Sign In Sign-Up

Welcome!

Close

Would you like to make this site your homepage? It's fast and easy...

Yes, Please make this my home page!

No Thanks

  Don't show this to me again.

Close

What Lies In the Past -- by Ruby

Rating: R

Description: Rewriting history

Note: The spark for this fic was generated by a challenge I read at Fever of Fate. This takes place in the mid/late 1800's. Though I have a casual interest in the Victorian period, I am far from an expert on the topic. Please forgive any glaring errors. I'm sure there are many.

Disclaimer: Joss owns all.

Willow took in a small breath and calmed her nerves as the heavy door in front of her swung open, and she found herself looking up at the gaunt face of an impossibly tall, rather sour-faced butler. His cold eyes stared back at her as he scowled down at the unfamiliar young woman, and she stifled the sudden impulse to turn and flee back toward the dark sidewalk that led up to the mansion.

"I have an appointment with Mr. William De Le Croix," she said, forcing a note of calm into her voice. "About the position? I went to the servants' entrance, but there was no--"

"The other servants are currently occupied," the man spoke impatiently.

"Come in. The master is expecting you."

He moved aside, and Willow quickly ducked around him, stopping just inside the massive foyer. Her large green eyes widened even further at the tasteful opulence of the spacious entryway. The wooden floor gleamed warmly under the soft glow of the gas lights positioned on the walls. A large, heavy oak cabinet sat along the wall by the front door and two more doors on the left side of the foyer were closed, concealing the rooms behind them. A marble stairway to the right led to the rooms above them, and a marble-top table stood along the wall below the curving banister. The only other furnishings in the large anteroom consisted of a leafy fern-like plant perched atop a tall brass stand near a door at the far end of the room and a table and chair resting between the two doors on her left.

"This way," the butler spoke sharply, gesturing for the redhead to follow him toward the second door on the left.

She followed him as he opened the door, moving several paces behind his long strides as they entered the sitting room. An inviting fire crackled in the yawning fireplace just to their right, its flames casting dancing shadows and obscuring the majority of the large room's contents. Still scowling, the butler pointed at a chair, and she dutifully sat, straightening her long skirts nervously as he turned and left her alone in the room. A few moments later, the door reopened, and

Willow turned to find herself looking up into the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen.

"Miss Rosenburg," the man spoke. "You've come about the maid's position. I assume you've held similar?"

"Just one," she nodded. "I have my letter of reference--"

He waved away the envelope she held out to him, "I've never required the opinions of strangers to enable me to make my own decisions."

She blushed faintly, flustered by the brusqueness of his tone. "Why did you leave your previous position?"

"My employer died suddenly, and--"

"You have family? In London?"

Willow shook her head, "My parents died when I was a child. I have no brothers or sisters."

"Other relatives?"

"No. Does it matter?" she asked, her eyes wide with apprehension. He smiled slightly, though the redhead wasn't sure why, "I prefer that my servants have no familial attachments."

"Why?" she inquired, then hastily added, "If you don't mind my asking."

"They are a frustrating distraction. I have no use for employees who are constantly begging for time away to attend weddings and christenings. I require absolute loyalty and dependability of my servants. The whims of family are an inconvenience that I will not abide."

"Oh," she responded softly. "Well, there's no one to--distract me. I was with my former employer for nearly five years, and she never complained about--"

"Stand," he ordered.

"I--I beg your pardon?"

"Stand," he repeated firmly, gesturing with a hand. "Up."

Confused, she rose to her feet, and her eyes followed him as he circled her, studying her silently, before stopping to stand before her once more.

"You'll do."

"I have the position?" she asked.

He nodded, "You can start tonight, I presume."

The remark was obviously not a question, and she had no intention of contradicting him. She needed this job. Needed the money. Being orphaned by parents who had lived from hand to mouth had left her with little choice but to learn how to take care of her own financial needs, few as they were.

"Yes," she answered. "My bag is across town. I've taken a room in--"

"Give the address to Richard, the butler," he instructed her. "He'll send my driver to fetch it. Come with me. I'll show you the house and your room and explain what I expect of you."

Willow lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing for just one more hour's sleep. The sound of a door closing from the floor below drifted up through the floorboards, and she wondered for the hundredth time since her arrival less than a week ago what she had gotten herself into. The large mansion was disturbingly active during the moonlit hours and became deathly quiet with the dawning light of the sun. Aside from the cook, Mrs. Tanter, who was entirely humorless and mean-spirited beyond human comprehension, and two local girls who came during the day to help clean, Willow was the only female servant in the huge mansion. The others, consisting mostly of servants and the occasional visitor--who were almost always male--moved about the house, coming and going at all hours of the night, and it wasn't until daybreak that the house settled into a discomforting sort of quiet. With a soft sigh, the redhead rose to wash and dress and left the chilly room to oversee the duties of the two girls who arrived every morning at 5:00 to help out with the daily chores. They were both young girls, not more than sixteen, and they attended to their duties with quiet efficiency, scurrying about to clean the rooms on the ground floor before leaving, with expressions akin to relief, precisely at noon.

"Good morning, Willow," a small, scrawny brunette smiled as Willow led the girls from the kitchen below up to the main floor.

"Good morning, Mary, Violet," the redhead returned and swung open the doorway into the morning room.

"I don't know how you stand living in this place. It's cold as a tomb," Violet, a sturdy blonde with crooked and yellowed teeth spoke, shivering slightly.

"It isn't as bad as all that," Willow half-lied. "The master wishes to have a fire laid up in the sitting room this morning. He'll be down at 11:00."

Mary cast an uneasy glance at Violet, "Better hurry, then." Willow watched for a few minutes. Then, satisfied that their work was well underway, she returned to the kitchen and set the teakettle on to boil. She washed up a few glasses that had been left beside the sink during the night, and by the time she was finished, a soft hiss of steam was just beginning to rise from the kettle. She prepared a pot of tea and plucked a cup and saucer from the cupboard before moving to a chair at the marred kitchen table. She sat, lost in thought, until the creaking of a door drew her attention, and she looked around as Richard entered the room.

"Mr. De Le Croix will be down at 11:00 this morning," he informed her.

She nodded, "Yes, he told me--"

"He wishes to speak to you."

Her brow furrowed in confusion, "Why?"

The familiar scowl returned to his face, and he answered icily, "I think it would be best to leave that to him. Make sure Mary and Violet are done before then. The master will ring from the sitting room when he requires you."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and stalked back out of the room, closing the door after him with a solid thud.

Willow sighed heavily and stared down into the cooling cup of tea, "And a pleasant good morning to you, too."

William turned as the door opened softly and Willow hesitantly entered the sitting room. The heavy curtains over the large windows obscured the late morning sun and left the room depressingly dark.

"Close the door, Willow. Sit down," he ordered.

She quickly complied, taking the armchair toward which he had gestured, and curled her fingers nervously around the heavy fabric of her skirts. The handsome, deceptively slim man paced before her in silence before turning to lean against the arm of the settee and pinning her with a steady stare.

"I understand your duties here have not been enough to keep you occupied," he began.

She gazed back at him mutely, not understanding, and he stepped over to a small writing table in front of the covered window and fished out a cigarette from a small, ornate silver chest. He crossed to the fireplace and plucked a burning stick from the fire, lit the cigarette, and tossed the stick back into the flames. Her eyes remained fixed on him as he turned and leaned against the oak mantle and blew out a thin stream of smoke.

"What did you do yesterday afternoon?" he questioned her.

"I polished the brass in the parlor upstairs, swept the carpet, laid out fresh glasses on the--"

"And afterward?" he interrupted.

She hesitated, uncomfortable under the glowering blue eyes, and lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. He inhaled another deep lungful of smoke and stared at the smoldering tip of his cigarette as he shook his head slightly, "Did I not tell you to stay away from the upper floor? The floor above your own quarters?"

She shifted slightly, "Yes."

"But you took it upon yourself to disobey those explicit instructions," he continued. "Yesterday afternoon. After your duties were completed."

How he had known of her secret adventure she had no idea. She had been certain no one was about when she had quietly made her way up the dusty, back stairway, and she had told no one. But it was obvious that somehow he had found out what she had done.

Venturing a quick glance at the angry man, she answered softly, "Yes."

"Why?"

"I've heard...noises...coming from the floor up above me. Early in the morning, just as I'm waking. And I...thought...."

"You thought what, exactly?" he pressed.

"They sounded...human...sounds of crying, moaning...I thought perhaps someone was distressed, needed help."

"It's an old house. There are all sorts of noises--"

"But it wasn't like that, sir," she insisted emphatically. "These aren't the sounds of an old house settling or wind in the branches outside. They're human."

"That's ludicrous. You are simply the victim of a too-active imagination. Those rooms are empty. They have been for years," he informed her.

"Then why shouldn't I go up there, if there's nothing to discover?" The ill-considered question flowed from her brain to her lips before she could quell it.

"Because I forbade it," he growled angrily. "Save your melodramatic flights of fancy for your trashy penny novels. If you wish to remain in this household, you will not question my instructions, nor will you ignore them. I will not tolerate disobedience. I thought I had made that point plain to you when I took you on. Or perhaps you would prefer to be released from your duties here."

"Oh, no!" she answered, quickly rising to her feet. "I'm sorry, Mr. De Le Croix. It won't happen again. I promise. Please don't dismiss me."

He nodded and tossed the cigarette into the fireplace, "Very well. But understand me. If you ever disregard my instructions again, I will not be so lenient. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, very," she nodded, visibly relieved.

"I have some correspondence to attend to which I shall require you to post. Ask Richard to bring up a bottle of wine. I'll call for you in an hour."

"Yes, sir," she answered meekly. "And thank you for--"

He waved his hand dismissively, "Go."

Willow quickly moved toward the door, unaware of William's appreciative gaze as he eyed the feminine swish of her skirts as she let herself out. He chuckled softly to himself, then shaking the thoughts from his mind, crossed back to the desk on the other side of the room and plucked the pen from its inkwell as he lowered his lean frame into the chair.

Willow's feet fell along the slate walkway that led to the little bench in the back garden. She sat down, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the many blossoms just curling themselves shut under the setting sun, and contemplated her situation. Evelyn Minguard had been her only other employer, and she had been so very different than William De Le Croix. Widowed early in her marriage and with only two children, both of whom had moved some distance away several years ago, Lady Minguard had treated the redhead more like a beloved daughter than a parlor maid and had patiently taught her how to conduct herself in the midst of gentry.

Willow knew all to well that children of lower class families in London stood very little chance of living anything remotely resembling a genial life. Many were destined to a life of servitude or worse, prostitution, just to scrape together enough money to feed themselves. Having been orphaned at so young an age had put the redhead at an even further disadvantage, and it had been only Lady Minguard's sense of compassion that had led her to take on the inexperienced young redhead at all.

Willow never took for granted the woman's kind gesture, and she had been determined to make her employer glad she had given her such an opportunity. She had learned quickly, worked hard, moved steadily up through the ranks of the household, and had ultimately become a source of pride for the lady, who frequently assured the redhead that she had become a servant worthy of any aristocratic home. That promise of a future had been suddenly dashed when Lady Minguard's daughter had become the subject of a scandal that ultimately ostracized the entire family from the others of their class. When Evelyn Minguard had died, no other similar household would even consider her application for a position. Willow had been at her wit's end when the agency with which she had registered had sent the message that Mr. De Le Croix was seeking a housemaid, and she had been overwhelmingly relieved when he had agreed to take her on.

Now, she hardly knew what to make of her present situation. Willow's work was hardly taxing. Although keeping the large mansion dusted and tidied required some effort, it was easily manageable, especially with Mary and Violet helping out. Aside from these domestic duties which required her presence here, her days consisted mostly of running errands, and she spent most of her waking hours outside of the house. De Le Croix never entertained guests for dinner, and the cook's duties seemed only to involve the preparing of trays of wine for William and the other servants and simple meals for the redhead, which she ate in quiet solitude in the little dining area off the kitchen.

One evening, she had been summoned to help Richard serve wine to a small number of visitors, all of whom sent a strange shiver up the redhead's back, though she didn't know why. But her assistance in such a capacity had never been required again. On the contrary, De Le Croix seemed determined to keep her away from the few evening visitors who came to the mansion. For that matter, she was rarely in the presence of any of the other servants. She seemed to be the only one whose duties were required during the day, and her evening routine was such that she only very briefly crossed paths with the other employees, and even then, they invariably made a point of ignoring her. Originally, she had suspected that De Le Croix had purposely arranged her schedule in this manner, but she had brushed that notion aside, telling herself that it was merely one more in a long list of eccentricities which she had come to expect from the wealthy.

What had really upset her more than the oddities of her job were the disturbing sounds that emanated from the floor above her small bedroom. Those sounds had compelled her from her bed to seek out their origin, but she had quickly discovered there were no gas fixtures to light her way either along the narrow staircase or in the long corridor at the top of the stairs. The passageway had been impossible to navigate in the blinding darkness, and she had been forced to abandon her exploration.

But she knew what she heard had been human, despite the master's statements to the contrary. She would have been more inclined to accept his explanation had he been merely angry over her attempt to investigate the upper story. That she could easily have understood. She had purposely ignored his instructions, after all. But his words had carried a hint of threat, and this made no sense to her, especially if the sounds were as easily explained away as he would have liked her to believe.

From her seat on the bench, her gaze rose up along the wall of the mansion, though she knew there was nothing helpful to be seen there. She had promised De Le Croix that she would never retrace her steps to the uppermost level of the large old house, and at the time, she had meant it. But she knew without a doubt what it was she had heard. There was somebody up there. Someone crying, weeping so softly it could only be heard from the servant's quarters below in the still hours of the morning just before the sun rose. And she also knew, without a doubt, that she would be fool enough to try once again to find out who had been hidden away up there. Alone. In despair. Sounding desperately in need of help.

"Did Willow manage to keep herself confined to her room last night?" William asked as he took the glass from the tray that Richard held out to him.

The butler nodded, "I checked the passageway upstairs. Her scent is still there, but only faintly. She hasn't returned there since yesterday. I can't imagine that she'll attempt another excursion, not when she knows it will cost her this position."

William grinned slightly and shook his head, "I wouldn't count on that. There's a fire burning inside that one and a curiosity to match. Keep an eye on her. I want to know if she even looks like making another trek up there."

"Yes, sir," Richard answered. "This was delivered for you a few minutes ago."

He reached into his pocket and extracted a square velvet covered box and placed it on the table beside the armchair in which the elder vampire was seated. William set down his glass and picked up the case, lifting the hinged lid to reveal an intricately scrolled, large silver pendant. The butler quirked an interested eyebrow as William's fingers traced over the singular design.

"For Miss Rosenberg, I presume. How are you planning to convince her to wear it?" he questioned.

William shrugged casually, "I'll think of something. Aside from a nice pair of wounds on her lovely throat, it's the only way to mark her as mine. Can't have my housemaid become someone's late night meal, can I?"

"Sometimes I think that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Richard responded dryly.

"She's too smart for her own good, I'll grant you that," he agreed.

"But she's quick, and she doesn't ask too many damned questions. And she looks bloody gorgeous in the firelight, worthy of a good ravishing."

"Sir--"

William laughed softly, "Don't worry. I'm not planning on taking here on the floor. Not yet, anyway. Although a bit of a distraction might be just the thing to take her mind off of that room upstairs."

He returned the pendant to its box and drained the rest of the bloodwine from the crystal goblet before handing it over to Richard. "Take that away, and ask Willow to come in here."

"Yes, Master," the tall vampire nodded and let himself out of the room.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Willow spoke as she entered sitting room.

He nodded, "Sit down. Please."

She sank down onto the settee and gripped the curved upholstered arm under her hand, "What have I done this time?"

The question would have been impudent of the servant had it not been for the heavy dread-filled sigh which accompanied it. William turned toward her, the smile on his lips reaching to his clear blue eyes.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Willow. I assure you."

"Oh," she breathed out softly.

"Unless there's something you haven't told me," he added, a sparkle of amusement glimmering in his eyes.

The vampire nearly laughed out loud as she appeared to be giving the inquiry serious consideration, mentally replaying the past few twenty-four hours in her mind and inspecting each for any serious infraction.

Finally her green eyes returned to him, "Well, I did go outside, to that little bench in the back garden, but that was last night, and I'd completed my duties. Honestly, I had. Only, everyone had gone out, and I was so bored and lonely. And it's so lovely out there with the roses and all. I didn't think it would do any harm if I--"

"Of course not," he told her. "Why would you think I would mind?"

"I--I don't know," she answered. "I didn't have your permission."

"Well, now you do," William smiled easily. "You're right. It is beautiful out there in the moonlight, and it's infinitely safer than strolling the streets of London unaccompanied."

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded slightly and took the armchair across from her, "Do you often feel that way?"

Her brow furrowed, "I beg your pardon?"

"Bored. Lonely," he explained.

"Oh. No. Not often. Sometimes," she answered. "I've gotten quite used to being on my own."

"You made no friends in your previous position?"

"Most of the servants were older than I. The only girl close to my age was the scullery maid, and she had a young man who kept her occupied during her hours off. I spent most of my free time up in my room, reading."

"Sounds boring as hell," he agreed, momentarily dropping the proper facade he usually wore around the redhead.

"It wasn't that bad," she quickly amended. "Lady Minguard liked to entertain, well, when I first began there, anyway. She had all sorts of interesting visitors come to call on her. We were usually too busy to even contemplate being bored."

"And you had no young man of your own with whom to wile away your own hours off?" he inquired, knowing full well the question was far too direct and personal, but hoping to catch a glimpse of the delicious pink flush that so easily adorned her pale cheeks.

She rewarded him handsomely, blushing furiously as her eyes quickly darted away from him, but in spite of her embarrassment, she responded hotly, "I hadn't the time for such--dalliances, and I'm quite certain no man would have been interested even if I had."

William seriously doubted that statement, and he was slightly taken aback at the conviction behind her words. She shifted uncomfortably as he continued to study her in silence for a long moment. "Was there something you wanted to speak to me about, sir?" she asked, effectively drawing them back to her original purpose for having come into the room.

"Yes," he nodded, reaching for the velvet case still resting beside the armchair. "I wanted to apologize."

The redhead, who was unaccustomed to receiving apologies from anyone, let alone someone of her employer's station, was thoroughly befuddled, "I--I don't understand."

"For the way I spoke to you last evening," he explained.

"But you had every right to," she replied, still obviously confused. "I disobeyed a perfectly clear instruction, and--"

"And a simple reprimand would have sufficed. I went far beyond that, I'm afraid."

"But, sir, that's basically all I *did* receive. I'm just grateful you didn't dismiss me then and there."

"Are you refusing my apology?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh! No, sir! Of course not. I only meant--"

"Then allow me to continue, if you would be so kind," he requested, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Yes, sir," she squeaked softly.

William shifted forward on the armchair and held out the box, waggling it at her slightly as she looked from his face to his hands.

Hesitantly, she reached out to take it, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. He watched intently as she opened the lid and peered down at the elaborate pendant inside. Her gaze returned to him.

