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kmomof4 · 6 months ago

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A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 5

We are back everyone!!! I've been waiting for this chapter for several reasons and I so hope you enjoy it! Thank you again for coming along on this journey with me! It means more than I can say!

Thank you as well to @jrob64 for all her help in crafting this story and to @snowbellewells and @motherkatereloyshipper for the artwork they made to accompany it!! Love all you ladies to bits!!!

Words: Almost 6300 of approx 59,5K

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut in Later Chapters.

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

On Tumblr Prologue Ch2 Ch3 Ch4

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The rest of the week passed in a nauseating blur of flowers, candy, and badly recited poetry by lovesick suitors. It was enough to make Killian want to vomit. Preferably on the lovesick suitors.

Emma was apparently putting all the young debutantes to shame. Her number of suitors may not actually be doubling every day, but it certainly felt like they were, as Killian had had to remove himself from Kilmartin House each day to keep from constantly tripping over the latest besotted fool.

And God above, could not a one of them conceive an original thought? Of course they all made mention of her eyes, but was there anyone with an ounce of creativity in their brains that they might compare them to something other than the green grass of Hyde Park? If anyone had bothered to really look at the color of her eyes, they would clearly see they were a shade all their own. And their hue would change based on her mood - the sparkling green of an emerald when she was happy or laughing, or a more muted jade when she was melancholy.

And everything was worsened by the memory of his conversation with Will.

Marriage to Emma.

Marriage. To Emma.

He’d never really allowed himself to consider it. But now it gripped him with a fever and intensity that burned as hot as his love for her ever had.

And Will knew.

Of course he knew. Will may not have known for sure when he first made the suggestion, but there had been no way for Killian to effectively hide everything that went through his head at the suggestion. Will was shrewd and nobody’s fool, so there was no doubt in his mind that Emma’s brother would have accurately deduced his feelings just from his utterly flabbergasted response. The question now was, would he tell Emma?

It was something his mind wouldn’t let go of - like a dog with a bone, gnawing at every side - even as he stood watching her on the dance floor at the Fisher ball a week after the original conversation.

“She looks very beautiful tonight, doesn’t she?”

A soft smile touched his lips when he heard his mother’s words.

“Doesn’t she, Killian?” she repeated, when he didn’t answer right away.

“Of course,” he replied quickly. Hopefully quickly enough that she’d think he was simply being polite.

“Green suits her.”

Everything suited Emma, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud to his mother. The deep green velvet she wore, coupled with her golden tresses, made her look like a rare and sparkling jewel.

“You should dance with her.”

He cleared his throat and took another sip of champagne before speaking. “Oh, I will,” he assured her. “After I finish my drink.” Even if the only thing he wanted to do was march right over to her and forcibly remove her from the arms of the latest gentleman dancing with her.

Alice huffed. “Her dance card will surely be filled by then. You should go now.”

Killian gave her his signature smirk, designed to make her forget whatever she was fixated on at the moment, and set his glass down on a nearby table.

“Now why would I do that,” he said, gallantly with a deep bow, “when I can dance with you instead?”

Her expression changed quickly to amusement. “You rascal.” But she didn’t protest when he led her out to the floor.

He knew he’d pay for this tomorrow. The society matrons were already circling him for the kill, and there was nothing they loved better than a rake who doted upon his mother.

The dance was lively, which left little room for conversation, but he still managed to keep Emma in his sights. Until the end of the dance, when he was forced to make one final turn away from her.

And when he turned back, she was gone. Technically, it was possible she’d excused herself to the ladies retiring room, but as he knew she’d done that only twenty minutes earlier, it seemed unlikely. He finished his dance with his mother, bade her farewell with a deep bow, then made his way to the north side of the room, where he’d last seen Emma.

As he got closer, he noticed tall French doors, probably leading to the gardens, closed and curtained. It was not terribly surprising as it was only early April and not warm enough yet to keep the doors open. But he was still suspicious. He’d spent far too much time out in gardens himself with various women to not be fully aware of what could happen in the dark of the night.

He slipped outside. As soon as the door shut behind him, the sounds of the music and three hundred bodies dancing and talking and laughing inside were muted.

Then, he heard her voice. She sounded happy, absolutely content to be in the company of whoever had brought her out here and the thought felt like a punch to his solar plexus. He should leave. Emma wouldn’t want him here. But he couldn’t bring his feet to move.

He’d never spied on Emma with Liam. If he’d ever stumbled across them during a private conversation, he’d removed himself immediately. But now, something was different. And he couldn’t explain why. But he couldn’t make himself leave.

Just one more minute, he told himself. Just one more to make sure she really was enjoying the man’s company and was not in a dangerous situation.

“No, no.”

Emma’s voice.

His ears pricked up. She didn’t sound upset, but she was saying no. Of course, she could just be responding to some tidbit of gossip or laughing at a joke.

“I really must… No!”

And that was all it took for Killian to move.

~*~*~

Emma knew she shouldn’t have gone out on the terrace alone with Sir Walsh, but as a widow, she wasn’t subject to the same rules as the debutantes and she was a trifle warm inside, so the cool night air was welcome.

It had been perfectly pleasant for the first few minutes. Sir Walsh had made her laugh and made her feel beautiful, and oh! how hard was it to admit that she missed that? Was it so bad to want to feel beautiful and desired?

Maybe they were all only after her notorious double dowry, or maybe they were seeking an alliance with two of the more well-known and powerful families of the ton - Emma was a Nolan and a Jones, after all. But for this one evening, she was going to pretend that it was all about her.

But then Sir Walsh had stepped closer. She moved back a step as subtly as she could, but he took another step in her direction. Then another. And another. And before she knew it, she was pressed back against the trunk of a large tree and Sir Walsh was much too close with both hands on the bark on either side of her head.

“Sir Walsh,” she began, as politely as she could. “I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I’d like to return to the party now.” She kept her voice light, not wanting to provoke anything.

“Now, why would you want to do that?” he murmured, his head dipping closer to hers.

“No, no,” she protested, ducking to the side to avoid him, “People will be missing me.” Dash it all. He wasn’t backing up. She was going to have to stamp on his foot, or worse, unman him in the manner her brothers had shown her when she was but a green girl. “Sir Walsh,” she tried one more time for civility, “I really must…”

And then his mouth, wet and insistent, and not at all welcome, crashed against hers.

“... NO!” she managed to squeal.

But he was quite determined and was much stronger than she gave him credit for. She twisted and turned trying to position herself so she could bring her knee up where it would hurt him the most, but before she could, he was gone.

“Oh!” The surprised sound burst from her. There was a whoosh, the sickening sound of knuckles on flesh, and a cry of pain the likes of which she’d never heard. By the time Emma realized what was going on, Sir Walsh was on the ground and a large man loomed over him, his boot planted firmly on Sir Walsh’s chest.

“Killian?” Emma asked, unable to believe what she was seeing.

“Say the word,” Killian said, in a voice that she’d never heard cross his lips. A voice she’d never dreamed he possessed, “and I will crush his ribs.”

“No!” Emma said quickly. She may not have felt the least bit guilty about kneeing the man between the legs, but she didn’t want Killian to kill him.

And from the look on his face, she knew that he would. And not think twice about it.

She moved quickly toward him and touched his arm. He looked at her, a feral gleam in his eye and Emma caught her breath. “Could we just, perhaps, ask him to leave?”

Killian continued to stare at her. Hard. With an intensity that made it difficult for her to breathe. He ground down on Sir Walsh’s chest just a little bit harder, enough to make the man grunt in pain.

