Tempesta di Amore by Holly

Chapter 15

She knew before she opened her eyes that the bed would be empty. William hadn’t come home last night; she’d waited up longer than she’d told herself she would, listening eagerly for the familiar cadence of his footsteps and the rhythm of his breathing. Of course, this was nothing for which she hadn’t been warned. He was supposed to have come back yesterday, but he hadn’t. It was storming in London and he didn’t want to risk the drive. While she knew it was a wise decision—that if something happened to William she would be irrevocably lost—the emptiness of their bed made every corner of her body ache.

It had been hard but endurable, living at Manderley without William. She’d tempered herself admirably, doing her best to not overstep her bounds; doing her best to let the house operate as it always did without getting in anyone’s way. She’d missed his eyes and his voice. She’d missed the dip in the mattress and the tender caresses of his hands. She’d missed the way she felt when lying in his arms. She’d missed him terribly, and as much as she thought she’d felt his absence before, there was absolutely no comparison to the void consuming her now.

It came back to her in short spurts. Meeting Angelus O’Malley. Enduring the rakish leer of his covetous eyes as he’d glanced over her body like a city waiting to be conquered. Listening to the raw innuendos buried within every slick word to roll off his tongue. His insinuation that William’s leaving for London wasn’t an unusual occurrence—the only thing surprising in his absence was, rather, the fact he’d gone so quickly. That he couldn’t get away from Buffy fast enough.

Yesterday had lasted a thousand years. She’d awakened with a phone call from her husband, his warmth and his frivolity providing her with both hope for his homecoming and a loom of sadness at the knowledge that it wouldn’t last. Whatever happened to him when he was away from Manderley very clearly had a positive effect on his disposition. He’d spoken to her like she was someone for whom he pined while he was away. Like he couldn’t wait to be home so he could touch her again.

So much had happened since then. Buffy’s head hurt just to think of it. Her walk down to the bay, her disturbing conversation with Ben, discovering Angelus’s car in the drive, meeting Angelus himself.

And then what happened afterward. The flawless presentation of the place where Drusilla had lived. Mrs. Hart’s eager tour. She’d shown her everything, right down to the brush which had once worshiped her dead mistress’s hair and the nightdress Drusilla might have worn to welcome her husband home from a long journey.

Sickness attacked her belly and her head spiked with heat. Buffy sighed and leaned against the mattress again. William hadn’t come home last night, but God-willing he would today. And she didn’t know what she would say to him. She was convinced Mrs. Hart didn’t want William to know Angelus had visited; it was fine with Buffy—she didn’t want to think of the encounter at all, much less discuss a relative of Drusilla’s with her husband.

The woman’s ghost wouldn’t leave her alone, and the past few days had done a number on her head. One second, she would find she was desperate for information on Drusilla; the next, even hearing the woman’s name made her shut down and retreat within herself. The dichotomy was driving her mad, and from her vantage point she could see no clear way out.

William will be home today.

The reassurance was an empty one. She’d told herself the same thing over and over again the day before, but she was still waking up in an empty bed. A part of her was desperate to believe William would have braved Hell itself to get home if he’d known how badly she needed him, but the rest of her was too cynical to hope. There was obviously an air about Manderley which brought his spirits to an unbearable low. Whether it was the walking memories of what he’d once had or the knowledge that the woman waiting for him wasn’t the one he yearned to see, she didn’t know, and truthfully, she feared finding out.

She feared so very much.

The phone at her bedside rang. Buffy rolled over and reached for the receiver. This was the second time she hadn’t been in the Morning Room to take Mrs. Hart’s expected call, but she didn’t feel the shock at her late sleep as she had the day before. She’d only been awake for a few minutes and she already regretted having opened her eyes at all.

The night hadn’t known too much rest, and while what little sleep she’d entertained had been plagued with nightmares, they were preferable to facing the world downstairs. The servants whom had undoubtedly seen her collapse at the foot of the stairs after fleeing from Drusilla’s room. Wesley, whose piteous eyes would take her in, whose words would offer numbing comfort, whose company would prevent her from isolation, even if there was nothing keeping her from being alone.

Buffy didn’t want pity.

