place like this had elevators. Actually, a place like this should have moving walkways. Or golf carts.

“Golf carts?” Spike said.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“I think you need some more sleep,” he ruffled her hair.

“I don’t usually sleep this much. Being pregnant is exhausting.”

He pushed open a set of huge double doors and led Buffy through what looked like a living room, filled with antique furniture. Then he took her up a little flight of stairs to another door, opened it, and Buffy’s eyes were filled by the biggest bed she’d ever seen. It almost looked normal-sized in this room, however, which was bigger than Buffy’s whole house in Sunnydale.

“Seriously?” she said, tearing her eyes away from it and looking up at Spike.

“Yep. It’s a State Bed. Queen Elizabeth had it made.”

“The queen slept here? When? Did you meet her?”

Spike looked delighted. “Not the current one, love. The first one. The bed’s four and a half centuries old.”

At that, Buffy did start to feel dizzy, and Spike caught her and laid her down on the bed before she hit the floor. “Buffy? Buffy, are you alright?”

“You live in a house big enough for its own zip code and your servants know more about their ancestors than I do about mine and all your furniture is older than America and I’m lying on a bed where Elizabeth the First once slept...”

Spike nodded as if this was all perfectly normal. “Buffy’s sometimes short for Elizabeth, right?”

“Sometimes. Not for me.”

“No. Not for you. You’re unique.” He stroked back her hair. “Go to sleep. I have to talk to the servants anyway.”

Buffy nodded and yawned and closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep. Her mind was reeling.

Spike wandered down the huge staircase and met Clements, his estate manager, at the bottom.

“Nice of you to put in an appearance.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I had more important things to do.”

“You brought a pregnant woman home?”

“Yes, and?” Spike got out a packet of cigarettes and lit up, rolling his shoulders and inhaling deeply.

“Is it yours?”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Watch it.”

“Well, you know, they’ll tell you anything to get the title. Remember Drusilla?” He had to run to keep up with Spike as his boss strode out of the house and into the sunshine.

“I spend most of my waking moments trying to forget.”

“An American woman... The earl won’t like this. What are you going to do with her?”

“Oh, I figured I might tie her up in the cellar... I’m going to marry her, Clem, what do you think?”

“Marry her?” Clem looked horrified. “But - but, she’s nobody!”

Spike rounded on him and Clem had his back against the wall before he’d even taken another breath.

“She is not bloody nobody,” Spike hissed, Clem’s collar bunched in his fist. “She is my fiancée and the mother of my child and the woman I love and she is going to be your lady and mistress. So you’re going to be nice to her. Right?”

Clem held up his hands in surrender. “Right. Of course. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yeah. Of course you didn’t.” Spike stepped away, and Clem tried to relax. He had a lot of respect for Spike, but with that respect came a lot of unease and sometimes total terror. It was sometimes easy to forget exactly who his boss was.

“I’m sure she’s a great girl.”

“Got that right. And she’s gonna be a great lady.”

“I still don’t think your father-”

“My bloody father? He’s an arsehole. I don’t give a rat’s-”

“He’s coming tomorrow,” Clem said, and Spike lit up two more cigarettes.

In the morning, Buffy woke to the sound of a telephone ringing. She opened her eyes to see Spike leaning over the far edge of the bed - and with a bed that size, far meant far - and picking up the receiver.

“Yep? Er, yeah, lots of it. Buffy? You want some coffee?”

Stunned, she nodded. Then she shook her head. “Um, I’m not supposed to...”

“Right. No, she’ll have tea. Right, love? The stuff I gave Jones yesterday. Yes, it is tea. Well, bloody find it then,” and he put the phone down.

Buffy was silent for a few minutes as she tried to figure out what to say.

“They call to offer you coffee?”

“Beats a speaking tube. And I sort of got pissed off with them just walking in with a tea tray.”

For Buffy, it was a giant leap to think of anyone making her tea in the morning. Sure, her mom did it sometimes, but usually she and Dawn had left the house by the time Buffy was awake. She’d got used to cooking for herself, tidying up, cleaning the bathroom.

“I suppose you have a cook?”

Spike shrugged. “One or two.”

Jesus.

“And... maids?”

“They weren’t very maidenly last time I checked,” Spike grinned, and Buffy rolled her eyes at him. He rolled back over to her and kissed her neck, then her mouth, then pushed the covers down and started stroking her breasts. He lowered his head and licked her nipple - and then his head came up like he’d been electrically shocked.