"It's lovely, sir. Would--would you like me to take care of this for you? Is there someplace I should--"

"It's for you," he informed her. "I want you to wear it."

"I couldn't!" she gasped. "Oh, sir. I really--"

"Willow," he lowered his voice and fixed her with a steady stare. "I want you to wear it."

"Please, sir, what will people say? I can't possibly accept--"

"Who will know where it came from if you don't tell them?" he asked her. "I doubt anyone would even bother to ask. It isn't a very expensive thing, after all."

She fingered the heavy silver piece and thought to herself, "Maybe not to you, Mr. De Le Croix."

William pushed a sigh from his lips and lied with practiced ease, "It's been around for ages. It belonged to a maiden aunt or some such thing. It holds absolutely no sentimental value to me whatsoever. It's hardly more than a bauble. I know this position, what's required of you here, must leave you feeling completely isolated most of the time. You've no idea how many parlor maids have given up this post after only a few week's time. And none of them were as adept at their duties as you. I'm sorry for being so harsh with you last evening. I do appreciate what you put up with, and I don't relish the idea of losing someone with your--abilities. So please, accept it, and wear it. Consider it a part of your uniform, if you like."

"Very well, sir," she relented. "If you're sure no one will think it amiss--"

"No one will even know," he assured her.

She nodded uncertainly and lifted the pendant out of the box and stared at it admiringly, and William felt sure that the young redhead had never even imagined owning such an impractical adornment. He slid from the chair to move around the butler's table and held out his hand.

"May I?" he asked.

Without waiting for her response, he plucked the pendant from her fingers and dropped down beside her on the settee. She tensed and turned slightly away from him as he draped the black silk cord around her neck. Willow shivered as his ice-cold fingers brushed against her neck as he fastened the pendant in place. He watched as one small hand traveled upward and felt at the smooth surface of the silver, wishing she could see how it looked on her.

Rising with graceful femininity up off the settee, she turned to face him, "You're very cold sir. Shall I lay more wood on the fire?"

He grinned softly at her back-to-our-proper-places demeanor and shook his head, "I'm going out in a few minutes. You may have the rest of the evening off. Retire whenever you wish."

"Thank you, sir," she answered, a small smile playing across her inviting lips. "And thank you for this."

"You're welcome, Willow. Good night."

"Good night, sir," she replied before turning away and exiting the room.

Willow lay on her stomach across the bed, her bare feet dangling over the edge as her eyes scanned the page of the newspaper she had surreptitiously rescued from the sitting room after William had finished with it earlier in the day. Though she didn't think her employer would be shocked, or even care, that she enjoyed reading the newspaper, she knew there were many people who still thought it improper for a young woman to trouble themselves with what they considered to be the baser elements of society that were often detailed in these pages. Lady Minguard would never have allowed such reading material in her stately home after her husband had died and her son had moved out, and she most certainly would not have approved if she could have seen her former parlor maid now.

The redhead's eyes drifted up from the paper spread out before her as a soft cry floated down from overhead. She lay very still, straining her ears, and in a moment, the soft sounds of weeping began. With a slight shudder, she pushed herself up and reached for the robe draped over the foot of the bed.

The servants' bedrooms had never been furnished with gas lights, and she reached for one of the candles she had lit to illuminate her own dark room. Quietly, she opened the door and took a step out into the corridor. She padded to the flight of stairs that led down to the kitchen and descended a few steps. Satisfied that the no one was about, she retraced her steps along the narrow hallway that ran past her room.

Her bare feet moved noiselessly across the smooth floorboards as she approached the rough-hewn flight of stairs at the far end of the hall that led up to the story above. The sound of crying, though still weak, could more clearly be heard, and Willow began to climb slowly in their direction.

Halfway up the steep flight of stairs, she heard the outside door that opened onto the kitchen suddenly slam shut, followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs to the servants' rooms below her. The young woman tensed and quickly blew out the candle. She placed her forefinger and thumb to her tongue, then pinched the candle's wick, snuffing out the thin curl of smoke that trailed up from its extinguished flame. Pressing her back against the wall to steady herself, she held her breath and waited anxiously as a door not far below her swung open.

The footsteps, which she guessed to belong to Edward, the footman, faded into the room and returned only a couple of minutes later. Willow closed her eyes and wilted in relief against the wall as he retreated to make his way to the flight of stairs he had just ascended. She sighed softly as she heard the leg of a chair scrape away from the table in the kitchen. Disappointed that her attempt to investigate had once more been thwarted, she crept quietly back down the stairs and returned to her room.

Richard was waiting for his master when William returned to the mansion just before dawn. The elder vampire's visage darkened in response to the sullen look on the butler's face.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Miss Rosenberg, sir. She's been prowling about again."

"Bloody hell," William snarled. "How far did she get?"

"Edward--he discovered her--doesn't think she got far. He's waiting in the parlor."

The vampire nodded and gestured for Richard to follow him. Edward was standing in front of the fireplace when they entered the room and closed the door. William took a thin silver case from his pocket and opened it to retrieve a cigarette. His eyes fixed on the young, black-haired vampire as he lit the cigarette and took a long pull.

"You found her? Where? Upstairs?" William questioned.

Edward shook his head, "I don't think she got that far, sir. I went up to my room and heard her heartbeat from the stairs leading to the upper floor. I didn't know whether you would want me to confront her, so I made sure she heard me. I returned to the kitchen and waited. It wasn't more than a minute before I heard her go back to her room."

"Edward told me about this when I got in," Richard added. "I checked the upper story. I'm quite sure that she hadn't been up there."

William nodded and looked at the footman, "You did well. That blonde chit--the one you've been chasing--"

"Dora," Edward responded expectantly.

"She's yours. You can turn her. Just don't bring her back here," he told him. "Go to bed, now. And don't discuss with Miss Rosenberg what happened tonight."

The dark-haired vampire beamed happily, "I won't. Thank you, Master."

Richard turned to William as the footman left the room, "Sir--"

"I know," the vampire frowned. "I'll have to do something about her."

"Do something, sir? Why not just kill her? The last three housemaids--"

"Were such colossal pains in the ass, draining them was a mercy," William snapped. "I don't want to kill Willow unless I have to. I need someone to run this place during the daylight hours. Unless you'd rather give this place up and move back into a rat-infested crypt."

Richard grimaced at the mention of his former lodgings before De Le Croix had arrived in London, just less than one year ago, with a loud burst of bravado and the sadistically brilliant intelligence to back it up. Within two weeks of his arrival, he had set his mind on this mansion, killed both the owner and his sole heir, turned the family solicitor, and ended up with the estate and the vast fortune that went with it. The other vampires in London had flocked to him like a dark cynosure. It was still a great source of pride to the younger vampire that he had been one of the few that the master had taken into the house. It was well known by all the demons who dwelt in the dark hiding places of the city that William De Le Croix did not suffer fools, and only the most deserving were allowed into the small inner circle of his personal minions.

"I'll take that as a no," William chuckled softly as he watched the emotions playing across Richard's usually stoic face.

"But, sir, wouldn't it be easier just to replace her?"

"With someone as intelligent, quick-witted, and who has no family ties to divert her loyalties and no friends to inquire after her? No, I don't think it would be easier," William responded. "She follows instructions, and she doesn't question our activities."

"Except for the semi-regular excursions to the forbidden upper story," Richard added.

"There is that," the master nodded. "But I'll deal with it. Just keep your mouth shut. Don't talk about any of this with Willow. Understood?"

Richard, who had far too much respect for the elder vampire to question his actions, readily agreed, "I understand, sir."

Willow had spent the day performing her usual tasks, but her mind had remained on that dark, narrow staircase. She had even contemplated trying to sneak her way up there after Mary and Violet had gone that morning. However, De Le Croix had left her a long list of errands to run in the city which took her until mid-afternoon to complete. And she knew that trying to reach the upper floor unnoticed during the day would present even more risk than doing so at night.

There were chores to attend to on the first and second floors of the mansion that would be obviously unfinished if she neglected them. And then there was the very real possibility that someone might ring for her while she was creeping about up there. Though the other occupants in the house rarely showed themselves during the day, Richard or even

William, himself, sometimes summoned her for one reason or another. After sunset, the master, the butler, and the rest of the staff were invariably absent from the estate, so she bridled her impatience and forced herself to wait.

William cast a sideways glance at the redhead crouched in front of the fireplace, tending to the fire. She had been startled when, upon entering the room, she had discovered him sitting at the writing table, his back turned toward her. He had pretended to ignore her as she moved quietly to the fireplace, but the anxiety etched along the frown on her face and the subtle quickening of her heartbeat was enough to convince the vampire that his pretty young housemaid was less than pleased to find that the growing darkness outside had not brought with it the usual emptiness of the large house. Considering where Edward had discovered her the night before, De Le Croix had a pretty good idea why.

He rose from his chair as she returned the poker to its resting place beside the mantle, and she turned to face him.

"Is there anything I can get for you, sir? Or are you going out?" she asked, trying not to sound hopeful, but the vampire's discerning ears picked up on that subtle emotion anyway.

"Come with me, Willow," he responded as he walked to the door and swung it open.

Confusion passed over her expressive features, but she followed him silently out into the second-story corridor and down the hallway to the next door on the left. They entered the parlor, and she stopped behind him as he gestured toward a garment laid out over an armchair. Willow's eyes drifted over the lacy, ivory gown, then moved to look questioningly up at William.

"You're dining out tonight. With me," he told her.

Her eyes flew open, and she shook her head emphatically, "Sir, you know that isn't possible. Someone of your position could never be seen--"

"I've never felt compelled to restrict my actions to the conventions of society," he interrupted her as he stepped over to the armchair and swept the garment up in his hands. "Take this to the guest room nearest my own, upstairs. You'll find the necessary accessories laid out for you there."

"Please, sir. I--I just--can't. It isn't right."

"You can, and you will. Why should the opinions of others concern you? After the scandal that rocked Lady Minguard's family, you'd never find a position with any other household in London, anyway." His words, though spoken softly, carried an undertone of threat that was unmistakable to the redhead.

"It--it won't fit," she tried weakly, her voice trembling slightly.

"Willow, I pay the dressmaker who provides your uniform. How difficult do you think it was to ascertain your measurements? It will fit. Now, go put it on."

Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she reached for the gown and turned and quickly left the room. She shivered at the soft chuckle that drifted through the closed door as she hurried toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. She had been in service long enough to know that masters taking advantage of their servants was not an uncommon occurrence. Even women who rose to the position of parlor maid had little choice but to comply with such demands. The alternative was almost invariably dismissal, with no letter of reference and little hope of being taken on by any other household.

De Le Croix had never given any indication that he had ever considered taking her to his bed, but Willow could think of no other reason for this strange turn of events. First the long, too-personal talk in the sitting room, followed by the pendant that no respectable employer would have ever dreamed of bestowing on a housemaid. And now, this unwanted invitation to dinner. He had obviously had it planned for at least a couple of days. It would have required that much preparation just to have had this gown made and to have acquired all the accompanying accessories. He had waited for her, waited until he knew the other servants had gone out, before all but demanding she go out with him. He knew, in her position, she hardly dared refuse.

Her fingers trembled as she slipped out of the familiar black dress. He had even gone so far as to purchase the necessary undergarments, including the most sensuous pair of silk stockings the young woman had ever laid fingers upon. It took her several minutes to strip out of her underthings and don these new, much more expensive replacements. She slipped her feet into the ankle-high, white leather boots sitting on the floor beside the bed. Her own black boots were much more comfortable, having been well broken-in after weeks of wear, and she winced as she wriggled her toes, trying to relax the stiff fabric that encased her feet.

She walked to the dressing table and looked in at her own reflection. Her face was flushed with a nervous soft pink glow as she fingered the loose strands of red hair that had fallen from their confinement at the back of her head. Reaching for the hairbrush, she did what she could to quickly redo the tight twist of hair.

Hesitantly she laid the brush back in place and turned to cross the room. She opened the door to find William leaning against the opposite wall, waiting more or less patiently to catch the first glimpse of the young woman. His blue eyes traveled appreciatively over her trim body, and she blushed as his gaze lingered entirely too long on the curves of her breasts, accentuated even further by the constraint of the gown's tight bodice. William grinned at her discomfort and took a step toward her, raising a hand to touch the soft tresses of her hair.

"This won't do," he told her, taking her elbow and turning her back toward the bedroom.

She swallowed hard as he firmly ushered her inside and gestured toward the dressing table. Mutely, she went to retrieve the hairbrush and returned to him, and he took her arm once again and turned her away from him. She shivered as she felt his fingers gliding through her hair, pulling out the pins and letting them fall to the floor as her fiery locks tumbled free. Willow closed her eyes as he began to brush her hair in long, gentle strokes until the rich, auburn color fairly gleamed in the gaslight. He tossed the brush on the bed and turned her to face him once more, and his eyes traveled over her pale face, now framed by her soft, shining hair.

"Much better," he proclaimed with a slight nod. "You should always wear your hair down. I prefer it this way."

She lowered her eyes, and her voice quivered audibly as she whispered, "Yes, sir."

Tucking a finger under her chin and raising her eyes back to his, he smiled down at her, "You're a beautiful woman, Willow. You don't know that, do you?"

She shifted uncomfortably, wishing desperately to avert her gaze from his appreciative stare but not quite daring to do so.

"Shall we go, Miss Rosenberg? I've arranged to have the carriage waiting."

"I--I don't think I could eat," she mumbled miserably.

He chuckled softly, "Willow, it's only dinner. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do, aside from dining with me."

A spark of hope lit her eyes, "Honestly, sir?"

"Honestly," he promised. "You must know I realize the position you're in. If I chose to--molest--you, there's little you could do to stop me. But I have no intention of forcing myself on you. I'm only requesting the pleasure of your company for a few hours."

The word "requesting" rang hollowly in the redhead's ears. "Demanding is more like it, no matter how delicately it may be worded," she thought to herself. Refusal was tantamount to dismissal, and they both knew it. However, his promise placated her a bit. Perhaps he truly meant her no harm. Perhaps he had even chosen the restaurant with both of their reputations in mind. For him to be seen dining with her would wreak as much havoc on his own social standing as it would on her own.

Given his resources, it was entirely possible that he could have engaged an eating establishment for their own private dining and paid the staff for their discretion.

"The pendant," William's words drew her out of her silent musings as his gaze lingered once again on the creamy skin below the hollow of her throat.

"I took it off, sir," she told him. "I thought--"

"I want you to wear it. Always," he reminded her as his eyes scanned the neatly-piled clothes on the bed.

He retrieved the necklace from where she had laid it atop her black housemaid's dress and fastened it around her neck. The silver pendant rested just above the valley of her breasts, the black silk cord standing out in dark contrast to the ivory of her gown. William's lips parted slightly as the silver piece that marked her as his rode the swell of her breasts as they softly fell and rose with her breath. Though he knew she seldom left the confines of the estate after dark, the pendant was a necessary sign to any vampires she might encounter--either on the streets or here in his home--of whose protection she was under.

Wordlessly turning to her side, he laced her arm through his and ushered her out of the bedroom and down to the main floor. Edward was standing beside the carriage that was waiting alongside the walkway in ront of the mansion. He opened the door, and William gently helped Willow to climb inside before following after her. Receiving a dismissive glance from his master, the minion closed the door, stepped away from the carriage, and signaled to the driver.

Any hopes that Willow may have had for a discreet evening were dashed as William escorted her into the softly lit, lavishly appointed, restaurant. Many of the tables were already filled with upper class couples, most of whom turned curious eyes upon the them as the maitre d' led them through the establishment. William noticed her embarrassment and smiled to himself.

This very open display was just what he had been after. Being seen with him tonight would serve several purposes, to keep her away from that corridor she so stubbornly insisted on exploring, to effectively cut off any chance that the young redhead would find any outside support were she to discover the true nature of the household under which she worked and seek out help, and, most importantly, to publicly communicate his claim on her.

The maitre d' led them to a small, private dining area set off to the left, but not completely secluded from the main dining room. To Willow's mind, the arrangement, which was bound to raise even more eyebrows, hardly seemed magnanimous of her employer. She glanced nervously over at William as the maitre d' pulled out her chair for her. The vampire seated himself and looked at the man who was eyeing the young woman with obvious interest.

Willow tried futilely to make herself inconspicuous from the prying eyes of the other patrons as De Le Croix snapped rudely at the matre d' and ordered a bottle of wine. As the man scurried away, the vampire turned to look at Willow and extended his hand across the top of the table. She quickly snatched her own hand away, hiding it under the white table cover.

"Willow, ignore them," he remarked. "I want you to enjoy yourself tonight."

"How can I, sir?" she asked him, struggling to keep her voice lowered. "Everyone is staring at us. We shouldn't be here. *I* shouldn't be here."

"That's nonsense," he told her. "You have as much right to be here as anyone else."

She looked at him in utter disbelief, and he grinned and settled back into his chair.

"They're snobs. Why should you care what they think?"

"How can you ask me that? You said you understood my position."

"I do understand it, but I never said I agreed with it," he contended.

"What difference does that make? You can disagree all you like. The reality is that we have to *live* with these people," she argued vehemently.

William stared across the table at her, enthralled by the angry flash that illuminated her expressive green eyes. There was more to this tiny young housemaid than she cared to let on. Under that carefully ingrained attitude of subservience to her so-called betters lay a burning anger at the unfairness of it all. There was no question that she was as intelligent and beautiful as the upper class women feasting in accustomed comfort at the tables around them. The redhead carried herself with as much grace and spoke with as much dignity as any of the society women he had ever met. It was only cruel fate that had determined she should be born to the impoverished rather than to the wealthy. But there was no court of appeals, no understanding judge, who could right the injustices of circumstance.

"How many people who are here do you actually know?" he asked her. Several well-coifed heads snapped back to their dinner plates as Willow's gaze drifted over the expansive room. There were several women she did immediately recognize as being frequent guests in Evelyn Minguard's home during the years before her daughter had socially disgraced the entire family to the point that no one would associate with them any longer. She had served those women, offering them cups of tea and plates of cakes, and Willow knew they must have recognized her, too. Her eyes turned miserably back to the table top in front of her.

Tongues would be wagging in several of London's most richly-furnished parlors tomorrow. "I don't care what they're thinking, Willow," De Le Croix sighed softly.

"You should, sir," she hissed quietly. "You stand to lose as much as I because of this ridiculous charade. I'm not the only one that these people are going to be chattering about, you know."

"You think they don't already?" he asked her with a half-grin. "They hardly know what to make of me as it is. And they know I don't give a bloody damn whether they approve of my actions or not. For all their arrogant disapproval, any one of them would come groveling to me without a second's hesitation if I had something they needed."

"And they do?" she asked, ignoring the coarse language that she should, in all propriety, have found offensive, as she raised curious eyes to his.

"More frequently than they can comfortably admit, either to themselves or to anyone else," he answered smugly. "You can't possibly imagine how many of the fine gentlemen sitting across from their lovely wives at these tables owe me for having done them some sort of favor. And more than one of them have done much more than simply taken a housemaid to dinner. Some of the ladies, too, for that matter. "

Willow's mouth dropped open in astonishment at this bit of information, and William laughed softly.

