#birthday fic for hollye

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 3 Ch8

We’re back!! And man, am I ready to share this chapter with y’all!!!! We have some significant relationship development in the form of smut, but if it’s not your thing, you can easily skip it. It is separated by a double scene change line, like this

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at the beginning and end of the scene. Enjoy and I hope you let me know what you think!

All the love and thanks in the world to @hollyethecurious​ for her love and friendship and for whom this fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their beta skills and their help in brainstorming and when I got stuck on something, and @motherkatereloyshipper​ for all her manips I used in the artwork! Love you all so much, ladies! Thank you!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (Smut in this chapter)

Words: Almost 6200 of 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 From the beginning/ Current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The days melted into weeks and Emma quickly discovered that being lady’s maid to the three unmarried Jones daughters kept her quite busy indeed. But where having no personal time and working her fingers to the bone under Cora was a completely thankless and miserable job, the Jones house was filled with laughter and joy, which filtered down to the servants as well.

Never had Emma personally been treated so well as a servant of the house. Yes, she was expected to keep the girls suitably attired and presentable, but as the days went on and she got to know them better, she was often finding herself participating in the conversations and laughing right along with them. It was such a refreshing change from Cora’s household where the interactions between Zelena and Regina were filled with malice, jealousy, and contempt for one another… well, truthfully more from Zelena than Regina. And where Emma had always remembered Cora’s hate-filled words to her the day after she’d arrived at Spencer Hall all those years ago and had never once been a part of afternoon tea or meals after the earl passed, in Lady Jones’ household, she was asked regularly, expected even, to join the family for tea when it was taken informally upstairs. She would usually bring her mending along with her when she did, but it was so lovely to enjoy the tea and the company. It had become Emma’s favorite time of day.

“Where do you suppose,” Ruby asked the room at large almost two weeks after what Emma was now referring to in her mind as THE KISS, “Killian has been?”

“Ow!”

Four heads swiftly turned to Emma. “Are you alright, my dear?” Lady Jones asked.

Emma grimaced. “I pricked my finger.”

Lady Jones’ lips lifted in a small, secret smile.

“Mother has told you,” fourteen-year-old Tilly said, “at least a thousand times…”

“A thousand times?” Tink asked drily.

“Alright then, a hundred times,” Tilly amended, “that you do not have to bring your mending to tea.”

Emma tried to suppress her smile, but couldn’t keep her lips from curving up at the interactions between the two girls. “I would feel very lazy if I did not.”

There was a moment’s pause when Tilly suddenly announced, “Well, I’m not going to bring my embroidery to tea.”

“Feeling lazy?” Tink asked, an innocent smile on her face.

“Absolutely not,” Tilly replied.

Tink turned to Emma and whispered conspiratorially, “Put down your mending, you’re making Tilly feel lazy.”

Tilly huffed.

Lady Jones sipped her tea. “You have been working on the same piece of embroidery for quite some time, Tilly,” she observed. “Since February, if I’m not mistaken.”

Tink leaned toward Emma again. “She’s never mistaken.” Emma coughed to hide her laugh and Tilly glared at Tink. Tink was a few years younger than Ruby, but she had a sly sense of humor. She could definitely see why Ruby’s moniker for her had caught on within the family so.

“Nobody answered my question,” Ruby announced. “Where is Killian? I haven’t seen him in an age.”

“It hasn’t been two weeks,” Lady Jones offered.

“Ow!”

“Do you need a thimble?” Tilly asked.

“I’m not usually this clumsy,” Emma muttered.

Lady Jones lifted her cup to her lips and held it there for a rather long time before taking a sip, a knowing gleam in her eye.

Emma grit her teeth and resumed her mending with a vengeance. She’d seen neither hide nor hair of Killian since THE KISS, and Emma couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or disappointed. Probably both. She sighed. Definitely both.

“Did you say something, Emma?” Ruby asked.

Emma shook her head. “No,” she murmured, refusing to look up from her poor abused index finger.

“Where is he?” Ruby asked again.

“Killian is twenty-eight years of age,” Lady Jones said mildly. “He has no need to inform us of his every activity.”

Ruby raised her eyebrows at her mother. “That’s a fine turnaround from the last time he disappeared, Mother.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“‘Where is Killian?’” Ruby mocked, doing quite a good impression of her mother. “‘How dare he go off without a word? It’s as if he’s dropped off the face of the earth.’”

“That was different,” Lady Jones said.

“How so?” Tink asked, sly smile firmly in place.

“He’d said he was going to that awful Gold boy’s party, and then never returned, whereas this time…” Lady Jones stopped then and pursed her lips. “Why am I explaining myself to you?”

“I can’t imagine,” Emma murmured. Ruby choked on her tea. Tink whacked Ruby on the back and then turned her attention to Emma.

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma shook her head again and jabbed her needle into the dress she was mending, completely missing the hem. Ruby’s eyebrows raised in question as she cut her eyes toward her.

Lady Jones’ head cocked toward the door. “I say, is that someone in the hall?” she asked. Emma looked up and caught her breath when Killian strode in the room.

“Killian,” Ruby cried, rising to her feet. “We were just talking about you!”

Killian smiled widely at Emma. “Were you?”

“I wasn’t,” Emma muttered.

“Did you say something, Emma?” Tilly asked.

“Ow!”

“I’m going to have to take that mending away from you,” Lady Jones said with an amused smile.

Emma rose quickly to her feet. “I’ll get a thimble.”

“You didn’t have a thimble?” Tilly asked, appalled. “I’d never dream of doing mending without one!”

“Have you ever dreamed of mending?” Tink smirked.

Tilly kicked at Tink, nearly upending the tea service in the process.

“Tilly!” Lady Jones scolded.

Emma stared at the door, trying desperately to keep her eyes away from Killian. For almost two weeks she had longed for a glimpse of him, and now that he was here, all she wanted was to escape. If she looked at his face, then she’d look at his lips, and if she looked at his lips, she’d think about THE KISS, and there were certain things one shouldn’t think about in polite company.

“I need that thimble,” Emma mumbled, moving toward the door.

“So you said.” She could hear the smirk in his voice as she moved toward him and the door.

“It’s downstairs,” she said, “in my room.”

“But your room is upstairs,” Tilly said.

Emma could have killed her. “That’s what I said,” she ground out.

“No, you didn’t,” Tilly insisted.

“Yes, she did,” Lady Jones interjected. “I heard her.”

Emma snapped her head toward her and instantly knew Lady Jones had lied. But why? “I need to go get that thimble.” She hurried toward the door and held her breath as she drew ever closer to Killian.

He stepped aside to let her through, but leaned forward just enough so she could hear him whisper coward as she passed. Emma’s cheeks burned and she was halfway down the stairs before she realized that she had meant to go up to her room. Dash it all, she did not want to march back up the stairs and have to walk past Killian again. He was probably still standing in the doorway, and his lips would tilt upward as she passed in one of those utterly charming and seductive smiles that never failed to leave her weak in the knees.

This was a complete disaster. There was no way she could continue living here, with Killian so close and yet so far. She may have been able to refuse his request to be his mistress, but she hadn’t been able to refuse him when he’d asked her to come to London. And now she didn’t think she was strong enough to live with the consequences of that decision. She was going to have to leave. She had no other choice.

