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Chapter 13
He poured a glass of whiskey and sat down, turning the events of the day over and over in his head. He couldn’t let it go. He was well and truly buggered by that infuriating, demanding, fiery slip of a woman who’d managed to wrap him round her finger without him noticing until it was too late.
That first morning with her, when she’d demanded they formalize matters, so as to not, how had she put it? Oh right, besmirch her good name. He should have known right then she was trouble. He should have been even more worried that he’d acquiesced to her demands.
He pulled at the drawer to his desk and studied the careful handwriting as he poured another drink. He’d given in then and it had all been downhill from there. William, you must do this. William, I think perhaps this would be best. She’d bat those big eyes at him and he’d agree.
But now. Now things were different. He’d felt it from the moment she’d touched him this morning, the small tremble in her fingers as she’d handled him softly, the way her breath had hitched in her throat just as their lips met. He’d spent so long thinking she would never return any sort of physical affection that she’d almost caught him off guard when she’d responded hungrily to that first tentative kiss.
If they hadn’t been interrupted, he wasn’t sure she would have stopped him at all. Would have continued to let him unwrap the layers that separated them and love her into oblivion. But now the prim act was firmly back in place and she was shutting him out again.
He knew he’d likely regret it in the morning, but he poured a third drink and swallowed it down as his indignation grew. How dare she act as though nothing had happened between them and he was just some acquaintance? Did she think he’d just waltz out of town and forget about everything?
Well, she’d be dead wrong if she thought he was going to let that happen. In fact, he was going to settle this tonight. He grabbed his coat and headed out the door.
"Anya, everything’s fine. You can go back, I know this is your busy time."
"Are you positive Buffy? Glory can’t threaten Dawn that way." Anya punched her fist into the air. "That no-good two-bit whore needs a lesson."
Buffy stifled a laugh. If nothing else, Anya’s straightforwardness was refreshing, especially after this day. "Anya, I think this will be for the best. We were already planning to send Dawn away to school. This will just give her a little bit of an unexpected European tour before she starts her education."
Anya perked up. "We?"
Buffy realized the error as soon as it left her mouth. "William, or course, William decided because he’s agreed to be her guardian."
"So how are things with William? Willow said you were flustered by him this afternoon."
Buffy briefly considered if strangling Willow would be unladylike. "Not flustered Anya, it was just the situation was disconcerting. And I really don’t think I can go to England with them."
Anya scrutinized her closely. "Buffy, I know that sometimes I shock you and that we will likely always disagree about . . . certain things and their propriety. But William could make you happy. You do much for so many people Buffy. You deserve something for yourself."
Buffy laughed nervously. " Well, thank you Anya, I think there was a compliment buried in there."
"There was, and a well-deserved one. But, Buffy, what I’m trying to say is that love comes in many forms. And it may not always be the conventional way you expect it. But it’s so rare to find, you shouldn’t turn it down when it comes along." She leaned closer. "Do you understand what I’m saying? "
"Yes, Anya. I do."
"Very well, I’ll be off then, please keep me informed as to what’s happening, alright?"
"I will."
Buffy locked the door behind her friend as she disappeared into the night, and heaved a sigh as she picked up the lit lamp and slowly mounted the stairs.
He glanced at his pocket watch, his head clearing in the cold night air. Perhaps he should have checked the time before he stormed over. It was quite late and the house seemed quiet, probably everyone was abed. He glanced at the darkened windows and circled to the side. One lone light flickered in the bedroom at the corner of the second floor.
Her room. It must be. He remembered the comment she’d made about how she could never be a late sleeper because of how the sunrise illuminated her room each morning, when he’d teased her about her cheerful morning attitude each day. So that would be hers, and she was still awake. He studied the railing leading to the porch that ran the length of the second floor. He could easily climb that, even with a bum shoulder. Hefting himself up, he began to scale the post.
She sat in front of the dresser mirror and reached for the brush. It had been a draining day, and what she wanted most of all right now was sleep. She pulled the pins from her hair and began the nightly routine of one hundred strokes before she could braid the long tresses, climb under the covers and just let today go.
Or not. As she continued to brush, she knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
You should talk to him, Buffy.
Yes she should. Yes, Willow was right, Yes, there were things that needed to be said. But where did she begin? Did she apologize to him for what happened?
But was she really sorry? Would allowing him to court her be so wrong? This wasn’t the same as it had been with Angel. She’d seen this man daily for weeks now, had watched him with others. He was no Angel, for which she was grateful.
It’s so rare to find, you shouldn’t turn it down what it comes along.
Those kisses. She shook her head at the woman in the mirror. Those kisses had taken her breath away. And made her ache for more. She touched her throat, remembering the feel of his lips on her flesh and the things he’d murmured about passion and desire. Could it really be that way for her? To have someone touch her in love? To value her pleasure as much as his own, to want her for more than a receptacle, a way to satisfy obligations and duties?
Was it possible for a woman like her to accept that kind of affection? Did it make her a whore and a trollop to give in to base desires, to ache for what he’d offered? Or was it natural?