“Are you quite certain?” he asked, his voice still low and full of fury.

“Yes,” she said, “there’s no need to hurt him. I shouldn’t have come out here with him.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t give him leave to force his attentions on you.” His voice was harsh, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of her behavior or Sir Walsh’s. Killian suddenly removed his foot from the man’s chest and hauled him up by the lapels of his jacket, pressing him against the tree he’d trapped her against, then moving in close until they were nose to nose.

“Doesn’t feel so good to be trapped, now does it?” he taunted. Sir Walsh remained silent, just staring at Killian in terror. “Do you have something to say to the lady?” Sir Walsh shook his head no and Killian shook him before slamming him back against the tree. “Think harder!” he roared.

“I’m sorry!” Sir Walsh squealed.

Rather like a girl, Emma thought. She knew she wasn’t really interested in marrying him, much less bear his child, but this just confirmed it.

But Killian wasn’t finished with him yet. “If you ever come within ten feet of Lady Kilmartin again, I will personally disembowel you.”

Even Emma flinched at his words.

“Do I make myself clear?” he growled.

Another squeak of acknowledgement and Sir Walsh sounded like he might cry.

“Get out of my sight,” Killian said, all but throwing the terrified man away from him. “And don’t let me see your face in London for at least a month.” Sir Walsh got to his feet, his face pale with shock. “Unless, of course, you want to meet me at dawn.” Killian shrugged an insolent shoulder, but the gleam in his eye and the smile on his face told her that he’d like nothing better than to meet Sir Walsh on the dueling field.

Emma realized she was holding her breath. Killian was terrifying. And magnificent. And it was a true shock to realize that she’d never imagined Killian had this in him. That he could be like this.

Sir Walsh ran away as fast as he could, heading across the lawn to the back gate and leaving her alone with Killian. And leaving her, for the first time since she’d known him, without a thing to say.

Except perhaps, “I’m sorry.”

Killian turned sharply back to her. “Don’t apologize.”

“No, of course not,” she agreed. “I should have known better.”

“He should have known better,” he bit out.

It was true and Emma’s mouth shut with a snap. It wouldn’t do to feed his anger any further. She’d never seen him like this. Truly, she’d never seen anyone like this. So angry that they looked like they might shatter at the slightest touch. As he’d dealt with Sir Walsh, she’d thought he was out of control, but she now realized the opposite was true. He was holding on to his control with both hands, and perhaps his teeth as well. If he wasn’t, Emma was quite sure, Sir Walsh would be dead.

Emma opened her mouth again, but found she still didn’t have anything to say. She could do nothing but stare at the man that she thought she knew so well.

There was something spellbinding in the moment and she couldn’t look away from him. He was breathing hard, struggling mightily to keep his rage under control, but his eyes were far away, as if he wasn’t really there.

“Killian?” she asked in a whisper.

No response.

“Killian?” she tried again, this time lightly touching him on the arm. He flinched and whipped around toward her so quickly that she stumbled backwards.

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head sharply. She didn’t know what she meant to say, but the look on his face left her shaken. And desiring something comforting and familiar, which at the moment, Killian was not. “I’d like to go home please.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll make your apologies inside. Would you like me to escort you through the back gate or the ballroom?”

“The back gate please. I’ll send the carriage back for you and Alice.” The words were formal and necessary to keep her mind away from what all had transpired. He led her toward the gate, his hand on the small of her back, burning through her gown the entire way. When they arrived at the carriage, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

“How did you know I was in the garden?” she inquired. He didn’t answer right away, but his gaze was intense on her and Emma caught her breath. “Were you watching me?”

His expression didn’t change a whit. “I’m always watching you.”

She had nothing to say and climbed into the carriage. But she knew his words would keep her awake long into the night.

~*~*~

Three hours later Emma still lay awake. Alice had returned some time earlier and had informed Emma that Killian was spending time at his club before returning home. Emma wasn’t prepared for the despair that rolled over her at her mother-in-law’s words.

He was avoiding her. When he’d saved her earlier this evening, he was every bit the dashing romantic hero she secretly swooned over in the latest novel. But by the time she left the party, she had the distinct impression that Killian wanted to get away from her. No matter his last words to her. That his heroism was nothing more than something that he had to do, rather than something he wanted to do.

And even worse, that while she thought of him as a cherished friend and her closest confidant, she was nothing of the sort to him. Nothing more than someone whose presence he endured.

And that hurt. To the very depths of her soul.

She finally heard the carriage roll up outside, then the front door open and close. He was home. And the evening could now officially end. She should at least try to sleep. Perhaps listen for a moment at their adjoining doors. She had no idea what she’d be listening for, but something had changed between them tonight and it left Emma feeling unsettled. Perhaps listening to him ready himself for bed would settle her nerves, help her convince herself that everything was fine between them.

But when she heard his boots on the stairs, she couldn’t stop herself. She wasn’t thinking, she was only moving. To the door of her chamber and out into the hall, her bare feet making hardly a sound on the carpet runner. He stopped when he saw her, surprised, and Emma caught her breath. He was literally breathtaking in the pale glow of the moonlight spilling through the window at the end of the passage.

He looked completely exhausted, but his blue eyes still glowed in the night and his dark hair was tousled over his forehead, inviting her to brush it back into place with her fingers. He was utterly beautiful and she was suddenly conscious of it, almost as a physical caress against her skin.

“Emma,” he said, wearily.

And she, of course, stood there like a fish out of water, gaping at him and not saying a word.

“Emma?”

She shook herself. “K-Killian…” she stammered. “Good… good evening.”

He just stared at her, his eyebrow rising in inquiry.

She took a deep breath and tried again. “I… I just wanted… to see if you were alright.”

A weary sigh left his lips. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“I didn’t thank you earlier,” she said, the words bursting out of her before she could think about the wisdom of that statement.

“For what?”

“For coming to my aid.” She would have thought it was obvious, but maybe he was just too tired to really think about it. “I would have defended myself…” She trailed away when Killian raised a single brow in disbelief. “My brothers showed me how.”

He chuckled and looked down for a moment. “Then I have no doubt you would have rendered him a soprano in moments, had I not intervened.”

“Yes, well, I do appreciate not having to, ahh…” She was blushing. God above, she hated it when she blushed.

“Knee him in the bollocks?” Killian supplied helpfully, the corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile.

“Indeed,” she murmured, quite convinced that her cheeks now flamed scarlet, skipping all the shades of pink completely.

“You’re welcome,” he said abruptly. “Now, if you will excuse me.” He moved toward her, but she couldn’t let him go - not yet.

“Wait,” she called, turning around as he approached his bedchamber door.

He sighed, the exhaustion clinging to him like a coat. “Yes?” But she could think of nothing to say. He huffed in exasperation. “Can it wait until morning?”

“No! Wait! Please!” And this time she moved toward him and grabbed his arm. He froze. “Why are you so angry with me?” she whispered.

“What?” His confusion was all over his face, and if she hadn’t been so upset and caught up in her own head, she might have found it humorous. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

“Why are you so angry with me?” she repeated, a bit stronger this time. Something wasn’t right between them and she had to know why.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered. “I’m not angry with you. I’m merely tired and want to go to bed.”

“You are angry,” she insisted, “I know you are.” And she did. He was quite adept at hiding it, but there was ire in him and it was directed at her.

Killian placed his hand over hers and Emma caught her breath at the heat from his touch. He lifted her hand from his arm and let it drop. “I’m going to bed.”

She was speechless. She watched as he opened his bedchamber door and entered, then shut it behind him.

“No!” she cried. She dashed after him, unthinking, unmindful… right into his bedroom.