“What?” Buffy said, alarmed.

“Er, is it normal for them to be, uh,” he looked horribly embarrassed, “leaking?”

Buffy looked down. “Yes,” she said, smiling although she didn’t mean to, “it’s normal. And your fault.”

“What? What did I do?”

“Stimulated milk production. In a couple of months someone else is going to get precedence there.”

Spike made a face. “Well, that sucks.”

“Pretty much the idea.” She stroked his hair. “You can still do it, if you want.”

“I dunno. It’s a bit... weird. Sort of Oedipal.”

Buffy laughed. “Up to you. I heard-” she broke off, listening. There was a knock at the door, and Spike called out, “Leave it out there.”

He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and climbed out of bed, across the vast surface of sheets and duvet, picking up a silk dressing gown as he went. Buffy watched him. This was a different Spike from the one she knew. Her Spike would never have worn a silk gown. But then her Spike didn’t own a vast palace and have servants with lineages.

He left the room, then came back with a tray, on which was balanced a coffee pot, tea pot, strainer, teaspoons and dainty china cups with saucers. He put the tray down on Buffy’s side of the bed, then poured her tea for her.

“Today,” he said, watching her drink, “I thought we might go for a ride. Show you the estate.”

“This place has an estate?”

“Got to have something the tax man can take away from me.”

“So... When you say ride...?”

“In a car, love. Not gonna make you get on a horse.”

“Okay, good, ‘cos me and horses are unmixy things.”

“You’ve never ridden?”

Buffy’s eyes gleamed. “Well, not for a couple of hours...”

Spike gave a slow smile. “A couple of hours too long.”

He kissed her lightly, then moved in closer, tasting her properly. She was sweet and sour all at once: the taste of herbal tea still lingered on her tongue, and Spike pulled her closer, intoxicated.

And then the phone rang again.

“Bloody thing,” Spike cursed. He snatched up the receiver by Buffy’s side of the bed and snapped, “What?”

Buffy watched him, her own breathing fast and heavy. She hoped whatever it was would go away. She didn’t know if it was hormones or long celibacy or both combined, but she’d just been constantly horny since she got Spike back. She reached out and stroked his neck and watched his jaw tighten in pleasure.

“Yeah, we’ll be down in a bit,” he sighed into the phone, and ended the call.

“Down where?” Buffy asked playfully.

“The drawing room, to meet my father.”

Buffy stopped playing. “Your father? Is coming here? Or is he already here?”

“He’s about an hour away. Maybe less.”

“Oh, God. I have to - what am I going to wear! Where’s all my stuff? God, Spike-!”

He caught her hands. “Calm down, love. There’s plenty of time. Your stuff’s been put away in your dressing room.”

This perked Buffy up considerably. “I have a dressing room?”

“And your own bathroom.”

“Wow. Cool. Where?”

Laughing, Spike pointed to a door on the far wall, and helped Buffy out of bed and into a robe to go and investigate.

Inside the dressing room she found deep walk-in wardrobes lining the walls, tall mirrors, angled mirrors, even a chaise longue for if the effort of dressing became too much. Next door was a bathroom, very large and ornate, with a claw-foot bathtub.

“And this is all mine? I don’t have to share it with anyone?”

Leaning in the doorway, Spike shook his head. “Only if you want to.”

Buffy fingered the tie of her robe. “And if I want to?”

“Then you just have to ask.”

“I’m asking. Come and show me how to work the shower.”

Spike showed her, but the water was running cold long before either of them got around to any kind of washing. Afterwards, Spike dried Buffy off, sat her on his lap and towelled her hair. She reached up and touched the livid pink scar running down his face.

“Will it fade?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I - it’s kinda sexy. And,” she kissed the burned skin, “I remember how you got it.”

Spike slowed his towelling. “Not likely to forget.”

Buffy pressed her forehead against his and closed her eyes. “You saved my life,” she said, “and Dawn’s.”

“Yeah, well, just repaying a favour. You got me out of that cellar.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Buffy smiled, pleased with herself.

“I thought you were dead,” Spike said, holding her close. “He shot you and I thought-”

“I had a bullet-proof vest on,” Buffy reminded him. “I got bruised, nothing else. Unlike you...”

Her hand traced down his body, over one round pink scar on his shoulder to another on his hard, flat stomach. Scars he’d got helping her, saving her. To begin with it had been a job - Joyce had been paying him in art, but Spike never collected it. He’d never been told to protect Dawn, but as soon as she was in trouble he’d rushed off to save her, and that was when Buffy knew she loved him.