And that almost made her fall to her knees in despair. Because not only was she desperately in love with Killian, but she was also coming to love the Jones family. They’d treated her differently from how she’d ever been treated by anyone, and she was loath to leave it. All she’d ever wanted was to be a part of a family, and with the Joneses, she was starting to feel like she’d found one.

“Lost your way?”

Emma glanced up to see Killian at the top of the stairs, leaning lazily against the wall, then she looked around herself, realizing she hadn’t moved from her place descending the stairs.

“I’m going out,” she informed him.

“To buy a thimble?”

“Yes, to buy a thimble,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

He tilted his head a little more, blatantly looking her over, before speaking. “You don’t appear to be carrying anything that would contain any money,” he observed.

Emma swallowed hard. She could tell him the truth and expose herself for the pathetic fool she was, or she could simply run from the house and avoid this- him- altogether. The cowards way out, she knew, but…

“I have to go,” she muttered and dashed down the stairs so quickly that she forgot she should be using the side entrance. She opened the front door and flew down the front steps, before a voice brought her to a screeching halt.

Dear God, it was Cora.

Her back was to Emma, so she quickly hid herself around the corner of the house. What was Cora doing here? Spencer House was at least eight blocks away… but then she remembered, she’d read in Lady Whistledown last year that the new Earl of Glowerhaven had finally taken up residence in London, forcing Cora, Zelena and Regina to find other lodgings. Right across from the Joneses apparently. A worse nightmare, Emma couldn’t imagine.

“Where is that insufferable girl?” Emma heard Cora say. She immediately felt sorry for whoever the ‘insufferable girl’ was, since that had been her own designation when she’d lived under Cora’s roof.

“Regina!” Cora yelled before entering a waiting carriage.

At that moment, Emma realized what must have happened. When Emma left, Cora would have been forced to hire a new lady’s maid. And while Emma was sure Cora was beastly to the poor girl, she wouldn’t have been able to degrade and demean her in the same way she’d done with Emma. Only a certain level of familiarity would have allowed for that.

And since Cora couldn’t live without flaunting her superiority over someone and horribly mistreating them, Regina had apparently become her next target.

Regina suddenly came through the front door, looking quite unhappy. She stopped to fiddle with the strings on her short boots, but looked up when Zelena shouted at her.

“Regina, hurry up!”

“I’m coming,” Regina called, straightening up. She took one wrong step and fell to the pavement. Emma’s response was automatic, but she caught herself in time and remained hidden instead of running to Regina’s aid, who was unhurt. There was absolutely nothing worse than Cora finding out that Emma was in London. Regina stood and brushed herself off before looking up again, and then…

Regina saw her. There was no doubt. Her jaw dropped slightly, her eyes widening. Emma shook her head desperately.

“Regina!” Cora shouted again.

Emma shook her head again, her eyes begging Regina not to reveal her to Cora. Regina’s face softened and she gave Emma a single sharp nod before she climbed into the carriage with her mother and sister.

Emma blew out a relieved breath and collapsed back against the wall. She didn’t move for a full minute.

And then didn’t move for several more.

~*~*~

As soon as Emma left the house, Killian quite lost interest in tea and scones. He turned his head toward the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of her on the street from where he stood.

“I was just wondering where’d you been,” Ruby said.

“Hmmm?”

“I said,” Ruby said, raising her voice significantly, “I was just…”

“Ruby, lower your voice, please,” Lady Jones chided her, mildly.

“But he’s not listening to me.”

“Raising your voice isn’t going to make a difference in that regard,” she informed her daughter.

“Throwing a scone might,” Tilly suggested, just as she lobbed one toward Killian. He ducked out the way just in time.

“I believe that is my cue to leave,” he said smoothly, shooting a cheeky grin at his youngest sister. That scone gave him the perfect excuse to follow Emma wherever she thought she was going.

“But you just got here,” his mother pointed out.

Killian narrowed his eyes at her, immediately suspicious. Usually her objections to him leaving had a moaning, forlorn quality to them, but this time she didn’t sound the least bit upset. Which meant she was up to something.

“I could stay,” he said, testing her.

“Oh, no,” she said, raising what he was quite sure was an empty cup to her lips, “Don’t let us keep you if you’re busy.”

Killian tried to school his features to conceal his now deep suspicion and shock. The last time he’d told her he was too busy for a visit, she’d replied with ‘too busy for your mother?’

His first impulse was to declare ‘I’ll stay,’ but then he realized it was quite ridiculous to stay when all he really wanted to do was leave, all to confound his mother and her machinations.

“I’ll go then.”

“Go,” she urged him, “enjoy yourself.”

He nodded to the ladies in the room and turned around into the hallway. He could just hear his mother as he reached the stairs say, ���I thought he’d never leave.”

Very odd indeed.

He left the house and started in the direction of the shopping district when he spied Emma pressed against the bricks of the house, looking white as a sheet.

“What happened?” he asked, rushing toward her, “Emma?” He bent down slightly into her line of sight, finally getting her to focus on him. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, but her gaze was still frightened and Killian didn’t believe her for a moment. “You’re shaking,” he said, taking her hands in his. “Tell me what happened. Did someone bother you?”

“No,” she finally found her voice, though it did quaver a bit. “I just… I tripped down the stairs and it scared me.” She smiled weakly. “I’m sure you know what I mean. When you feel like your insides are upside down.”

Killian nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. But that didn’t mean he believed her. “Come with me.”

She looked up and something deep in her green eyes broke his heart. “Where?” she whispered.

“Anywhere but here. I live just five doors down.”

“You do?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “No one told me,” she murmured.

He had a feeling she would have protested if she wasn’t so dazed, but she allowed him to lead her down the street.

“Your virtue will be quite safe,” he promised her, “unless you wish it otherwise,” he continued with a waggle of his brows. He was gratified when a small smile graced her lips at his flirtation. “We’ll just sit here in my front room until you feel better.”

She nodded and he led her up the steps to his front door. He shut the door to the parlor behind them, not wanting to be disturbed by his servants, and turned to where she was sitting on the sofa. She still looked rather pale, but the dazed look was out of her eyes. He could ask her what had really happened, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him and it would only put her on the defensive.

He sat next to her on the sofa, but still a respectable distance away, and decided to broach a non-threatening topic.

“How have you enjoyed working for my family?”

Emma smiled, and Killian caught his breath at her beauty. “They are very nice.”

Killian scoffed. “Nice? Maddening, maybe. But, nice?”

Emma looked affronted. “I think they are very nice,” she insisted with a little nod of her head. Killian smiled softly as he thought about his family. He loved them all dearly, but if Emma was coming to love them too, then his chances of persuading her to become his mistress grew smaller by the day. Damn.

“You should thank God for them every day,” she continued. “I’d give anything…” She trailed away, not finishing her sentence.

“You’d give anything for what?” he asked softly, desperately wanting to hear her answer.

She gazed out the window before answering, but from his angle, he could see the glistening of tears in her eyes.

“I’d give anything to have a family like yours.” Her voice was no more than a whisper and Killian desperately wanted to take her in his arms and make promises that he knew he couldn’t keep.

“You have no one.” It was a statement, not a question and Emma nodded.

“I’ve never had anyone.”

