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Chapter Four

When Cook assured her that she would be able to charge to Mr. Sinclair’s account anything she needed to get that day, Buffy and Molly left the house and headed for the nearest shopping area. In the daylight, the streets were much busier and more lively than they had been in the wee hours of the morning and Buffy gazed around with wonder and curiosity at the sight of late19th century London in full bustle.

She was enjoying all the attention she seemed to be drawing as people looked at her intently when she walked by with her free swinging stride and long, loose blond hair. Just as she was basking in the frequent looks of male admiration she could feel, Molly stepped in front of her and placed her hands on her hips. She had positioned herself between Buffy and a good-looking young man who was tipping his hat and clearly about to speak to her.

“Get away from my mistress,” she hissed. “Master Sinclair would surely cane you if he saw your disrespectful behavior.”

The young man was somewhat taken back by her vehemence, and apologized immediately.

“I’m quite sorry,” he said hastily, eyeing Molly’s arms akimbo stance in front of Buffy with some trepidation. “My mistake. I assumed your mistress was…” Molly’s darkening face made it apparent that it would not be in his best interest to finish that statement, and with more mumbled apologies, he back away and went in another direction.

“What’s wrong, Molly?” Buffy asked in genuine confusion. “He was just going to talk to me.”

“He has no business talking to you on the street. You are a respectable woman,” Molly huffed.

Buffy remembered how Spike had shielded her from the eyes of the cab driver the night before, and his comment about earning money with her short skirt. Flushing, she realized that her twenty-first century, southern California friendliness could be easily misunderstood in this extremely up-tight era and she looked at Molly gratefully.

“Thank you, Molly. Things are very different here from the way they are in my…country. I’m afraid you’re going to have to work very hard to keep me out of trouble.”

“That’s quite alright, Ma’am. In spite of what my aunt said about my inexperience, I know what’s what, I do.”

“Ok then,” Buffy smiled at her. “Let’s make a deal. You keep me from embarrassing myself…and William…too badly, and I’ll tell your aunt you’re the best maid I ever had.”

Molly beamed with pride. “It will be my pleasure, Ma’am.”

“All rightie, then. Let’s go spend my husband’s money!”

Several hours and many pounds sterling later, the two laughing girls stumbled through the kitchen door, their arms laden with small packages. They both sobered up when they caught Mrs. Barstow glaring at them, but collapsed in giggles again almost immediately.

Glaring at her niece, the cook shepherded Buffy out of the kitchen and toward the front of the house.

“I believe Mr. Sinclair would like to introduce you to his solicitor,” she said with a trace of disapproval in her tone. “They have been waiting for you to get back.”

“Oh,” Buffy said meekly. “Where are they?”

Cook gestured toward the drawing room and then went back to scold her niece for keeping Buffy out so long. Taking a deep breath, and practicing her newly learned Victorian expression of aloofness, Buffy swept into the room and went straight to Spike’s side.

‘Ah, there you are, darling,” he said, an angry glint in his eye that belied the light tone of voice. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

“I’m so sorry, William, “ she shocked him by saying with a smile. “I was having so much fun spending your money that I just lost track of the time. Will you forgive me?” she asked with a wicked grin that only he could see, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

Buffy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing in an unladylike fashion at the expression on Spike’s face, and she turned her own face into his shirt front until she had it under control. While she was hiding her face in his chest, she couldn’t resist inhaling the unique scent that said “Spike” to her. Ever since the spell Willow had done the previous year, Buffy could not get the aroma of leather, tobacco, whiskey and an earthy scent all his own out of her mind. She knew that she would know him anywhere, no matter how dark it might be, as long as she was close enough to smell him.

The curious expression on the solicitor’s face caught Spike’s eye and he forced himself to shake off the gobsmacked feeling Buffy’s kiss and closeness had caused.

“Darling, this is our solicitor, Mr. Saint-John. He has been handling most of my personal affairs while I’ve been…away. I was most negligent and had not told him about our marriage and he has been scolding me shamefully.”

It was Buffy’s turn to appear to have been smacked in the face with a cold fish as she gawked at the suddenly urbane, well-spoken man wearing Spike’s face. If it weren’t for the tiny amount of platinum hair curling softly around the nape of his neck and the sardonically lifted eyebrow, she would have needed to be close enough to smell him to recognize him.