Of course, then there was that ludicrous double-cross where he’d pretended to be against her so he could take out Angel and Drusilla, and Buffy had believed him, believed Spike hated her, had been using her, and it had hurt so damn much...

Now, she couldn’t believe she’d believed him. Spike loved her, she knew that now. The beautiful solitaire ring on her finger was proof enough of that, as was the monster baby that had been kicking her black and blue all night.

“You know,” she said, putting her hand on her rather sore stomach, “if this kid kicks as much when it’s born as it does now, I’m signing it up for Manchester United. Even if it is a girl.”

“They have a women’s team,” Spike said.

“Famous baby,” Buffy smiled, and kissed him on the lips. “Now come and help me figure out what to wear.”

She still didn’t have a lot of clothes, because she really couldn’t see the point in buying a whole wardrobe for three months, but Spike had insisted on some beautiful things. Rich fabrics and lovely colours.

Buffy didn’t know it yet, but Spike was planning on having her wear them a lot more than just three months. There would be many more babies after this one.

He helped her dress in a lilac summer dress with a high waist and little daisies on the bodice, then went and put on his usual black jeans and dark t-shirt. This one was faded blue, though, and it looked damn good on him.

“If you have so much money,” Buffy asked, “then why do you always wear the same thing?”

“That’s why the aristocracy have so much money,” Spike told her as he pulled his boots on. “They never wear anything new. Darla usually wears Mum’s clothes most of the time.”

“Darla?”

“Older sister. Same mother as me.”

“How old were you when she died?”

“Twelve,” Spike said after a short pause. “Darla was seventeen. Dad got married again within the year. I think he’d been messing around anyway.”

Buffy was appalled. “How did your mother die?”

“Lung cancer.” At her incredulous look, he went on, “Dad’s a bastard. I’ll tell you that now, so you’re not disappointed. Meet him now, and hopefully we won’t have to see the old bugger until the christening. When he will not be allowed to hold the baby, because he dropped Harm all the time when she was little.”

No kidding, Buffy thought, but she said, “I meant with the lung cancer thing. Did it not, maybe, make you think you shouldn’t smoke?”

Spike shrugged. “Well, something’s gonna kill me,” he said philosophically. “Can’t avoid smoke all my life.”

“Yes, but sixty a day?”

“Look, in my line of work I’m far more likely to get killed by a stray - or not so stray - bullet, or a rabid guard dog, or a land mine or - Buffy?”

She was sitting very still.

“Shit,” Spike said, and came over to kneel before her. “I didn’t mean - look, I’ll be more careful now. No more tomb robbing. Proper deals. I’ll just stick to nice, safe antiques, right?”

“And look how that last antique worked out,” Buffy sniffed. “Nearly got you and me - and Dawn all killed.”

“Because it wasn’t a proper antique. Look. I won’t go after anything dangerous. I’ve got too much at stake now.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “I’ve just got used to the idea of not being a single parent. Don’t you go and widow me before I’m even married.”

Spike frowned at that, but didn’t say anything and kissed her instead. “You ready to go and meet my horrible family?”

“They can’t all be horrible. I mean, Harmony’s... Well, okay, Harmony’s dreadful, but at least her and Darla made you come and see me. They must be okay.”

“Mostly because they spent as much time away from my father as they could.” Spike watched Buffy fit her damp hair into a loose plait, swipe on some mascara and a little lipgloss, and put her feet into sandals.

“All set,” she said, and took Spike’s arm to walk down the corridor and the long staircase, into the lion’s den.

Chapter Two: Lions and Lambs

“How far away is he?” Spike asked Davis as they crossed the large lobby.

“I’m not completely sure, sir, but to the best of my knowledge, approximately ten minutes.”

Spike nodded and led Buffy through a series of rather imposing rooms, to one which was mostly green, with soft sofas, and a piano in the corner. “Can you get us some drinks?” he asked Davis. “Buffy, what d’you want?”

Buffy hesitated, unsure what to ask for. “Tea?” she ventured.

“Special tea?”

She nodded. It seemed like the safest thing to do.

“Coffee,” Spike said, “and tea stuff for the parentals.”

Davis nodded and glided away.

“I think he used to be on Batman,” Buffy whispered, and Spike laughed.

“Trained at butler school.”

Buffy had absolutely no idea if he was joking or not.