He remembered the row they had at the pond at My Cottage when she confessed that her mother had died at her birth and he surmised her aristocratic parentage. His heart had broken for her.

“You know,” he began, purposefully keeping his voice light and gentle, “sometimes it’s not easy being a Jones.”

Her head slowly turned toward him. “I can’t imagine anything nicer.”

“Oh, it’s very nice,” he agreed, “I can’t imagine anything nicer, either. But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy.”

“What do you mean?”

Killian sighed and looked down at his hands. “To most of the world, I’m just a Jones. Not Killian, not a gentleman of means and hopefully a bit of intelligence. Just a Jones. Or, more specifically, Number 2.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and watched her face carefully after his revelation. He’d never shared these thoughts with another living soul.

Her lips trembled slightly before widening into a smile, impossibly soft.

“You are so much more than that.”

Killian looked down again. “I’d like to believe that, but most of the world doesn’t see it that way.”

“Well, most of the world are fools.”

He chuckled at that. There wasn’t much in this world that was more adorable than Emma Swan with a scowl on her face. “I don’t disagree with you.”

They were quiet for a moment and Killian thought the conversation was over and that he’d soon have to escort her back to his mother’s. But she wasn’t finished.

“You are very different from your family.”

“Really? How so?” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. He didn’t want her to know exactly how important her answer was to him.

“Well, your brother, Liam,” she began, tapping on her chin as she thought. “His whole life has been altered by the fact that the title came to him much too soon. He feels a responsibility to your family that you don’t.”

“Now, wait just a min…” Killian said indignantly.

“Don’t interrupt,” she interjected gently, placing her hand on his where it rested on the sofa. “I’m not saying you don’t love your family very much and wouldn’t lay down your life for any one of them, if it came to it, but it’s different for Liam. I truly believe he would consider himself a failure if any one of his siblings, children, nieces or nephews was unhappy.”

“How many times have you met Liam?” he muttered, rather stunned at her insight.

“Just once,” she said, the corner of her lips lifting in a small smile. “But that was all I needed.” She smiled a little bigger at him before continuing. “Now your brother David, I’ve never met, but I’ve heard plenty.”

“From whom?”

“Everyone,” she laughed. “But I’ve also read about him in Lady Whistledown, which I’ve read for years.”

“So you knew about me, too, before you met me?”

Emma nodded. “But I didn’t know you. You are so much more than what she writes in her paper.”

“Tell me,” he said, laying his hand on top of hers now. “Tell me, what do you see?”

Emma looked into his eyes and was surprised to find vulnerability and need. She never imagined she’d see that in the heart of Killian Jones. This handsome, suave, debonair man wanted, no needed, her approval. He wanted to know he was important to her.

She turned her hand over under his until they were palm to palm and then traced the top of his hand with hers. She thought carefully about her words, knowing how much they meant to him.

“You are honorable. You are kind. You care. For your family, for me, though Lord knows, I don’t deserve it.”

“Always,” he whispered, touching her cheek gently. Emma smiled, then continued.

“You love. Fiercely. And devotedly. You are not quite the man you present to most of the world. You’d like to be thought of as a dashing rapscallion,” she said, shooting him a sideways smirk, “or scoundrel, but inside, deep down, is the man you were born to be. Just you. Not someone’s son. Not someone’s brother. Just you.”

Killian couldn’t speak. No one had ever touched him like this. No one had ever looked into his soul before, and he thanked God it was her.

“You have the soul of an artist,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “I’ve seen your sketches. You’re brilliant. I don’t think I realized how much until I met your family. You captured them all perfectly. From the inquisitiveness in Ruby’s eyes, to Tink’s sly smile, to the mischief in the way Tilly holds herself.”

Killian shrugged. “I’ve never shown anyone my sketches.”

“You’re kidding!” she exclaimed. “Why? They’re brilliant. You’re brilliant. I’m sure your mother would love to see them.”

Killian’s cheeks flamed under her praise. “I don’t know why, but I’ve never wanted to show anyone else.”

“You shared them with me,” she said softly.

“That was different,” he insisted before looking into her eyes. “That felt right.” His heart skipped a beat at his words. Because suddenly, everything felt right.

He loved her.

He didn’t know how it happened, only that it had. And it was right.

It was strange to find a woman who could make him happy simply by existing. He didn’t need to see her, didn’t need to be in the same room with her, didn’t need to hear her, or catch a whiff of her scent. He just had to know she was there.

When he was with her, he wanted her like nothing he’d ever wanted in his entire life. But when he was able to keep himself under control, he was content.

And if that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.

He tried to hold onto the moment. Let it stretch out forever. Because this was perfection. This was heaven.

He watched as her eyes searched his, looking for something, he knew not what. Then they widened ever so slightly, and her lips softened. In that moment, he had to kiss her. He didn’t want to kiss her. He had to kiss her.

He needed her.

In every way.

He needed her like he needed air.

Like a man dying of thirst needed water.

He needed her to be a part of him.

And he needed her right now.

~*~*~

~*~*~

Emma had been kissed before. She’d been kissed by Killian before. But this was so much more than anything that had ever come before.

This was passion. Passion like she’d never known. This was desire. Desire that threatened to burn her up from the inside. He kissed her with an intensity she could barely comprehend, his lips taking full possession of hers, nibbling, teasing, stroking. He stoked a fire within her. A desire to be loved. A desire to love in return.

He murmured her name into the skin of her neck where he left a trail of fire with his lips. Over and over and over again, like a mantra.

“Emma, Emma, Emma.” His lips were everywhere. Her lips, her neck, her ear, her chest. How foolish she’d been to think she could resist this. It was positively delusional to think she was stronger than this pull between them. Her love for him ran too deep.

She felt him work his way down her back, opening each button on her dress until the bodice completely fell away. This was everything she’d swore she’d never do, but instead of covering herself and pushing him away, she arched underneath him, offering herself up like a banquet.

Killian stopped breathing when he saw her. In all his dreams, all his fantasies, he never came close to the perfection that was laid out before him. He didn’t know how this woman had come to mean so much to him in such a short amount of time. It hadn’t happened like a flash of lightning, but more like a lazy river meandering along, yet seeping into every corner, every crevice of his heart and mind until it colored everything around him and he realized that without her, his life held no meaning.

He lifted her chin toward him and looked into her eyes. They glistened like emeralds, with tears in the corners and he knew she was right there with him in this moment. That it meant as much to her as it did to him.

He moved toward her slowly, oh, so slowly. He wanted to give her every chance to pull back from him. It would kill him if she did, but he didn’t think he could bear it if she regretted what was about to happen. She didn’t pull away, however, tilting her head and shutting her eyes in invitation.

Killian claimed her lips again and was surprised that she tasted even sweeter than before. His blood sang his desire and it was all he could do not to rip the rest of her dress from her body. That would come later, he told himself. For this, her first time, it would be slow, and tender, and full of all the love he had for her. Everything a young woman dreamed of.

Well, maybe not. His smile turned into a full grin. Half the things he was going to do to her, she wouldn’t have even thought about.

“What are you smiling about?”

He drew back a few inches, his smile widening further. “How did you know I was smiling?”

She smiled back at him, her eyes still closed in bliss. “I could feel it on my lips.”