If he wasn’t angry with her before, he definitely was now. “What are you doing here?” he barked.

“You can’t just dismiss me like that, Killian!” she protested.

He stared at her. Hard. “You are in my bedchamber, Emma,” he said in a low voice. “I suggest you leave.”

“Not until you tell me what is going on!”

Killian held himself perfectly still. His every muscle frozen. It was truly a blessing, because if he allowed himself to move, he’d lunge for her. And God knew what he’d do when he caught her.

He’d been pushed to the edge. First by Will. Then by Sir Walsh. And now by Emma herself. Standing there, confusion and hurt rolling off of her, and without a bloody clue.

His world had been turned upside down by one simple suggestion.

You could marry her, you know.

It dangled before him like the choicest of fruit in the Garden of Eden. A wicked possibility that shouldn’t have been his to take.

Liam, his conscience reminded him. Don’t forget Liam.

“Emma,” he said, his voice low and even and perfectly controlled. He swallowed hard before he continued. “It is well after midnight. And you are in the bedchamber of a man to whom you are not married. I suggest you leave.”

But she didn’t. She didn’t move. Damn her. She stood there, a vision in her nightdress, her hair loose, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before.

“Why are you angry with me?” she repeated a third time. “Is it because I want to remarry?”

Killian just stared at her dumbfounded. He couldn’t have been more surprised at her words.

“You think I’m betraying Liam’s memory, don’t you?” she accused.

“No, Emma,” he said wearily, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I would never…”

But she wasn’t listening. “You think I should mourn your brother forever. Do you think I don’t? Do you think that I don’t think about him every single day? Do you think it feels good to know that when I do marry, I’ll be making a mockery of the sacrament?”

He looked at her. She was breathing hard, the color high on her cheeks, tears glistening in the corner of her eyes.

“What I had with Liam,” she said, her entire body shaking now, “I am not going to find with any of the men of the ton who have been sending me flowers. And it feels like a desecration - nothing more than utter selfishness that I’m even considering remarrying.” She turned away from him and grasped the edge of his chest of drawers. “If I didn’t want a baby… so damned much.”

She stopped then. He couldn’t move. He should move. He should comfort her. And if they’d been in any other room than his bedchamber, he would have. But it was all he could do to control his breathing. And himself.

“You don’t know,” she whispered. “You just don’t know.”

It was more than he could take. She was the one who barged in here, uninvited, demanding answers, when she didn’t even understand the questions. She pushed him to the limit, and now she was going to turn her back on him and tell him he didn’t know?

He crossed the room on silent feet until he stood mere inches behind her. “Don’t know what?” he demanded softly.

She whirled around. “Killian,” she breathed. She was as still as marble, the only sound her breath feathering over her lips, her eyes never leaving his face.

His fingers tingled, his heart thudded in his chest, his breath stuttered.

His body burned.

She was as close as she’d ever been to him. Her eyes were glazed, her chin slightly lifted making her mouth open gently. If she’d been anyone else, he would have sworn she wanted to be kissed.

The moment was endless.

A whisper crossed his lips, her name, maybe. His head bent toward her and suddenly the impossible became the inevitable. There was no stopping it. He gathered her in his arms and claimed her lips with his own. Sealing his fate… and hers.

When she thought about it later, she could only say that she hadn’t heard him approach from behind. Because if she had, she never would have turned around. But she did turn, his name a whisper of breath.

And he was right there.

So close. Closer than he’d ever stood to her. Closer than anyone but Liam had ever stood to her. And never Killian.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but breathe as she watched him, realizing with awful certainty that she wanted him to kiss her.

Good God. She wanted Killian to kiss her. She wanted Killian.

The knowledge was like a lightning bolt, electrifying her nerve endings and leaving her trembling in anticipation. She wasn’t supposed to want anyone. But Killian…

She waited for him to move. She could do nothing but moisten her lips and wait for him to move. Because she knew when he did, it would be perfection.

And it was.

He claimed her lips with his own and she melted into him. His hand found its way to the small of her back and while he didn’t pull her into him, the barest pressure was there and the distance between them slowly disappeared until she could feel the scrape of his evening clothes through the silk of her dressing gown.

His lips grew more demanding and Emma opened to him, a low moan coming from her as his tongue fully explored the recesses of her mouth. His passion left her weak until she had to grab his arms, to touch him of her own accord, to fully participate in this kiss. To acknowledge that she was a part of this. That she wanted this. That she wanted him.

He murmured her name into her lips, his voice gravelly with desire and need and something more she dared not think about. She could do nothing but cling to him and kiss him as he was kissing her.

Her hands raised to his neck and her fingers buried themselves in the silky soft strands of his hair. His hand moved up her back, trailing fire in its wake, and moved around to her breast. Emma froze, but he was too caught up in his passion to notice. A moan broke from him as he squeezed the tender flesh.

“No,” she whispered.

“Emma,” he moaned again as he trailed kisses up her neck to gently suck at the skin just below her ear.

“Killian,” she begged. “We can’t… I can’t… I can’t do this.” She wrenched herself away from him and opened her eyes, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

His pupils were blown with desire, only the thinnest rim of blue still visible. His hair was even more tousled than it had been and his lips were red and parted. He stared at her, the intensity threatening to consume her.

“I can’t…” she repeated. “I can’t do this…”

“Then go,” he ground out.

She fled to her room. Then the next day, she fled to Number Five.

And the day after that, she fled all the way to Scotland.

~*~*~

Emma had always been a sly one, and she could lie with the best of them when the occasion called for it, but even Killian was rather taken aback at the note full of lies she’d left for his mother when she’d gone to Scotland.

She described the disease spreading amongst the livestock in remarkable detail, all while assuring Alice that it wasn’t necessary for her or for Killian to follow her. She was fully capable of handling the emergency and would return to London just as soon as she could.

His own letter from her was far less wordy and more to the point.

It was wrong of me. Forgive me.

Although what she thought she needed to be forgiven for was quite beyond him. He had kissed her.

Not exactly the kind of behavior he should be engaging in if he wished to keep his true feelings secret. She may have barged into his bedchamber, but she hadn’t done it expecting him to kiss her. She’d been concerned about their friendship. She thought he was angry with her, so she had acted rashly. But only because she cared about him and their relationship.

Was it possible that the reality of her kiss would so completely surpass every fantasy he’d ever had? And with six years worth of dreams behind him, he’d envisioned some truly spectacular kisses. But, yes. Yes, it was possible that his fantasies had been so lacking, it was almost laughable - if he was capable of laughing. And it was over now. Never to be repeated.

So now he was truly miserable. He’d only thought he’d been miserable the last six years. But no. Now that he’d tasted her, and actually experienced the far superior reality, his torment knew no bounds. He knew now exactly what he was missing. He understood with agonizing clarity what would never be his.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

They couldn’t even remain friends after this. Running to a different country in order to avoid him? Hell, he knew Emma. If she could have run to the moon, she would have. A woman couldn’t send a clearer message than that.

He still wasn’t quite sure how it’d happened. When she’d turned away from him, something had snapped in him and he moved. That was when everything between them changed. And then when she’d turned back to him, he was lost. There was no escaping it. The lid he’d kept on his love and desire for her had simply disappeared and there was nothing he could do but fall into her. There had been no choice involved. No free will. She’d simply waited, her stuttered breath the only thing between them. Waited for him to come to his senses and walk away? Or waited for him to kiss her? It didn’t matter. The result was the same.