She just wanted William.

“Hello?” she said into the phone, her voice hoarse with sleep.

“Mrs. de Winter, the time is eleven o’clock. Are you feeling well?”

It amazed her how detached Mrs. Hart could sound after the encounter in Drusilla’s bedroom. She spoke as though nothing at all had happened. As though nothing had changed.

How Buffy managed to keep her voice from trembling, she didn’t know. “I am quite well, thank you.”

“Mr. Pryce has requested the presence of a doctor.”

She wilted inwardly. The last thing she needed was a medical professional probing and prodding at her, especially since she knew there was nothing wrong with her physically. All her ailments were inward. Her heart was sick and her head wouldn’t sleep, but her body was operating as a body should.

“Thank Mr. Pryce for his concern,” Buffy replied, swallowing hard. “But assure him I am feeling quite well.”

“Mr. Pryce is on instruction from Mr. de Winter to keep an eye on you,” Mrs. Hart returned in a tone others might mistake for amicable. There was a brief pause and the muffled echoes of what sounded like an aside-conversation before the woman returned, “Mr. Pryce wishes me to tell you that he will refrain from phoning the doctor if you join him for an early lunch.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“He assures me it is, Mrs. de Winter.”

There was an air of heavy disinterest in Mrs. Hart’s voice. It was more than obvious she could give a damn one way or another if Buffy joined Wesley for lunch. As it was, dining with William’s friend was definitely the lesser of two evils; she had no desire to waste a doctor’s time or her pride to be told she was fine.

Wesley was just worried for her. She couldn’t help but appreciate his concern.

“Tell Mr. Pryce I will join him in a half hour.”

“Very well, Mrs. de Winter.”

There was a click and then silence. Buffy sighed and swung her legs over her bed.

Just get through the day, she told herself, rising to her feet. Just get through the day. William will make everything better.

The promise rang empty, but she couldn’t forgo hope.

If nothing else, she wouldn’t be sleeping alone tonight.

*~*~*

“I hope you’re not too angry with me,” Wesley said as she stepped into the kitchenette. “I don’t normally resort to petty blackmail.”

His warm eyes and genuine tone had her defenses faltering almost instantly.

“That is quite all right. Thank you.”

“I had Cook prepare us some sandwiches. Unless you’re hungry for something else?”

Buffy shook her head and tried to smile. In all honesty, she wasn’t hungry at all. Her stomach had been silently threatening a small rebellion since the prospect of food was mentioned, but she didn’t think relating as much would do anything to quell Wesley’s concern.

“That is fine, thanks,” she replied, trying to smile. “I do hope your morning wasn’t too dull.”

“Not at all.”

She pursed her lips. “Wesley…if there is some business you need to tend to or anything…I just don’t want you to feel you need to baby-sit me. I assure you, I am quite capable of—”

He held up a hand. “Not a chance.”

“Wesley—”

“It’s not that I don’t applaud your attempt, Buffy. However, my loyalty lies with William, and he is worried out of his mind about you.”

She sighed a little and nodded. “Has he telephoned?”

“I telephoned him this morning. He was in a rush to leave, so we didn’t talk much.”

“He’s…he’s on his way now?”

“It will be a few hours, but yes.” Wesley fell silent, a thoughtful look filling his eyes. “Buffy…do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

Every molecule in her body froze. “Excuse me?”

“The car I saw in the drive isn’t one I’m prone to forget anytime soon.” He sighed and tilted his head, imploring her silently for an answer she didn’t want to give. “Buffy…I know Angelus was here.”

“You were here that long?”

“I saw him tear out of the drive. We didn’t exchange pleasantries.” Wesley placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her out of the kitchenette and into the front parlor. To the place where she had enjoyed her first lunch with Wesley, Anya, and Xander. It seemed so long ago.

There were no more words until she was sitting, and Buffy was glad for it. She didn’t wish to embarrass herself further by losing her balance or swooning. Before yesterday, she wouldn’t have thought it possible to actually swoon; before yesterday, she’d never before fainted. Now she feared it—feared the spinning of the walls and the confiscation of control. It had happened so suddenly. It had happened without any sense of warning. Was that the way it always was?