He traced her lips with his finger. “You make me smile,” he whispered. “When you don’t make me want to scream, you make me smile.”

He kissed her again, gently this time, his tongue gently touching the seam of her lips, requesting entrance. She opened to him with a moan of passion and he pulled her closer into his arms, vowing never to let her go.

Emma was dizzy with the exquisite pleasure coursing through her as Killian slowly continued to undress her. When she was fully bare to him, she couldn’t bring herself to cover any part of her body, as his gaze burned her from head to toe.

He stood over her on the sofa and slowly removed his own clothing, never taking his eyes off hers. “You are so beautiful, Emma. I wish I was a poet instead of an artist, then maybe I could find the words to describe you.”

Her eyes widened when he removed his breeches and he stood before her completely naked. He felt no need to cover himself, because just as he wanted to see her, he wanted her to see him.

He thought he’d wanted a woman before. He thought he’d needed a woman before. But this was so much more than anything he’d ever felt. This was in his soul.

He lay back on top of her and just savored the moment of being skin to skin with the woman he loved. Her hands were tentative as she began her own explorations.

“Yes, Emma,” he murmured, rising up a bit as her fingers ran along his sides and then buried themselves in the hair on his chest. “Touch me, darling. Make me yours, as I make you mine.” He was as hard as he’d ever been in his life and he was desperate to feel her. He bent down and circled her nipple with his tongue, causing her to arch beneath him, her hands grabbing his hair and holding him to her. He chuckled before he sucked it into the warm cavern of his mouth. She moaned and writhed beneath him, crying out as he flicked the bud with his tongue.

As he turned his attention to the other, she felt his hand move steadily toward where the fire he’d kindled in her blazed the hottest. She ached for him and she didn’t think she could wait another minute.

“Oh, Killian,” she sighed as he sank a finger into her center. “My love.” He stilled for a moment, not ceasing his attentions, but just long enough for her to know he heard her. He kissed her neck and resumed probing her depths. A gasp broke from her lips as something tightened within her. Pure pleasure pushed her higher and higher until he claimed her lips with his own and a cascade of absolute ecstasy broke over her, leaving her a shuddering, melting mess in his arms. He positioned himself over her and she could feel him nudge where his finger had just been. Her eyes flew open and met his.

“This will hurt,” he told her, “but the pain will be over quickly.” He was so desperate for her, but he wanted to try and prepare her just this little bit for him. He was a long way from his first time, when he was more concerned with his own pleasure than that of his partner, who was just as inexperienced as he, so this had to be perfect.

“I don’t care, Killian,” she breathed. “Please, I need you!”

He slowly rocked into her until he felt the barrier of her innocence. He claimed her lips with his and surged forward, swallowing her gasp with his mouth. A moment later, she relaxed around him and he began to move.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” he chanted her name into the skin of her neck as he struggled to hold himself back. Her hands were all over him, her moans and gasps of pleasure in his ears. He reached down and touched where they were joined, her cry of pleasure music to his ears as he felt her throb around his length. Unable to deny himself any longer, he let go and emptied himself in her depths. They drifted on the cloud of euphoria, joined in body and heart and soul.

Killian couldn’t move. And apparently, neither could she. Her arms still held him tightly, and he was too spent to even roll off of her, though his weight had to be crushing her by now.

Her arms finally fell to her side and Killian reached up and pulled a hand knitted blanket from the top of the sofa over them, slipping out of her in the process. He pulled her close and kissed her temple.

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

~*~*~

~*~*~

Emma didn’t know how it happened, but she must have fallen asleep. And Killian apparently had, too, as he was still a very pleasant weight partially on top of her, their legs still entwined.

She reached up and started lightly running her fingers up and down his back. She couldn’t hold back her grin when he stretched much like a cat and opened his eyes. They were still glazed with sleep but there was something else there too. Something like contentment.

“Hi,” he murmured, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi,” she whispered back. He sat up, and Emma couldn’t keep her eyes from running down his naked chest and smirking her appreciation.

“Don’t look at me like that, or I won’t be able to wait until we’re in my bedchamber.”

Emma’s face fell as his words sank in, and she wiggled her way to sitting, grabbing the blanket he’d covered them with to now cover herself, moving as far from him as the sofa would allow. She cut her eyes to him and saw pleased satisfaction morph into confusion and then stoic anger as he rose and began dressing. She was sure he assumed, after what they did, she would become his mistress. And she couldn’t really blame him. It was a fairly natural assumption to make.

“Even after all of that…” His teeth were clenched, his tone biting, and Emma felt the sting of tears in the back of her throat. “Even after giving you my heart, my body, and you giving me yours in return, you still won’t be mine.”

“Be your mistress, you mean,” she said quietly. He looked sharply at her. But she refused to let him get away with using pretty words to avoid saying what they both knew to be true.

“Be. With. Me,” he bit out. “I want you to be with me. Don’t you understand that?” The pleading in his voice threatened the wall she was desperately trying to build around her heart. The one that would keep her safe. The one that would allow her to stay with the Jones family without succumbing again to temptation.

“You said you loved me,” he said quietly. Resignedly. The pain in his blue eyes was too much and she turned her face away from him.

“And I do,” she whispered. She paused for a moment, swallowing back her tears and taking a deep breath. “But, I will be a mistress to no one, Killian. Not even you.”

“Emma,” he said, the pleading back in his voice. “You know that I cannot marry you.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “I’m a maid, not an idiot.”

“It would be impossible for you too, you know,” he said, quietly. “You wouldn’t be accepted. No matter how much we loved each other, or how happy we were. The ton can be cruel.”

Emma barked out a bitter laugh. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“Why then? I love you. I can make you happy. We can…”

“Grant me this,” she interrupted, looking him fully in the face, her eyes filled with tears. “Find someone to marry. Find someone acceptable, someone who will make you happy. And then leave me alone.”

Her words struck him, telling him she was under no illusions as to the impossible situation they were in. He was asking her to give up everything she knew, everything she was, to be with him for a time in a world that would never accept her, that would never allow her to be truly happy. She would eventually be right back where she was now, with only her memories of him and perhaps a child or two. While for him, at this point, it was no true hardship, not until the time came that he’d have to marry. Because once that happened, his honor and his marriage vows wouldn’t allow him to keep a mistress. Even if putting Emma aside shattered his heart beyond repair.

He was grasping at straws, he knew that, but he plowed ahead anyway.

“And what if…” he trailed away, motioning to her midsection.

She inhaled sharply and pulled her arms out from under the blanket that covered her and laid her hands over where their child may already lay.

“Then I would love them with everything that was in me,” she whispered. “But if I am not,” she continued, her voice now full of conviction, “then I will consider myself very lucky and I will not tempt fate again.” She tightened the blanket around herself. “I will have a precious and beautiful memory that I will forever cherish. And that, I suppose, is why I can’t regret what we did. Although, I know I should.”

“I would also love and provide for any child created between us,” he said softly. “Am I correct in believing that you were rejected by your father?”

Emma huffed out a bitter chuckle. “Ignored would be more accurate.”

He sat back down on the sofa next to her and gathered her in his arms. This was no attempt at seduction, but simply a desire to comfort. She seemed to know that and didn’t struggle, all but melting into his embrace. “Emma, we wouldn’t make the same mistakes as your parents.”