She picked up the brush and attacked her hair again. These were the times she missed her mother the most. Her sweet, gentle paragon of a mother who was gone too soon, before she could answer these questions. She had been left with two extremes. The rather stilted advice of her father’s maiden sister the night before her wedding with Angel, a rather terse speech about the duty of women to endure. Which she had done, over and over again, until the obligation was gone. And the more frank comments of ladies who worked at one of the most notorious cathouses in the city, which she had yet to follow.
Which brought her to this thing. This wonderful, wild, passion that swelled her heart. It didn’t feel like the marital rights she’d owed her husband. Not like duty, or obligation or necessity. It felt like love. Or possibly lust. She buried her face in her hands. Why had she ever let him in? Why had she ever opened the door to this madness? And how was she to find the answers?
Would time reveal the solution? Had she’d been too harsh this afternoon? Perhaps the sea voyage would be appropriate, as a way to examine this thing between them and reach some conclusion once and for all.
She smiled as she finished the last stroke and laid down the brush. Yes, that could be very nice. She lost herself in a daydream of strolling around the deck, William at her side as they watched moonlight across the water and he turned her for a gentle kiss that sent tingles up and down her spine.
A light tapping at the window that led to the porch outside startled her from her fancy and she whirled around as his whisper drifted across to her.
"Buffy?"
She grabbed the lamp as she crept across the room.
"William? Is that you?"
"Yes, let me in."
Her hand flew to her mouth, thoughts of genteel moonlight strolls forgotten. Of all the audacity, what on earth was he doing outside her room in the middle of the night?
"How did you get up here?"
"Climbed. Be a dear and open the window, think I might have pulled my bandage loose and started bleeding again."
She opened the window and watched as he clambered through.
"Thank you." He stood and rotated his shoulder. "Look at that," he said with a bit of a smirk, "I do believe it’s fine."
She raised her hand but he headed her off before she could complete the slap.
"Now, now, let’s have none of that. I told you this wasn’t over Buffy. If you won’t talk to me during the day, you’ll talk to me now."
She gave him a blazing look and marched back across the room, putting as much distance between them as possible, clearly still fuming at his nerve.
William took a moment to study her as she paced away and his breath caught. With her hair falling in sheets around her body, garbed in the white shift he doubted she realized the lamplight served to illuminate, she was a sparkling thing, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Damn near made him want to spout poetry. He stifled the urge for the moment, but followed her, like a moth drawn to the flame.
"Buffy, I only came to talk. We can’t ignore what happened."
She whirled around, fury personified. William briefly contemplated whether the Romeo approach might have been a mistake.
"Why not William? Things were fine before this morning. What happened was an, an accident. I felt sorry for you, because you were hurt . . . and . . ."
He stepped closer. "And you wanted to kiss it and make it all better?"
She shivered at the sound of his voice. She couldn’t think with him so close and distracting. Granted, she’d been confused before he arrived, but late night visits to her bedroom had not been part of the equation. With her in her nightdress. And him looking at her with those smoldering eyes. She gathered her resolve and backed away, grabbing her wrapper and hastily donning it like a shield.
"William, no, I just . . ."
A knock at the door caused them both to freeze.
"Buffy, is everything alright?"
Buffy grabbed William’s arm and dragged him behind the door before opening it a crack.
"Everything’s fine Willow. Just fine."
"Are you sure, I thought I heard you talking to someone. Is Dawn in there?"
She could almost feel William’s smirk. "No, no, no Dawn. Just me. Talking to myself. Reading, actually, I was reading and it was so exciting, I just had to read it aloud."
Willow eyed her suspiciously through the narrow opening. "Buffy, do you feel well? You look a little fevered. I know there was quite a bit going on today. Perhaps you should try getting some sleep?"
Buffy nodded vehemently. "You are absolutely right Willow. I’m going to close that book and go straight to bed. I’ll be fine in the morning. Sleep well. Big day tomorrow and all.
"You too, Buffy."
She shut the door firmly and gave William a warning glance to stay silent until they heard the door down the hallway shut behind Willow.
"Straight to bed, eh? Why Miss Buffy, you only had to ask."
He laughed as she made a second attempt to slap him.
A drowsy Tara opened one eye as Willow shed her wrapper and slid back into the bed.
"Was Buffy alright?"
"She said she was."
"Was William in there?"
"I’m fairly certain. She was very twitchy."
"Did she seem upset?"
Willow giggled. "Actually, she looked better than she has in a long time. Very animated. Perhaps he’ll be able to talk some sense in to her."
Tara snuggled closer. "Hope so. "
Buffy flounced back to her dressing table with William at her heels. He kept his voice low, but no less urgent.
"Buffy I meant it when I said I came here to talk with you tonight. There are things that need to be settled and ignoring them doesn’t make them go away. I don’t want to leave without some sort of understanding between us."
"You only want to talk?"
"Of course."
She glanced at him reflected behind her and watched as he reached his hand for the brush she’d left on the table.
"Will you just listen to me?"