“This is so weird,” she said. “It’s like a Jane Austen novel or something.”

“Since when did you read Jane Austen?”

“I saw Emma,” Buffy said defensively.

“Right, okay, fine,” Spike grinned. “Buffy?”

“Yes?”

“Why are we whispering?”

Buffy wasn’t sure. “Because I feel like I’m on a school trip. This place is so...”

“It’s your home now.”

Buffy gave him a smile, but inside she was horribly unsure. She really hadn’t been prepared for anything like this.

Davis the butler came back in, carrying a tea tray, and announced, “They are nearly here. At the end of the drive.”

“Well, that’s a good ten minutes,” Spike said. “Give us a yell when they get to the door.”

“You’re not going to go and meet them?”

“No, ‘cos then they might think I actually like them,” Spike replied, pouring water over her tea.

Buffy wished she’d got Anya to give her some camomile or something to calm her down. She felt horribly, horribly tense. If it had just been her and Spike in a little apartment, maybe in London, then she wouldn’t have been so scared. When she’d come to England before, she’d stayed in Giles’s little house in Bloomsbury, and it had been quite cute and fun, but also pretty normal. Regular house, regular street. Giles worked in a museum. He ate takeout food. There were bits of mouldy cheese in his fridge. It was a normal house.

Buffy wasn’t even sure if this place would have a fridge. Probably it had an icehouse or something archaic.

Davis came back in. “My Lord,” he said, and Spike nodded, dismissing the butler. He looked down at Buffy.

‘My Lord?’ she mouthed.

He grinned. “I’ve tried to tell ‘em to stop saying it, but they’re pretty dyed in the wool. You’ll have to get used to all sorts of Ladyshipping after the wedding.”

“Oh, God.”

“You ready?”

“They’re here?”

“Yep.”

“Shouldn’t we go and-”

“We’ll be fine here,” Spike said firmly.

“So, do I have to call your dad ‘my Lord’?” Buffy asked nervously.

“Theoretically, yes. But please don’t. He’s got a big enough ego as it is.”

Buffy opened her mouth to ask what she should call him, when she heard voices outside, and then Davis reappeared and announced, “The Right Honourable Earl of Stanchester, Lady Gloria Dashwood.”

Spike scrunched up his face as if in pain. Buffy steeled herself.

The man who walked in after the butler looked reasonably normal. He was about Giles’s age, dressed in a suit, looked well-groomed and poised.

The girl following him looked like the hookers in downtown LA.

“Glory,” Spike said sourly, and she gave a finger wave.

“Hey there, Precious.”

“William,” the earl inclined his head.

“Dad,” Spike sighed.

Everyone looked at Buffy. Spike got to his feet and Buffy started to do the same, but the earl, shook his head.

“No, please. No need to stand. A lady in your condition...”

Buffy gave him a smile. “Hi. You must be Spike’s father.”

“Spike, is he now?” Gloria looked highly amused. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us, Spike?”

Spike reached down for Buffy’s hand, and she felt quite stupid just sitting there. “Dad, this is Buffy Summers. My fiancée. Buffy, this is my dad, Lord Ethan Rayne Dashwood, Earl of Stanchester, Viscount of Spellingdon, Baronet of Blackwood.”

Buffy gulped.

“And my stepsister, Lady Gloria Tunisia Dashwood.”

Tunisia? Buffy was quite sure that was a country. And wasn’t Dashwood Spike’s family name? She didn’t understand at all. Glory sounded American, but she had the title of Lady? Too confusing.

“You can call me Glory,” Spike’s stepsister said, making herself comfortable on the sofa opposite Buffy, stretching out so Buffy could see how slim she was. Ethan took a seat beside her.

“Your stepmother sends her regrets,” he told Spike, “but she had an urgent engagement.”

Spike sat down with Buffy, making no effort to offer his guests a drink. “More urgent than my engagement? Dad, my whole life you’ve told me that the only thing I ever have to do is marry and beget an heir, and since you married Tart-o-rama, that’s all she’s ever gone on about.”

“Don't you call my mother that!” Glory cried.

“Oh, she’s as much a tart as you are,” Spike dismissed. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Came to meet my new sister-in-law,” Glory flashed an insincere smile at Buffy.

“And you knew about her because...?”

“Harmony called,” Ethan said, his eyes never leaving Buffy. “Said you had a pregnant girlfriend.”

“More than that, now,” Spike said, putting his arm around Buffy.