“I know,” she said sadly. “But that is why I cannot be your mistress. I won’t relive my mother’s life.” He was silent as he looked down at her head, resting against his chest, against his heart. The heart that beat only for her. “They say a truly smart person learns from other people’s mistakes.” She sat up and looked into his eyes. “I’d like to think I’m a truly smart person. Please don’t take that away from me.”

The pain in her eyes nearly took his breath away. He released her and stood.

“I could make you change your mind, you know. I could kiss you, and you would…”

“You wouldn’t,” she interrupted with a little shake of her head. “It isn’t in you.”

“It is.”

“You could kiss me,” she agreed. “But you would hate yourself for it, if you did.”

He stood there for another moment before leaving the room, the click of the doors the only sound signaling his departure.

Emma collapsed against the sofa and sobbed out her heartbreak until there was nothing left in her.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Don’t yell at me too hard, please! It really was necessary! There is a VERY GOOD chance that I’ll be adjusting the posting schedule for these last two chapters coming up. I’ll be making a decision on that either today or tomorrow, so stay tuned!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[snowbellewells]

Happy Birthday @hollyethecurious!!! ~*~

I’m sorry this is so late in the day, but I hope your birthday has been a wonderful one @hollyethecurious - full of all the fun, celebration and love you deserve! Your writing has brought SO MUCH joy over the years, and I wanted to celebrate some of my favorites of your works. As I looked back over them though, I had a hard time narrowing them down, there were so many that have been so good, so varied, and each one has taken us on a different adventure with our pirate and princess! You’ve been so much fun to get to know in fandom, and I can’t thank you enough for sharing your writing with all of us!!! 

Without further rambling, here’s a Birthday Top Ten List of Hollye’s Fics! :)

#10) Mix of One Shots: “Huzzah!” // “Teacher’s Lounge” // “Welcome to the Show” // “Yippee Ki Yay” // “Ghost in the Void” // “A FINE Friendsmas” // “Ballet (Mis)Steps”  I love every single one of these so much! I just really couldn’t leave any of them off the list. Some are funny, some are hot and steamy, and some just lovely and heartfelt, and all of them are unforgettable. If you’ve missed any of these along the way, treat yourself and check them out. 

#9) “Some Legends are Best Kept as Legends” This fic was originally written for the @cssns and has such an eerie bit of the spooky supernatural and a lovely hint of history mixed in as well. Maybe it’s the literature teacher in me, but I loved how Holly worked “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” in there too. This is a really intriguing take on CS and you won’t be able to put it down!

#8) “A Different Kind of Fun” This version of Killian as a musician is absolutely irresistible. This is the only unfinished WIP on this list, but you can still enjoy this playful band modern AU as is. I’ve never been able to get it out of my head - it just feels like such a natural iteration of both Emma and Killian, and their friends, and you won’t be able to read without getting into it too.

#7) “A Toast to What If” I was lucky enough to get to serve as a beta for this story, and I would get so excited for each new bit I got to look over. This story just got better and better with every addition. I love the movie that inspired this one for the @captainswanmoviemarathon​, but seeing it with Emma, Killian and the rest of the OuaT gang in the roles made it all the more lovely. The setting, the plot, and all of this one will draw you in and you won’t want to stop reading until you reach the end. <3

#6) “Avowed” This one is a short little story built of interconnected prompt drabbles, but I have always had a soft spot for it. I love the setup, the action and drama it kicked off with, then the twists and turns its plot took along the way. It’s another AU version of Emma and Killian Hollye has created that I can’t get out of my head, and it’s an exciting adventure to read along.

#5) “Varcolac: A Hybrid Tale” This MC is from the inaugural summer of the @cssns event, and it is still one of my favorites from that collection. I’m a sucker for anything werewolf related, but this has its own unique twist on that supernatural genre. I loved how Emma and Killian first met here and how they banded together to face danger. The drama and action get intense in this one and I loved every second! I really can’t say enough great things about this one, and if you’ve missed it, you have to check it out now!!!

#4) “We Make Our Own Fate” This AU MC is extra lovely because it mixes a lot of less common elements into a CS fic - we get to enjoy Killian with his sweet little Alice, some lesser used enemies along with a few of the usual baddies, and a take on Colin’s movie What Still Remains, and yet it still makes use of the relationships and characters we love from OuaT. I looked forward to every new chapter as this was being written, and it is still one of my very favorites!

#3) “Conviction” This fic gave us such an affecting alternate version of Emma’s character. You couldn’t help but have your heart go out to her - just like this story’s Killian did. This one also has a bit of a historical element to it (those seem to be some of my favorites of Hollye’s works) and I love that Liam and Graham, Ruby, Granny, Belle and Will all have parts in this too, which only adds the the enjoyment of it for me (some of my favorite supporting characters who don’t always get to be present). You’re not going to be able to put this one down!

#2) “Hope is the Thing With Feathers” This story is a collaboration fic Hollye wrote some years ago, but it has never lost any of its beauty and it is hard to top. I don’t even know how many times I’ve re-read it. I love the sweet way Killian rescues a young Henry new to Storybrooke, and how in turn Henry and his mother bring life back to this version of Killian too. I love how Smee (sort of) and Belle both make important cameos in this - they’re perfect! The bittersweetness and bits of melancholy in this one make the wonderful way the ending works out all the more amazing and unforgettable. 

#1) “What Lies Beneath the Mask”  I wouldn’t be surprised if Hollye is shaking her head and laughing at my predictability right now, because there was no way any other story but this one was going to be my Number One pick. This was the first story of Hollye’s I read, and it has never been anything but my undisputed favorite. The angst, the whump, the love story, the mystery, and the suspense -- all of it is top notch! I even have a print book version of this one! I read it so much that it was an absolutely necessary investment!! There’s a bit of Hunchback of Notre Dame, and a bit of Man in the Iron Mask in this, but it is 100 percent a CS masterpiece and celebrates all the things Hollye does so brilliantly in her writing. Just talking about it makes me want to get it out and read it again. If you’ve never read this, you HAVE to - as soon as possible!

** And that concludes my list! Once again, I hope you’ve had the very best of birthdays @hollyethecurious​ !!! ***

#fandom birthday #birthday fic favorites list #hollyethecurious fic rec list #happy birthday @hollyethecurious #cs fic list

[hollyethecurious]

Asunder

A Birthday fic for @wyntereyez

A/N: Happy Birthday Jamie!!! As a gift for you in turning the big 4-0, enjoy some Killian strapped down onto a table about to be injected with the Jekyll & Hyde serum!! I know it isn’t quite what we discussed, but I hope you’ll like it!

This completes the Serum Injection square on my @badthingshappenbingo card and is my thirteenth (lucky number 13!!) fic for the Whumpetition.

Rated T / ~800 words / thanks to @kmomof4 for talking with me while I tore Killian asunder 😈

~/~

Consciousness was slow to return to Killian. Details revealing themselves in small fragments of awareness as his mind attempted to process his surroundings.

Pain. Throbbing pain. Drumming in time to the rhythm of his heart.

Cold. Seeping cold. Permeating from all sides and sending a shiver over him.

Hard. Unyieldingly hard. A metal surface where he was lying prone.