"So, you just remind yourself that behind those flapping jaws lie the tongues hypocrites," he advised her.

Their conversation was temporarily halted as a waiter appeared with a bottle of wine. Willow sat quietly as he poured the dark red liquid into each of their glasses. William ordered dinner for the both of them, and the young man nodded and quickly left them.

"How did you--" Willow stopped herself, unsure of the impertinence of the question on her lips.

"Go on. Ask," he urged her.

"How did your family make its money?" she continued.

"Import and export--spices and fabrics, mainly," William smiled, refraining from explaining that, actually, that business had belonged to the old man and his heir, both of whom the vampire had drained.

"But you don't oversee the company?" she asked, bewildered. "I mean, I've never known you to leave the house on business during the day."

"One of the many advantages of old money," he shrugged. "The business practically runs itself, with the help of the men and the solicitors I employ, of course. Leaves me free to do whatever I wish to do--or wish not to do."

Willow nodded her understanding as she idly fingered the wine glass in front of her, and William watched her with fascination as her insatiable curiosity led her mind elsewhere. He could almost see the next question beginning to form on her face, and he waited in silence while she contemplated whether she really ought to ask it or not. Finally, when temptation overrode good taste and she could stand it no longer, she leaned slightly toward him and whispered conspiratorially, "Which ones?"

"What?" he asked, confused by her question.

Her eyes flicked very briefly to the tables across the room and then back to him, "Which ladies--sir?"

The vampire nearly laughed out loud at the hastily-added concession to social etiquette. Generally speaking, he despised humans and spent as little time in their company as he possibly could and still maintain the pretense of being an envied, though not necessarily trusted, member of society. And he had had several well-bred meals at their unknowing expense. But the beautiful young creature sitting across from him was a delicious paradox of propriety and imagination, two traits which he had always before found to be mutually exclusive. The better he got to know her, the more intrigued he became.

He nodded in the direction of a table several feet away, "The woman in the green dress, the one with the diamond comb in her hair."

Willow gaped in astonishment, "Lady Atkins? No! That can't be right, can it, sir? She came to tea at Lady Minguard's every Tuesday--regular as clockwork!"

William grinned at her reaction, "Her husband's footman has been servicing her for years."

His companion blushed scarlet and covered her mouth with her delicate fingers, "Oh, my heavens! I can hardly believe it! How do you know?"

"Edward," he replied simply.

"Edward?" she squeaked.

This time, the vampire made no attempt to stifle the delighted chuckle that rolled softly from his lips, "Menage a trois. Or quatre, I suppose, considering Lord Atkins."

Though he would have thought it impossible, her eyes widened even further, "You--you mean Edward--and--and Lady Atkins--AND Lord Atkins' footman--are--have--been--"

"Yes, they have 'been,'" he nodded, suddenly reaching for her wrist and gripping it firmly. "Now, behave yourself for a moment, pet."

She took in a deep breath and struggled to composed herself as the waiter approached and set a bowl of soup before each of them. Spike waited as Willow dipped her spoon into the creamy pottage and then, satisfied that it was to her liking, nodded the waiter's dismissal. Lifting his own spoon, he sampled the soup. Although his appetite for food had gone the way of his soul, this was one of the finest restaurants in London, and he felt certain the young redhead had never had the good fortune of indulging in anything quite so delicious. He idly trailed a line with his spoon through the thick liquid before ignoring it for the glass of wine. As he raised his eyes, he saw her looking uncertainly at him, and he knew that she could hardly bare to leave their interrupted conversation where it had suddenly fallen.

"Yes?" he spoke as he returned the glass to its place on the table.

"Well, it's just--" she faltered, knowing to continue such a topic of discussion was unforgivably wicked.

"It's all right, Willow. Our little secret," he prodded gently. "Ask me anything."

"If--" she paused once more and took a small breath. "If you know about Edward and--well, you know--why do you keep him in service?"

"Because *I* am not a hypocrite," he replied.

Willow, who liked to think she wasn't completely unaware of the ways of the world, still had to admit to herself that she wasn't quite sure how to interpret that comment and so responded with a soft, "Oh."

William's demon, on the other hand, was completely entranced by her naiveté, particularly since it was unaccompanied by the shallow stupidity which her upper class counterparts seemed to think so endearing. Her lack of knowledge was nothing more than a lack of experience due to having spent her young years in service where the elder servants and, by the sound of it, Evelyn Minguard, would certainly have sheltered her from the baser preoccupations of humanity.

He sincerely doubted that Willow had even spent much time outside of that grand lady's house before her untimely death had deemed it a necessity. "And then, of course, there's Charlotte Fearon, Viscount Fearon's daughter," the vampire couldn't help adding as he gestured toward a buxom brunette who was seated with her parents at a table in a distant corner.

Willow swallowed her mouthful of soup and turned her eyes in the direction he indicated, "Miss Charlotte? What has she done?"

"From what I hear, about half of Northamptonshire. Her father owns land there. While he chases the foxes, she chases--everything." The redhead barely regained her grasp on her spoon before it clattered into the bowl below.

"I'd heard her brother was something of a scoundrel, but I had no idea that--" the rest of the comment was lost on a soft breath of air, and she blushed once again as he arched an amused eyebrow at her. "Well, I overheard the cook and the butler--Lady Minguard's, I mean--talking one afternoon. I didn't mean to! I just--did."

He grinned as her words drifted into flustered silence, "The point is, my dear, that none of these people have any right to judge either one of us. And you shouldn't be so concerned if they do. Dining with me is hardly on the same level as the activities that some of them get up to."

"It isn't the dining part that worries me," she told him. "It's what it insinuates--to their minds, anyway."

"Well, pet, the next time you're feeling threatened by their 'insinuations,' just imagine the right proper Lady Atkins and Edward--"

"Sir!" she gasped, thoroughly mortified by what she feared he was about to say.

The waiter, followed by another, approached their table once more as Willow lowered her spoon and clutched at her napkin, raising it to her mouth.

"Is everything all right, Miss?" the man asked.

"What?" she asked, startled by his unnoticed arrival. "Oh. Oh, yes. It was wonderful."

He smiled slightly and removed the soup bowls before stepping aside and allowing the second waiter to set their meals before them. Whoever was stocking the larder back at the mansion seemed to care very little about either the assortment or the quality of the food placed there, and the little redhead looked ravenously at the thick sirloin on her plate.

William smiled at her as the waiters walked away, "Eat your dinner, pet. We have places to go."

Willow felt a wave of relief wash over her as William escorted her out of the restaurant and into the pleasantly cool night air. Their carriage pulled up, and he opened the door for her.

"Where are we going, sir?" she asked as she gathered her skirts around her.

"Patience, pet, you'll see," he replied.

She couldn't help notice the quick flash of interest that passed across the driver's face as he looked down at them. William followed her inside and rapped once on the ceiling, and the carriage pulled away with a gentle lurch.

"Sir?" the redhead spoke timidly.

"Yes."

"I--I really don't think you should address me that way."

"And what way is that?" he asked.

"That--that word--you use."

"Pet?" he inquired. "It's unintentional. Force of habit, really."

"But it's far too familiar," she argued.

He shook his head slightly, "I thought we'd been through all that. What would you prefer then? Shall I address you as 'wench?'"

Her eyes met his as a musical giggle tumbled softly from her lips, and he grinned, pleased by her response. "I've never known anyone quite like you, sir," she confessed.

"Now that I can believe," he replied with a broad smile. "You enjoyed dinner?"

"It was wonderful," she nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"I suppose you're rather spoilt for choice in my kitchen," he admitted.

"Mrs. Tanter isn't a bad cook," she responded politely. "Her meals are just--well, plain--I guess. And the choices from the larder are a bit limited, if I may say so, sir. It isn't at all what I'd expect from a gentleman's kitchen."

"No, I suppose it isn't," he conceded. "I'll speak to her about ordering something more appetizing for you."

"There's no need, really, sir. I'm quite content with--"

"It's no bother, Willow. She writes up the lists, and you deliver them yourself. It's just as easy to order a bit more and a bit better."

"Thank you, sir," she said softly, then drifted into silence for a moment. "Sir?"

He nodded.

"May I ask you something else?"

"Of course."

"Why do I always dine alone? I don't think I've ever seen any of the others eat. Even you never order meals."

He studied her face for a moment, but the question seemed to be nothing more than the product of innocent curiosity, "I've no appetite in the morning, never have, and I keep odd hours. You're well aware of that. I prefer to dine out. Usually with friends or--business associates. I've never much cared for London during the day. People expect you to engage in the usual frivolously worthless social engagements. Invitations to lunch with their pretty young things and all that rubbish. The city is much more attractive at night. As for the other servants, they are there when I require them. I don't really care what they do otherwise. I suppose you think that's shamefully permissive of me."

"I would never presume to tell you how to run your household, sir," she responded.

"No, you wouldn't," he agreed with certainty.

The carriage slowed and then halted, and he reached for the latch and swung the door open. He climbed down and reached back in for her, taking her arm and helping her out onto the pavement. Willow immediately recognized their location and looked up in surprise at him.

"Ever seen St. James's Park by night?" he asked her.

"No, sir," she answered. "Are you quite sure it's safe?"

His eyes drifted briefly to the pendant settled against the warm flesh above her breasts, "With me, you're safe."

He nodded to the driver, who promptly reigned the horses into motion, and Willow's eyes darted up to the vampire.

"Sir! How will we--"

"You worry too much," he admonished her with a slight grin. "Everything is fine. I promise. Now, put it out of your mind, and just enjoy yourself."

He tucked her arm through his and proceeded to guide her through the darkness toward the bridge in the near distance that spanned the small lake in the park. Their footsteps fell solidly against the wooden planks, and Willow turned to place her hands on the railing and looked down at the water, shimmering like a black diamond in the darkness. A pair of swans drifted soundlessly upon the glassy surface, their heads tucked closely against the warmth of their own necks.

"My father used to bring us here--my mother and me--every now and then, when I was a child," she spoke so softly William wondered whether she was speaking to him or to herself. "We couldn't afford a cab, so we'd walk. Make an outing of it. My mother would bring along a bit of bread, to feed the birds. Not much of an adventure, really, but we were together and happy. It was enough."

"You miss them a lot?" he asked her.

She shook her head slightly, "I don't remember them too well anymore. I was so young when they died. Their faces tend to fade, you know? But I remember their voices. My mother used to sing when she was cooking or washing up. I sometimes wonder what she found to sing about."

Her eyes followed the lazy movements of the swans for a quiet moment before she looked around at him.

"Sir, could we walk?" she asked.

He nodded, moving aside to claim her arm once more. They walked through the park and beyond in companionable silence, and she turned her head to look at him as they neared the Embankment.

"What about your family, sir? Did you inherit the estate from your father?"

"Not my father. My uncle," De La Croix lied without a twinge of remorse. "His only child died shortly after he did. I'm the only surviving member of the family, so the estate came to me. I never really knew either of them. I spent most of the past years away from London."

She wondered how it was that the two men had died so closely together, but she knew it wasn't her place to ask, so she left the question unspoken. Their steps had slowed considerably as Willow's feet began to protest their tight restriction in the rigid boots.

"Are you tired?" he asked her.

"A bit," she confessed.

He stopped and peered down the gaslit street ahead of them. Willow waited beside him as he whistled sharply, and the clopping of a horse's hooves responded from a distance too far for her to see in the darkness. A hansom cab pulled up alongside them, and William ushered her inside and gave his orders to the driver before joining her. By the time they were deposited outside the North London mansion, the redhead's eyelids had grown heavy, and the clock in the foyer was just striking midnight.

She turned to him as he closed the door behind them, "Can I get you anything, sir?"

"No. Go on to bed, wench," he answered with a playful grin, and she laughed softly, her green eyes shimmering in the golden glow of the gaslights.

"Thank you, for everything, sir. I've never had such a lovely evening," she smiled shyly before stepping away and moving toward the door that led down to the kitchen.

He grinned as she stifled a delicate yawn and disappeared through the doorway. Just five hours before Mary and Violet arrived. The curious little redhead would not be exploring any dusty corridors tonight. He turned back to the front door and quietly let himself out into the enveloping darkness. Plenty of time before sunrise. And he was hungry.

Willow awoke to the same disquieting sounds of weeping, and she shivered slightly as she dragged herself out of bed and pulled on her robe before padding softly to the door. She opened it and slipped out into the corridor, but a sudden clattering from downstairs prohibited any exploration. With a soft sight, she returned to her room and closed the door. The beautiful gown she had worn the previous evening was still laid out carefully over the simple wooden-backed chair by the bureau, and she looked at it fondly before reaching for the more familiar black dress.

She dressed quickly and went down to the kitchen to find Mrs. Tanter grumbling softly in front of the coal cookstove. Bacon sizzled invitingly in a cast iron pan, its heavenly aroma filling the kitchen and causing Willow's empty stomach to growl impatiently.

"When did we get bacon?" she asked curiously as she helped herself to a cup and filled it with tea from the pot sitting in the middle of the table.

"The master had it delivered this morning, along with too many other things to fit in the larder."

Knowing the size of said larder, Willow seriously doubted that statement, but the unpleasant scowl on the woman's face prevented her from saying so. The portly vampire cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl and began to whisk them with a fork. Willow had to choke back a giggle as she fancied the middle-aged woman looked as though she were trying to beat them into submission.

"And *I* had to be down here before the crack of dawn to let that daft delivery boy in," Tanter continued to splutter.

"Well, it *is* your job," Willow thought irreverently to herself, but took pity on the obviously disgruntled woman.

"Here, I'll do that," she offered, reaching out for the bowl. "You go on back to bed."

The angry scowl on the woman's face relaxed itself immediately, "Well, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. Besides, I don't suppose Mr. De La Croix or anyone else is going to be asking for breakfast. Go on. I can manage."

"Thank you, Willow," a smile threatened to form on the vampire's lips as she thrust the heavy bowl into the redhead's hands and turned toward the stairs.

Willow shook her head, still stunned by the way the household conducted itself, and rose from her chair. She emptied the eggs into another pan on the stove, turned the bacon, and gingerly plucked up the slice of bread frying beside it. She buttered the toast before plopping it onto an empty plate Mrs. Tanter had placed on the table. In another moment, both the eggs and the bacon were ready, and she piled them onto her plate and slid back into the chair at the table.

She replayed the events of the past night in her mind while she ate in comfortable silence. De La Croix had almost convinced her that what they had done was not shameful, but the coming light of day reawakened the common standards that had been so well established within her, and she desperately wished she could just erase the entire evening. She finished her breakfast and, sighing heavily, carried the dishes to the sink and washed her hands as the bell on the servants' entrance jingled softly. Pushing the troubling thoughts out of her mind, she turned to let Mary and Violet in.

Willow flopped down most ungracefully into the chair by the fireplace in the below stairs sitting room and wriggled her toes in her boots. She had been run off her feet in the city that afternoon by a seemingly endless list of errands for De La Croix. Already the gossip of last night's events was beginning to seep out. Several of the clerks who had formerly been pleasant with her wouldn't give her so much as a smile today. She bent over to loosen the tight laces of one boot, wanting nothing more than a hot cup of tea and a few moments of relaxation. Richard's towering form appeared in the doorway, and the redhead groaned softly as she looked over at him.

"The master wishes to see you in the parlor," he informed her.

"I'm going," she muttered self-pityingly as she retied her boot.

She blushed faintly at the severe scowl he bestowed on her and ducked quickly past him and up the stairs. William was waiting for her in the second floor parlor, his back turned toward her as he stared out the window at the dusky darkness.

"Sir?" she spoke softly as she closed the door behind her.

He turned and looked at her for a moment before crossing to the small cart on the opposite wall and setting down the glass of bloodwine in his hand. He poured out a small measure of sherry and turned back, holding the glass out to her.

"I couldn't," she refused with a slight shake of her head.

"You can," he insisted. "Go on."

Hesitantly, she reached for the glass, holding it awkwardly in her slender fingers. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she took a quick sip, gasping softly as the alcohol burned a trail down her throat.

William gestured, and her eyes followed his movements to find the gown she had worn last night laid out on the settee.

"I found that in the guestroom," he told her.

"I placed it there when I went up to clean the room this morning. I wasn't sure what to do with it, sir," she answered.

"It's yours," he remarked simply.

"But sir, I'd hardly have any use for it, would I? I mean, it isn't as if I'd ever have occasion to wear it."

"You did last night," he argued.

She looked uneasily away from him, "Last night was--"

"Was what?" he pressed.

"Wrong. A mistake," she said softly.

"Oh, bloody hell, we're not all the way back there again, are we?" Willow tensed nervously under the harsh tone of his voice as he snatched up his glass of bloodwine and downed the rest of it in one swallow. His piercing blue eyes returned to her, and he lowered his lean frame into an armchair.

"All right. Why was it a mistake?" he questioned.

"Because, sir, no matter what you say, I overstepped my place. That's the reality of it, and it was wrong of me."

"No. What's wrong is that those fools believe money allows them the right to pigeon people into holes and force them to stay there. Tell me you don't believe that, that you don't feel that--in here," he contended, thumping one hand over his still heart.

"It doesn't matter what I believe--"

"Of course it does. You're no different than Lady Atkins or Charlotte Fearon. You're flesh and blood, a person, Willow. Lack of money does not equal lack of intelligence or lack of feeling."

"I know all that, sir. But what does it matter? Money does equal power, which, in my situation, does me no good. All I *do* have is my intelligence and feelings. And if I fly in the face of convention, neither of those will do me any good, either! I can't ignore the rules, no matter how much I might detest them."

"You already have, with me, last night," he pointed out.

"I regret that, believe me," she murmured.

"You regret dining with me?"

"Not because of you, sir. Because of them. I've probably already done more damage than I can ever repair. Those people aren't going to forget what they saw any time soon. I can only hope that if I keep to my station, stay out of places I have no business to be, that it will eventually be forgotten."

"Like hell," the vampire thought to himself. Despite the fact that he was actually, truly beginning to like this small woman, he had no intention of letting her reingratiate herself back into the myopic world around her. He wanted her alienated, with no one to turn to, no one who would even listen to her, should she suddenly discover she had tales to tell. After the scornful gossip that was sure to follow last night's public exhibition had swept through the wealthy households of London, not even their servants' doors would be open to the young redhead. He had seen to it that she was effectively shut off from everyone else, regardless of their station. Not even the lowliest of scullery maids would deign to converse with her now. If she thought she was going to slowly rectify that situation, well, he most definitely had plans to the contrary. While he wasn't quite willing to admit that she was irreplaceable, he would concede that finding a replacement who would rival her inner qualities and outward circumstances would be uninvitingly difficult.

Willow's gaze had settled uneasily on the lacy gown spread over the burgundy upholstered settee. By the looks of her, she had not had a pleasant day in the city. She looked tired and unhappy, not at all like the vision who had strolled by his side along the dark walkway of St. James's nearly twenty-four hours ago. He knew she was right. He had placed her in an utterly impossible situation by insisting she be seen with him, but that mattered little to him. His arguments were only a lure to bait her, to keep her angry and wanting. There was still the slightest of possibilities that she could slowly edge her way out from under the position in which she now found herself. There was even the chance that a few, more compassionate, women of society might actually feel sympathetic toward her. Those few might consider her an unfortunate young servant who was at the mercy of a demanding employer, with no recourse but to bend to his whims. So, he wasn't finished with her, yet. He wouldn't be finished until there was nothing left to which she could turn. No sympathy, no reason, no chance for second opportunities.