“When will it be due?”

“August,” Buffy spoke up.

“You’re only six months gone?” Glory looked surprised. “You look bigger than that. I’d have thought you were about ready to drop.”

Buffy gave her a smile, but inside she said to herself, I do not like that woman.

“Don’t be a bitch, Glory,” Spike glared at her. “Oh, no, wait, you can’t be anything else.”

“I assume a wedding has been planned?” Ethan said. His steady gaze was starting to unnerve Buffy.

“Yeah. Well, kind of.”

“Did you set a date?” Glory asked.

“Not yet.”

“I await an invitation.”

“Yeah,” Spike said. “You know, the post around here’s a bit dodgy. You might not get it in time.”

“I have email.”

“Phone’s often down.” Spike gave his father a cut-glass smile. The tension in the room was awful.

“Would anyone like some tea?” Buffy asked desperately.

“Please,” Ethan said, and then watched Buffy try to figure out which was the right way to do it. She got the feeling he was disappointed when Spike came to her rescue, pouring water over the loose leaves in the strainer and then adding a little milk. He made no move to pass a cup to either his father or stepsister, though, and while Glory sighed loudly and reached forward for hers, displaying a lot of cleavage, Ethan stayed exactly where he was.

“I hear you met last autumn,” he said. “Through a mutual friend?”

“Yes,” Buffy said gratefully. “Giles is like my mother’s oldest friend, he used to teach at UC Sunnydale and then he moved back over here to take over curatorship of a museum in London.”

“Rupert Giles?”

“You know him?”

“I know of him.” Still that unnerving gaze, like he was trying to see right through her. Or maybe he was. Maybe that was the way earls looked at commoners.

“Need to give him a call, pet,” Spike said to Buffy. “Didn’t you say you wanted him and the girls to come over?”

Buffy nodded, but missed out on her chance to reply when Ethan enquired crisply, “Girls?”

“Um, sort of friends I made in London,” Buffy explained. “Willow and Tara. They work at the museum.” Probably not the best time to mention they were gay.

“Do you work?”

“Well, not right now, obviously, but I, er, well at home I was learning about art history, I was thinking about maybe working in a gallery, um, maybe after the baby’s born, I might-”

“Viscountesses do not work,” Ethan said, and Glory stretched herself like a cat.

“It’s not very aristocratic,” she purred.

“Bollocks,” Spike said. “Everyone works.”

“Your wife has a duty to remain at home and take care of her children,” Ethan said.

“Mum didn’t.”

“Yes, and what happened to her?”

There was an angry silence. Buffy, so tense she thought she might shatter, asked in a strained voice, “Uh, Glory, you sound American. Are you?”

“I was born in Kentucky.”

Buffy refrained from commenting on that with a monumental amount of willpower.

“But you were introduced as Lady Gloria...”

“Dad adopted me,” she smiled charmingly at Ethan, who smiled back rather glacially. “I’m an heir of his now.”

Spike muttered something under his breath that Buffy was quite grateful she didn’t catch, and then he said out loud, “Well, nice of you to drop by, but Buff and I have things to do.”

“Love the way you take care of your guests, Precious,” Glory said.

“I take care of guests who are invited,” Spike said pointedly. He got to his feet and held out a hand to Buffy, who stood awkwardly.

“Erm, it was nice to meet you,” she said weakly, as Spike towed her from the room at breakneck speed. “What was that about?” she hissed when they were a couple of rooms away, and Spike had slowed to an ordinary pace.

He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “Told you they pissed me off,” he said. “I didn’t know bloody Glory was coming.”

“I’m not sure they liked me,” Buffy said in a small voice, and Spike folded his arms around her.

“I told you they were arseholes. They don’t matter.”

“But they’re your family. How would you feel if my family hated you?”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t bother me.”

“But then I’d be in the middle...”

“But you’re not. I thought I got on pretty well with your mum and the little bit.”

“They like you,” Buffy said.

“Well, there you go. They’re the people who matter. They’ll come over for the wedding, and we can go see them all the time, and we never ever have to see my family again.”

“What about the wedding?”

“We can have a little ceremony. Just us and some random witnesses.”

“I wanted my friends there.”

“Okay, then just us and your friends.” He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it. I hardly see them anyway. That was just a duty visit. Come on. You want to see the estate? All the lambs are growing up, and Clem said one of my horses foaled last night.”

“Clem? Foaled?”

He smiled. “I’ll explain on the way.”