Restrained. By his wrist and ankles. Strapped down to the hard, cold surface with a band of leather buckled over his chest and legs as pain continued to pound against his skull.

Voices. Arguing. One higher and stuttering, the other deep and menacing. Familiar voices. One an ally, the other a foe.

“If we want to defeat the D-Dark One then it stands to reason we need a Dark One on our side.”

“What makes you think the pirate will be on our side?”

“Not the pirate,” the higher voice clarified, “the Dark One he became in Camelot. Though, it is clear there is no love lost between him and Rumplestiltskin.”

“How can we be sure it is the Dark One that emerges from him once we give him the serum?”

“The serum separates out that which the subject feels is the worst part of himself. What else could that be other than the Dark One version of him?”

“Serum?” Killian croaked, drawing the men’s attentions. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. An unlikely alliance, but from what he’d heard, each of them held a vendetta against the Crocodile. Killian knew firsthand how such a thirst for vengeance could make for strange bedfellows. “Not the serum that split you in two?”

“Ah! You’re awake.” Jekyll clapped his hands together then turned to the imposing figure of Hyde. “Shall we begin?”

Killian pulled against the leather restraint securing him to what he could only presume was an examination table. His hook had been removed and his arms were pinned to his sides from the strap covering his chest. Jekyll came closer with a syringe filled with a red substance positioned in his hand, ready to inject. Hyde grabbed Killian’s arm, pulling up his sleeve to expose the prominent veins in his forearm. No amount of struggle against his bindings did any good, but it didn’t stop Killian from flailing as hard as he could.

“No!” he pleaded when the needle lined up to one of the blue lines in the crook of his elbow. “No, no, no. NO!”

The prick of the needle was nothing compared to the flames licking their way through his body as the serum hit his bloodstream. His extremities were on fire. The pounding in his head intensified and a pressure began to develop in his chest. Every fiber of his being felt as though it were being rent in two. A scream tore from the back of his throat from both the agony of his torment and the utter shock of seeing a hook emerge through the chasm manifesting down his chest. Clamping his eyes shut, Killian was overcome with the sensations of skin tearing, bones splintering, sinew stretching to its breaking point, and the ever increasing pressure in his chest expanded until he felt something pull away from his form, releasing the pressure, as a heavy thud sounded from the floor beside him.

Shaky exhales left his body and a cold sweat soaked through his clothes, causing him to shiver anew in the chilled room. A moan that was not his own, even though sounded as though it could have been his, echoed from the tile floor. Killian opened his eyes in time to see the figure stand, a duplicate of himself dressed in his old pirate garb, sans his great leather duster.

“What the bloody hell?” his doppelganger exclaimed with wide eyes as he stared down at Killian’s bound form. “What’s going on?”

Jekyll stepped forward while Hyde kept a wary eye on the freshly separated Hook. “We’ve separated you from yourself in order to fight the Dark One for us.”

“The Dark One.” Hook blanched, casting another look towards the table. “Why don’t you make him fight the bloody Dark One?”

“Because only a Dark One can defeat another Dark One.”

Hook reached up and scratched behind his ear and Killian smirked at the bombshell he knew his other self was about to deliver.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a deckhand not The Dark One.”

Tagging the Curious Crew:

@kmomof4 @sals86 @jennjenn615 @darkcolinodonorgasm @artistic-writer @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @heavenlyjoycastle @sunshine2632 @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @cocohook38 @unworried-corsair @aprilqueen84 @tiganasummertree @therooksshiningknight​ @angellifedeath @ilovemesomekillianjones @ultraluckycatnd @wyntereyez @ultimiflos @superchocovian @qualitycoffeethings @facesiousbutton82 @theonceoverthinker @sherlockianwhovian @lillpon​ @killian-whump​ @justsomewhump​ @gusenitsaa​ @pirate-owl​

#ouat ff #killian jones ff #whump #whumpetition #bad things happen bingo #serum injection #birthday fic #wyntereyez #asunder #words by hollye

[artistic-writer]

Something More :: Captain Swan Omegaverse Fanfic :: E

Title: Something More by @artistic-writer and @doodlelolly0910 Rating: E Word Count:9k+ A/N: Behold!  Happy birthday to my person @hollyethecurious ! I am not going to lie to you, @doodlelolly0910 and I started this a while ago, and luckily, most of it was written before I went into hospital.  I had grand plans to create some tantalizing art, but then Tumblrgate happened and it would get taken down immediately, so to accompany this delicious, sexy, scrummy addition to our ABO co-writing collection, I have made a photoset.  To ensure it doesn’t get flagged, I am going to post it seperately.  And to make it double safe, I am posting all the naughty words under a cut ;)

We hope you have a great birthday and enjoy this, which i’m sure you will.  

Also on AO3

EMMA 12:10 PM

Are you coming home soon?

EMMA 12:14 PM

Killian? Are you done yet?

EMMA 12:37 PM

You are taking forever!

EMMA 12:58 PM

Are you ignoring me?

EMMA 1:09 PM

KILLIAN JONES!!!!!!

By the time Killian had paid for the very essential, very required item Emma had sent him to the store for - how many candles does one woman need? - his phone has chimed in his inside jacket pocket no less than four times. As soon as he had made his way back to their truck, stowing the bagged goods into the seat next to him, he reached into his pocket to retrieve the handheld device. He quickly unlocked his screen and noticed five notifications from Emma, the last one simply his name she was seemingly shouting at him via text message.

With a smirk, he dialled her number. It would be easier to explain in a call that he had been held up in line by an elderly man paying in pennies than it would be via text. The phone had barely connected the call when his very frantic, very stressed sounding Omega answered, sighing in relief into the phone.

“Love,” Killian soothed softly. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, I-” he began, but he was quickly interrupted.

“Are you okay? Why weren't you answering me? Are you coming home? Did you get my candles?” Emma couldn't stifle the rapid fire questions that poured from her lips. She'd been pacing the floor since her Alpha had left, fingers nervously stroking over his claim scar at the base of her throat. She regretted sending him out immediately, feeling the separation like a tug on her soul the second the door had closed behind him, but she needed those candles. And she was in the middle of washing every blanket in the house so that only left Killian to fetch them.

“Easy there, love,” Killian rasped slowly, using his voice to calm her. Emma was no stranger to anxiety and to be fair, he had been gone longer than he had intended. “I am just on my way home,” he promised her, leaning forward to start the ignition. “I’ll be with you soon.”

“Oh, thank God. I'm sorry, I just… I miss you. A lot. Did you get my candles? The ones with the cinnamon spice scent, not the cinnamon sugar, right?” The dryer buzzed its end and Emma propped her phone between her shoulder and her face as she bent down to retrieve the bedding from inside.

Before the truck lurched into drive, Killian let the engine idle, ticking over and rocking the whole cab. He leaned over into the passenger seat, reaching into the brown paper bag and pulling one of the candles free. With a narrowed gaze he examined the small, fine print label on the bottom, suddenly wishing he has thought to bring his reading glasses. “Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “Cinnamon spice, as requested.” He heard her sigh again, the sound of relief. “You seemed tense, my love. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“What? Yeah, I'm fine, except this place smells like a stale closet. I've just finished the last of the laundry, so it's a little better.” She flopped the linens onto their king sized bed and sat down next to them with a huff, blowing an errant blonde tendril off of her forehead. “Are you almost home?” she asked again expectantly, as if he would have magically teleported to her by now.