Listening had never hurt anything, had it? She nodded slowly as he began to languidly draw the brush through her hair. Alright, that was a bit more than just talking, but the smooth strokes were already causing a melting warmth to seep through to her very bones.
Why she hadn’t kicked up a fuss and revealed him when Willow appeared she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge to herself, but she’d known as soon as the fib had passed her lips that she was going to hear him out. Wanted to hear him out. Wanted him to convince her that this would be alright.
He seemed to be searching for the right words, so she closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle strokes as he brushed, shutting off any inner protests as to what was happening.
Finally, when she’d been lulled almost to sleep by the leisurely grooming, he seemed to find his voice.
"I’ve wanted to see your hair down like this since the first moment I saw you, standing in the alley outside Anya’s door. It’s like golden wheat, and," he lifted a lock to his cheek as she opened her eyes, "as soft as the finest silk."
She was captivated by the sorcery of his voice as it flowed around her like warm honey.
"Do you have any idea how exquisite you are Buffy? How other women pale in comparison? You’ve bewitched me and I’m under your spell. Don’t send me away, dearest. Let me stay with you tonight. Let me love you."
Could he really be so captivated by her, to think she was that special? But, she had to admit it was oh so beautiful to hear it fall from his lips. Fragments floated back to her, Anya telling her to not let this slip away, Willow telling her that he looked at her with love in his eyes. The way he was looking at her now. This was so very wrong, but she couldn’t bring her head to move or her lips to open to tell him to leave. Because deep down she knew she didn’t want to. Knew that what she truly desired was to understand the magic she’d tasted this morning in his arms.
He quietly replaced the brush and turned her around until she faced him. As he knelt before her, she caught her breath at the naked want on his face. It was clear even in the half-light of the flickering lamp that had begun to burn down. He raised one of her hands and turned it palm up before placing a kiss at its center, then deliberately repeated the gesture again on the other hand.
She raised one hand slowly to his face and ran her finger along his cheekbone, sharp as a blade, yet smooth beneath her skin, knowing then that she was lost. He closed his eyes as she continued her exploration, using both hands as she memorized the map of his face. He began to softly quote, the planes of his face shifting as he spoke:
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
He opened his eyes and she gasped as he swept her up into his arms and carried her towards the bed, his voice low and hoarse with desire as he sat her down.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
Her breath felt as though it were nonexistent as she watched him quickly shrug away his coat and vest, then work the buttons of his shirt to leave him as she’d found him this morning, bare-chested, the perfection marred only by the bandage she’d placed on his shoulder.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
The wrapper fell from her shoulders, leaving her in the thin nightdress as he knelt at her feet and reached for her slippers to remove them.
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
Cool fingers trailed down her neck and she arched into his touch as he eased the first button free and began to kiss each inch of skin it revealed. A low moan echoed in her ears and she realized the sound had come unbidden from deep within her throat. He raised his head and smiled cheekily at her as he returned to his task.
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
The fabric parted beneath his clever hands as it slid from her shoulders and he prevented her from covering her bared body from his gaze. His voice caught for a moment as he drank in the vision before him, then he raised his eyes and held hers as he whispered softly:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
That last line was her undoing. She pulled him close and arched into his kiss, suddenly wild to have him closer, to feel the satin of skin pressed to hers as he levered her back onto the bed and caught her face in his hands as he devoured her lips.
She gasped as his mouth left hers and moved further down, sampling her flesh as though she were a feast laid out before him. When he reached the swell of her breasts, he stopped and raised his head, pinning her in his gaze with a question that didn’t need articulation.
"I want to be your love," she murmured, "Please, William, love me."
"I will Buffy, I will."
There weren’t words to describe the responses he pulled from her body then as he returned to her breast and slowly tasted her skin, murmuring his appreciation of the sweetness he found there. He closed his lips around her nipple and suckled as she imagined a child would, drawing from her sensations like she’d never felt before.
She twined her fingers in his head and tugged, not sure if she were urging him closer or pulling him away. He raised his head and grinned at her in a way that caused her stomach to somersault further, as he turned his attention to her other breast and gave it the same diligence.
Somewhere along the way she’d begun to chant his name over and over amidst moans that sounded like no sound she’d ever made before. Decadent, low, sensual noises of pleasure as her body reacted to every caress.
He nuzzled the curve of her breasts and rested his head as their eyes locked. "Do you know what I want to do to you Buffy?"
She licked her dry lips nervously and swallowed. How she could feel skittish in this state of dishabille, with her nightshift bared to the waist and the slight stubble of his chin abrading the tender skin he’d just been devouring, she had no notion. But she didn’t want him to stop.
"Tell me, William."
He captured her lips and purred against them. "I want to bring you pleasure until you scream from the ecstasy and beg me for more. I going to bury myself inside you and feel our flesh joining until you can’t tell where I end and you begin."
Her breath was growing ragged as she felt the hard proof of his desire nudging against her body, wanting to make good on his words. She nodded, completely lost to desire now. "Yes, please, William. Show me everything."
A/N: The poem quoted is Christopher Marlowe’s The Passionate Shepherd to His Love