"The gown isn't what I wanted to discuss with you. Not the only thing, anyway," William continued. "I suppose there isn't an appropriate place for it in your quarters, though. Hang it in the wardrobe in the guestroom for now."

"There really isn't any reason to keep it at all, sir," she insisted.

"Willow," he grumbled, wishing to have the topic concluded. "Just do as I say."

"Of course. Sorry, sir," she responded meekly.

He grinned slightly, "You haven't finished that."

She looked down at the glass in her hand, "Must I, sir? I really don't--"

"Never mind," he nodded, rising and removing the glass from her fingers. "You have other things to do. I assume you can be packed and ready to leave within an hour?"

"Packed? What for, sir? Where am I going?"

"*We* are going to Surrey," he answered. "I own an estate there--part of the inheritence that went along with this place."

"Surrey? Tonight, sir? That's a couple hour's drive," she remarked.

"It's early," he shrugged. "I could use some time away from the city. I've sent the other servants, except Richard, on ahead. He'll lock up here and follow us."

"Follow us, sir? I'm to ride alone with you?" she asked, clearly disturbed by the thought. "Wouldn't it have been better for me to have gone with the other servants?"

"No, it would not," he responded sharply. "I've had you running errands, which needed to be tended to, all afternoon. I could hardly have had the others wait until you returned. They'll need enough time to get the house in Oxted ready."

"But--but I didn't see any preparations being made below stairs," she stammered, completely thrown by this arrangement.

"Nothing to prepare except their own bags. The house in Oxted is fully equipped, and I don't keep it staffed, but I've a friend who owns a country estate the next village over, who offered to send his in to tidy up and get the place ready."

"But, sir, if your friend's servants are going to be there, anyway, couldn't we just stay here while you're--"

"It's only a small staff. Not enough for entertaining, which I plan to do. That is, if you think you can remember how." The redhead visibly brightened at the prospect of actually having something to do besides track all over London during the day and try to keep herself occupied during the solitary evenings alone in the mansion.

"I'll be ready, sir," she chirped happily and turned toward the door.

"Willow?" the vampire called after her.

She turned back, and he pointed at the gown she had left behind. With a quick nod and a flash of a smile, she swept it up off the settee and bounced out of the room.

"That's the last of it, sir," Richard spoke from the back of the carriage as he strapped in the tattered suitcase Willow had left by the servants' entrance.

William nodded, "Keep an eye on things here. You know how to contact me should you need to. You're to pick us up in Oxted tomorrow evening. Make sure you show yourselves frequently while we're away. I want no doubt in anyone's mind that Willow and I have gone off, alone, together. "

The butler jumped down from his perch, "How are you going to explain the absence of servants when you get there?"

"I've planned my excuses. In the meantime, there are to be no visitors--human or otherwise--here on the estate. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. We'll see to everything."

"I'm sure you will. Now, to gather up that inquisitive little housemaid of mine." He glanced around at the minion who was standing idly beside the horse at the front of the carriage. "Thomas, we'll be out in a minute. Remember, you're to come straight back here after you've dropped us in Oxted."

The driver nodded his acknowledgment and climbed up onto the seat as William turned to enter the mansion, with Richard following behind him. Willow was waiting for them in the foyer. William eyed the drab brown skirt and jacket which did little to accentuate the redhead's natural beauty as she nervously shifted from one foot to another.

"I'll take the servants' entrance and meet you--"

"Come along," De La Croix gestured as Richard moved aside from the door. "The driver's waiting for us."

She opened her mouth to protest, noticed the impatient frown on his face, and chose, instead, to follow him silently out the front door. The air was pleasantly warm, and he had chosen to leave the carriage open. Aside from the fact that it would make the journey more pleasant, it would also afford the eyes of the curious a good look at the passenger riding across from him. Willow felt the familiar, gentle pressure of his hand on her arm as he assisted her up onto the seat.

Willow felt as though every couple on their street had decided to go out walking that evening. She glanced nervously at De La Croix as several heads turned in alarm at the spectacle passing by them, but he seemed to pay no attention. Finally, they left the gaslit streets behind them, and the carriage moved rhythmically along the dark roadway to Surrey. With a quiet breath of relief, she leaned back more comfortably and let her eyes rove over the scenery moving slowly past them.

The vampire spoke little over the course of the two-hour journey, and by the time they reached the Oxted estate, the quiet darkness and the gentle movement of the carriage had nearly lulled the redhead to sleep. Her eyes snapped open as the driver reined the horse to a stop and jumped down off his seat to retrieve the bags from the back of the carriage. Willow looked quizzically up at her employer as she followed him across the cobbled surface of the driveway and toward the steps.

"It's dark, sir," she murmured. "The house, I mean. Shouldn't the servants have--"

"Come on, let's see," he suggested, leading the way to the massive front door.

"I--I should be using the serv--"

"Who's going to know?" he remarked casually as he pulled a heavy iron key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

She shook her head and scurried along after him, stopping just inside the doorway as William lit a single gaslight hanging on the wall.

"Shall I check downstairs, sir?" she offered hopefully.

He nodded and gestured to a door on their immediate left, "Through there. Better take a candle."

He moved to a round table where a pair of brass candlesticks sat and lit one of them before handing it to her.

"You'll be all right down there on your own?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"I'll check the other rooms on this floor," he told her.

The driver entered the house as the redhead disappeared through the door, and William turned to face him as he dropped the luggage onto the floor.

"Get back to London," the elder vampire ordered.

The minion nodded, "I'll see you tomorrow night, sir."

William closed the door after him and moved to the sitting room. A coal scuttle had been filled and left by the fireplace by one of the local vampires who worked for him, and De La Croix lit a lamp on a table next to an armchair before bending to start a fire in the chilly room. He heard the soft footsteps of Willow as she returned from the kitchen and made her way toward the open door.

"No one down there?" he pretended to guess as he patiently coaxed the fire.

She shook her head, "It's all dark, sir. But I found a couple of crates of food by the back door. Somebody's been here. Where is everyone? I thought you sent the other servants ahead of us."

"I've sent Thomas to the village to see what he can find out. Someone there will know what's happened."

She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered slightly.

"Come here," William said, reaching up for her.

She gasped softly and took a small step backward, "Sir, I--"

"Willow," he climbed to his feet and took her by the arms. "I was only going to suggest that you sit in front of the fire. You're cold."

"Oh," she giggled nervously. "Sorry, sir. Honestly, I think it's warmer outside."

"These old houses are like that," he agreed, pulling her gently around and urging her down onto the floor in front of the growing warmth of the flames.

He stood and went to a long, narrow table beside the fireplace and poured a glass of brandy.

"Here, drink this," he spoke, extending it downward to her.

"I--I don't need--"

"Drink it," he insisted firmly. "It'll warm you up."

She looked up at him uncertainly as he pushed the glass into her hands, and she curled her fingers around it and took an experimental taste. He nodded his approval and walked around the room, lighting the gaslights.

A soft, golden glow illuminated the room, and he watched the redhead visibly relax as the darkness was dispelled.

"I should check the rooms upstairs and make sure they've been readied, sir," she told him.

"Finish that first," he replied. "Then I'll show you the way."

De La Croix left Willow at the top of the stairs to investigate the countless rooms while he went back to the main floor under the pretext of waiting for Thomas to return. Slipping silently out the front door, he paused to retrieve a cigarette from his case and lit it before heading off down the drive and along the dark road that led into the village. Halfway between his estate and the next, a shadow drifted out from the tree-lined road ahead of him.

"I thought I might have missed you," the short, muscular vampire spoke as William approached him.

"It took awhile to get Willow out of the way. You've told the others to stay away from the estate?"

"They know, and they know you've marked her. They won't bother her, either."

"Good," De La Croix nodded as they began to walk further down the road. "Now, about meals--"

"The Crossen estate is vacant for the month. They keep a staff on duty, though. A couple of gardeners, two stable lads, three maids. They also receive regular deliveries from the village. You should be able to make do for the weekend without having to go into the village, which I assume you'd rather not do."

"Not unless I have to. My little redhead has a voracious curiosity. I don't want to leave her alone for too long. She might even take it into her head to walk to the village herself. That's the last thing I want."

"Better get a bite to eat then," his companion suggested. "So you can get back to her, lucky devil."

William chuckled softly as they turned into a narrow lane that led up to the Crossen property.

De La Croix returned to the estate and settled himself into an armchair in the sitting room just moments before Willow's footsteps sounded on the stairs. He turned to look at her as she entered the room.

"I'm sorry it took so long, sir. I had a bit of trouble finding my way around in the dark, and there are so many rooms, and I wasn't sure which one you used, and then I had to find the servants' quarters, and--"

"Take a breath, Willow," he chuckled. "You're making my head spin."

"Oh, sorry, sir," she smiled sheepishly. "Anyway, none of the rooms have been prepared. Your friend's servants haven't arrived yet?"

"Thomas sent a messenger by while you were stumbling around in the dark," he lied. "He said Thomas reached the village and sent a wire. Seems my friend got a bit muddled on the dates. He thought I required his staff for next week."

"Well, couldn't your friend just arrange to send them over, anyway?" she suggested.

He shook his head, "He's entertaining this weekend, as well. He can't spare them. I'd hardly ask that of him."

"No, sir, of course not," she immediately agreed. "But why haven't the others arrived from London? They should have been here long before us."

"Another wrinkle in the plan, I'm afraid," the vampire fabricated an apologetic grimace to accompany his story.

"Another wrinkle, sir?" she moaned and proceeded to sink down into the chair across from his.

William shook his head as she caught herself and quickly scrambled back onto her feet, "No. Sit down, Willow. I think you'd better."

Without argument, she sat down and waited for him to explain. "It seems the others rode into the village when they discovered nobody here. They received the same explanation as Thomas, but they were under the false impression that we already knew about the misunderstanding and weren't coming after all. So, they started directly back to London."

"Oh, no," she whispered. "Did we pass them? I don't recall seeing them."

"Nor do I. But we passed several coaches. One looks pretty much like another, and it was dark."

"Is Thomas taking us back to London as well, then?"

"He's already left," William answered. "My mistake, I'm afraid. I'd given him orders to return to the house in London after he'd finished in the village. Instead of coming back here first, he sent a messenger out here, and he left directly from there. I gave the boy instructions to wire London and tell him to come back for us. But it will be late by the time Thomas arrives at the mansion, and the horse will need to rest. I'm afraid we're marooned here for the night. The message from the wire should be delivered to the house tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we'll just have to make the best of it."

Her face had paled alarmingly as she took in his words, and she lifted a slender hand to her lips. He scooted off of his chair and knelt in front of her taking her hands and holding them firmly when she tried to retract them.

"Willow, it's all right--"

"It isn't all right, sir. How could Thomas have been so stupid as to return to London without us?" she murmured as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "What are people going to think of all this? Especially after having been seen out with you the other--"

"Let them think what they like," he answered gruffly. "It was an honest mistake, a huge misunderstanding the whole way around."

She bowed her head and shook it slightly as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

He pushed a soft sigh from his lips and raised her face in his hands, "You're tired, pet. You'd already had a long day before all this. There's no changing our situation, now. I think the best thing to do would be to try to get some sleep. Things will look much better in the morning."

She looked at him doubtfully but stopped crying, and he pulled her up onto her feet.

"We'd better fetch some blankets. It's too cold to sleep in the bedrooms upstairs, and the servants' quarters must be freezing."

"Sir?" she looked puzzled.

"You take the settee. I'll be fine in the chair."

The redhead's eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, widened as she gasped, "No! Sir--"

"Who's going to know, Willow? The nearest house is thirty minutes away by foot. The village is even farther than that. There's no sense in freezing for propriety's sake when no one is even going to know the difference. Now, come along. Help me gather up the blankets."

She sniffled once and scrubbed away another escaped tear as he picked up an oil lamp from the fireplace mantle and lit it before leading her out of the sitting room.

William moved stealthily out of his chair and poured himself a glass from the bottle of bloodwine Willow had unwittingly brought up from one of the crates below stairs. He returned to his seat and gazed over at the sleeping redhead as she stirred slightly and shifted her body to face him. De La Croix couldn't remember the last night he'd spent penned up inside a house. He much preferred roaming the dark streets of London with some of the more agreeable minions as they searched out their evening meal.

He grinned to himself as his eyes traveled over the pretty young woman and consoled himself with the thought that, if he had to be stuck away in this dusty old house, at least he had something pleasant to stare at. And, although she didn't realize it, this well-organized escapade would serve its purpose excellently. She would be completely alienated from everyone back in London. Their very public carriage ride through the streets of London would be proof enough to all that Willow had willingly accompanied him, alone, to his secluded estate. She wouldn't even find a receptive ear should she try to convince them otherwise. It was going to be a long, long time before he had to even contemplate replacing this lovely little housemaid.

Willow awoke with a start and looked frantically around the unfamiliar room for a moment before her eyes settled on the sleeping form of the man in the armchair across from her, and her sleep-addled brain recalled their situation. The twittering of birds beyond the heavily curtained windows signaled to her that the sun had risen. Brushing several loose strands of hair away from her face, she moved off the settee and began to creep quietly out of the room. She jumped in surprise as William's soft voice spoke from behind her.

"See what you can find in the kitchen for breakfast. I'll see to the dining room," he suggested.

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

Finding her way down to the kitchen was infinitely easier with the light of the sun to guide her steps, and she washed as best she could in the cold water from the sink before turning to the crates she'd placed on the table the night before to search out food for breakfast. After several minutes of looking, she finally found the coal chute and filled a scuttle to light the stove, then washed her hands once more. It took several minutes for the pans on the long unused stove to gather enough heat to fry up a few eggs and toast. She made a pot of tea, found the tableware and a large serving tray and, at long last, carried breakfast upstairs, breathing a silent prayer that she didn't drop the heavy tray before she reached her final destination.

William stepped out on the landing and down a couple of stairs, catching her attention. He gestured to her, and she followed him up to the second story dining room. He had lit a gas lamp sitting atop a sideboard and removed the thick, white cloth from a long mahogany table. He turned to take the tray from the little redhead.

"I can manage, sir--"

"Don't be ridiculous," he cut off her protest. "That thing is heavy. Sit down."

"I can't eat up here with you!"

"Willow. Sit. Down." he ordered through clenched teeth. With a sigh of consternation she plopped down onto one of the upholstered chairs as he unloaded the tray and placed one plate before her, the other in front of the chair next to hers.

"I've never known you to eat breakfast before, sir," she commented as she poured out the tea.

William bit back the urge to reply, "Well, after all, the Crossen's gardener was quite filling," and responded aloud, "It's been a long time since dinner."

Willow nodded and let her eyes wander about the spacious room, "It's rather gloomy in here, sir. Wouldn't it be better to draw back the curtains?"

The vampire shook his head, "They're coated with dust. I thought it best not to disturb them."

"This whole house is dusty, sir," she agreed. "I suppose it would be better not to stir it up."

They lapsed into silence, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye as she ate her food, and he toyed with his. Finally, she ventured a glance over at him, and he grinned to himself as she debated asking the question that she was obviously thinking.

"Sir?"

He shoved his chair back a little and nodded at her.

"How soon do you think Thomas will return for us?"

"Bored with my company already, pet?" he teased and felt an odd twinge of pleasure as she smiled softly in response. "Several hours, I should think. I doubt he's even received my orders, yet."

"Oh," she mumbled disappointedly, and he knew she was still consumed with worry over the gossiping voices that were sure to be whispering around the breakfast tables back home in London. "I ventured a look out the servants' entrance downstairs, sir. It's a lovely morning. Perhaps we could go out? Take a walk around the grounds?"

He took a moment to light a cigarette before answering, "We shouldn't wander from the house. We wouldn't want to miss Thomas' return, would we?"

"No, sir, but if you think it's going to be several hours--"

"Well, considering the way everything has worked out so far, what do you suppose the odds are that he'd be *sure* to arrive the moment we were out of sight?" he asked. "He'd probably assume we'd found an alternate means of transport back to London and leave without us, again."

"You're probably right," she muttered dejectedly, pushing her chair away from the table and standing to clear the breakfast dishes.

He watched in silence as she lifted the tray and carried it out of the room. Rising slowly, he walked to the fireplace and took one last, long pull from his cigarette before discarding the remains into the cold fireplace. He leaned back against the carved oak mantle and considered how to go about keeping the redhead occupied indoors during the next several hours until the sun set and Thomas could start the journey back to Oxted. Even if she mentioned going outside without him, he was determined not to let that happen. He had no intention of letting her escape into the sunlight where she would be effectively out of his grasp.

"Bloody bit of foolishness just to keep the chit under my roof," he grumbled to himself.

However, the more rational part of his brain reminded him that just by having kept her here for the night, he'd already achieved his goal. All that was left was to get her back to London. She had no living relatives to take her in and no friends or acquaintances who would lower themselves to even listen to her pleas, should she discover the true nature of the household under which she was employed. Willow belonged to him now, in more ways than she could possibly imagine. The vampire grinned to himself as he started out of the room. It would be a long, long time before he had to bother himself with the tiresome business of having to find another housemaid.

William had capitalized on the little redhead's natural curiosity by suggesting he give her a tour of the house. He watched her face as he opened the door on yet another obscenely elegant bedroom, and she stepped inside, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Lady Minguard never owned anything like this," she said softly. "This house is so beautiful. I'm surprised you don't come here more often, sir."

He shrugged slightly, "I prefer the city. One can only swallow isolation in small doses."

"I suppose so," she murmured as she walked to the bureau and looked down at a beautifully etched silver case.

He moved to her side and lifted the lid to reveal a dazzlingly beautiful, large ruby ring surrounded by a circle of thirteen sizable diamonds that twinkled even in the dim light of the room. A soft gasp ushered from between her slightly parted lips as he lifted it out and held it up to her. He had forgotten he had left it here, three years ago. A dying gift from a well-dressed socialite who was, in truth, little more than a wealthy whore. She had foolishly agreed to secretly slip away to the estate with him one dark Monday evening, and he had left her drained corpse on the dining room floor to be carted off several miles away by Thomas and Edward. As far as he knew, her body had never been recovered.

"It's lovely, sir," Willow murmured in understated awe.

"A gift," he lied smoothly. "A token of gratitude from a beautiful woman."

Her brow wrinkled, "Gratitude, sir?"

"For keeping her secret when I discovered the lady and her lover in a...shall we say, compromising position. Her husband would never have approved," he smiled roguishly.

Willow blushed to her roots, and William chuckled softly and took her right hand in his own, slipping the ring onto her fourth finger. It was a perfect fit. The redhead squeaked and snatched her hand away to tug at the piece of jewelry.

"Leave it on," he told her, grasping her left hand and pulling it away from the ring.