“Ten minutes,” Killian told her firmly. “I promise,” he said, checking the traffic at the junction to the car park. He looked left and then right, letting the in-car Bluetooth pick up his phone and engage the hands-free for his call. “I’ll stay on the line with you, alright?” Before she had time to answer, he was joining the small line of traffic and heading home.

Emma had been more panicked than usual lately, and neither of them knew why. She was still the same Emma, only her anxiety had been playing havoc on her nerves, and it seemed he was the center of her concerns. Killian would do anything to make sure she was happy, even buying candles in the middle of the afternoon if she so pleased. It wasn’t just candles though. Emma had sent him to the store on more than three occasions in as many days, just to get something she needed.

The first time it was a certain type of snack, a biscuit he had introduced her to whilst on vacation in his home country of England. That was more than difficult to find, but he had returned triumphant after four hours of searching. Then he has been sent out to find her a specific type of bottled water, lightly sparkling with a hint of lemon. A new obsession of hers, and again, hard to find, and now the candles. It didn’t matter what he was buying, his end goal was always to see the beautiful smile light up his mate’s face, and he knew the candles would do that.

“So, do you have a plan with these candles?” Killian asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. “They don’t specifically say they are unsafe for contact with skin,” he growled, lowering his voice even though he was the only one in the truck. “In case you know, you wanted to play later on?”

“Well, my goal was to make the house not stink so bad,” she said with a laugh, putting her phone on speaker and setting it on the nightstand beside her. “But I'm not opposed to alternate uses.” She groaned as she lifted the bundle of fabric on the bed again and shook it out. It smelled better, not like it had been sitting in storage for months, but something was still missing. The candles would help. She just knew it.

She struggled with adjusting the blanket over the bed by herself, her brow creasing in concentration as she wiggled it into place. This last heat of hers had been a doozy and the residual hormones were driving her crazy even these few weeks later. It wasn't often that Emma felt out of control of her own body, but she did now and she was grateful she had found such an understanding Alpha.

Killian was the biggest constant in her life, and once she took a chance on love again with him, she knew he was her forever. She would do anything for him, and he her, but her old feelings of rejection sometimes bubbled to the surface still. Like now. But Killian was still Killian through all of it, supporting her through her anxiety and not even blinking twice when she made the strangest of requests.

“Maybe we should skip dinner?” Killian suggested playfully. “Jump straight to the dessert we both know will be much better than my cooking.” Joking always cheered Emma up, and so did flirting, but since Emma’s last heat and then his rut a few days after it had started, all he could think about was having even more of their bedroom antics. There was something new, something that permeated every breath he took when he was around her, but something he couldn’t place. All he knew was it was heady, sending his body and his inner beast into a frenzy.

“How about that, Omega?” Killian said darkly, using her title as a command, heat instantly pooling in his groin. He couldn’t smell her over the phone, but even the thought of tasting Emma’s new scent was making his mouth water. “You want me to give you dessert?”

Emma's breath hitched the second his voice had growled out her title, a wave of slick dampening her panties. They had a healthy sex life, just like any other Alpha and Omega, but this inner desire for him lately had been clawing at her from the inside. She had developed a few new cravings lately, but her craving for her Alpha had been damn near insatiable. Everything about him, his touch, his voice, his scent, it was driving her mad with need.

“God, yes, Killian,” she breathed, her voice almost a purr of want.

She snatched her phone from where it lay and walked to the door, intent on waiting for him in the living room when a scent gave her pause. She inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to discern the source of the delicious smell when her eyes landed on the hamper near the door. She wrenched the hinged lid open and found her prize sitting right on top. The red and black flannel that Killian had been wearing all day yesterday. It stunk to high heaven, Killian having sweated in it while he was chopping up the huge logs stacked on the side of their little house for useable pieces for their fireplace, but it was like a puzzle piece snapping into place for what she had been craving (not to mention for her libido).

Emma lifted it from the hamper and pressed it to her face, inhaling deeply, a shiver running through her body at the addition to the fresh scents surrounding her. This is what was missing. She set her phone down on the lid of the hamper after she closed it again, immediately stripping down to her underwear and putting her arms through the sleeves, letting his scent surround her and nuzzling into the collar.

“Alpha…” she whimpered, turning on her heel and stalking straight back to their bed, her phone gripped tightly in her fist.

The timbre of Emma’s plea had Killian rock hard in seconds and a low growl escaped from his throat. Their driveway seemed much longer than before as he pulled up in the truck, not even letting the vehicle come to a complete stop before he was grabbing the bag of groceries and leaping from the cab, rushing to the door. He was sure Emma could hear him panting, the harsh breaths he was taking as he climbed their porch steps three at a time, trying to see clearly enough to jam the key into the lock and let himself in.

Once the door was open, Killian was hit with Emma’s scent. It was stronger than when he had left, the distinctive taste of her slick coating his tongue and making the burn in his stomach boil up once more. He looked around, kicking the door closed and planting the bag of groceries on the kitchen island, but finding her nowhere. But she was somewhere, he could smell her, the skin on the back of his neck prickling as he inhaled again, eyes pinched closed to savour the inviting fragrance.

“Emma?” he called out softly, his voice almost like he knew exactly where she was but wanted her to call out to him. He took a tentative step towards the stairs, the scent much stronger there. “Where are you, Omega?” he growled, kicking off his boots before starting his ascent, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard a whimper and his ears pricked up, the sound coming from their bedroom. “There you are,” he rasped to himself, a sultry smirk plastered on his face as he headed straight to his prize.

The bedroom door was closed almost all the way, only open a small crack that he could see through as he approached. The tantalizing smell grew stronger the closer he got to the white panel door, his fists balling at his side, his palms sweaty from anticipation. Emma whimpered again, and he felt his stomach fall, the throbbing in his jeans almost too much as his erection strained against his fly.

He reached out, pushing the door open. It swung slowly, creaking on its hinges and he gasped at the sight of Emma sprawled out on their bed, writhing in the freshly laundered sheets in what looked like his flannel shirt from yesterday and just her underwear. He didn’t even have time to wonder what she was doing because the sounds she was making was enough to compel him forward and into the room, heading straight to the bottom of the bed where he hurriedly shed his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans to relieve some pressure.

“Emma,” he ground out through clenched teeth, tugging on the length in his jeans to help his ache. “What are you doing?”

Before Killian could even finish asking the question, Emma had scrambled up on to her hands and knees and launched her slight form at his larger frame, colliding with his bare chest and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“You're home,” she murmured, the tension in her muscles easing in his presence, but the coil in her belly twisting tighter. She gripped his shoulders tightly as his arms came around her waist to accommodate the weight she was leaning on him, her nails digging into his flesh as if she couldn't get him close enough. She began planting soft kisses along his neck and shoulder, each growing more frantic than the last, until her hands slid up to cup his scruffed cheeks, bringing his lips to hers.

“I missed you,” she said between kisses. “So much.”

“I’m right here, love,” Killian assured her gently between kisses. His hands danced over her arms, silently cursing the flannel under his fingertips before he slipped his fingers into the unbuttoned shirt and over her skin. He felt her gasp, her lips turning up into a smile as she kissed him, pushing harder against his mouth in eagerness. Killian licked her lips, teasing them until they opened, his tongue meeting hers with a groan of satisfaction.