The floor around his desk was littered with crumpled sheets of paper. He was in a destructive mood and they were easy targets. He grabbed another from the surface of his desk and prepared to do the same when he realized it was an invitation. He looked closer and saw it was for tonight. He inhaled sharply through his teeth. He’d probably answered in the affirmative when it’d arrived, but he was not in the mood to endure an evening of polite company. He crumpled the invitation in his hand and dropped it to the floor with its fellows. He rose from his desk and decided that he’d handle his problems the way he had so often before. By finding himself a woman.

~*~*~

A couple of hours later he found himself at the door of his club in as foul a mood as he’d ever been. He’d visited one of the higher class brothels in town - one that ensured the women were clean and there of their own free will - but had a difficult time deciding on one. Too short, too lean, too blonde, not in the mood for a brunette or redhead. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to choose. There was no reason to seek out someone who would just leave him feeling emptier inside than he already did.

So now he was here, where he’d be confronted with not a single female, hoping that alcohol would be successful where La Belle had failed. He walked in, but hadn’t even made it to the lounge when he heard his name.

“Kilmartin.”

Will Nolan. Damn, damn, damn! Anyone would have been preferable to a Nolan. Even Napoleon himself.

“Nolan.” He tried to inject a pleasant tone into his voice, but seriously doubted he was successful.

“Join me,” he invited, motioning to the seat across from him. There was no avoiding it. Killian could only hope Will had a pressing engagement that would require their impromptu meeting to be cut short. In about a minute and a half.

Will was silent until Killian’s drink was delivered. “I understand Emma has returned to Scotland.”

Killian grunted and nodded.

“Surprising, isn’t it?” Will mused. “With the season just getting started and all.”

“I don’t pretend to know her mind,” Killian grit out.

“No,” he agreed. “There’s no understanding a female mind. Particularly Emma’s.”

As foul of a mood as he was already in, Will’s words made it even worse. “I seem to remember telling you during our last conversation that Emma deserved respect,” Killian growled. “And I would tolerate nothing less. From anyone.”

The warning in his tone was evident but Will was silent and just continued studying him.

“Have you thought about what I said?” he asked, changing the subject smoothly.

Killian held himself very still. “About what?”

A corner of Will’s lips rose in the beginnings of a smug smile. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing and Killian would have loved nothing better than to punch him.

“About Emma.”

“Didn’t we just confirm that she’s left the country?”

“Scotland isn’t that far,” Will observed.

“Far enough,” Killian muttered. Far enough anyway to make it abundantly clear how she felt about him.

“She’ll be all alone up there,” Will sighed.

Killian just stared at him, narrowing his eyes.

“I still think you should…” Will shrugged, “Well, you know what I think,” he finished.

Killian was done being polite. “You don’t know a damned thing, Nolan,” he growled.

Will raised his brows at the snarl in his voice, but the smirk didn’t disappear. “Funny, I hear that all the time,” he murmured. “Most of the time from my sisters.”

Killian was quite familiar with this tactic. He’d often used it himself. And it was probably why the desire to punch Will in the face was now manifesting in his clenched fist under the table. Nothing had more power to irritate than one’s own behavior showing up in someone else. And Will’s face was tantalizingly close.

“Another drink?” Will asked, motioning to Killian’s empty glass.

“No,” Killian bit out and rose from the table. He may have been happy to drink himself into oblivion, but he was certainly not happy to do it in the presence of Will Nolan.

“You do realize, Kilmartin,” Will said, his voice low and intense, “There’s nothing keeping you from marrying her. Nothing at all. Except of course,” he added, shrugging indifferently, but with his steady gaze not leaving Killian, “what you come up with yourself.”

Killian’s heart ripped in his chest. But he’d grown so used to it, it was a wonder he still noticed. And Will just wouldn’t shut up.

“Now if you don’t want to marry her…”

“She might say no.” His voice was no more than a whisper and damn it all, if Will hadn’t known his feelings for Emma before this conversation, he certainly did now.

Will shrugged again. “She might. Most women do, the first time they’re asked.”

Killian raised a brow. “And you know this how?”

Will’s gaze never wavered from his as he answered, “Oh, just hearing it around the ton.” He waved his arm about, rather aimlessly. “Because I’ve only asked once. And we both know how that turned out.” His grin now was genuine and a bit lovestruck, but seeing the happiness on Will’s face did nothing to improve Killian’s mood. Will’s eyes focused on him again, his gaze open but also calculating. “But speaking of, the wedding is being moved up.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My wedding,” he repeated. “To Belle. We’ve decided to move up the date.”

“To when?”

“Two weeks.”

Will’s gaze still hadn’t wavered, but now there was an amused satisfaction in his eyes that had Killian’s eyes narrowing, even as an idea began to form in his mind. “Emma will need to be informed.”

Will nodded. “Yes, she will. I’d go to her myself, but I’ll be a tad busy the next couple of weeks.”

“You will,” Killian acknowledged. “And your mother will likely be too busy to send a note as well.” Will nodded silently, his dark eyes dancing.

“I’ll go.”

It was the only conclusion to the little dance he and Will were engaged in, however unwilling he was as a participant. Will may have thought he was cleverly manipulating Killian into going after her, but he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t desperately want to follow her to Scotland, and now that he had a reason to, nothing would stop him from doing so.

Will raised his drink in salute as Killian rose from the table.

“Safe travels.”

~*~*~

Several days later, Killian stood at the door of Kilmartin, his childhood home. Spring had yet to arrive in the Scottish highlands and the bite in the air reminded him that this - not London, and certainly not India - was home. No matter how long he’d been away from it. But this sense was little comfort as he prepared himself for what lay ahead.

He had to face Emma.

He’d envisioned it a thousand times during his journey north. Imagining her reaction to him showing up, the words she might say, the words he’d say to her. Besides the message he’d actually been commissioned to bring her.

He was going to marry Emma.

He was going to have to convince her of it, of course. It had taken ten days - ten tremendously difficult days - for him to get his mind wrapped around the prospect since that first cataclysmic conversation with Will. But, that had been because he loved her so completely, and been so thoroughly convinced that she’d never belong to him, it had taken a while for him to accept it as even a remote possibility. Emma felt nothing of the sort for him, and so would undoubtedly see the advantages he was prepared to lay out for their union. She was an imminently sensible woman, and Killian was sure he’d be able to convince her to marry him.

And it would be good. It would be heaven. He may not have her heart, but he’d have the rest of her. And that would be enough.

Wouldn’t it?

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Next ch will be up late Friday night before I go to bed.

#a scoundrel... or a gentleman?#krystal writes #inspired by francesca bridgerton's story #banner by snowbellewells #ch art by motherkatereloyshipper

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kmomof4 · 6 months ago

Text

A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 3

Y'all... I STILL can't get over y'all's enthusiasm for this fic!!! THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!!!

And now, it's time for the new chapter! I hope y'all enjoy and let me know what you think!

But first, can you all join me in screaming at @snowbellewells for the gorgeous banner she made for the fic?! Thank you soooo much, babe!!!

Thank you again to @jrob64 for her beta services and listening to me whine, @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 who did as well, and @motherkatereloyshipper for the chapter art she made that I mistakenly posted with the Prologue instead of Ch2 where it belonged. Thank you all so much, ladies!!!

Chapter summary: Hurt/Comfort incoming!!! Enjoy!!!

Words: closing in on 6600 of approx 59,5k

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut in Later Chapters.

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

On Tumblr Prologue Ch2

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 3

“Didn’t Killian say he would join us for dinner this evening?” Ruth asked.

Emma looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It wasn’t like him to be late. “He did.”

“And didn’t we tell him the time?”

