Chapter 5

Killian didn't come to bed that night, at least his side of the bed didn't look as if someone had slept in it, and Emma wondered what had gotten him so upset that he stayed out of their bedchamber all night. She didn't see him at breakfast either, and afterwards she went to visit Ruby, needing her friend to explain her husband's actions.

"Not that surprising, considering what happened," Ruby said after she'd perused the document for a few minutes.

"What do you mean?" Emma asked, staring at her friend in puzzlement.

"Your knight in shining armor defended your honor yesterday at the Traveller's Club. The gossip mill is already spreading it all over town."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't know?"

"Do I look as if I know what happened?"

"He knocked Neal flat on his arse," Ruby explained. "Apparently gave him a broken nose, too. Because he said some demeaning things about you."

"Killian hit him?" Emma almost squealed in surprise.

"Yes, and if the gossip might be believed, he almost called him out, too."

"I can't believe it," Emma murmured, looking down at the document Ruby had given her back a few moments ago.

"It looks like you've reformed him already?"

"It doesn't seem as if he had to be reformed at all."

"Oh, believe me. He was an infamous rake over the last years, though for all I know he's only ever shown interest in widows. Never touched a virgin, or got close to any married women. Not that they haven't tried though. I know of a few married women and debutantes who would have gladly jumped into bed with him."

"But he doesn't act like a scoundrel," Emma mused, wondering again what kind of man her husband really was.

"Perhaps married life has tamed him?" Ruby jested, chuckling softly when Emma threw her an exasperated look.

But Ruby's words kept ricocheting through her mind, and maybe there was some truth in them. After all he'd apparently defended her honor, and she might not have entered the marriage with the wish to tame him, but developing mutual respect seemed a desirable objective. Suddenly a question rose up in her mind, something she wanted to know desperately, and the question was out of her mouth before she could change her mind, "Do you know what Neal exactly said about me?"

"The rumors might be over exaggerating, you know how the ton works, but ..." Ruby hesitated briefly, reaching for Emma's hand and squeezing it gently. "He apparently called you a frigid woman whose legs had to be pried open."

"I see," Emma said with a calmness she didn't feel; suddenly Killian handing her the document made a lot more sense.

Killian must have put the pieces together; the fear she couldn't hide from him at their wedding night combined with Neal's words must have showed him that Emma hadn't always let Neal willingly in her bed. The document he'd given her was his way to tell her that she was safe with him, and tears pricked the back of her eyes as she stared at the paper in her hand, her heart swelling with gratitude for her husband. She needed to thank him. For everything he was doing for her and Henry without asking for anything in return.

"So you broke it?" Robin asked without preamble as he stepped into his study and found Killian staring out the window.

"Aye," Killian replied, stifling a groan when he tried to wiggle his fingers and a sharp pain shot up his arm, the pain reminding him of the man who'd caused him to snap, and he gritted out through clenched teeth, "Though I should have done more than break his nose. I should have killed him."

If Robin was surprised over his outburst he didn't show it; he just leaned back in his chair and lit a cheroot before addressing Killian through the upwards swirling smoke, "You need help with something?"

"I need to find out everything you can about Neal," Killian said firmly. "And I mean everything."

"What are you going to do about him?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Even though Killian had expressed the wish to kill the man a moment ago, he didn't want to draw too much attention to the whole affair; he didn't want to hurt Emma's reputation further, didn't want the gossip mill to talk about them even more than they probably already were, since he'd punched Neal while a crowd of witnesses surrounded them.

He'd spoken the truth just moments before; he didn't know yet what he would do about Neal. But he was determined to learn everything there was to learn about the other man, so that he could decide on the best way to eliminate the threat the man was posing to his wife and her son. That was what was most important right now. Emma and Henry's safety. He would not let himself think about the night before, and the lack of garments Emma had worn to entice him into consummating the marriage. She was safe with him. He would not touch her without her truly wanting it.

Emma found him in the study with an open book in his uninjured hand, the injured hand lying atop the back of the settee, the white of the bandage almost blinding against the dark upholstery. He hadn't noticed her yet, and she let herself take him in for a few moments before announcing her presence.

His hair looked disheveled, as if he had threaded his fingers through it a few times, his neck cloth was nowhere to be seen, his vest was unbuttoned and the first buttons of his shirt were open too, revealing a fine mat of his dark chest hair; his shirt was rolled up to above his elbows, his boots standing beside the settee, his stocking feet thrown up on the cushions.

He looked completely relaxed and lost in his own world, and a sense of longing settled in her stomach as Emma watched him. The wish to just curl up against him suddenly constricted her chest, the wish to open her heart to him, and tell him everything. About what Neal did to her, about not being able to really read and write, about how afraid she still was that Neal might lash out at them and destroy her son's future.

Emma hardly knew the man, but he'd touched something deep inside of her with his gesture the day before, and now she actually wanted to know more about the man himself, wanted to really get to know her husband, though she wasn't certain how to achieve that goal. But for now she needed to show him her gratitude over his selfless gesture, everything else could wait.

Walking into the room, she cleared her throat to draw attention to herself, and Killian looked up startled, apparently not expecting anyone to disturb his reading, but the moment his eyes met hers his expression softened.

"Milady." He sprang up from the settee, and greeted her with a curt bow, before he cocked one eyebrow in question. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She stepped towards him, her fingers shaking slightly as she reached for the bandage wound around his hand, letting her fingers brush over it.