"I couldn't possibly! You know that I couldn't! Oh, my heavens, I--"

"Consider it compensation for having to suffer through such a miserable ordeal," he said.

"I don't need compensation, sir! You know very well I can't possibly wear this!"

"That's what you said about this," he reminded her, brushing his fingers over the silver pendant that lay around her neck.

"It's hardly the same thing, sir," she protested. "I won't wear this. I can't--"

He arched a cool eyebrow, "Not even if I insist?"

"Oh, please, sir. Don't insist," she was practically begging.

He laughed aloud, truly amused by her mortification, and pulled her gently out of the room, "I do insist. You will wear it."

She whimpered softly, but he only smiled and ignored her as he guided her on to the next door down the hall. This little journey to the country was proving to be even more rewarding than he had hoped.

Willow carried a pot of tea and two cups and saucers into the sitting room where the fire built last night had kept the room at a comfortable temperature. William was just pouring himself a glass of bloodwine, and he turned to her and lifted a bottle of sherry in invitation.

"No, thank you, sir," she answered, settling for a cup of tea. "It's nearly sunset. I would have thought Thomas would have returned by now. Perhaps we should go into the village and--"

"It's a forty-five minute walk," he informed her. "I left the boy who came by last night with instructions to bring us any messages from London. Since we've heard nothing, I assume Thomas will be on his way as soon as he can. It shouldn't be much more than a couple of hours."

She nodded and nervously fidgeted with the ring wrapped around her finger and cast him an apprehensive, pleading look. She watched a gentle smile form on his lips, and she knew arguing with him would be useless. She sighed and settled back against the settee.

"Sir, may I ask you something?"

"Anything, pet," he nodded.

"That--that noise, at the house back in London," she faltered as a fleeting scowl passed over his face. "It's-it's just that, well, I know I haven't been imagining things. I really do hear someone crying upstairs."

"It's nothing, Willow. Just the normal sounds from an old house," he assured her, but it was obvious from her expression that she was far from convinced. "Or perhaps it's a ghost. These old houses are well-known for their unnatural apparitions."

"You don't really believe that, though," she commented.

He grinned, "Don't I? I don't know. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio...."

"Please don't mock me, sir," she asked.

"Who says I am?" he raised an eyebrow. "Are you so sure such things don't exist?"

"I've never given it much thought," she shrugged. "Ghosts and witches and vampires. I suppose I've always considered such stories to be legend--flights of fancy or literary imagination."

"Ah, but many legends are based in fact," he argued. "Don't you agree? We could have a ghostly guest in our midst even as we speak."

She smiled softly, "He must be having a good laugh at our expense."

His eyes sobered as her countenance fell, "What is it, pet?"

Her eyes teared, but she blinked them away, "It isn't really humorous at all, is it, sir? My reputation is ruined. Every parlor and kitchen will be buzzing with talk, no matter how innocent our situation really is."

"Let them talk. Most of them are in no position to judge."

She shook her head, "Their wealth affords them exactly that position. And servants are really only an extension of their employers. They borrow their conscience from the people they serve. I know what kind of talk goes on below stairs. I'll be an outcast, shunned by everyone. And you, sir--"

"*My* wealth affords me absolution. In this regard, anyway. I never intended to compromise your honor," he lied smoothly.

"I know that, sir. I don't blame you. Really, I don't. You're as much a victim of circumstance as I," she told him.

"Try not to worry about it, pet. Your position in my household is secure. I promise you that. And worse things have been forgotten over the course of time."

She lapsed into morose silence for several minutes until her mind returned to their original conversation, "Sir? About those noises--"

"Willow," he grumbled impatiently.

"But couldn't we at least investigate? I mean, if someone is in trouble--"

"In my own home? Do you honestly think I'd be unaware of such a presence?"

Knowing she was undoubtedly pushing the subject too far, she bit her lip and forged ahead, anyway, "Then why are you so opposed to just taking a look to--"

"Because it's unnecessary," he snapped. "No one ever goes to the upper story. It's undoubtedly crawling with mice and bats. Not the healthiest of places to go lurking about for the sake of a whim."

She shuddered at the thought of such vermin scrabbling around in the rooms above her own quarters, and he rose and faced the fireplace, hiding a smug, satisfied grin. Wisely, the redhead let the topic slide from conversation but not from her mind.

William's superior hearing caught the clatter of hooves as they traveled along the lane leading up the to estate several minutes before Willow's own ears registered the familiar sound. She fought the urge to make a mad dash for the front door, instead waiting for her employer to rise and leave the room before following behind him. Their bags were still sitting on the floor near the entryway where they had left them the previous evening, and William opened the door and handed them out to Thomas, who was waiting on the doorstep.

"What about the things down in the kitchen, sir?" Willow asked.

"I'll wire and have someone sent in to fetch them," he answered.

"Unless you'd rather take the time to pack them up and--"

"No, sir," she quickly responded. "London sounds like paradise to me. Oh! I mean...not that I don't like--"

"It's all right," he grinned. "I agree with the sentiment completely. Shall we?"

He gestured to her, and she followed the driver to the carriage. The air was cooler tonight, heavy with the threat of rain, and William assisted the redhead up into the enclosed carriage as Thomas secured their bags and took his seat at the front. Willow's eyes remained on the grand old estate until it was cloaked by the darkness as the carriage jostled along the route back to London, and she found herself apprehensively rethinking her notions of paradise.

Large splotches of rain had begun to splatter on the ground as the carriage pulled up in front of the London mansion. The air had grown increasingly chill, and Willow shivered as William opened the door and helped her down onto the walkway. She began to step away from him to head around to the servants' entrance, but he quickly moved his arm around her, placing his hand on her shoulder and gently drawing her toward the front steps. She looked worriedly up at him as a young footman from one of the houses just down the street scurried by and gawked rudely at the arm curled around the redhead. William took advantage of Willow's stunned embarrassment to propel her up the stairs and in through the front door.

A small, anguished moan escaped her lips, and he quickly silenced her, "You're cold, pet. And tired. I suggest a hot bath and then into bed. Thomas will bring in your case. You can unpack tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," she answered softly, turning to walk to the downstairs door.

She scurried down to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil before taking the stairs up to her bedroom. She undressed and pulled on her robe as a soft knock sounded on her door. Opening it just a crack, she peered out at the cook.

"The master says you're to use the bath upstairs."

"I--I beg your pardon?" Willow stammered.

"In the guestroom next to the master's room. Richard has drawn a bath. Hurry along before it gets cold."

With a puzzled expression, the young woman nodded, pulled her sash more tightly around her, and scurried up the back stairs to the third story rooms. She wondered briefly at the cook's gentle tone of voice. In all the weeks she'd been here, Mrs. Tanter had done little more than grumble and complain, although Willow hardly knew why. De La Croix never ate in, and the cook seemed to have little enough to do. Sinking into the tub of hot water, Willow sighed in contentment and let those thoughts drift away. A flash of red light caught her eye, and she looked down at the beautiful ring on her finger, admiring the fire from the sparkling diamonds. She was sorely tempted to hide it away, but it was impossible that her employer wouldn't notice its absence.

She'd never met anyone quite like William De La Croix. No matter how she looked at him, she couldn't get a clear grasp of the man. She had dined with him, walked with him, spent an entire twenty-four hours alone with him, and still he remained a complete mystery to her. Why anyone should achieve the social heights to which he had risen only to cast them scornfully aside was beyond her ability to comprehend. And she still hadn't quite figured out how she had managed to land in the middle of his one-man social revolution. She rested her head against the edge of the tub and sank down deeper into the deliciously warm water.

"Tomorrow," she mumbled with a heavy yawn. "I'll worry about it tomorrow."

Willow awoke late and scrambled out of bed, flashing a quick look at the ceiling above her. If anyone had stirred from the upstairs story, she had been so exhausted, it had not disturbed her sleep. She dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs as the bell over the servants' entrance jingled softly.

"Good morning, Mary, Violet," she greeted as they followed her into the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Good morning," Violet muttered sullenly.

The redhead's eyes followed her as the girl stepped around her and made her way to the morning room.

"Mr. De La Croix won't require a fire this morning," she informed them as she followed after them.

"I shouldn't wonder," Mary replied, her nose upturned. "I imagine he didn't get much sleep last night."

Willow's mouth dropped open as Violet shook her head and turned away to begin dusting the various tables spread about the room. Mary's cold eyes remained on the redhead.

"If there's nothing else, Miss, we'd like to get on."

Tears prickled behind Willow's eyes, and she walked quickly away, refusing to let the younger woman witness her pain. She left the room and heard their whispered voices speaking in sharp tones. Closing the door with a sudden thump, she scurried in blind haste up the stairs to the parlor to begin her duties there.

Willow returned several hours later to the main floor to inspect the young women's work. As usual, they had left everything immaculately clean, and they followed silently behind her as she lead them downstairs to the servants' entrance. Angered by the judgmental scowls on their faces, the redhead pinned Mary with a harsh stare.

"This is ridiculous," she spoke tersely. "As far as I know, I've done nothing to offend you."

The young woman glowered back at her, "Your behavior is an offense to anyone with even the slightest sense of decency. Half of London knows about your weekend away with Mr. De La Croix."

"As if it's any of their business," the redhead snapped. "And how would they--how would *you*--have any idea of what happened?"

"I'll admit I haven't the experience that you obviously have," the brunette shot back. "But I do know enough to keep to my station. Your actions are disgraceful. If Mr. De La Croix did not pay us so handsomely, we should look for employment elsewhere."

"What a mercy for Mr. De La Croix that your scruples have a price," Willow commented sarcastically.

Violet gasped angrily, "Better our scruples than our virtue. It was appalling enough that you dined with him, but talk of that would have died away over time. But to go off with him, alone, to spend the night in his bed--"

"And if that ring on your finger is any indication, you must have--performed--admirably. You could hardly afford such a piece on your wages," Mary added contemptuously.

Willow blushed scarlet, and the woman sniffed condescendingly, took Violet by the arm, and virtually pushed her out the door, slamming it shut on Willow's stunned expression. At last, the redhead allowed the tears to fall from her eyes, and she brushed them away and wandered into the kitchen. Her hands trembled visibly as she put the kettle on to boil and prepared the teapot and sat down at the table. Hot tears splashed its scarred surface as she buried her face in her hands and wept silently.

Willow carried the cup of tea to her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed, sipping the hot, calming beverage. She knew the assumptions of Mary and Violet were accurate reflections of what everyone else would also be thinking. Trying to explain would undoubtedly only make the situation worse. No one would believe her, and any attempts to vindicate herself would only have the opposite affect. Somehow, she was going to have to learn to live with their scorn. Draining the teacup, she stood and paced restlessly around the small room. With a quiet sigh of resignation, she pushed the painful thoughts from her mind. She stepped out into the hallway and simply stood for a moment. The house was completely quiet. De La Croix was, apparently, still sleeping, and she assumed that the others must have gone out. Her gaze drifted along the hallway to the flight of stairs at the far end, and her footsteps followed her line of vision and began to ascend them.

Pausing midway, she strained her ears for any sounds from below, and hearing nothing, she continued on up to the landing. There were no windows in this uppermost story, and the narrow corridor was dark, but enough light filtered up from below to allow her to squint into the shadows and feel her away along the walls.

Three doors were positioned at equal distances along the left side of the hall. The first swung open on a dusty room filled with boxes and an assortment of household items which had been retired from use at some time in the past. She closed the door and continued on down the hallway. The second door creaked loudly as she pushed it open to reveal a room filled only with dust and cobwebs. Slight skittering noises from unseen mice scrabbled from behind the walls, and she quickly pulled the door shut and moved on to the last. She reached for the doorknob, but it refused to turn no matter how firmly she twisted. Willow leaned in close to the door and listened intently. She gasped as she thought she heard a quiet shuffling from the other side of the locked barrier.

"Is anyone there?" she called out softly.

The noise, if it hadn't been more than her imagination, suddenly ceased, and she tried once more, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

She waited several moments, but whatever she had thought she had heard had now fallen silent. Her fingers drifted to the keyhole below the doorknob, only to discover that the key was missing. Sinking to her knees, she pressed her face close to the tiny opening and tried to peer with one eye into the room beyond. It was useless. With no windows and no lights, she could see nothing. She straightened and brushed the dust from her dress and waited a few more seconds in the hope that she might hear something. Finally, she turned and crept back down the narrow passageway. She was more certain than ever that someone was in that room.

Was it possible, she wondered, that De La Croix was ignorant of the stranger she knew must be lurking behind that door? She thought it unlikely, but there was still the possibility. He would have no cause to venture to this floor. Even if there were something he wanted, perhaps from that first room, one of the servants would be sent to fetch it. She had never seen any of them coming to or from this story, but that didn't mean they hadn't. She rarely saw any of them during the day. They could easily make their way here while she was tending to her duties in the other part of the house. De La Croix adamantly refused to even discuss it. There was only one thing for it. If she wanted to discover what secret lay concealed behind that door, she was going to have to find the key.

Richard met William at the front door as the elder vampire returned earlier than usual from hunting. De La Croix noticed the slight scowl of concern on the butler's face as he shrugged off his coat and handed it to him.

"What's happened?"

"Willow, sir," he answered. "She's been upstairs, again. Her scent is heavy in the corridor and on that door in particular."

"Bloody hell," the vampire frowned. "I'd hoped we'd resolved that matter in Oxted. I should have known better."

"The door is securely locked, sir. She couldn't have gotten inside the room," Richard continued. "Would it really matter much, now, even if she were to discover the truth?"

"Probably not, but I'd prefer to avoid it. Even if she were to find someone who'd listen, no one would take her seriously. Nevertheless, I really don't fancy that kind of talk being spread around London. And, in spite of everything, there's still the remote chance she might find a receptive ear to take up her cause and speak out on her behalf. I came back to try to keep her occupied this evening, but now I think another public appearance might be in order. If I haven't already made her a pariah, I soon shall."

"She's below stairs, sir. Shall I send her up to you?"

"Not yet. Fetch Thomas and tell him to take you to Regent Street. You should be able to track down Lydia there without much trouble. I've asked her to set aside some of the finer gowns she hasn't managed to spill blood upon and alter them to Willow's measurements."

"I'd wondered about the origin of that gown she wore the other night," Richard grinned.

William nodded, "She'll need shoes, as well. Something more comfortable than what she was given the last time. Bring Lydia, and the clothes, back here. And be quick about it."

"Thirty minutes, at most, sir," the taller vampire promised and quickly let himself out the front door.

Richard returned twenty minutes later, struggling under an armload of long, heavy gowns. A tall slender woman with long dark hair and large smoky eyes followed behind him, carrying a sizable leather case. She grinned widely as William appeared from the sitting room.

"You wish me to dress your young harlot, master?" she asked mischievously.

He arched an amused eyebrow, and she laughed, a soft, melodious sound. "Well, that's the description those of society have draped over her," she informed him.

"The first guestroom on the third floor," he nodded toward the stairway. "Be careful to keep away from the dressing table mirror."

She smiled at the dry humor behind the suggestion as Richard disappeared to the kitchen.

"Quite a lot of bother just to keep a housemaid, don't you think?"

"You haven't met Willow," he responded. "Make her beautiful, Lydia." She turned as the below stairs door swung open, and the little redhead followed Richard into the entryway.

"Ah, sir, she already is," the female vampire spoke with soft admiration.

"Willow, this Lydia, a friend of mine. I'd like you to accompany her to the third floor."

"Sir?" Willow asked, puzzled.

"Come along, dear," Lydia placed her hand on the young woman's elbow and ushered her toward the stairway as she called back over her shoulder. "We'll be down in an hour. Richard, love?"

The vampire grimaced and hitched up the gowns in his arms, and William chuckled softly as the butler followed the ladies upstairs.

Exactly one hour later, Lydia entered the sitting room with a decidedly uncomfortable Willow trailing behind her. De La Croix rose from his armchair, stunned into silence, the glass of bloodwine in his hand completely forgotten, as he stared at the vision of the little redhead.

Lydia stepped over to him, smiling at his reaction, "We would have been down much sooner if she hadn't fidgeted and fussed the entire time."

William's eyes were still fixed upon the woman who stood self-consciously in the doorway. Lydia had settled on a gown of burgundy so rich in color it was almost black. The décolletage swept low, displaying a tempting bit of cleavage, and the bodice accentuated her round, firm breasts and fit snugly around her corseted waist before draping in a straight line to the expensive black boots on her feet. Her loose hair gleamed in the firelight, the luxurious tresses falling well below her shoulders. The female vampire had taken the silver pendant and affixed it to a wide, black velvet ribbon that encircled the redhead's pale slender throat. This and the sparkling ruby ring on her delicate finger were the only articles of jewelry to grace the beautiful woman's body. Even Richard, who was normally stoic to the point of exasperation, was having a difficult time keeping his eyes off of Willow.

The redhead, in turn, was eyeing the long, perfectly-tailored black dinner jacket that William had donned. The vampire caught the look of abject desperation that clouded her eyes. He set down the glass of bloodwine and crossed quickly over to her, grasping her tiny wrist before she could bolt from the room.

"Is the carriage ready?" he asked Richard.

"Waiting out front, sir," the butler replied.

"Why, sir? Why?" Willow whispered, the tears in her eyes filtering through on her words.

"Because you deserve it," he answered. "I understand that, between Mary and Violet, you had a very unpleasant morning."

Willow closed her eyes, silently wishing to heaven she hadn't shared that horrendous conversation with Mrs. Tanter, and reopened them to stare pleadingly up at him, "Please, sir. Don't make me do this."

His hand slipped down to curl around hers, and he lied, "This isn't a punishment, Willow. You had a wretched morning and an abysmal afternoon cooped up in this house."

"But this will only make matters worse," she told him.

"How could things possibly be any worse?" he asked with a small smile.

"No, this will serve to show those self-righteous hypocrites just how little their opinions mean. Now, come along. We'll be late."

Lydia tucked her arm through Richard's as she watched William pull the unhappy redhead out of the room, and she looked up at the butler with a delighted twinkle in her eyes, "Well, if that lovely creature isn't his young harlot, she certainly ought to be. How long before he makes it so?"

The tall vampire allowed a quick grin to curl his lips, "A fortnight."

She arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow, "Far less than that, I think. Care to place a small wager? The well-bred neck of your choice?"

At this, the butler smiled outright and nodded his agreement, "Done."

Willow's gaze had remained fixed on the carriage window as she stared out at the dark streets, refusing to meet her employer's eyes. William wasn't in the least put off by her sulking behavior. He happily passed the time studying the gorgeous woman seated across from him. He had recognized her natural beauty from the first moment he had seen her all those weeks ago. She was certainly well-suited for the fine clothes that now adorned her graceful body. He would have been tempted to seduce her even if her propensity to wander the large North London mansion had not made such action a necessity. And William De La Croix had never been one to shrink from temptation.

He grinned to himself as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Theatre Royal, and the redhead's emerald eyes widened in astonishment. Dozens of aristocratic couples were alighting from carriages, approaching from the gaslit walkway, entering the building to mingle briefly with friends and acquaintances before moving on to their seats.