Ruth’s face betrayed that she was worried about their unaccounted for dinner guest, and Emma sighed. She’d been dreading his arrival all day long - on account of her epiphany in the park and then the conversation with her mother. She just wasn’t sure she could face him without her face betraying her. But small blessings, he likely wasn’t even aware of what happened to her in the park.

She nodded. “I confirmed the time with him when we arrived back here after our stroll through the park.” She remembered the exchange with perfect clarity. She’d felt quite sick to her stomach at the time - not wanting to see him again so soon - but she had no choice in the matter. Her mother had extended the invitation, not her.

“Perhaps I should go check on him,” Emma said, rising to her feet. The more she thought about it, the more concerned she grew about him. He may be known as a rake and scoundrel, but he was polite and courteous to a fault and would never be late - over thirty minutes late - to any gathering he was invited to. Not without sending some kind of word.

“Oh, would you, dear? I’d be so grateful,” Ruth assured her.

Emma nodded and hurried out of the room. It only took a few minutes before she was safely ensconced in a carriage and on her way to Kilmartin House. The streets weren’t terribly busy. The ton wouldn’t be out on their way to balls and parties for another couple of hours yet.

She arrived at the house and climbed the steps, the door opening before she even had a chance to use the knocker.

“Is Kilmartin here?” A small smile touched her lips as she realized it was the first time she’d referred to Killian as such. It was strange, but good too, how easily she called him by his title. It was probably time anyway. He was the earl now. She wouldn’t refer to him as Mr. Jones or Killian with the staff ever again.

“I believe so,” the footman replied. “He arrived home this afternoon and I haven’t been made aware of his departure.”

Emma nodded in acknowledgement, then hurried up the stairs. If he’d been in his downstairs office, the footman would have known. She reached the second floor landing and hurried down the hall to his bedchamber.

“Killian?” she asked, once she reached his door. “Killian?”

There was no answer, and Emma slowly pushed the door open. “Killian,” she called again, a little softer this time, not wanting to wake him if he slept. Perhaps he was still tired after his long journey.

Perhaps…

She couldn’t finish the thought. She burst through the door in a panic and ran to the bed to find Killian huddled in the middle of the bed, looking as sick as anyone she’d ever seen in her life.

“Killian!” she cried, unable to keep the alarm out of her voice, although she was very relieved that he was indeed alive.

He startled and turned toward her. “Emma?” His voice was a low rasp that she’d never heard from his lips. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes - from what she could tell in the semi-darkened room - were glazed, his skin was mottled and flushed, and the level of heat emanating from the bed quite took her breath away. Not to mention that he smelled sick. That kind of awful, putrid kind of smell that if it had a color, would surely be vomitous green. Emma touched his forehead and immediately drew her hand back from the heat of it.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing but a head cold,” he croaked.

There was no way for her to keep the incredulous shock off of her face. “That is not a head cold,” she asserted.

He tried to smile, but it came across as more of a ghastly grimace instead. “A really bad head cold?” he tried again.

“Killian George Alaster Jones!” If he wasn’t so sick, she might have smacked him on the arm. But since he was, she restrained herself.

“Good God, you sound like my mother.” He pulled the covers back up over himself, his whole body shaking with the exertion.

“Killian,” she growled, “I insist that you tell me what is wrong with you. You forget, I know you and how you operate. You always act like nothing ever matters, like water off a duck’s back. You will not brush me off and attempt to minimize this. Do you understand me?”

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” he mumbled.

“Oh, right,” Emma replied, with every bit of sarcasm she could muster, which was quite a lot, actually.

“I will, truly,” he insisted, turning over onto his back with a groan. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Something about the tone of his voice struck her as odd. “And what about the day after that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh, well then I’ll be sick as a dog again,” he said with a harsh chuckle.

“Killian,” she said, the dread in her heart forcing her pitch lower. “What is wrong with you?”

“Haven’t you guessed, Emma?” he asked, poking his head back out of the covers. He looked so ill, she wanted to weep. “I have malaria.”

“Oh, my God,” she gasped, backing up a step. “Oh, my God!”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you blaspheme,” he remarked. “Should probably be flattered that it’s over me.” She had no idea how he could be so flippant at a time like this. She reached out for him, but drew back again, unsure what exactly to do. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You can’t catch it from me.”

“I can’t?” She blinked in surprise. “I mean, of course, I can’t.” And even if she could, it shouldn’t have stopped her from trying to help him. This was Killian. He was… well, it was difficult to define exactly what he was to her, but they had an unbreakable bond between them - they always had - that time and distance had not erased.

“It’s the air,” he said, tiredly. “You have to breathe the putrid air to catch it. It’s why they call it malaria. If you could get it from another person, we would have infected all of England by now.”

She nodded at his explanation. “Are you… are you…?” she tried again. She couldn’t say it out loud.

He shook his head. “No,” he assured her. “At least, they don’t think so.”

Emma sagged with relief, then sat down. She couldn’t imagine a world without him. Even when he was gone the last four years, even with as furious as she was at him for leaving her in the first place, she took comfort in the fact that he still shared the same planet with her. That if she truly needed him, he’d be at her side as quickly as he could be.

He was here. He was alive. And with Liam gone… She shook her head. She didn’t know how the universe could expect her to lose them both.

He shivered again, violently.

“Do you need medicine?” she asked, snapped out of her musings. “Do you have medicine?”

“Took it already,” he said, teeth chattering.

She had to do something. She never blamed herself for Liam’s death, but it haunted her that it had happened while she was out. That he had died alone. And even if Killian was only sick and not dying, she wasn’t going to allow him to suffer through it alone.

“Let me get you another blanket.” She hurried through the door to her adjoining suite and took the pink coverlet off the bed. She couldn’t help the small smile as she thought of his grumbling and complaining about the color once he reached a state of sensibility again. “Is there anything else I can do?” she asked as she tucked the blanket around him.

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”

“Are you sure? There’s nothing I can do?” She pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down.

“Nothing.” The single word held such a note of finality about it, she had to believe him. He had obviously dealt with this before.

“I cannot believe…”

“We are meant to simply wait it out,” he interrupted her.

“That cannot possibly be true.”

He groggily opened a single eyelid and shot her a look. “Do you mean to contradict the entire medical establishment? Hmmm?”

She ground her teeth in frustration and caught a shadow of his old smirk on his face. She hated how well he knew her. “Are you sure you don’t need more medicine?”

He shook his head just the tiniest bit, and groaned at the exertion. “Not for a few hours yet.”

“Where is it?” she asked. If the only thing she could do was wait by his side until it was time to give him more of the medicine, then, by God, that was exactly what she’d do.

He moved his head slightly to the left and she saw a medicinal bottle on top of a folded newspaper. She picked it up and read the label as she came back to her chair.

“Quinine,” she murmured. “I’ve heard of that.”

“Miracle medicine,” he said. “Or so they say.” The look she sent him was dubious in the extreme. “Just look at me. Proof positive.” He gave her a lopsided - but still altogether charming - grin.

“I am unconvinced.”

A groan escaped him as he shrugged a single shoulder. “I’m not dead.”

“That’s not funny,” she admonished him.

“No, it’s the only funny thing,” he corrected her. “In the middle of this, we have to take our laughs when and where we can.”

She reached out and took his hand. “We’ll get through this.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. Just when she thought he’d fallen asleep, she heard him whisper.

“It’s better with you here.”

