Chapter 4

Emma didn't consider it possible that she could fall asleep, but after her husband hadn't moved for quite some time her eyelids grew heavy, and she succumbed to the need for sleep. When she woke up and opened her eyes slowly her husband was still lying fast asleep beside her, his body visible in the dim morning light that filtered through the curtains, so that she was able to study his sleeping face.

Her husband was an enigma to her; he didn't act like all the other men she'd met before in her life. He'd been considerate to Henry without knowing him, and he hadn't forced himself on her last night. That was something Emma couldn't understand. She'd expected him to consummate the marriage, despite her utter fear, but he hadn't even touched her.

She watched him more closely, as if his sleeping face could give her the answers she needed. But all she could see was how handsome he was. His long eye lashes were curved upwards at the end, and she wondered if they would feel soft to the touch. A faint scar was marring his cheek, and she felt the wish to find out how he'd gotten it. Same with the scar she could see peeking out of the open V of his nightshirt, or the cause of his mangled left hand.

Emma didn't know much about her husband, didn't have the time to do much research about him before proposing marriage. But now she felt the urge to find out more about him.

Did his hand hurt him? What were his dreams when he was a boy? How had it been to grow up with a real family? Did he miss his brother and parents?

But the most pressing question was … why didn't he attempt to consummate the marriage?

Emma still contemplated that question as she saw him stir, and she pressed her eyes shut swiftly, forcing herself to breathe evenly. She wasn't ready to face him yet, the fear of having to share her body with him rushing back to the surface, and she kept lying stock still until she heard the door close behind him before opening her eyes again to stare up at the ceiling while her mind was reeling with all these unanswered questions.

Killian tried to think about anything else than Emma while he was devouring his breakfast, but didn't have much success. So he was glad about the distraction when a head popped around the door, and Henry looked at him with a broad grin on his face.

"Can I join you?" the boy asked, already rushing inside without waiting for Killian's answer.

"Of course you can, Henry," Killian replied, smiling at the eagerness of the lad. "Take a seat."

It took some wiggling around and some help from Killian until Henry was sitting on the chair, his eyes barely able to look over the edge of the table, and Killian called for his butler as he noticed the predicament.

"Barnes, we need a few pillows to make it more comfortable for the lad," he said the moment the butler appeared in the doorframe, and a few minutes later Henry was sitting comfortable with a plate laden with ham and eggs in front of him, a huge glass of milk standing beside the plate.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until the lad's hunger was apparently sated and he started to fidget around on his chair, his eyes looking up at Killian excitedly as he asked, "Do you have horses?"

"Aye, I have quite a few in my stables," Killian replied. "More back at my estate. Why are you asking?"

"I want to ride them."

"All of them?" Killian asked, suppressing the chuckle bubbling up in his chest when Henry nodded eagerly. "We'll see what we can do. Have you ridden on a horse before?"

Henry was shaking his head in negation, and Killian leaned across the table to put his hand on the lad's shoulder. "That won't be a problem. We're gonna teach you how to ride."

"Terrific," Henry exclaimed, another question spilling out of his mouth a second later, "Can we start today?"

Before Killian could answer that question Henry's nurse rushed into the room with a flustered expression on her face, curtsying deeply before him before addressing Henry.

"Henry, what are you doing here?" Eleanor asked in a whisper, shooting Killian another glance as she said sheepishly, "I'm sorry, Your Grace. He ran away from me."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Killian told her, trying to put her at ease. "We had a lovely breakfast together, hadn't we?"

"Killy lets me ride his horses," Henry cried out excitedly, shifting on his chair and almost toppling down if Eleanor hadn't kept him upright with a hand to his shoulder.

"You can't call Your Grace by his given name, Henry," she chided softly. "I've told you that."

"Actually he can," Killian contradicted her, his mouth curling up into a lopsided grin as he added with a wink to Henry, "You can call me anything you like, Henry."

Henry scrambled down from his chair then and rushed over to him, holding up his arms and it took Killian a moment before he realized Henry wanted him to lift him up. A strange feeling settled into his stomach as he hauled the lad up onto his lap, his heart constricting with an emotion he couldn't pinpoint as Henry's small arms wrapped around his neck and his lips pressed a wet kiss on his cheek before shouting into his ear, "Thanks a lot for letting me ride your horses, Your Graceness."

Killian didn't correct him, shooting a warning look towards the nurse to not do it either, and tightened his arms around the lad. He only wanted to relish in the strange feeling Henry elicited in him for just a moment longer.