At long last, she turned to look at him as he opened the door and stepped down onto the pavement.

"I know nothing about opera," she grumbled softly as he helped her out.

The confession didn't surprise him in the least, nor did it concern him. In truth, he knew nothing about it, either. He had never had a taste for this slice of culture, but the blue-blooded crowd that frequented such performances would undoubtedly run the gamut of the hierarchy of gentility, which was, after all, the real reason for this outing.

Taking a firm grasp on her arm, he guided her inside and managed to ascertain, without too much trouble, the location of the private box he had secured from a patron who did not wish his more unsavory indiscretions brought to public view. Much to the man's considerable discomfort, De La Croix had somehow managed to acquire damning knowledge of each and every one of them. And so he had, under the guise of graciousness, offered his own seat to the vampire this evening.

Unconsciously, Willow had stepped closer to William's side, seeking some sort of security as they weaved their way around the elegant ladies and gentlemen who traded scandalized glances for polite nods of recognition when the vampire's blue eyes unwaveringly met their own. He guided her toward the upper-level door that opened up onto their box, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief as he ushered her to her seat and took the one beside her. De La Croix was secretly pleased as he realized the soft lighting would provide the patrons in the boxes along the wall opposite them, as well as those seated below, a clear view of them.

Willow fidgeted uncomfortably beside him, and he dropped a hand over the one in her lap and leaned close to her ear, knowing full well the spectacle he was creating for the hundreds of prying eyes around them.

"Relax, pet. The worst is over," he whispered the lie.

"How can you say that, sir?" she murmured in response, trying to pull her hand away from his without drawing even more attention to themselves. "Your hand is cold."

He leaned even closer, "Warm it up then, luv."

Her eyes widened as she turned her head to scowl at him, and a furious blush spread over her pale cheeks as she found her lips no more than a breath's span from his. Her head snapped back, her eyes dropping to their entwined hands, but still he refused to relinquish his hold.

"Please, sir," she whispered. "Can't we just leave, now?"

He shook his head, "That would be very rude when the opera is about to begin."

She moaned sadly and once again tried to pry her hand free. This time, he relented, releasing her hand, only to drape it across the back of her chair a scant moment later.

To Willow's amazement, she actually found herself enjoying the opera, and it wasn't until halfway through the production that she realized that she was practically cradled against William's firm shoulder, and his fingers were idly stroking the silky, thick tresses of her auburn hair. She turned her head and was taken aback by the soft look in his eyes as they met hers.

Her experience with men was virtually nonexistent, and before she realized what his slight motion signaled, she felt the cool pressure of his lips against hers as he brushed the softest of kisses upon them. Thoroughly flustered, she turned quickly away and glued her unseeing eyes on the stage below them. He smiled at her reaction and dropped his hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently, and then leaving it to rest there.

Despite the glorious voices wafting up from the stage below, Willow was unable to loose herself to them as her mind labored to take in what had happened. The audience applauded enthusiastically at the opera's conclusion before standing almost simultaneously to leave. The redhead hesitated, unsure of whether her legs would support her, and then silently cursed her inaction as William's strong arm curled around her waist and drew her up to stand beside him. Stubbornly refusing to let her move away, he guided her back down and out into the pleasant night air.

She could just make out Thomas' form several feet down the street as he leaned against the carriage, smoking a cigarette while he waited for their return. She felt the sudden urge to run for the relative privacy of the carriage as several voices whispered from behind them. William's hand tightened about her waist and he leaned down a bit, his lips moving against her ear in a calculated parody of intimacy as he spoke, "Ignore them, pet."

Willow, who felt powerless to argue without creating an even greater spectacle, simply stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his outrageous advice. Several couples ahead of them parted, creating a wide birth, as he escorted her to their awaiting carriage. He glanced over at Thomas and mouthed the word, "wait" before climbing in after her. William closed the door as she raised her hands to cover her face. Sliding forward on the seat opposite her, he gripped her hands and pulled them away.

"Don't," he commanded softly.

"Oh, sir," she lamented. "I've never experienced anything so humiliating. I don't know how--"

"Enough, Willow," his voice remained low as he cupped her cheeks in his hands. "What they think doesn't matter."

She raised her eyes to glare at him in open disbelief only to find him leaning into her, moving one hand around to cradle the back of her head, and drawing her into a hard, long kiss. She gasped, and his fingers tightened in her hair, and she felt an unfamiliar tingle spark through her body as his tongue snaked between her parted lips. Several passers-by who stopped to gawk in shocked silence went unnoticed by either the redhead or the vampire. Willow's only thoughts were of how to make this all-too-public display cease. William's only thoughts were of the warm delights of her sweet lips as his tongue ravaged her mouth hungrily.

When he pulled away, her face was flushed, her breath coming in shallow pants, her entire body trembling. He shifted around to sit close to her, the enclosed carriage preventing her from creating any distance between them, and he tucked an arm around her and pulled her close to his side before raising the other hand to rap once on the roof of the carriage. On cue, Thomas snapped the horse into motion, and Willow, unnerved beyond all rational thought, impulsively turned toward the man beside her and hid her face in his firm chest.

William stalked the dark streets, his cold eyes seeking out the perfect choice for dinner as his thoughts wandered to the redhead back at the mansion. Upon returning to the house last night, she had abruptly broken away from him and had fled to the door leading down to the kitchen. He hadn't known it was possible for a mortal to make herself as invisible as she had throughout the following day, but he hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of her. She must have taken great care to work her duties around whichever room he happened to be occupying.

Deciding it might be wise to give her some time to calm her disquieted mind, he had chosen not to ring for her. Aside from that purpose, it would do no harm to allow the neighboring residents' lascivious imaginations to run rampant as they devised lewd reasons for why both he and his lovely young housemaid had secreted themselves away for the day.

Rounding the corner, he neared a pub, the over-loud chatter of several inebriated occupants drifting out to the desolate street. Without warning, the door swung open, and the vampire nearly collided with the tall, lanky man who stumbled out of the smoky pub with a much shorter, slightly overweight woman following immediately behind him. William arched an interested eyebrow as he glanced from the woman, whose flimsy red dress exposed far too much flesh for common decency, to the man in front of her.

"Good evening, Lord Worsley."

"Mr. De La Croix," the man nodded, trying to ignore the woman who had sidled closer to him and drunkenly swatting at her at the same time. The vampire recognized a whore when he saw one, and the woman who was salaciously studying him through unfocused eyes was definitely just that. Stepping around them, he continued down the street as Worsley roughly shoved the woman away from him. She scowled angrily, and hurled several obscenities over her shoulder at him as she turned on wobbly legs and staggered back into the pub. Worsley trotted quickly along the pavement to catch up with the retreating vampire.

"My apologies for that unseemly display," he grinned as he fell into step beside De La Croix. "But after all, a man--particularly a man who's been married for nearly a quarter of a century--needs his little...distractions."

William shot him a sideways glance but chose to remain silent. Worsley forged on ahead, "Of course, you'd understand about these matters. Nice little piece you've latched onto, I must say. And a housemaid! You lucky devil. Would that my wife should take on someone so delicious, instead of the portly young cows she invariably hires. Lord, how I envy you. I don't suppose the other servants care if she protests. Hardly their concern, after all, is it?"

De La Croix felt the hair along the back of his neck bristling, and he quickened his pace, as the man literally broke out in a sweat while mentally picturing all he could do with the little redhead. Oblivious to the vampire's growing anger, the drunken Lord Worsley continued to babble on enthusiastically, "Any red-blooded man's fantasy, that sweet young thing right under your roof. Ripe for the--plucking--whenever you've a mind to. Saw her on your arm last night at the opera. Lord, what a vision! There's an angel whose wings I wouldn't mind spreading--"

William snarled angrily and grabbed the man by the throat, shoving him forcefully into the dark mews that ran between the shops along the deserted street. Worsley's eyes widened in terror as the vampire's human facade fell away, and his cold hand strangled the cry that erupted from the human's lungs.

"Whether or not Willow spends her nights in my bed is no business of yours whatsoever. But no one--*no one*--speaks of her that way. Not in my hearing. You'd have been far wiser to have trotted along after your whore, Lord Worsley," the vampire spat out the name contemptuously.

Grabbing a handful of the quaking man's hair, William jerked his head to the side and savagely bit into his neck. He drained him quickly, not bothering to savor his blood, and let the aristocratic corpse fall to the pavement.

Richard looked curiously over at William as a soft, amused chuckle came from behind the newspaper obscuring his face.

The elder vampire gestured at the article he'd been reading and quoted its opening line, "'Lord Gordon Worsley expired peacefully in his sleep last night in his North London home.'"

The butler frowned in bewilderment. While the man's death hardly moved him, he failed to see the humor that was so obvious to his master. William grinned broadly and explained, "I ran across him--literally--stumbling out of a pub with a toothless whore on his arm last night. I don't suppose Lady Worsley cared to have that little bit of information published in the Times for all of London to read."

"It's quite possible he had arrived home before he died, sir," Richard pointed out.

De La Croix shook his head, "I shouldn't think so. I had him for dinner."

"Ah, well, there's the difference, then," the butler remarked with wry amusement.

Tossing the paper onto the table beside him, William rose to his feet, "Where the bloody hell is Willow keeping herself? One day of pointed evasion was tolerable, but I've about reached my limit. She hasn't been lurking about in that blasted upper floor corridor again, has she?"

"No, sir. I think it's pretty safe to say her mind has been otherwise occupied," Richard answered.

"Good. I'm going out for a quick bite. I shouldn't be more than a half hour. Keep an eye on her until I return."

"Of course, sir."

William returned to the mansion exactly thirty minutes later, and Richard, sensing his master's arrival, immediately emerged from the below stairs door.

"Where is she?" De La Croix inquired.

"The last I saw of her, sir, she was creeping up the back stairs, on her way to the dining room. She'd just finished polishing the silver candlesticks below stairs and was taking them back up."

William nodded and started for the stairway, turning back as he stepped onto the first riser, "Tell the others to make themselves scarce tonight. I want no interruptions. Understood?"

"Perfectly, sir."

Willow was just closing the dining room door as De La Croix appeared on the landing. He heard her heartbeat quicken as he drew nearer, and she pressed her back against the wall as he stopped directly in front of the redhead.

"I-I was just--on my way back below st--"

"Willow," he scolded her softly. "Don't you think we're both a bit old for this game?"

"Game, sir?" She shook her head, her wide, frightened eyes looking everywhere but into his own. "I d-don't know what--"

"Shhh," he hushed her and stepped into her. "Don't run from me, pet."

"Please, sir," she begged as his hand brushed over her cheek. "We--I--"

His arm quickly moved around her, catching her firmly as he lowered his mouth and captured her lips. She whimpered softly, turning her head to avoid the kiss, and he backed her fully against the wall behind her, pressing his body into hers as his free hand traveled around her head, his fingers curling through her hair, forcing her mouth back to his. His tongue traveled along her sensuous lips, and when she stubbornly refused to allow him entrance, he nipped gently at her lower lip, and his tongue delved inside as she gasped against his mouth.

Willow raised her hands to his shoulders to try to push him away, but she was no match for his superior strength, and he merely folded his arm more tightly around her and leaned harder into her, crushing her breasts against his firm chest. He explored her mouth with gluttonous slowness, before finally breaking it to allow her to breath. Her green eyes glistened enticingly with large tears as her slight body trembled against him.

"Please, sir. Don't do this," she pleaded hoarsely. "I--I don't want--"

"I won't hurt you, luv," he spoke softly, pulling her head to him and brushing his lips close to her ear. "You're so beautiful, Willow. Surely, you can feel the attraction between us. Don't be afraid of me."

"I *am* afraid, sir," she responded, desperately trying to make him understand. "I'm afraid of this. It's so horribly wrong--"

"Is it?" he questioned, his lips traveling softly along her jaw. "It doesn't feel wrong to me."

He felt the young woman relax slightly against him, and so he was surprised when he heard her speak, her voice soft and angry, "You know I can't stop you. Even if you did not have the advantage of strength, I've nowhere to go. No one who would take me in, shield me from you. If you're determined to force your attentions on me, do it, and have it done with."

He pulled away, a strange mixture of anger and admiration in his eyes. This fragile ball of fire in his arms intrigued him as humans so rarely did. Oh, yes, he wanted her. He had no trouble admitting that to himself, neither did he have any aversion to taking her by force. And while no one would come to her aid should he rape her, her obvious distress would no doubt arouse sympathy. Taking her to his bed would be so much more advantageous were she to lie there willingly. Even if she were to be overwhelmed by guilt, she would not have the small luxury of salving her conscience with the knowledge that she had not whole-heartedly participated.

The news that she shared his bed would most definitely extend beyond the walls of this mansion, a well-placed whisper from Mrs. Tanter would see to that. And the knowledge that the pretty housemaid was a willing partner in their coupling would irreversibly damn her in the eyes of acquaintances and strangers alike. It had been a long time since the vampire had indulged in the pleasures of seduction. This could prove to be most enjoyable.

William raised his hand and caressed her cheek with his fingertips, "Willow, luv, I've no desire to force you. My desire is for you to want me as I want you. I know you're frightened. I understand that. But don't deny what could be between us simply because you fear those who have nothing to do with us. I'm sorry I scared you. After the other night, at the opera, that kiss. I haven't thought of much else these past two days. You're so very beautiful. And now you seem determined to hide yourself away from me."

She raised her eyes to his, rattled by his soft declarations, and he leaned forward and captured her mouth once more, tenderly drawing her lip between his own, suckling it, nudging it gently as his cool tongue dipped inside to taste the depths of her mouth. This time, when he drew away, her eyes were filled with confused uncertainty. Smothering a chuckle, he smiled softly down at her and then took a step away from her.

"At the very least, don't evade me, pet," he asked quietly, reaching for one of her slender hands and lifting it to his lips. "It's too cruel of you, forbidding me even the pleasure of looking at you."

He squeezed her hand gently before releasing it and turning to walk back toward the stairs. Her gaze followed him until he was no longer visible and, with a shaky breath, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes as her mind raced to try to make sense of what had just happened.

Willow lay in bed staring up at the ceiling above her. Physically, she was exhausted, but her mind refused to rest. In all her young life, she had never met a man like William De La Croix. He was a complete enigma to her, one moment so demanding he frightened her witless, the next so considerate it took her breath away. She blushed in the darkness as she recalled the touch of his lips against hers. Scowling, she flopped onto her side. She had no business even thinking of him in that manner.

Never mind that it he had been his intention to arouse these feelings in her. A soft moan from above her brought her out of her musings, and she growled softly and dragged the pillow out from under her head and curled it over her ear. She had studiously avoided De La Croix over the last two days and had used that time of self-imposed isolation to try to find the key to that locked door upstairs. She had made a thorough search of the rooms on the ground floor, the dining room, the parlor, each of the guestrooms. She had even gone so far as to clatter around in the kitchen cupboards. All to no avail.

The only other possibility she could think of was that one of the servants had possession of the key. If that were the case, it would most likely be Richard, and she had no idea how she would ever manage to get into his room to search for it. While the butler was usually absent for prolonged periods during the night, he came and went without warning, and she couldn't run the risk of him walking in on her while she was rifling through his bedroom. If only William would send the depressingly humorless butler off to Oxted to be locked away with Mrs. Tanter for a weekend. The redhead laughed softly to herself as she imagined the unlikely couple stranded in that cold, dusty house, all alone.

"That's it," she mumbled to herself between giggles. "I've finally snapped. A definite candidate for Bedlam."

Nevertheless, the amusing possibilities of those two, secluded away with no one to rescue them from one another, continued to play through her overly-tired mind and temporarily chased away the gloom that had been dogging her for the past several days. Finally, she drifted to sleep, the pillow still pressed to her head, her lips curled in a gentle smile.

Willow grimaced as she looked into the mottled silver of the small mirror that hung above the bureau in her room. Clipping the last of the hairpins into place, she brought her fingers to her cheeks and tried to smooth away the dark circles under her eyes. With a tired grumble, she went to the kitchen to heat the kettle before Mary and Violet arrived. The thought of the two girls saddened her greatly. Before, she had looked forward to their easy conversation, but these days, they only spoke to her when they required instructions, and their voices were always clipped with judgmental disdain.

The bell jingled, and she went to let them in. Both stepped widely around her as though she were diseased and waited in silence for her to lead them upstairs. Mary studied the redhead's tired visage in the brighter lights of the morning room. She turned to Violet and quirked an eyebrow, and her brunette companion pursed her lips and nodded reproachfully.

Willow sighed from her place at the doorway, "Mr. De La Croix would like you to leave the writing table alone. He has several business and correspondence items laid out, and he doesn't want them disturbed. I'll be changing the linens in the bedrooms on the third floor if you should need anything."

"I wouldn't dream of disturbing your bedroom 'duties,'" Mary mumbled sarcastically as the redhead turned to leave.

She whirled back around, "What?"

The blonde glared at her, and Willow took a step inside the room, scowling angrily, "What is that supposed to mean? If you have something to say, let's hear it."

"I have nothing to say which you'd like to hear," Mary snarled. "It's none of my business, anyway. Is it, Miss?"

"That's what you say, but it's clearly not what you think," Willow contended. "And you have a disgustingly filthy mind, especially for someone so young."

"I?" Mary shouted. "*I* have a filthy mind? Everyone knows what's going on in this house! Look at you! You obviously didn't get any sleep last night. Any fool could figure out what kept you awake."

"'Fool' suits you well," Willow spat back. "You have absolutely no idea what you're talking--"

"Half of London saw you out whoring with your employer only a few nights ago," Violet came to her friend's defense. "He clothes you in your fancy gowns and jewelry. Do you really think everyone doesn't know what he's getting in return? If it hadn't been your responsibility to let us in this morning, you'd still be in the bed you're so eager to run back to! Well, get on with you then, before he scolds you for letting his sheets get cold!"

"Mary, Violet," Richard barked angrily from directly behind Willow's shoulder, startling the redhead so that she jumped slightly and spun around in his direction. "We'll have no more of your coarse insinuation in this house. If your feeble minds have nothing better to do than to dwell on such vile thoughts, I strongly suggest that you curb the desire to put tongue to them. And, in future, you will speak to Miss Rosenberg with the respect that is due her unless you wish to find yourselves seeking employment elsewhere. Is that perfectly clear?"

The two girls' faces blanched as he growled at them, and they lowered their eyes to the floor and nodded meekly. The vampire stepped aside and softened his voice as he addressed the redhead.

"Go along upstairs, Willow. I'll see that these two complete their duties satisfactorily." She looked up at him gratefully and moved around him to hurry up the stairs to the third floor. Opening the door on the first guestroom, she crossed the room and placed a shaking hand on the tall chest of drawers to steady herself. She had known for several days what Mary and Violet thought of her, so she hadn't been wholly surprised by the two young girls' ignorant accusations. But to hear them voiced so venomously had been truly upsetting.

What had astounded her even more than their foul aspersions had been Richard's immediate response to defend her, to protect her from being subjected to any more of their verbal abuse. His demeanor where she was concerned had always been coldly neutral. While he had never been openly rude to her, neither had he ever treated her with anything even bordering on cordiality. He had certainly never given her any indication that he cared one way or another--or gave any consideration at all, for that matter--for her feelings.