~*~*~

Killian awoke the next morning feeling - at least somewhat - refreshed, if not a damn sight better than he had the night before. He looked around to see Emma, much to his horror, sound asleep in the armchair she’d pulled over to the side of the bed. She looked about as uncomfortable as a body could possibly be and still be asleep, from the way her head and neck were at a terribly awkward angle, to the way her torso was twisted so that she could draw her legs up into the chair.

He knew it was too much to hope for to keep his illness hidden from her. She was far too perceptive. And nosy to boot. But as much as he didn’t want to be a burden to her and have her fussing over him, it was a profound comfort to him to have had her here with him the night before.

She snored softly, and for some reason that quite delighted him. He’d never seen her asleep and a soft smile spread across his face. Of course, he had imagined watching her sleep more times than he could count. She stirred slightly, and he realized she was on the verge of awakening. In all his daydreams, he’d never pictured this - the low rumble from deep in her chest as she changed position, the soft sigh as she yawned, the delicate flutter of her eyelids as they opened.

She was utterly breathtaking.

He knew that, of course. He’d always known that. But for some reason, this morning, it was something he felt in his very soul. The center of his being.

It wasn’t her golden hair, that even in the darkness of his still shrouded bedchamber glowed with its own inner light. It wasn’t the depth of her green eyes - which to Liam’s constant amusement had inspired poetry when she was still a debutante. It wasn’t even the bone structure of her face, the delicate loveliness that characterized all the Nolan ladies.

It was something in the way she moved.

The way she breathed.

The way she simply existed.

“Killian?” she murmured, opening her eyes at last.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. He hoped she was either not awake enough to notice the huskiness of his voice or, if she did, that she’d chalk it up to utter exhaustion after a very rough night.

“You look better.”

He nodded. “ I feel better.”

She swallowed hard before speaking. “You - you’re used to this.”

He nodded again. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m used to it, exactly, but I do know what to do.”

“How long will this continue?”

“It varies,” he began. “I’ll have fevers every other day until they just… stop. Generally a week or two, at most.”

Her face was a mixture of dismay and unbelief. “And then what?”

“And then, I go on about my life and hope it never happens again.”

“It can do that?” she asked incredulously. “Just never come back again?”

“It is a strange, fickle disease.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t say it’s just like a woman.”

“It never crossed my mind until you mentioned it.” But he couldn’t resist smirking meaningfully at her.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “How often do they come?” She looked puzzled for a moment, then spoke again. “What do you call them?”

“I call them attacks,” he informed her. “They certainly feel like one, anyway. It’s been six months since the last one.”

She brightened considerably. “That’s good!” And then fell again, just as quickly. “Isn’t it?”

“Considering the one before that was only three months between, I’d say yes.”

“How often has this happened?”

“I’ve been dealing with this for almost two years,” he replied. “And this is my sixth attack. But I have seen much worse.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I supposed to take solace in that?”

“I do,” he said bluntly.

She pressed her lips into a thin line then reached for his forehead. “You’re much cooler.”

“Yes, I would be. It’s a remarkably consistent disease, at least when in the midst of it. It would be very nice to know when I might expect an onset, though,” he mused.

“And you’ll really have another fever in a day’s time?” she asked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he confirmed.

Her eyes grew soft as she watched him for a moment. “You won’t be able to hide this from your mother, you know.”

It hadn’t even occurred to him. In his shock, he tried to sit up. “For God’s sake, Emma, do not tell my mother…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Killian!” she interrupted. “Do you really expect to keep something of this import away from her? Do credit her with a bit of intelligence!”

He slumped back against the pillows. “Very well,” he humphed. “But no one else. I do not wish to be known as the freak of London.”

“You’re not the first person to be stricken with malaria.”

“I do not want anyone’s pity,” he grit out. “Most especially, yours.”

She drew back as if he’d struck her, and of course he felt like an ass.

“I’m sorry. Truly,” he apologized. “Please forgive me. That came out wrong.” As an explanation, it was woefully inadequate, but it was all he had at the moment. “I don’t want your pity,” he tried again, repentance in every word. “But your care and good wishes are most welcomed.”

Her eyes wouldn’t meet his and he knew she was trying to decide if she believed him.

“I mean it,” he assured her. “I have been through this before, and having you here last night… made it better. Easier.” The exhaustion was overtaking him again and he could only just nod at her. “Yes, easier to bear… with you here. Thank you.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” That made him turn his head sharply toward her. She looked down at her clasped hands folded demurely in her lap. She truly wouldn’t have been anywhere else than by his side when he was this ill. It brought him such a sense of peace, he had to blink back tears. He turned away from her, reluctant to allow her to see how her words affected him, and could just see the light through the gap in between the curtains.

“Won’t your mother be worried about you?”

“Oh, no!” she cried, leaping up and slamming her hand on the table. Her hiss of pain made him try to sit up again, but he couldn’t manage it, slumping back against the pillows. “I’d quite forgotten about my mother. She was expecting me back last night.”

“Didn’t you send her a note?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied with a hint of impatience. “I told her you were ill, but she wrote back and said she would come by this morning to offer her assistance. What time is it?” she asked, looking around before her gaze landed on the mantle clock. Of course she’d know where the clock was. This had been Liam’s room, after all. “It’s only eight. She’s never awake before nine, unless there’s some sort of emergency. Which, I hope, she wouldn’t consider this to be. I told her you were ill with a head cold, so she doesn’t know about the malaria, but I hope she doesn’t rush over here because I panicked her with my note.”

Knowing Emma, it was probably the utter opposite of panicked and she was worrying for nothing.

“There’s no need to panic.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “I know that’s what you said, but that wouldn’t stop her from panicking because of my note and rushing over here, and you said you didn’t want anyone to know about it.”

His lips parted in a soft O of surprise. He’d never dreamed she would hold his wishes so close to her heart. “You would keep this from your mother?” he asked softly.

Her eyes softened. “Of course. It’s your decision to tell her. Not mine.”

It was quite touching. Tender, even.

“Even if I think you’re insane,” she added.

Well, maybe tender wasn’t the right word.

“But I will honor your wishes.” She planted her hands on her hips, quite honestly as vexed as he’d ever seen her. “How could you think I would do otherwise?”

“I have no idea,” he murmured.

“Really, Killian,” she grumbled. “I do not know what is wrong with you.”

“Swampy air?” he tried to joke, aiming for his signature devil may care grin.

She shot him A Look. Capitalized.

“I am going back to my mother’s,” she said, pulling on her boots. “If I don’t, you can be sure that she’d be here within an hour with the entire faculty of the Royal College of Physicians in tow.”

“Is that what she did when you took ill?”

She let out a little sound that was half snort, half grunt, and all irritation. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

He made a half-hearted motion toward the sickbed and tried to grin, though it was most likely more of a grimace.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you,” she sassed.

“Your faith in my superhuman strength is most touching.”

She paused at the door and pursed her lips. “I swear, Killian. You are the most annoying deathly ill patient I’ve ever seen.”

This time, he did manage a smile. “I live to entertain you.” She huffed and spun out of the door and down the hall. He was quite sure if she’d had something to throw at him, she would have. And with great vigor.

He might be an annoying patient, but she was a crotchety nurse. Which was just fine with him.

~*~*~

It had been a week since Emma discovered Killian had malaria. She’d kept his secret from her family, no matter that they were most anxious to see him. It had been quite a job in and of itself, and Emma was sure Ruth wasn’t going to be put off for much longer.

Keeping Killian out of sight of the ton proved to be much easier. He simply turned down all invitations, pleading his long journey and need to settle in before he entered society. His mother had yet to arrive from Scotland and so Emma spent her days at Kilmartin House nursing Killian, and her nights back at Number 5.