Killian stepped out of the breakfast room when Emma descended the stairs, and he nodded towards her sharply before walking towards the door, grabbing his hat and coat from Barnes and stepping out of the house, leaving Emma with a sense of relief since he'd granted her another reprieve, and she felt the tenseness in her shoulders loosen slightly.

When Emma entered the breakfast room Henry almost knocked her over as he rushed into her arms, talking excitedly about how Killian allowed him to ride his horses, and that he would teach him how. He was still rambling when Eleanor scooped him up in her arms and told him they needed to leave his mother alone, so that she could take her breakfast in peace, his voice carrying through the door as the nurse took him back up to his room to let him play with his toys.

Emma was still smiling when she sat down for her own breakfast, but the smile faltered as she looked at Killian's empty place at the table, reminding her of what had happened, or more accurately didn't happen, the night before. As she'd made herself presentable for breakfast with the help of her maid she'd realized that she couldn't feel happy about the non-consummation. The marriage needed a consummation to be legal, without it Killian could end the marriage at any point; a risk Emma hadn't the luxury to take. She needed to ask Ruby for help; her friend would know what Emma needed to do to make herself more desirable, to make it impossible for her husband to resist her feminine wiles.

Two hours later Emma was standing in the back room of Madame Durand's shop - a French dressmaker who made the best negligees, according to Ruby - and blushing profusely when the shopkeeper was assessing her from head to toe, telling her that she could work with what she was seeing. Emma was ordered to undress down to her shift, and then she was measured in a lot of inappropriate places, the blush on her cheeks deepening even further when Madame Durand pushed her breasts up and clicked her tongue in approval, mumbling something about how well they would be presented to her husband's gaze in one of her garments.

One hour later she was trussed into a black lace corset, conveniently laced at the front so that it could be put on without the help of a maid. It was completely see-through, embroidered at the hems with red roses and laced so tightly that her breasts almost popped completely out of it, her nipples only covered by a slim ribbon of white lace at the top of the corset.

Emma was still looking at her reflection with utter bafflement when something was slung around her waist and tied closed, and her mouth dropped open when her eyes fell on the extremely naughty nature of the garter, its dark color highlighting the bright locks between her legs. She was still staring when one of her feet was forced up and a silk stocking was slipped over her leg and fastened, her eyes taking in the delicate embroidery on the top as her mind calculated the cost of the whole arrangement. The second stocking was pulled up her other leg a moment later, and the dressmaker beamed at her as she told Emma to turn around and take a look at her reflection from all directions. Emma gulped hard as she looked at her backside over her shoulder; her ass was framed by the garter but otherwise completely naked, and she wasn't sure if she could muster up the courage to stand before Killian exposed like this.

"He won't be able to take his eyes of you, Your Grace. You'll see … these garments will have the desired effect on your husband."

Emma threw a last glance at her reflection and had to agree with some reluctance. After all, these undergarments were supposed to evoke an urgent desire in her husband. Emma needed every help she could get to make her husband willing to consummate the marriage; no matter what it'd cost her.

Killian was nursing his second scotch of the day in a quiet corner of the club, relaxing slightly as he always did here. He preferred the Traveller's club to White's or Brooks's, the members weren't as snobbish and it was easier to have a quite conversation in here, or just enjoy some solitude. Going to White's or Brooks's always meant that other peers were asking about his opinion on some political topic, or ask him to join them in a card game. Here no one tried to approach him, everyone knew he was the Duke of Hillsborough, and left him in peace most of the times.

Swirling the amber liquid around in his glass, he looked out of the window, deep in thought about how to make Emma feel more at ease, and as if Robin could read his mind, he started their conversation with a question about his marriage.

"So ... how is married life treating you, my friend?"

"I've only been married for a few hours, Locksley. You can't expect me to have an answer to that question just yet, can you?"

"Well, but the few hours included your wedding night, so ..." Robin trailed off, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk on his face.

"My wedding night is nothing you should feel the need to be concerned about," Killian snapped, rolling his eyes when his friend's grin broadened; the man loved to tease him.

"Probably not, but ..." Robin was interrupted by a loud voice coming from the entrance, and both men turned their heads to see who was the cause of the commotion.

"Ah, there is the pitiful groom," the man who'd just entered the room shouted, his gaze clearly on their corner of the room.

"Who the bloody hell is this?" Killian asked, watching the drunken man staggering towards them.

"It's Neal Gold," Robin told him, his friend putting down his glass on the table beside him, obviously preparing himself to jump to action if needed.

But Killian didn't have the time to really process that information; he stood up before the man could reach them, readying himself for the inevitable confrontation, knowing by the drunken state of the other man that it wouldn't run smoothly.