He took her out to a big new Range Rover, strapped her in and set the air conditioning to cool them down. Buffy figured she could get used to travelling like this.

“Usually I rattle around in my Defender or something,” he said, “but it has zero suspension and I’m trying to be considerate.”

“I’m duly impressed. What’s a Defender?” Buffy asked, and Spike pointed to a mud-encrusted, utterly ancient vehicle that looked like it belonged in WWII.

No, make that WWI. Buffy was suddenly grateful for the Range Rover’s leather seats.

Spike drove her out over some rutted farm tracks, which made Buffy horribly uncomfortable, even with the car’s luxury suspension. She was grateful when he stopped the car and pointed over a sweeping hill to a field full of sheep.

“Can you see the lambs? They’re a bit bigger than last time I was here, but they’re still pretty cute, right?”

Buffy peered at the flock of fuzzy white animals. Some of them were smaller than others, wobbling around on legs that were too long and thin.

“They’re adorable! Can we get out and go see them properly?”

Spike shook his head. “They’re not so cute close up,” he said. “Sheep are smelly buggers, and besides, they’re not very hygienic. And you,” he patted her stomach, “are not going near anything unhygienic.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but she guessed he was right. The scenery was beautiful, miles and miles of open green fields, dotted here and there with sheep, bound by stone walls that were made of rocks piled together with no binding.

“How do the walls stay up?” she asked, and Spike explained about building dry stone walls, getting the right kind of rocks, layering them correctly, as he drove her up to a higher field where the sun was bright and the breeze fresh, and Buffy could see for miles and miles.

And them Spike pointed, and she saw a horse with a tiny foal standing beside it, on spindly legs, tufty hair blowing in the wind.

“Please, please say I can get out and say hello,” she begged, and Spike laughed and said that of course she could. He took her over to the mare, who was rather doubtful of Buffy, but whickered happily when she saw Spike, and nuzzled his hand. He wrenched up a handful of grass for her and she ate it happily. Buffy was itching to be introduced to the foal, who was hiding behind his mother, but Spike warned her that the mare would have to trust her first. She offered her hand, palm open, to the horse, who sniffed it, then nudged it.

Spike put some grass in her hand and the mare ate it.

“Now try the baby,” Spike said, “he won’t eat grass, but you can say hello.”

Buffy got down on her knees and held out her hand to the foal, who was terribly shy, but eventually nuzzled her palm with a soft, warm muzzle, and kicked her hand. Buffy felt her heart kick over. She reached out her other hand and stroked the little horse, and it made a soft noise of pleasure.

“Oh, God, I think I’m in love,” Buffy said, and was astonished to find tears in her eyes.

Spike watched her, and realised he was seeing a mother with a baby creature. Maybe not her own, but Buffy was still looking at the foal with such an expression of tenderness it made his breath catch.

“You’re really going to be a mother,” he said, and Buffy looked up at him with shining eyes.

“I really am.” The foal licked Buffy’s face and she let out a delighted sob. “God, I’m getting hormonal.”

“Clem said,” Spike began, and she looked back at him, “he hasn’t named her yet. Do you want to?”

Buffy looked at the little brown horse and felt overwhelmed with love. “I’m not sure I could.”

“Well, you know, you’re gonna have to get some practice in...”

She smiled. “I don’t know what to call him.”

“Well, think about it. For now he’s just Lucy’s foal.”

“Lucy?”

Spike patted the flanks of the mare. “My girl here.”

The foal lost interest in Buffy after a while and turned to its mother, nudging at her teats and sucking. Buffy watched: she’d thought she might be embarrassed but she wasn’t, not really, and neither was Spike, who seemed to be totally used to it.

“I never thought of you as a farm boy,” she teased as they walked back to the car.

“I don’t spend much time here. Maybe I should.” He looked down at her. “Do you like it?”

Buffy looked out at the undulating hills, the clear blue sky, breathed in the clean air, and smiled at him. “I do.”

“It’s all yours.”

“Don’t you mean ours?”

Spike shook his head, looking serious. “All for you.”

“I don’t want a whole estate-”

“Then what do you want? Buffy,” he put his hand on her belly, “you’re giving me a child. That’s the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me. I want to give you something in return. Something, anything. Everything.”

She reached up and traced the scar on his face. “All I want is you.”

“Nothing else?”

Buffy shook her head.

“That’s the best bargain I’ve done in a long time.” He kissed her, long and deep. “You’ve got me. Forever.”