Her thoughts were tumbling over one another in a confused jumble that shook the little redhead to the core. The tears she had been fighting began to slip from her eyes as the cruel words slung so viciously at her echoed in her mind. Mary and Violet may have been the only ones at this point who had spoken of their revulsion, but Willow knew very well they weren't the only ones thinking such things. They were so sure of her guilt, and she had no indisputable proof with which to refute their accusations. It all seemed so hopeless. She sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands as painful sobs wracked her body.

"Willow," the soft voice caused the weeping young woman to cringe and retreat further into the corner between the chest of drawers and the wall.

William crossed the room in quick strides and knelt next to her, and she pulled away from his outstretched arm, tucking her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms securely around them. The vampire took hold of her arms and with gentle firmness pried them away from her legs.

Ignoring her stubborn resistance, he drew her close to him, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her against his chest. He rested his chin on her head and stroked her hair as he rocked her gently. After several minutes, he felt her small hands reach for him, clinging tightly to his shirt as she cried against him.

"Hush, now, luv," he whispered soothingly. "Richard told me what happened. It's all right. Everything will be all right. I'm here."

She clung tighter to him, wishing desperately that he could make it all go away--the stinging words, the damning stares, the hushed recriminations she knew were being spoken by wealthy strangers from behind closed doors. William held her, softly cooing to her, until the hot tears began to diminish and she rested quietly against him. He drew back and raised her face in his hands and brushed at the tear tracks staining her alarmingly pale cheeks. Her eyes, still wet with tears, reflected an abject despondency as she looked up at him.

Silently, he brushed his lips along her dampened cheeks as his mind reveled in the fact that the two young idiots downstairs had done more to further his cause than they would ever know. His plan to slowly sway his little housemaid's proclivity away from society's code of decency and toward his bed had suddenly taken a great leap forward with that shattering confrontation in the morning room. Richard's well-timed appearance and equally well-calculated reaction were worthy of a generous reward, and De La Croix would see to it that he got it. Willow had grown still, her breathing slow and shallow, as the vampire's lips traveled softly from her warm, wet cheeks to her mouth.

Her soft, tear-stung lips trembled slightly and parted willingly as his tongue lapped at them before slowly slipping inside. Her fingers relaxed around the fabric bunched in her hands and gradually slipped up to encircle his neck as he deepened the kiss, drawing her into the comforting sensation of his strong arms and the gentle pressure of his lips against hers.

He pulled away and raised his lips to her forehead and was pleased when she made no attempt to struggle out of his arms as he continued to hold her.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered softly.

He looked at her, surprised, "For what?"

"Everything. For allowing them to upset me so, for breaking down so pathetically, for--this," she answered.

"No, not for this," he shook his head. "You don't know how long I've wanted this. And those two little chits aren't worth your apologies, luv. You've nothing to be sorry about, Willow. You've done nothing wrong."

She smiled sadly, "It seems that's all I *have* done."

"Why do you persist in feeling that way?" he asked calmly. "Why should you regret being seen with me? Being here with me like this? Do you find me so repugnant that you abhor being in my presence?"

"Of course not, sir!" she cried softly. "Only, there are lines that should never be crossed, and I feel as though I've trodden right over every one of them."

He combed his fingers through her hair and arched an eyebrow, "Whose lines, pet? Not yours. Not mine. Those lines are only imaginary, dreamt up by sanctimonious snobs who don't even live within the confines of those very lines. Yet they feel they have the right to force them down the throat of anyone who hasn't the money or social position to oppose them."

"That's a nice philosophy, sir, but it's hardly reality," she told him. "Whether you agree with them or not, everyone lives by those rules, at least outwardly. Even those with the social standing that affords them the ability to ignore those rules never publicly flaunt the fact that they do so. Any one of them would be utterly disgraced to be seen socializing with someone of my position."

"You think I felt it a disgrace to be seen with you on my arm the other night? Or in that restaurant a few weeks ago? I didn't feel disgraced. I felt bloody proud," he paused and lowered his voice as she flinched at his language. "We've done nothing shameful, Willow, despite what Mary or Violet or anyone else would like to believe."

She shook her head in disagreement and wriggled against the confines of his arms. His hands slipped to her elbows, and he helped her rise to her feet.

"Don't you see, sir?" she said. "What they believe is the only thing that matters. If they say I'm an immoral woman, that's what I am. If they believe I've willingly spent my nights in your bed, that's what I've done."

"That may be true," he conceded. "But it doesn't *have* to matter to you. It doesn't to me."

"It doesn't have to matter to you!" she frowned. "You're one of them!"

"Oh, gods, I hope not," he muttered, gaining the first smile he had seen on her face in too many days. "Listen to me, pet. You don't owe people you've never even met your loyalty. They certainly haven't done anything to deserve it. All right, so I do have the resources required to persuade the hypocrites to look the other way. I also have the means to take care of you, luv. Their scorn only burns you because you let it. Why should you bow to those who would keep you locked away in society's cage? What they think of you doesn't matter to me. I *know* what you are. Anyway, their opinions of you are set for a lifetime. There's no changing their feelings, don't you agree?"

"Yes," she murmured sadly.

"Then, sod 'em..."

"Oh, sir!" she gasped, blushing furiously, though the soft giggle that followed proved to the vampire that she didn't completely object to the indelicate pronouncement against her social superiors. He chuckled and took her face in his hands once more, "Then if we can't change it, at least let me make it easier for you. All those lessons you've learned about who you should be and where you belong can be unlearned, Willow. Let me teach you how to not care."

"I'm not sure that's possible," she told him. "Or if I'd want it even if it were."

"Oh, I think you would," he argued gently, tracing the outline of her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly. "There's no moving backward, luv. Let me help you move on. At least think about it?"

She nodded uncertainly, and he smiled and released her to move back to the door, "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, sir. I'm all right, now," she answered. "Thank you."

He nodded and let himself out of the room, pausing in the corridor as he closed the door behind him. A slow, sly smile spread across his lips as he turned and headed for the stairway.

"Willow!" De La Croix leapt to his feet as the housemaid entered the parlor, struggling under the weight of the heavy tray she was carrying.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

She cringed at the crudely worded question as he grabbed the tray and took it out of her arms, carrying it over to the liquor cart across the room and removing the assorted bottles of alcohol and the crystal decanter of bloodwine.

"I told Richard this afternoon that the cart in here needed to be restocked, but for some reason, he left these down in the kitchen. I thought you would want them this evening--"

"I released Richard from his duties for the night," William explained. "I appreciate the gesture, pet, but you could have broken your pretty neck climbing those stairs. Next time, come find me."

"Yes, sir," she answered softly before the first of his statements registered in her brain. "You gave Richard the night off, sir?"

He grinned and turned slightly to look over his shoulder at her, "You needn't be so astonished. You make me sound like an over-bearing task-master."

"Sorry, sir," she smiled back at him. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Forgiven," he nodded, setting the last of the bottles on the cart and stepping closer to her.

Her eyes widened, and her hand darted out and latched onto the empty tray, practically ripping it out of the vampire's hands and clutching it against her as though it were a shield.

"I--I should take this back to the kitchen. I-I have--other th-things I really ought to be doing," she stammered nervously.

She swallowed as his eyes caught hers in a piercing stare, but he moved back and sat down in the armchair, "All right, luv. Go on."

She backed quickly out of the room, closing the door behind her, and William chuckled to himself as he heard her footsteps fading rapidly away.

Willow set the silver tray down on the sideboard just inside the servants' dining area and let her eyes wander to the door on the opposite side of the room. She peered back through the entryway that led out into the kitchen to reassure herself that she was alone before walking over to the closed door of the butler's bedroom. It wasn't often that Richard left the mansion so early. She figured he hadn't wanted to waste any of the evening that De La Croix had given to him, nor would he relinquish it any sooner than than necessary.

Deciding this was the best opportunity she was likely to get to search his room for the key, she placed her thumb on the iron latch and pushed the door open. The room was sparsely furnished and dark, the below-street level windows securely shuttered. She made a quick search of the only bureau, then turned her attention on the narrow door opposite the foot of the bed. It opened to reveal a row of three identical suits of clothing, and she thrust her hand into the pockets of each jacket, only to find them empty.

With a soft sigh of frustration, she closed the door and let her gaze drift over the room. The washbasin and pitcher both held traces of water but nothing more. She even went so far as to lift the lumpy pillow on the bed and run her hand under the mattress, but the key was not to be found. She eyed the room quickly to make sure she'd left everything as she'd found it before moving with swift quietness out of the room.

Plopping down into a chair at the servants' table, she pondered the possible places the key might be hidden. There were countless pieces of valuable bric-a-brac scattered throughout the large mansion, and looking through all of them would be a time-consuming task and probably futile. She couldn't imagine that anyone would have hidden that key where Mary or Violet could have come across it while cleaning. One possibility sprang to her mind that she hadn't previously considered.

If De La Croix were responsible for that locked room, he could very well keep the key on his person. She groaned and propped her chin in her hands. If that were the case, there was little chance she was going to get at it. It was Edward's duty to see to William's wardrobe. The only access she had to her employer's personal belongings was during the few moments she spent tidying his room. Her mind drifted back to the episode in the guestroom. She blushed faintly as she remembered the way he had held her. Considering his gentle treatment of her, the way he had seemed truly concerned about her distress, she was sorely tempted to simply ask him for the key. On the other hand, she also knew the man was quick to anger, and she had no desire to be the object of his wrath when she admitted that not only had she found the locked door--after he had explicitly ordered her to stay away from the upper story--but she had also been searching for the key.

Willow was suddenly startled out of her thoughts as the servants' entrance door banged shut. Richard entered the room, pausing at the sight of the young woman sitting idly at the table.

Willow was just as surprised to see him, "I thought you had the night free."

He nodded and walked past her on his way to his room, "I have."

"Then what--" the question died on her lips as he flashed her a look that clearly indicated he felt his reason for returning was none of her business.

Quickly deciding there was somewhere else she needed to be, she rose from her seat as the butler disappeared through the door. The vampire traded his overcoat for the more familiar black jacket, shrugging it on as he re-entered the now vacant dining room and went directly to the stairs that lead up to the main floor.

William looked up, expecting to see Willow as the parlor door opened, and rose to his feet as the butler entered instead. The minion must have had a good reason for returning to the mansion this early. He wouldn't have squandered an evening away unless something significant had occurred.

"We've a problem, sir," Richard spoke. "Or, as it turns out, two problems."

The vampire waved him toward the settee and sat back down in the armchair.

"I've just come from my room. Willow has been in there. Not more than a few minutes ago."

"Searching for that bloody key," De La Croix surmised angrily. "Damn that woman's persistence. I've half a mind to drag her up to that room, open the door for her, and toss her inside."

"Sir--" Richard cautioned.

He waved away the idle threat, "Never mind. It's an aggravation, but not impossible to handle. But that isn't what brought you back here. What's happened?"

The butler shifted uncomfortably, a rare gesture from the usually unflappable vampire, "Your sire, sir. He's in London."

That brought De La Croix to his feet, "Angel? How do you know? You saw him?"

Richard stood also, nodding slowly, "I heard, first. A couple of vampires in Bayswater claimed to have seen him crossing into Hyde Park. It was him, sir. I saw him."

"He didn't see you?" the vampire asked.

"I'm certain he didn't. I stayed well back," the butler assured him.

"He doesn't know you reside here, now."

"He will, soon enough," William responded with certainty. "Bloody hell. Leave it to my impotent sire to pick the worst timing possible. Get some of the others to keep an eye on him. I want to know where he is at all times."

"Yes, sir," Richard nodded.

"Do *not* loose track of him. And keep me informed," the scowling vampire added. "The last thing I want is for him to run into Willow."

Richard nodded once more and quickly left the room. De La Croix grabbed up a half-empty glass of bloodwine from the table beside the armchair and swallowed its contents in one gulp before flinging it across the room where it collided with the fireplace mantle and shattered into hundreds of glistening shards.

Angel shrank back into the shadows of the buildings behind him as the two vampires he'd been following cast a quick look over their shoulders before crossing the street and continuing on their way. He had been trailing them since their softly spoken conversation had captured his attention several streets away. They were obviously fledglings, aware of the presence of the elder vampire, but too stupid or too intimidated to confront him. He leaned back against the cool wall behind him as the foggy darkness quickly enveloped the retreating demons.

The curse that had resouled him had caused him to flee England thirteen months ago. In anguish, he had mindlessly wandered Europe in the futile attempt to escape the agonizing memories of the lives he had stolen. The vampire whose mere name had once caused even the most vicious of demons to tremble with fear, had become despised and ridiculed, an outcast. Worse than that had been the pathetic wailing of Drusilla when she realized she had lost her beloved Angelus to the gypsy curse and the cold derision with which Spike looked at him. These had been, ultimately, what drove him away.

As the days drifted into weeks and the weeks into months, the dark vampire had slowly come to terms with what he had become. Though the acceptance didn't make his past crimes any less grievous, it did allow him the strength to move on, to try in whatever ways that he could to recompense his heinous deeds. As painful as his childe's loathing had been, it was his desire to see his blue eyed boy once again that had finally drawn him back to England, to search him out, to try to make contact with him. However, Angel had not been prepared for the news which he has just overheard.

His childe had returned to London. How long ago, Angel didn't know, but from what he had gathered, long enough to have set himself up in a very comfortable home in North London and to have gathered a seemingly large following of minions. The thought occurred to the vampire as he peered over at the spot from which the fledglings had vanished; perhaps they had been all too aware of who he was and had chosen to avoid him for entirely different reasons. If that were the case, Spike was already aware that his sire was in London. Silently cursing his carelessness, he moved away from the protective covering of the buildings and went in search of a hansom cab. He needed to get to North London, and quickly.

Richard stormed through the front door, as close to out of breath as he'd ever been this side of undeath. Training his senses on his master, he turned toward the stairs, taking them three at a time, and burst through the parlor door to find William pacing impatiently in front of the fireplace.

"Sir, he's on his way here. Now," the minion informed him.

"Damn it," William scowled. "Where's Willow?"

"I don't know, sir. I only just arrived."

The vampire dragged a hand through is hair, "All right. Find her. She's probably below stairs. Make sure she stays there."

Richard shook his head, "How?"

"How the bloody hell should I know?" William snarled. "Look, just--give her something to do. Tell her you'll help her search for that key. Anything. Just keep her out of sight. I've invested too much in that little redhead to let my sire drag her out of here. She's mine. I intend to keep it that way. Go."

The tall vampire nodded and took off down the hallway. William stood in place for a moment, bridling his anger and gathering his wits about him, before starting for the staircase. A heavy fist pounded on the door before he'd reached the last step, and he glanced around at the below stairs door before crossing the room. Angel shoved his way over the threshold the moment William opened the front door.

"Couldn't wait to be invited in, could you?" his childe arched a sarcastic eyebrow.

Angel shook his head, "Why stand on ceremony? You're a vampire, not a mortal. And this is nothing more than a vampire's lair."

"Yeah, but I like to call it home," the vampire shot back dryly as Angel's eyes traveled over the elegant room.

"How many people did you have to kill to get this?"

William shrugged, "Three--well, two, actually. I turned the solicitor."

Angel cast a harsh stare at his childe, "Why here, Spike? What are you doing in London?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Last I heard you were sulking your way around the more scenic areas of Italy."

The older vampire was more disturbed by the solitude of the house than he was by the pointed barb, "You live here alone?"

"You said it yourself--lair," Spike answered.

"And you've chosen to re-adopted your given name?"

He shrugged casually, "Didn't figure 'Spike' would go down well with these blue-blooded gits."

"I'll give you that," the darker vampire smirked.

De La Croix turned on his heel and headed toward the sitting room, and Angel followed behind him, stopping just inside the door as his childe poured two glasses of bloodwine. He handed one to his sire before settling himself in the armchair closest to the fireplace. Angel dropped onto the settee opposite him and took a sip from his glass.

"Where's Drusilla?" he asked.

"I don't know," Spike answered simply. "And what's more, I don't care." Angel was visibly surprised by the profession, "You finally had her to yourself, and you let her go?"

Spike scowled, "I *never* had her to myself. Even after you packed up your soul and slunk off with your tail firmly planted between your legs, you were all she ever babbled about. It got bloody old pretty damned fast. We were in Paris the night she collected her dollies and left to find you. Haven't seen or heard from her since. Good riddance, I say."

Angel couldn't decide whether to believe him or not, though he sounded sincere enough. The disgust in voice was certainly genuine. "And you came back to England."

"Eventually," Spike nodded. "Home sweet home and all that rot. Nothing quite like the smell of human waste on a rainy night in London to bring back fond memories."

The younger vampire finished his drink and rose to replace the glass on the table. He moved to the fireplace and leaned back against the mantle and let his gaze settle on his sire.

"So, you've got your answers--about Dru," he stated. "You can leave, now. Go back to Venice or whatever rat-infested streets you've been calling home."

His sire eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, "I think I'd rather stay around here for awhile--a few week, a few months. After all, it's been a long time. We've a lot of catching up to do, wouldn't you say?"

Spike bristled angrily and glared back at his sire. Angel smiled coldly and rose to his feet. "You're up to something, Spike. I always could smell a secret on you. I'll be around. You can count on it."

Spike's eyes followed him as he walked toward the door and out of the sitting room. He waited until he heard the front door shut before throwing himself angrily back into the armchair. With a soft growl of frustration, he scrubbed his hands through his hair. All of the gossip about him and his fiery little housemaid that he had been so carefully cultivating around the fine homes of London was about to explode in his face. Unless he found a way to stop it from happening. And he would. He just didn't know how.

Completely oblivious to the confrontation that had just ended in the sitting room, Willow stood in the doorway of Edward's bedroom and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched Richard pull out the last dresser drawer and dump its contents onto the narrow bed. He combed his fingers through the meager pile of belongings and shook his head as he looked over at her.

"It isn't here, either," he announced.

"I still can't believe you're helping me search for that key," she confessed.

"As I said before, you only had to ask," he responded. "There was no need to go prowling about in my room."

"And I still don't understand how you knew I'd been in there, either," Willow told him.

"One knows one's own room," was his only explanation.

She blushed faintly, "I'm sorry, Richard. I shouldn't have done that."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed. "But never mind. No damage done, really."

"What will Mr. De La Croix say when he finds out you've been helping me, though?" she wondered. "I mean, he did tell me to keep out of the upper story."

"I don't suppose he'll say anything, if we don't tell him." Willow stared in open astonishment at the closest thing to a grin she'd ever seen cross his face.

"Besides, I don't see what harm it can do," he continued as he tossed Edward's things back into the drawer and carried it back to the bureau.

"As he's told you, that room is empty. But we really should find the key. I can't imagine what's happened to it."

"So, you believe him, then?"

He gestured to her, and she moved out of the room, "Are you saying you don't?"

"No!" she gasped. "Well--not exactly. I'm just not convinced that he knows what he's talking about. Oh, dear. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"I assure you, Miss Rosenberg, Mr. De La Croix knows his own house."