Recovering herself, she turned to greet the patiently waiting man in front of her. Spike’s warning hand on her arm stopped her before she could extend her arm for the handshake she was expecting. Pulling her arm back, she blushed and said softly, “How nice to meet you, Mr. Saint-John. I hope my tardy return from shopping has not kept you here too long.”

.(Ha! Put that in your stuffy pipe and smoke it, vampire!) she thought triumphantly as she felt Spike’s incredulous gaze on her. The other man smiled warmly and insisted it had been no trouble at all, that he and her husband had caught up on many things while waiting. He had risen to his feet as soon as Buffy entered the room, and continued standing, leaning down to pick up his briefcase and extending his hand to Spike.

“I will be getting to work on those things we discussed immediately, Mr. Sinclair. I should be able to wrap it up and have the papers ready for you to sign by this time tomorrow.”

He turned to smile at Buffy again and said smoothly, “Let me be among the first to congratulate you on your happy union. I would be very pleased if you and your husband would do me the favor of allowing me to host a small gathering to introduce his lovely bride to his…friends.”

A shadow crossed Spike’s face, but he said smoothly, “That would be extremely kind of you. I’m sure Mrs. Sinclair would enjoy that thoroughly, wouldn’t you, Darling?”

“Huh? What? Oh, a party? Yes, that sounds like wonderful fun,” she stumbled back into her nineteenth century voice. “We shall be looking forward to it.”

While Spike walked the man to the door, carefully avoiding the slanted rays of the waning sun, Buffy walked around the study. She studied the well-worn books, noticed with curiosity the many pens, large supply of paper and bottles of ink spread around on the desk. She was just picking up a sheet with what appeared to be lines of poetry on it when Spike came back in the room and snatched it out of her hand.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, looking more embarrassed than angry.

“I was just looking at it. Sheesh! What’s wrong with you? You’d think it was something you’d written it or someth—“

She stared at the mortified vampire with her mouth open as he looked all around the room in an effort to avoid her eyes. Buffy’s mouth gradually curved into a smile as Spike crumpled the paper and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Not a word, Slayer,” he snarled. “Not one bloody, fuckin’ word.”

In spite of the snarl, she could tell he was more embarrassed than angry and she moved closer to him and ran her hand playfully up his chest to play with the collar of his shirt.

“What’s the matter, Spikie? Don’t you want me to see your poem? Are you afraid it isn’t good enough? Huh? Come on, Spikie, show your wife what you wrote.”

Spike was torn between the pants-tightening effects of having the Slayer pretending to be coquettish with him and his absolute determination that she never, ever read the half-written sonnet he’d been working on before the barrister came in. Biting his lip, he grabbed her hands in his just before she was about to plunge one of them into his pocket to retrieve the paper.

“Much fun as I think it might be to have you rootin’ around in my pocket, luv, that’s private property there and I’m gonna have to tell you to keep your hot little hands to yourself.”

Buffy pretended to pout, leaving her hands in his as she batted her eyelashes at him.

“But I want to see the poem, William. Please, show it to me. Come on, pleeeeese.”

Spike blinked at her switch to his human name, frowning slightly at the uncharacteristic flirting behavior. The Slayer he knew would have just twisted his arm until she wrenched it away from him. When she moved even closer, her hands slowly pulling out of his to rest on his wrists, he was sure they had fallen into another alternate dimension.

“This is not negotiable, pet,” he groaned. “Now stop that. It’s cheating!”

As he spoke, he stood helplessly while she ran her hands up his arms to wrap around his neck, standing on tip toes to whisper in his ear.

“Mrs. Barstow is watching us, and I think she heard me call you Spike.”

“Bollocks!” he whispered back, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “Do you think she heard me call you Slayer?”

Even as his mind raced frantically trying to recall if they’d said or done anything so out of character that the long-time family servant might suspect something awry, he couldn’t stop himself from taking advantage of the situation by inhaling the scent of warm blood, lavender soap, and Buffy’s own unique scent that he would recognize anywhere.

“I…I don’t know,” Buffy stammered, shocked at how overwhelmingly good it felt to be wrapped in Spike’s arms, his mouth ghosting over her ear as they kept on with their whispered conversation. “May…maybe she’ll just think they’re pet names we have for each other when we…”

“Better make it look good then, luv,” he crooned in her ear just before he slid his lips over to capture hers in a chaste, but warm kiss. When his cool, soft lips touched hers, Buffy couldn’t contain the small sigh that escaped her parted lips and he shuddered at the sensation caused by her warm breath in his mouth.