Buffy shuddered. She didn’t wish to find out.

“Had you met him before?”

She blinked numbly and forced her eyes upward. There was every possibility her mind was playing tricks on her, however, while his tone was civil, there was almost a hint of suspicion buried in Wesley’s voice. The notion was so preposterous she inwardly laughed it off, even if she couldn’t quite dismiss the odd slant in the man’s eyes. Perhaps isolation was causing her sanity to collapse. Perhaps she was now making enemies out of friends.

My God.

She was suffocating. Manderley was slowly strangling her, and it wouldn’t be satisfied until there was nothing of her left to torment.

“No, of course not,” Buffy heard herself saying. “No…my meeting him was an accident. I took Jasper for a walk. We went to the bay…” She held up a hand when Wesley’s eyes widened dangerously, offering a faint nod as the rest of her struggled for strength. “I know.”

“William would hate it—”

“I know, Wesley. Which is why I ask you not to tell him I was there at all.”

He nodded solemnly but didn’t say anything.

Buffy waited a second, collected herself, and continued. “When I returned from my walk, I saw there was a car in the drive—a car I’d never seen before. I came inside with a mind to go directly to my bed chambers and wait for William to come home.”

There was a long pause.

“Was Angelus O’Malley here to visit Mrs. Hart?”

She nodded.

An unreadable emotion crashed behind Wesley’s eyes, but he neither acknowledged nor seemed to notice the ostensible change. “Angelus was Drusilla’s cousin,” he said. “He was a frequent visitor when Drusilla was alive.”

The thought of the ghastly man polluting the halls of the manor, despite however much the manor seemed determined to ruin her, made Buffy’s stomach coil. “I didn’t like him,” she said. “I didn’t like him at all. He made me feel very…I didn’t like the way he made me feel. He doesn’t come here often, does he?” She paused and frowned at herself, then clarified, “I mean, of course…does he come here often now?”

“I’d say not, if this is the first you’ve met him.” The look in Wesley’s eyes, however, remained unconvinced. “Mrs. Hart was very involved with Drusilla’s side of the family. It is possible she remains in contact with Angelus out of some sort of…survivor’s guilt.”

“Survivor’s guilt?”

“The sense that they are alive whereas a loved one is not.”

The explanation didn’t help, but Wesley had continued before she could give the matter much consideration.

“Do you intend to tell William of Angelus’s visit?”

Buffy frowned. “I don’t believe Mrs. Hart wants him to know.”

“Be that as it may, this is your home.”

Wesley could say the words as often as he liked, it wouldn’t make them feel any truer. “It has been her home much longer,” she replied reasonably. “Mrs. Hart runs the house; I merely live in it.”

“You cannot—”

“Wesley…I appreciate everything you’re trying to do…but my relationship with Mrs. Hart is…delicate at best. I do not wish to give her reason to dislike me. If she doesn’t want William to know that Angelus was here, then I shall not be the one to tell him.”

A frown deepened the man’s brow. “Your relationship doesn’t rest on whether or not Mrs. Hart is fond of you. I can understand the appeal of being well-liked, but Buffy…she is, at the end of the day, only your maid.”

Buffy broke her eyes away, a long sigh tearing through her lips. There was no way to explain this in a manner which would make Wesley understand. It was something he couldn’t understand unless he lived here. Unless he felt the way the walls whispered and compressed upon one’s body. Unless he felt air stripped from his lungs. Until he knew how it felt to choked by a ghost.

To know his house was run by a woman who no longer lived.

There was nothing to say, so she said nothing. Instead, she leaned back and waited for Mr. Giles to serve them lunch.

She would be much happier when she could return to her room.

*~*~*

It wasn’t William’s footsteps or the soft rhythm of his breathing which jarred her from sleep. It was the sound of his voice.

His screaming voice.

“If I ever hear of that man setting foot in this house again, I will personally show you the door. Do you understand me?”

Buffy gasped and jerked upward, her eyes fixing on the bedroom door. She’d left it open before retiring for a midday nap. Her husband’s shouts were loud enough to rock the home to its foundation. He was home—William was home.

And he was furious.