Surely today Alice would arrive, and she could move back into Kilmartin House permanently, no longer worried about their lack of a chaperone.

“I believe I’ll come with you to Kilmartin House today, Emma,” Ruth informed her at breakfast. Emma almost choked on her muffin.

“W-why?” she stammered.

“I want to see Killian, of course,” she replied.

“I-I am not sure of his plans today, Mother,” Emma answered quickly. Killian had had another attack the night before- his fourth to be precise- and they were both hopeful it was the last in the cycle. But while he’d be much recovered this morning, he still looked, quite simply, dreadful. If Ruth caught a glimpse of him, she’d be horrified. And furious. Ruth Nolan hated to be kept in the dark. Especially about a matter that could be termed as “life or death” without being accused of hyperbole.

“If he’s not available, then I shall return home,” Ruth said serenely.

Emma rose from the table with as much grace as she could muster. “I’ll just go on over and see if he’s available, and if he isn’t, I’ll send word.”

“I’ll see you out.” Ruth rose with her and Emma sighed, trying desperately to keep her agitation contained.

Once they were at the door and waiting for the footman to bring Emma’s coat, Ruth spoke.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” Ruth’s countenance was serious and Emma breathed a quick prayer that she’d quickly get to the point. And that she’d have an answer for her.

“I assure you, Mother,” she put on her most innocent face, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You have been spending quite a bit of time at Kilmartin House,” she informed her unnecessarily. “And without a chaperone.”

“And the problem with that is?” Emma asked. “He’s my brother. In-law,” she added quickly. “And I’m not a never-married virgin!”

“What exactly is your relationship with the earl?” Trust her mother to cut right to the chase without beating about the bush. Emma couldn’t contain her shock if she tried.

“Mother!”

“You needn’t look so shocked. It is not a silly question.” Her mother was serious. Her mother believed her to be having an affair with Killian. Emma couldn’t begin to formulate a response.

“H-he’s my b-brother!” she exclaimed again. She could think of nothing else.

“He was your husband’s brother,” Ruth corrected.

“And mine,” Emma insisted, sharply. “I can’t believe you’d believe… Good heavens! I can’t even imagine!”

Except that she could. Caring for Killian the last week had kept the thoughts at bay, but now, with her mother guessing… she couldn’t pretend that the moment at Hyde Park hadn’t happened. The moment she saw Killian as a man. Not as her brother. In-law. She was absolutely mortified. She didn’t have any attraction to Killian. She couldn’t. It was wrong. It was just… wrong. There was no better word for it.

She took a deep breath trying desperately to bring her chaotic thoughts under control. “I told you, Mother. Killian has been ill.”

“Seven days is quite a long time for a head cold,” she observed.

Emma nodded quickly. “It is, but I’m confident he’s feeling better and will soon be up for visitors and to take his place in society. I’ve felt it my duty to help him settle in and become acclimated to his new duties. He has been gone a very long time.”

“Yes, he has,” her mother conceded, but without taking her eyes off her daughter. “I will see you in an hour.” And with those words, Ruth turned and walked away, leaving Emma very panicked indeed.

~*~*~

Killian was enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet when Emma burst into his bedchamber quite agitated and out of breath.

“You have two choices,” she informed him on a rough exhale.

“Emma,” he said, concerned. “Did you run all the way over here?”

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “Just up the stairs.” Her breathing was harsh and rapid and Killian worried about her dropping with a case of the vapors.

“Emma?” he asked gingerly, very aware that he should proceed with caution when she was in such a state. “Are you quite all…”

“My mother is coming,” she interrupted.

“Here?” Killian asked, his brows nearly hitting his hairline.

She nodded. Killian pressed his lips together. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but he wouldn’t have thought it worth the level of panic he saw in her.

“Why?” It seemed the next logical question.

Emma’s hand fluttered from her hip, to her forehead, mouth and finally over her breasts before speaking.

“She thinks…” she trailed away and took another harsh breath. “She thinks… oh, heavens, you won’t believe it.”

He waited for her to speak again, and when she didn’t, he simply raised a single eyebrow at her in inquiry.

“She believes,” Emma shuddered, “that we are conducting an affair!”

“After only a week back in London,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I’m faster than even I believed.”

Emma blanched. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

“How can you not?” But of course she wouldn’t joke about it. To her, it was unthinkable. To him, however…

Well, to him it was something else entirely.

“I am horrified.”

Killian shrugged indifferently, even if he was feeling rather pricked. He knew Emma didn’t see him that way, but an expression of horror didn’t exactly leave him feeling proud about his manly prowess.

“What are my two choices?” he asked abruptly.

She stared at him.

“You said I had two choices.”

She blinked in surprise, and would have looked rather adorably befuddled if he hadn’t been overly irritated at her at the moment.

“I… don’t recall,” she finally said. “Oh, my heavens! What am I to do?”

“Settling down might be a good beginning,” he said mildly. She was in such a state, her head jerked sharply when she turned to him. “Stop and think, Emma. We are talking about us. Your mother will take one good look at us and realize how ridiculous…” he nearly winced at the word, but he believed he caught himself before she would have caught it, “the idea is.”

She took a deep cleansing breath, but the color was still high on her cheeks and her movements sharp. She wasn’t calmed by his words in the slightest.

“That’s what I told her. Oh, my heavens,” she lamented. “Could you imagine?”

Yes, he could actually. Even if she obviously couldn’t.

“It’s simply…” her arms flailed about her as she began to pace, unable to find the words to express herself. “Inconceivable! Unfathomable! As if I… As if you…!” She continued her tirade under her breath as she paced.

“You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so put out,” he observed. She stopped and looked at him as if he was some loathsome creature that crawled out of the most foul smelling refuse pile in all of London. “You really ought to endeavor to calm down.” He meant the words sincerely, even if he knew Emma wouldn’t heed them. Women everywhere hated to be told to calm down and Emma was no exception.

“Calm down? Calm down?” she repeated. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Killian! Are you still feverish?”

“No.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“Quite.”

“It’s insane. Completely insane,” she said with a little shake of her head. “I mean, look at you!”

He raised his eyebrow at her for that. “Yes, I’m aware of what I look like, generally. And what does that have to do with anything?” he asked, struggling mightily to keep his temper in check. “You know, there are a lot of women in London who would be quite pleased to be, how did you put it, ‘conducting an affair’ with me.” She stopped in her tracks and stood staring at him, her mouth hanging open.

He leaned back against the pillows and waggled his brows at her. “Some would call it a privilege.”

Her mouth snapped shut and she glared at him.

“Some women…” he continued, though he knew with absolute certainty that he shouldn’t bait her like this, “might engage in physical battle just for the chance…”

“Stop now, Killian,” she snapped, interrupting him. “Really, this overinflated view of your own prowess…”

“I’m told it’s deserved,” he interrupted her right back, a smug smile on his face. Her cheeks flamed. He might love her, but he couldn’t deny a small bit of satisfaction at seeing her so tortured. It was only a portion of what he lived with on a daily basis, after all.

“I have no wish to hear of your amorous exploits,” Emma said primly.

Killian’s brows nearly hit his hairline in surprise. “Oh, really? You used to. All the time, in fact. What was it you used to say?” he mused. “Ah yes! Tell me something wicked,” he continued, trying for all the world to sound as if he really had just remembered what she used to say to him, when he never actually forgot anything she ever said to him. “Tell me something wicked,” he repeated. “That was it. You were always curious about my exploits.”

“That was before…”

“Before what?” he asked mildly, quite interested in what she might say in answer to his question.

She stared blankly at him again, as if she didn’t quite understand the question. “Before this… now… everything…”

“And I’m supposed to understand that?”