The presence of the older woman was forgotten as they used the excuse of her watchful eyes to prolong the tentative exploration going on between them. They’d kissed before, of course, during the previous year’s magical “engagement”, but those had been loud, ostentatious lip smackings – meant more to publicly demonstrate their feelings to others than to please each other. Now, what had begun as another demonstration of a pretend relationship quickly deepened into something neither one wanted to examine too closely.

When Mrs. Barstow’s embarrassed throat clearing caused them to break apart, they could do nothing but stare at each other in shock and horror. Tearing his eyes away from Buffy’s wide, green pools of confusion, Spike turned to the cook and said politely, “I’m sorry, Cook. That was most unseemly of us. Please forgive us and remember that we are newlyweds.”

“Yes sir, Master William. I’m quite sure I didn’t see anything untoward. I just wanted to know if you and Mrs. Sinclair would be having supper here tonight.”

“Yes, Cook.” Buffy spoke up briskly. “I believe I’ve spent enough time out and about today and I would enjoy a quiet dinner at home with my husband.”

“Very good, Ma’am. I will send someone to tell you when it’s ready.”

“Thank you, Cook,” Spike said quickly, “That will be most appreciated.”

When the older woman had turned and left the room and Spike’s enhanced senses told him she was safely away at the other end of the house, he moved even further away from Buffy, going behind the desk and studying the loose papers on it with great interest.

The Slayer stood where he’d left her, mentally trying to reconcile the tenderness of the kiss they’d just shared with the snarky vampire who annoyed her so often. Ignoring her own, more than willing, participation in the kiss, she snapped at him, “What was that all about?”

Equally eager to forget the way she’d made him feel, and unaccountably angered by her question, Spike snapped back, “Jus’ got caught up in the moment. Don’t be getting your knickers in a twist about it. Won’t be happening again, pet. You can count on that!”

“Oh, I know it won’t! You just keep your lips to yourself there, William,” she emphasized his name with a sneer.

“Not a problem, pet.” With a nonchalant shrug that belied the empty feeling causing his belly to clench up, he sat down at his desk and pulled a ledger out of drawer. When she hadn’t moved to leave the room, he glanced up with a raised eyebrow, holding his place with his finger.

“Something else, Slayer?”

Buffy was at a loss for something to say. She’d been gearing up for a good fight and instead, Spike was ignoring her and acting like he didn’t care what she did. Her lower lip came out in an unintended pout as she tried to come up with a reason for still being where she clearly wasn’t wanted anymore. She ran her eyes around the room, looking for an excuse to be there, thereby missing the look that flashed across Spike’s face when he saw that plump lip poking out.

“I just thought…maybe we need to start calling each other Buffy and William all the time. Just in case…I mean, we don’t want this to happen again, do we?” His eyes flew to hers as her voice faded from a firm suggestion to a hesitant question.

“I…I meant…almost getting caught fighting and saying things that…”

“I know what you meant, pet,” he said gruffly. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, sighing loudly. “And you’re right.” He ignored Buffy’s start of surprise. “We’re going to have to be careful all the time, even if we’re alone. That way we won’t be as likely to slip up when someone’s watching.”

“That…that sounds like a good idea.”

This time it was Spike’s turn to twitch in reaction to words he never expected to hear from the Slayer. Putting on his unnecessary spectacles and looking back down at the ledger in front of him, he asked carefully, “Is that all, luv? Because I need to go over these books before I meet with the banker tomorrow.”

Leaving the questions raised by Spike’s having a solicitor AND a banker at his beck and call, Buffy nodded silently and turned to leave the room. His soft voice stopped her just outside the door and she couldn’t be sure if he was actually talking to her or just thinking out loud.

“I’ll explain about the solicitor an’ all at supper, Buffy.”

“ ‘K,” she replied so softly even his vampire hearing strained to hear her.

She went back to the kitchen, only to find that Molly had already carried her purchases up to her room and was supervising the unpacking of the larger items that had been sent directly from the shops. When the young maid insisted Buffy take a nap before dinner while she put things away, Buffy found herself thinking, I could get used to living like this. just before she closed her eyes and drifted off to the sound of rustling tissue paper.





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