"How does it feel to be married to the most frigid woman London has ever seen?" Neal slurred, letting out a harsh chuckle, spit flying from his mouth as he continued, "It's too much work to pry her legs open, isn't it?"

White hot fury slammed into Killian out of nowhere, and without conscious thought he stepped forward and punched Neal square in the face, making him stumble backwards. But one punch didn't seem to be enough, and he slammed his left fist into the man's nose with enough force to break it, sending Neal down to the floor. A sharp pain shot through his left hand, and he stared down at his middle finger, the digit being curved unnaturally, obviously broken. But Killian ignored the pain throbbing through the joint, and leaned forward, wrapping his right hand around the man's shirt and hauling him up from the ground until their faces were only inches apart, ignoring the blood running out of Neal's nose.

"If you ever insult my wife again I will call you out," he hissed, watching with satisfaction as Neal's face blanched even further. "And you should know that I'm well versed in wielding any weapon you might choose. So stay the hell away from me and my wife, and you better keep your mouth shut if your life means anything to you."

"Barnes, send word to my solicitor. I need him to join me."

"Right away, Your Grace," Barnes said, the butler's eyes wandering towards Killian's hand. "Should I also send for Mr. Grackton?"

Killian looked down at his hand, the bloody knuckles and the crooked finger, and realized that that might be a good idea. "Yes, Barnes. It looks like I might need the surgeon."

He was downing his second glass of brandy when the surgeon arrived, and the man went to work in an instant, without asking any questions. Killian bit his tongue to keep the groans in check when the surgeon started to clean the blood from his knuckles and pulled the digit straight again before adjusting splinters around it to keep it stabilized. The surgeon was about to wrap a bandage around the hand when the solicitor arrived, and Killian waited for Mr. Grackton to finish his task and leave the room, before he told his solicitor what he needed of him. The man raised one eyebrow in question, but was intelligent enough to immediately sit down without one contrary comment to draw up the necessary document.

Killian knew it was completely unheard of - or at least he had never heard of something like this before - but his body was still rigid with fury, his rage had turned even hotter when he realized why Emma had showed this obvious fear when he'd stepped into their bedchamber yesterday. Neal must have forced himself on her, and Killian wished he had called the bastard out after all, but the realization had come too late; he'd already been on his way home, and he'd been determined to make sure Emma felt safe before thinking about how to deal with Neal.

Emma fidgeted with the belt of her robe nervously as she waited for Killian to come to their bedchamber that night. He hadn't joined her for dinner, even though she had heard him bark orders a few hours before. But he'd disappeared in his study and she'd been told that Her Grace didn't want to be disturbed, so she'd dined alone. Emma wasn't sure if it had been better for her nerves that she hadn't seen him since breakfast, or if not seeing him had achieved quite the contrary. Her head snapped up as she heard footsteps outside of the door; she was about to find out if her courage would hold up.

Goosebumps erupted over her skin as she let the robe drop from her shoulders the moment her husband entered, her heart racing in her chest as he closed the door behind him. She watched him walk towards her, but then he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks two steps into the room; he seemed to be shocked for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as he let his gaze trail up and down her body. Her eyes flickered to his midsection, seeing the telltale sign of his arousal pressing against the fabric of his breeches; apparently not being desirable enough for him wasn't a problem after all.

When her eyes met his again she saw desire flickering over his gaze, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gulped hard, reaching with his left hand for his head, and Emma noticed the bandage around his finger for the first time. She already opened her mouth to ask him what happened when his sharp voice interrupted her.

"I've let my solicitor draw up a document."

"A document?" Emma questioned, completely thrown by his choice of topic. She'd clad herself in these naughty undergarments to seduce her own husband, but despite his obvious arousal he apparently wanted to talk about some document.

Killian stepped forward and thrust a white envelope into her hand, his voice harsh as he said, "Written proof that our marriage is legitimate."

"But we didn't consummate the marriage yet," Emma whispered, the paper rustling in her fingers as she tightened her grip around it.

"I swore we did in front of witnesses," he replied, waving his uninjured hand towards the envelope. "It's all written down."

"I don't ..." Emma started to speak, but before she could finish her sentence her husband had turned around and left the room without another word.

She opened the envelope with shaking fingers, pulling out the single sheet and unfolding it slowly. Emma stared at the official document in her hands for over a minute, and then back to the door her husband had just disappeared through. Sitting down on the bed, she shook her head in astonishment as she looked over the words again and again, making out the words 'consummation' and 'proof of legality'.

One thing was for sure … she might never understand how her husband's mind worked.