She glared in response.

“Very well, then. I suppose I should prepare myself for your mother’s visit.” She still stood staring at him, and he lifted a brow in inquiry. “Are you just going to wait here for me to ready myself, and thus expose yourself to certain parts of my anatomy you’d rather not see? Or will you await my dashing presence downstairs?”

Emma’s jaw dropped slightly before she turned and fled the room. Which was odd. Emma never fled anything. Nor did she ever allow him to have the last word. And most of all, he couldn’t believe she’d let him get away with calling himself dashing.

Most puzzling indeed.

~*~*~

Emma never had to suffer through her mother’s anticipated visit. Not twenty minutes after she left Killian’s bedchamber, a note arrived from Number 5 announcing that Emma’s brother August had just arrived home - after gallivanting around the Mediterranean for months on end - thus requiring Ruth to postpone her visit.

And then, that evening, Killian’s mother finally arrived from Scotland, allowing Emma to return to Kilmartin House full-time since a chaperone was now in place. Alice Jones was, of course, delighted to see her son return home, as demonstrated by the tight and enthusiastic embrace she greeted him with, but she was quite taken aback when his sickly countenance registered and she was informed of his malady.

Much to Emma’s surprise, she agreed with Killian about keeping the malaria a secret. Now that he was home and apparently ready to take on the duties of the earl, Alice was determined to see him married by the end of the season, and this disease could only be a detriment to that end.

And to be honest, Emma was quite relieved to hear Killian’s mother talk to him about getting married. It took Alice’s attention off of Emma and her own plans for the season. She had enough to worry about from her own mother’s interference, without Alice adding to it.

So Emma and Alice occasionally ventured out in the evenings with Killian continuing to refuse all invitations. And while Emma had expected some questions about her brother-in-law, she’d been utterly unprepared for the volume and frequency of those questions. Everyone wanted to know about him. And not just the single ladies and their mamas. Even older married women, widows, and a few men expressed interest in his whereabouts. No doubt looking for some tidbit of gossip to share among their respective circles. It was all Emma could do to keep a straight, and pleasant, face without rolling her eyes at their collective intrusive nosiness. Their transparency was ridiculous. It was going to be utter madness when he actually recovered.

And then, suddenly, he did.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t as suddenly as she supposed. The fevers had been spacing themselves out and had been less severe, but it truly did seem sudden with him looking pale and sickly one day and the next hale and hearty as he ever was.

“Quinine,” he remarked with a shrug. “I’d take it six times a day if it didn’t taste so damn foul.”

“Language please, Killian,” Alice reminded him as he sat down at the breakfast table.

“Have you tasted the quinine, Mother?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

“You wouldn’t scold me for my language if you had,” he assured her.

She huffed, but it was plain for all to see that it was only for show. She was far too pleased to see him out of bed and looking like himself again.

“Now that you are recovered,” she began, “You must attend to the duties of the earl.”

Killian groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t be so petulant,” she chided him. “No one is going to hang you by your thumbs. I was simply going to say that you need to schedule a visit to the tailor for a set of evening clothes.”

“I think I’d rather donate my thumbs,” Killian muttered.

“They’re lovely thumbs,” Alice replied, not missing a beat, “but they’d be much more use attached to your hands.”

Killian met her eyes before speaking. “I must have neglected to inform you of my appointments today,” he said. “First, I am meeting with the prime minister concerning the assumption of my seat at the House of Lords. Then I have an appointment with the family solicitor so that I might review the state of our financial holdings, and then finally an interview with our primary estate manager, who I’m told has come down to London for the express purpose of discussing the state of all seven of our family properties. At which point should I squeeze in a visit to the tailor?”

Alice and Emma were both speechless.

“Perhaps I should inform the prime minister that I had to move him to Thursday?” he asked mildly.

“When did you make all of these appointments?” Emma asked, still stunned at his apparent diligence.

“Did you think I spent the last fortnight staring at the ceiling?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Well, no…” She hadn’t really given much thought to how he’d spent his days. She would have spent them reading.

“As I hope we have quite clearly established,” he said, pushing back from his seat, “I have a very busy day ahead of me. If you ladies will excuse me.” He hadn’t even risen to his full height when Alice caught his attention with a light cough.

“An appointment tomorrow with the tailor is perfectly acceptable,” she informed him with a smile. Emma could see his jaw muscle clench in irritation. “You wouldn’t want to miss Lady Nolan’s birthday celebration would you?”

Emma quickly took a bite of her eggs to hide her grin. Alice was positively devious when it suited her purposes. Her mother’s birthday party was the one event that Killian would absolutely feel obligated to attend. Anything else, he could shrug off.

But Ruth?

Emma didn’t think so.

“When is it?” he sighed.

“April 11th,” she informed him, sweetly. “Everyone will be there.”

“Everyone?” he echoed.

“All the Nolans.” He brightened visibly. “And everyone else,” she continued with an indifferent shrug.

“Am I to get no reprieve?” he asked the room at large.

“Of course you do,” Alice replied. “In fact, you had one last week. We called it malaria.”

“And here I was looking forward to health,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I am sure you’ll have a lovely time,” Alice continued. “And perhaps meet a lovely lady.”

Killian sighed and rolled his eyes again. “Ah yes, lest we forget my true purpose in life.”

“It’s not such a bad purpose, you know,” Emma said, unable to resist teasing him just a bit.

“Oh, really?” His piercing gaze landed on her, and Emma wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have provoked him. “And just what are your purposes?”

Alice looked to her with clear interest and Emma had to lick her suddenly dry lips.

“Oh, this and that,” she answered blithely, waving her hand carelessly. “At the moment, to finish my breakfast,” she continued before taking another bite of her eggs. “It is most delicious, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmmmm,” he hummed, amusement coloring his features. “Coddled eggs with a side of meddling mothers?”

“And sister-in-law as well,” Emma reminded him, a sly smile on her face. She shouldn’t, she knew she shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t help herself. There was little she enjoyed more in this world than teasing Killian Jones, and moments like this were simply too delicious to resist.

“And how will you be spending your season, Emma?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly to tell her he knew exactly what he was doing and was waiting patiently to see how she would answer him.

Well, she had provoked him first after all.

“I expect I’ll begin by attending my mother’s birthday party.”

“And doing what?” He wasn’t going to let up.

“Offering my felicitations, of course.” She raised her chin slightly in challenge.

“And is that all?”

“Well, I won’t be inquiring after her age, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, don’t do that,” Alice offered.

“I’m leaving now,” Killian informed them, turning towards the door. Emma said nothing. She was too surprised to say a single word. Alice’s interjection effectively brought the back and forth between them to an end and Killian had taken the interruption as a justification to withdraw from their usual repartee.

Killian had changed.

It wasn’t that he’d been irresponsible before, but he hadn’t had any real responsibilities. And while she knew he’d do what was expected of him once he returned home and assumed his duties, it hadn’t really occurred to her just how well he’d rise to the occasion.

“Killian,” she said softly, gaining his immediate attention. “Good luck with the prime minister.”

His eyes caught hers and something flashed between them. A moment of gratitude and understanding. A moment of communication that only those in the closest relationships engaged in. The kind of moment she’d often shared with Liam.

Did that really just happen? With Killian? Her friend and brother-in-law? It wasn’t possible, was it? Was it?

What was she going to do now?

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Next chapter will be up on Saturday!

#a scoundrel... or a gentleman?#krystal writes #inspired by francesca bridgerton's story #banner by snowbellewells #chapter art by motherkatereloyshipper

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