“I assure you, Mr. de Winter,” came the tempered, frosty reply, “I will not welcome Mr. O’Malley into Manderley again.”

William didn’t seem to hear her; the floor trembled with the heavy crashes of his paces, his voice only climbing octaves in volume. “You want to associate with filth like O’Malley, that’s your own bloody call, Hart. But you do it on your time and on property that is not titled to me. You did this deliberately and with full knowledge of how I would react if I discovered that man had been within a mile of Manderley. And that’s the rub, isn’t it? You brought him here to spite me.” A thick pause. “Well, didn’t you?”

Mrs. Hart didn’t reply.

“Oh sod it. Just get the hell away from me.”

Then those weighty footsteps were proceeding down the hallway. Toward the bedroom. Toward her. And before Buffy could gather her thoughts, her feet found the floor and were carrying her to the doorway.

Carrying her to William.

However, when she saw him at last, she couldn’t conceal her gasp. He looked crazed, fueled with fury and grief. He looked barely human.

“Buffy,” he growled, and the next thing she knew, she was in his arms, his mouth tearing wildly at hers. She was shocked numb, her mind spiraling far from the strain of control. She felt him. She felt him like she’d felt nothing before. His tongue licking the inside of her cheeks before attacking hers, his hands trapping her cheeks to hold her to his kiss as his body rocked against hers in a startlingly blatant imitation of lovemaking. He consumed her angrily, wildly, stamping himself into her skin. Gone was the tender man she’d known just days ago, and with as frightened as she was, there was a part of her which couldn’t help but respond with enthusiasm.

Something in her chest purred with delight.

“William,” she breathed against him, her heart thundering. Her hands found his face, feeling him as though to verify his authenticity. To convince herself he was really with her, really against her, and the kiss they’d shared had been real.

Their kisses were always careful. She’d never tasted anything like this—not but once after their first walk to the Happy Valley. He’d kissed her angrily there as well, and until now, it had been the most memorable kiss of her life.

The moment didn’t last. If anything, the tender caresses of her hands as she explored him seemed to anchor him to reality. Seemed to bring him back to himself. William blinked in surprise against her, astonishment at his own actions leaking into his eyes. He looked at her as though he’d never seen her. As though they had been parted so long he didn’t remember her at all.

Then his eyes flickered darkly. “Did he touch you?” he all but snarled. “Did that—”

“Who?” Buffy asked innocently.

“You. Know. Who,” came the angry retort. “Angelus—”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, he didn’t…I…we barely spoke. He…” Buffy panted, trying hard to collect herself. It was damned hard while standing in William’s arms. Feeling William’s firm body against her, hardness she knew well now pressed intimately against her stomach. A part of her thought she should be appalled such roughness had this effect on him, but the rest of her was too astonished to notice. Too…hot. She’d never been this hot.

William’s breaths crashed against her lips. “He didn’t touch you?”

“No,” she promised. “No. He…he was talking to Mrs. Hart. I came in from my walk and he was here…he was here to speak with Mrs. Hart.” She frowned inwardly. This was something William couldn’t have known unless Wesley told him, which, she supposed, was perfectly fair. She’d merely told Wesley that she wouldn’t be the one to betray Mrs. Hart’s trust; and though she would have liked time to prepare for the fervor of William’s reaction, she couldn’t deny her relief that he knew. Her relief that she wasn’t the reason he knew.

For now she could tell him. She could tell him how much she disliked Angelus without suffering Mrs. Hart’s retaliation.

“I didn’t like him. He made me…”

The shadow returned. “Made you what?”

“Uncomfortable.”

“That’s all? You’re sure?”

She nodded. “That’s all.”

It took a few tempered seconds, but eventually the fire in William’s eyes began to fade. Eventually the flames died down, leaving her chilled in their wake. He brushed his lips across her brow and released her from his arms, putting space between them without any want of explanation.

Buffy stood dumbfounded, her chest crashing, her mind racing.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he said. “I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to lose my temper. Are you feeling well?”

There was no way to answer the question. None her brain could provide. And even though she heard herself reply, she had no idea which words she spoke.

She had no idea what had just happened.

Though for the way her lips tingled, she found herself quickly missing the fire.

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