"You'd think so," she agreed. "But I *know* I heard noises coming from that room. He may think there's no one up there, but I know that there is."

He led the way down the stairs to the kitchen, "Think about it, Miss. What are the possibilities that someone is living in that room without his knowledge? The very idea is ludicrous. And how could this mysterious occupant have locked the door from the outside?"

"Well, obviously, he couldn't have," she answered. "Which means someone else has."

"And I suppose you're going to accuse the master of that, as well?"

The subtle rebuke was not lost on the redhead, and she busied herself readying a pot of tea to avoid looking him in the eye, "I'm not accusing him of anything. None of this makes sense. What do you think his reaction would be if I were simply to ask him about the missing key?"

"I think he would be very displeased that you seem so determined to persist in this matter," the butler answered frankly.

"That's what I think, as well," she nodded. "You won't tell him, will you?"

"I've already given you that promise," he reminded her.

"And as you say, what harm can there be in trying to find the key if that room is really empty, after all," Willow remarked. "Do you think you could look in his room?"

"Pardon me, Miss?"

She blushed and riveted her eyes on the tin of tea she had opened, "I know. It's just--well, could you?"

"Willow," the use of her name brought her eyes to his. "If I make a quick search of his room and come up with nothing, will you stop all this nonsense?"

"Yes," she agreed after a short pause, deciding that the lie would be worth it.

The vampire didn't believe her for a moment, but he chose not to say so.

The bell from the parlor rang, and he rose to his feet, "I'll go. Finish making your tea."

"Thank you," she smiled softly. "For everything."

He nodded and made his way up the stairs.

Richard hesitated as he entered the parlor, and was relieved to find his master considerably less agitated than he had been before Angel's arrival.

"What is my girl up to?" William asked him.

"I've spent the last forty minutes searching for that key," the butler grimaced. "She's even asked me to search your room."

The vampire arched an amused eyebrow, "Has she? Well, be sure to tell her you made a good job of it before you hand it over."

Richard stared over at him, unsure he had heard correctly, "You want me to give her the key, sir?"

William nodded, "I want you standing right at her elbow when she opens that door."

"But, sir--" he paused as a thought occurred. "Angel?"

"Is going to be a problem," William said. "Especially when he learns about the pretty young redhead who's living under my roof, heartbeat intact."

"Perhaps he won't--"

De La Croix scowled, "He will. It's all over London. I'll be surprised if he hasn't heard all the details--false as they may be--by tomorrow night."

"And he isn't going to know that they're false," Richard added soberly.

"And he certainly isn't going to take my word for it. Not without proof, anyway."

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand," the butler admitted.

William grinned, "That's all right. You don't have to. Just stay close to the house tomorrow night. As soon as Angel hears about Willow, he's going to be back, and I'll need you to get her in place quickly. Send Thomas up to me. I want to speak to him."

Willow looked flabbergasted as Richard reached into his pocket and produced the elusive key, holding it out in his open palm. She took it, turning it over in her fingers.

"Then he does know who's up there," she murmured to herself.

"Or, as he's told you, who *isn't* up there," the butler corrected her.

Her eyes rose to meet his, "You really believe that? Then why has he kept this key hidden away? Why not leave that door unlocked just like the others in that corridor? Let's go see what--"

Richard stepped in front her, blocking her path to the stairway, "He could ring for one of us. How would we explain our absence? Better to wait until he's otherwise occupied."

"But if he goes looking for this and finds it missing, it could ruin everything," she argued.

"That key was buried under a pile of papers in a drawer of the writing table in his room," Richard lied. "He obviously hasn't made use of it in a very long time. I doubt he's going to suddenly go looking for it. Unless you'd rather risk the chance of being discovered."

"No," she shook her head. "You're right. Is he going out soon?"

"I believe he's expecting a guest this evening, an old acquaintance who's visiting from Italy."

"Then we can attempt to get into that room while they're conversing," she suggested.

"My thoughts, exactly," he agreed.

The front doorbell jangled, and the vampire turned toward the stairs, "Wait here. I'll come down as soon as they're settled. Mr. De La Croix has asked me to show his guest to the parlor, so we should be able to make our way to the upper story without disturbing them."

Willow nodded and took a seat at the kitchen table as the butler turned and ascended the stairs. He went directly to the front door, ushering the tall, dark vampire inside with a wave of his hand.

"The master is waiting upstairs. If you'll follow me." Angel studied the vampire as he silently followed him up to the parlor.

William turned from the window across the room as they entered. "Will you require anything else, sir?" Richard asked.

De La Croix shook his head, "Leave us." Richard pulled the door shut as he exited, and Angel moved to stand in front of the fireplace as his dark eyes studied his childe with open suspicion.

"You've been busy," Angel commented, to which William merely raised an eyebrow. "I hear you've taken a human lover. Care to explain?"

"Not really," he answered, walking to the armchair and sitting down.

"Spike," Angel hissed, taking a step toward him. "If you think for one minute that I'm going to allow you to keep a human pet--"

"You've had your share," his childe remarked with a cold grin.

"How long has she been here? Where is she now?"

Spike shrugged, "Seeing to her duties, I expect."

"Get her in here. I'm taking her out of this place."

"Like bloody hell you are," De La Croix growled. "You think she's going to consent to being dragged out of here by a complete stranger? Or are you planning on showing a bit of fang by way of persuasion?"

Angel stared at him, nonplussed, "She doesn't know what you are? How can that be? My understanding is that she's been here for weeks."

"Let's just say I learned the fine art of deception from a master," Spike grinned.

"You haven't fed from her?"

"Not a mark on her beautiful throat."

Angel's perceptive eyes studied his childe for a moment before he commented softly, "You care for her."

"She's beautiful, I'll grant you that. But she's nothing more than a necessity," De La Croix scowled at the expression of disbelief on his sire's face. "I have--pretenses--to uphold. I need someone who can function in the daylight, run errands for me in the city."

"But you've been in this house much longer than she has," Angel remarked. "You must have had others--"

"Thick-headed, the lot of them, to the point of aggravation. Willow's sharp-witted. She learns quickly, and she can actually hold an intelligent conversation."

"Important qualities in a glorified lackey," Angel's voice was thick with sarcasm.

"She isn't a lackey, you git," Spike snarled, his eyes flashing angrily as he pushed himself out of the chair.

Angel laughed softly and shook his head, "She must be quite a woman, for you to love her so intensely."

"Shut up," his childe snapped. "She means nothing to me."

"Then you won't miss her," his sire replied as he moved toward the door. "I *am* taking her out of here, Spike. Tonight. Since I haven't seen anything of her, I'm assuming you have her hidden away. Where? Below stairs?"

"Angel," Spike's tone took on an almost pleading quality, causing the elder vampire to turn back. "You can't do this. You don't understand--"

"I think I do," his sire answered coldly. "I understand too well. I'm taking her out of here while she still has a pulse."

Angel yanked the door open and stalked out of the room, missing the smug smirk on Spike's face as he reached for the bellpull beside the fireplace before quickly following after his sire.

From her position at the top of the narrow stairs, Willow was unable to hear the soft ring of the bell from below. Richard's keen hearing, on the other hand, picked up the signal easily, and he placed his hand on the young housemaid's arm and gently urged her toward the end of the corridor. He pretended to fumble for the key in his pocket as he waited for the sound of soft footsteps coming up the stairs from the kitchen to the servants' quarters, and he allowed the candle to slip from his fingers. The dim light from its flame was immediately extinguished as it fell to the floor near his feet. Willow gasped softly as he sunk to his knees and play-acted a frantic search for the slender candle, which he could, in reality, distinctly see.

The redhead turned toward the stairs as she caught the sound of movement from below them, "Richard! There's someone..."

"Probably just Edward. He won't come up here," the butler assured her as he plucked the candle from the floor and quickly lit it. "Perhaps if you held this?"

She nodded and took the candle from him, and he inserted the key in the lock and slowly pushed the door open just a crack. Willow could hear her own heartbeat pounding wildly in her ears, and she took a breath and attempted to still her trembling body as a soft whine emerged from the dark room beyond the door. Richard sensed his master's presence, heard the double sets of footsteps falling on the topmost step of the stairs behind him, and reacted instantaneously. With one hand on the doorknob, he pushed it open, gripped Willow's arm, and shoved her inside.

He swung the door shut and wrapped his fingers around the key that was still in the lock as Spike and his sire appeared at the opposite end of the corridor. A cold shiver trickled down Angel's spine, and he bolted into action at the terrified shriek coming from inside the room.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Spike demanded as Angel shoved the butler out of the way.

"I'm sorry, sir! I didn't realize Miss Rosenberg had--"

Angel pushed his way through the door and froze in his tracks at the sight that met his eyes, "Oh, God."

"Not in there," De La Croix muttered under his breath, a cruel grin curling his lips.

Willow's limp body lay cradled in the arms of the vampire crouched on the floor near the wall. His mind focused solely on preventing the young woman's death, Angel ran over and grabbed the vampire by the shoulder, dislodging its fangs from the barely conscious redhead's throat, and flung it away.

"Bloody hell," Spike hissed in feigned distress as he quickly scooped Willow up and carried her out of the room.

Richard looked knowingly into his master's eyes and muttered, "Thomas?"

William nodded, "He knows what to do."

The minion tucked his arm around Willow's waist and virtually dragged her unresisting body to the stairs. Spike waited until they had vanished before stepping back into the room. Angel's horrified eyes were fixed upon the vampire cowering against the wall.

Drusilla looked up at him, one hand curling itself around his calf, and whispered adoringly, "Angelus."

Angel sat on the settee, the glass of bloodwine on the table beside him untouched, his eyes clouded with a mixture of confusion and shock.

"You told me you didn't know where Dru was," he muttered.

"I didn't," Spike answered. "Until she showed up on my doorstep one night. She must get that from you."

His sire glared daggers at him, "What the hell is going on in this house?"

"She turned up, out of nowhere, begging me to tell her where you were. When I told her I didn't know, she pleaded with me to help her find you," De La Croix explained. "As if I really gave a damn. When she realized I wasn't going to help her find your sorry ass, she decided to make me pay for my refusal, in blood. She started draining everybody she met. More sooner than later, people were going to start connecting her kills to me. She had to be stopped. *I* had to stop her."

"I'll agree with you there, if for different reasons," Angel responded grimly. "So you locked her away, in that room."

Spike nodded, "I lied to her. Told her I'd found you, hidden you away in that room. She was out of her mind with the want of you by that point in time. She would have believed anything I'd told her, if it meant having you with her again."

"How does that young woman figure into all of this?" his sire demanded.

De La Croix smothered a smile as truth gave way to lies, "Drusilla escaped one night. She drained one of the minions I'd sent up to feed her and got out of the house. It took me nearly a week to track her down. Willow had been employed by a wealthy widow and had just lost her position when the lady died unexpectedly. Unfortunately, Willow stumbled across Dru before I managed to catch up with her. Dru had taken a fancy to her. She'd been feeding from her almost from the time she'd fled the mansion. I dragged her back here, but by that time, her pull on Willow was so strong, she followed after Dru."

Angel groaned and rose to his feet. Spike was reasonably certain that his sire hadn't had enough time to get a good look at the little redhead's unmarked throat, but even if he had, Dru's fangs in Willow's neck would have obliterated any evidence of the truth. Spike bit back another smile at the guilt reflected in Angel's eyes, guilt that Drucilla's need for him had been responsible for the young woman's torment, or so he believed.

De La Croix continued, "I took Willow in. I needed a housemaid, one capable of walking around in daylight, and she needed Drusilla."

"How could you have put that innocent girl in such a position?" Angel growled.

"What would you have had me do? Drain her? That's the only way to have ended it," Spike remarked coldly, and Angel's uneasy gaze fell away from his childe. "But there was always the threat that Willow would tell someone outside the house what was happening to her here. So I alienated her from anyone she might have appealed to for help."

"By taking her as your lover," Angel glowered in disdain.

Spike acknowledged the lie with a nod, "And I made sure everyone knew that's what she had become. Even if she did try to tell anyone about us, they wouldn't have listened to her, much less believed her."

"You are a bastard," his sire declared.

"It runs in the family," Spike smirked. "Though I'm surprised you're condemning me for not killing Willow. It would have been the only way to put a stop to all of it."

"Not true," Angel replied.

Spike shook his head, "Stake Dru? I couldn't. I've grown to loathe her like sunlight, but I--couldn't."

The elder vampire's cold eyes stared hard into Spike's, "I could."

He shrugged, "You know where she is."

"What about Willow? Where is she?"

"Richard is seeing to her. I never let her go to Dru on her own, but I expect the pull grew too strong, and I was otherwise occupied," he shot an accusing glare at his sire. "When Richard discovered she wasn't below stairs, he went up and found her."

Angel nodded soberly, "I mean it, Spike. This ends now. I'll go to Drusilla and--do what has to be done. But you're going to release Willow and get the hell out of London."

Spike shrugged casually, "I was growing bored with it, anyway. All that rich, blue blood. I've had my fill, for the time being."

His sire scowled and turned toward the door, "Leave London. Tonight."

William entered the lavish bedroom of the Oxted mansion to find Willow propped against the headboard of the bed, shivering under the heavy blankets, her knees tucked up close to her chest. Her eyes filled with terror as he approached the side of the bed.

"Don't be afraid of me, luv," he spoke softly.

"What was she? What are *you*?" she whispered.

"Two of those creatures of the night you never believed in," he answered. "Well, one of them, now. Drusilla is dust."

She cowered as he reached a hand out toward her, "Let me go. Please."

"Hush, pet," he smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you. I haven't up to this point, have I? And I didn't let her."

"No," she agreed, though she continued to look at him fearfully. "But I..."

He pressed his fingertips gently to her lips, reveling in the soft breath that fell against his cold flesh, knowing he'd never feel it again. Slowly, he sat down next to her and placed his hands on her cheeks. As their eyes met and held, she felt herself being drawn into him, and the trembling in her slight body stilled as he leaned in closer to her. He kissed her once, softly.

"I love you, Willow," he admitted to both of them for the first time.

"I think I have for awhile. I just couldn't admit it to myself. Not in the vampire's book of etiquette, falling in love with a human."

His lips took hers once again, more hungrily, more insistently, this time, and gradually, she began to respond to him, parting her lips and tasting the coolness of his mouth. He moved over her, straddling her legs as they straightened along the length of the mattress, his eyes staring into hers as he lowered the covers that hid her naked body.

Moving her down to lie flat on the bed, he kissed a trail from her lips to her breasts, suckling at the nipples, biting gently. She moaned softly as her body responded to his touch, and he raised himself up long enough to divest his own clothing.

Willow's breathe was falling heavily, her chest rising and falling as her mind struggled for clarity. She had wanted this, wanted him, for weeks, though propriety would never have allowed her to confess it. Her brain railed against his closeness, the still rational part of her despising what he was. But as his gaze remained fixed on her eyes, she felt drawn ever deeper into him, unable to stop the treacherous desire burning its course through her body. Her hands trembled as they curled around his strong shoulders, and he kissed her deeply, the scent of her need filtering through his senses.

He swallowed her sharp cry of pain as he entered her in one thrust, breaking her virginal barrier and embedding himself between her slightly dry walls. He moved inside her, and her motions slowly began to mirror his own as the pain faded away to be replaced by the unfamiliar, delicious fullness inside her. With patient skill borne of decades' experience, he brought her to the brink of release and sank his fangs into her soft pale neck as she called out to him, her vaginal muscles clenching around him, milking him into his own release.

Still sheathed within her, Spike drained her quickly and raised his head to look down at her closed eyes, the dark lashes lying softly against her cooling cheeks. William bit into his wrist and placed his other hand on the back of her head, cooing softly to her as he urged her to drink. He kissed the last drops of his blood from her lips before moving off of her and pulling the covers up around them. Pulling her close to him, he tucked her head against his chest and wrapped his strong arms around her to await her reawakening.

Angel stared out into the darkness as the scenery rapidly moved past the window of the coach. He turned his head as the body leaning heavily against his shoulder shifted slightly, and Drusilla's eyelids fluttered as she moved slowly toward consciousness. The dark vampire released an unneeded breath of futility as his thoughts returned to that dark, upper room.

She had looked up at him, her gaze filled with desperate longing, and he had found himself unable to do what he knew, in all decency, needed to be done. The stake in his hand had clattered to the floor as her arms snaked around his waist, and his fingers had curled into the dark, tangled mass of her hair as she pressed her cheek against his firm stomach. He had lowered himself to his knees, silently resigning himself to his inability to destroy her, as her lips moved over his.

He had bitten into her, her melodic cry of ecstasy filling the silence of the room, and drank until her weakened body succumbed to the oblivion of unconsciousness. If he couldn't kill her, he could at least remove her threat from the young woman he believed to be under the beautiful vampire's dark spell. Lifting her into his arms, he had taken her out of the house and into the coach that had been waiting outside the mansion.

Angel looked down at his beautiful childe, shifting her slight weight more comfortably against him, and placed a soft kiss of regret on the top of her head. She cooed happily and snuggled against his chest as the coach sped away from the city.

Willow awoke and moved off of the bed. She went to the window, the ruby ring glimmering in the darkness as she raised her hand to caress the silver pendant resting between her naked breasts, and she stared out at the silvered crescent of the moon rising above the treetops of Sunnydale. She turned, a soft smile gracing her lips, as her lover stirred from behind her. Spike reached out a hand to her, and she returned to him, climbing back into bed as his arms embraced her. She smiled up at him and kissed him softly.

More than a century had passed since that night he had made her his mate, his childe, his partner. In all those decades, she had never given him cause to regret his decision. As a mortal, she had been intelligent, her delicate beauty irresistible. As a vampire, she was unrivaled, the envy of all demons who had ever had occasion to cross their paths.

Together, he and Willow had left a legacy in their wake that paralleled even Angelus'. Well, before the morose bastard had gone and gotten himself a soul, anyway, Spike thought to himself. In a thousand centuries, he would never grow tired of his beautiful redheaded childe.

She captivated his every waking moment, stole her way into his every sleeping dream. In all his existence as a soulless demon, she had been his best creation, his crowning jewel, his greatest source of pride.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly as her hand played gently over his cool, firm chest.

"You, luv," he answered, raising a hand to brush the hair from her cheek and placing a kiss on her inviting lips.

She shifted more closely into his arms, purring contentedly as his fingers continued to stroke her fiery hair.

"So, what do you think of your new home? Do you think you're going to like playing on a hellmouth?"

"Oh, yes," she responded with quiet enthusiasm. "And a slayer, as well! I'm going to enjoy toying with her--for awhile, anyway--before we kill her. We can kill her, can't we, baby?"

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her forehead, "That's the idea, sweetheart."

"You're so good to me." she murmured happily then lay silently in his arms for several minutes before looking up at him. "Spike, I'm hungry. Can we go hunting now?"

He moved over her, his lips hovering just above hers, "In awhile, little one. But first--"

Her eyes glimmered in the dark room as her hands cupped his face and drew his mouth down to hers in a passionate kiss.

Tell the author what you think:

| Return to Fiction Index | Return to Main |