"I know what happened," Emma breathed, staring at the splinters around his finger and avoiding his eyes, her voice barely above a whisper as she added, "Thank you."

"He deserved much more than I gave him," Killian replied softly, his right hand suddenly appearing in her line of vision as he put his forefinger under her chin and pulled it up until she locked eyes with him, his voice turning even more tender as he asked, "He hurt you, didn't he?"

"He …" Emma's voice shook slightly, a lump forming in her throat as he gazed down at her, his fingers still holding her chin in place, but the touch wasn't threatening; she could hardly feel his finger against her skin. "Only the last time. The first times ..." She gulped hard, her hands wandering up his chest, one curling in the fabric directly above his heart. "It wasn't that bad, and not for that long. Only until ..."

"Henry was conceived," Killian finished her sentence softly, and his hand let go off her chin, his fingers closing over the hand lying over his heart.

"Yes."

She'd only been so close to him once, on their wedding day, when he'd kissed her. She smelled the starch of his shirt, and something musky, something uniquely him. Her hand prickled as she lifted it to cradle his face, a strange sensation traveling through her body as she skimmed her fingers over his bristled cheek, and then she met his gaze again, and was once more astounded by the blueness of his eyes, the warmth and understanding that was shining in them.

This man was willing to give her so much more than she'd expected of him, and sudden warmth spread through her as his fingers started to rub tenderly over her skin. Without making a conscious decision she got up on her tiptoes and closed her eyes, brushing her lips over his mouth for a chaste kiss, ending it the moment she felt his tongue brush against her bottom lip in a silent question.

"I … I need some time," Emma whispered with a trembling voice, letting her hand drop down from his face. "Just a few weeks to adjust to … everything. "

"Of course." His fingers loosened around hers, a last brush of his thumb and then the warmth of his hand was gone, leaving her with a feeling of deep deprivation. "You've nothing to worry about, milady."

"And since we won't ..." she trailed off, stepping back out of his embrace, only now realizing that his bandaged hand had come to rest on the small of her back. She ignored the tingling sensation his lips had left on her mouth, and the burning spot at her back where his hand had been, and forced herself to speak the words that seemed necessary to set him free of any obligation for the time being. "I understand that you have needs, Your Grace. You might want to resume your relationship with your mistress until … until I'm ready."

Emma curtsied swiftly, and rushed out of the study, her cheeks burning bright red and her heart galloping in her chest as she hurried up to the nursery, intent on spending some time with Henry; it was the best way to soothe her frenzied mind.

Killian didn't know why it'd hurt so much to hear her say the words, why it made him kind of angry that she told him he should go bury his cock in someone else's cunt. Not that she'd used those specific words of course, but her meaning had been clear.

Now he was sitting in a brothel, staring at the almost naked bodies that were practically thrust into his face. He'd been driving to Milah's house first, but couldn't enter. He hadn't wanted to spend time with her, hadn't wanted to fuck her. He was more in the mood of having a common wench; something this brothel had a large selection of.

His grip tightened around the glass in his hand, and with a growl he lifted it to his mouth and downed its contents, slamming it down on the table beside him, wondering for a moment why the force with which he'd slammed it down hadn't shattered it. But then a wave of perfume hit his nostrils, and he turned his head, sending up a lascivious grin to the woman standing before him.

"My, my, my," he drawled, gripping her skirt and pulling her between his open legs. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

The wench fluttered her eyelashes at him, letting out a throaty chuckle as she lowered herself to sit on his leg, her fingers trailing over his cheek and down his neck. With one tug at the front of her dress her breasts were exposed to his gaze, and he grunted in appreciation. Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, and she pulled his head forward, inviting him to have a taste of her rosy peaks. He latched onto one with vigor, sucking at it hard, burying his teeth in the soft flesh. Letting it pop out of his mouth, he reached for it with his hand, tugging and twirling the swollen peak roughly.

His cock was straining against the flap of his breeches, and Killian contemplated if he shouldn't just ruffle her skirts up and have a quick tumble with her right here and there. Her nimble fingers already worked at his trousers, her palm rubbing over his rigid arousal, and he was already anticipating to glide into her warm sheath as a picture of the creamy swell of Emma's breasts rose up in his mind out of the blue. He sucked in a breath as an image of her standing in her naughty undergarments in the middle of their bedchamber assaulted his brain, and the image of the thatch of locks between her thighs made him even harder and needier. But not for the wench currently sitting in his lap.

"Bloody hell," he cursed, shoving the woman off his lap without much ceremony, ignoring her startled outcry when she almost landed on her ass on the floor.

"Something wrong, Your Grace? You didn't like what Jane has to offer?" The woman who owned the brothel stepped beside him with a frown between her eyes, waving her hand through the room as she continued, "You can always choose another one to your liking."

Killian grunted out a sharp 'No', shoving his cock back into his breeches and closing the flap, well aware that he was still rock hard and needed to take care of that problem soon. But not here. Not with one of these women.

Emma had given him her blessing to fuck anyone he liked, but the problem was Killian didn't want to fuck anyone. He only wanted her. He only wanted his wife.

How pathetic is that? he scoffed inwardly, gritting his teeth as he stepped out into the chilly night. He would end up with shriveled balls because he couldn't take another woman to bed beside his wife, and his wife he couldn't have.

"Lord help me," he growled into the darkness, tilting his head to look up at the night sky, reaching down to adjust his breeches to relieve the pressure against his still aching cock. "I'm a bloody fool."