His hands found the swell of her behind, grabbing the flesh there roughly and pulling her tighter to his frame. He needed her and he couldn’t explain why, the pull of her scent like the call of a sea siren, luring him to his demise under the pretense of pleasure. Killian would gladly dive into the abyss, hands plunging into the fabric of her panties and palming her arse in his roughened grip before his fingers slipped between her cheeks and his fingers were coated in her slick.

“Oh, Emma,” Killian sighed, tearing his lips from hers and rolling his forehead against hers. “Is this for me?” He growled, pushing the material of her sodden panties down, almost tearing the cotton from her body as he kissed down her neck, lips hovering about the scar where he had marked her. He grinned against her skin, inhaling her scent, fingernails digging into her flesh because it was the only thing he could do to stop his knot popping free in his jeans. “Always so wet for me.”

“Only for you. Need you, Alpha, please,” she whimpered and slipped her hands over the planes of his chest, his wiry dark hair tickling her palms.

She usually revelled in the way his muscles would twitch under her touch, but today she was a woman on a mission, his lust heavy scent making her dizzy with need. She kissed and nipped her way down the strained cords of his neck as her nimble fingers slipped into the waistband of his boxers and abruptly pulled them and his jeans down over his narrow hips. She heard a grunt from above her in response as his leaking cock was freed and she licked her lips, only one thing on her mind: getting as much of her Alpha as possible.

She flattened to her stomach on the bed in front of where he still stood, his fingers sifting through her golden curls and gradually tightening in grip. Without giving him a moment to process, she leaned forward and grasped him firmly in her small hand, licking the underside of his cock from root to tip. The startled half yelp he made at the contact only spurred her on and she immediately enveloped the head of him into the heat of her mouth, sucking hard before setting a rhythm. She bobbed her head quickly, her cheeks hollowing tightly around his skin, taking more and more of his length with each pass, her hand covering what her mouth had yet to reach.

“Yeah, love, that’s it,” Killian growled, ghosting his hands over her face, catching her gaze when she looked up at him through her ministrations. She was beautiful, prone and his marble hard length in her mouth, her tongue traces ridges even he never knew he had. Killian felt his balls tighten, the surge of blood to his member enough to take him by surprise and he pulled himself free from her lips with a hiss. “I won’t last if you keep on sucking me like that,” he teased, fingers tangling in her hair and caressing the shape of her skull in his hand.

Emma only hummed around him in response, her hand coming up to clamp around his hip and tug him closer. Her tongue traced and twirled over every inch of flesh it touched, and his groans in the room grew louder. His hand tightened to the point of pain as he helped guide her movements, but it only added to her frantic arousal. He tasted amazing, his scent almost overpowering, and she got lost in her ministrations.

Taking him as deep as she could, she swallowed around him, the head of his cock brushing the back of her throat where it was the tightest and before either of them could process what happened, the familiar tang of his come was splashing her tongue. She swallowed it down, as his hips rutted automatically towards her letting him fall gently from her lips. His hand loosened in her hair and fell away and her brow furrowed.

Well, that had never happened before. At least not unintentionally. She looked up at his face, her expression confused, insanely aroused, and just a little disappointed.

“Jesus, Emma,” Killian gasped, hips still jerking uncontrollably as the last dribbles of his release exited his length. He hadn’t seen it coming, his orgasm sneaking up on him like it never had before, the feel of Emma swallowing around his tip just too much to contain. “Fuck, Omega, you made me come.”

Killian was in shock, his body still tingling from an orgasm that neither had seen coming. His body was primed, far too primed for his liking, the barest of touches setting his body on fire and drawing out his passion. He peered down at the woman on the bed in front of him, fresh slick between her legs giving him a renewed sense of passion that he just had to sate.

“I'm sorry, Alpha,” she said, moving to her side and propping her hand on her head. Her free fingers came up and swiped a droplet of his release from her lip where it had been left behind and sucked it into her mouth. “You just tasted too good.”

He reached out with a dark growl, grabbing Emma roughly and flipping her body over until she was laying on her front facing away from him, a huge red hand print appearing on the globe of her ass as he spanked her. Emma squeaked, almost a giggle, before he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her towards him, setting her arse in the air right in front of his face. “Let’s see how you taste, shall we, love?” Killian purred, pressing his lips to the center of her back. She moaned in response, wiggling her hips beneath his torso.

He kissed downward, the hairs on Emma’s body standing to attention under the flannel she wore. Killian felt her skin pull tight under his assault and he needed to feel her skin on his lips, the offending material between him and his goal only making him more frustrated. With a gentle tug, he lifted the chequered material up over her arse, exposing her bare cheeks to his gaze a little more, a wicked grin spreading over his lips. With a groan, he kissed her behind, fingers slipping between her thighs to coax some of her nectar onto his fingers as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses down the outside of her thigh.

“Gods, you smell amazing,” he rasped, his slippery fingers holding the scent of her so delectably he couldn’t help but sink them into his mouth with an exaggerated sucking sound. He heard Emma moan, whimpering his name on a plea that had him smirking like a fool as he nosed into her folds. “What’s that, my sweet?” he teased, lapping at her from behind, her slick coating his tongue and quenching his thirst. It was almost too distracting, his head spinning for a second before he focused in on her begging.

“Please, Killian, please, I need-” her words were drowned out by a moan as he slipped a thick finger into her heat, his tongue still dragging over her clit like she was the best thing he had ever tasted. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell forward onto her elbows. The flannel drifted up to cover her face where it was turned to the side on the mattress, the scent of it almost suffocating her, but she couldn't get enough. She reached her hand up to pull the soft fabric against her cheek, nuzzling into it and trying to rock her hips back against his questing tongue and fingers.

Killian felt a burning in his stomach, the sounds Emma was making as he drank her down like music to his ears. He craned his neck for deeper penetration, tongue skimming the inside of her perfectly, tip scraping over the ribbed flesh of her g-spot and making her shudder. He did it again, eliciting the same response, a fresh wave of slick coating his chin and gingered scruff.

“You like that?” Killian cooed, pulling back to watch the tensing of her muscles as he dipped a second finger into her heat. He twisted his hand and stroked the spongy flesh, again and again, Emma’s thigh shaking and an evil grin spreading over his face. “Yeah, that feels good, doesn’t it, Omega?” He purred, his spent length recovering a little and twitching to life once more. “You like when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she groaned, the word drawn out in ecstasy. Her hips rocked against his hold and her thighs began to tremble. She was so close she could feel it in her toes. “I'm going to… gonna… shit!” Emma's calves curled upwards as he hit that spot inside of her once more with a firm flick of his fingers right alongside a perfectly timed curl of his tongue over her clit and she was coming hard. She felt every muscle in her body tense up and vibrate with the strain as wave after wave of her intense orgasm washed over her, but Killian didn't stop. If anything, he went harder, his head tilting to suck at her lower lips and clit as much as he could and his fingertips pressing firmly into her g-spot, tapping them rapidly against her sodden walls.

“That’s it, Omega, come all over me,” Killian grunted, fingers buried inside of her up to his palm, her whole body moving with the force of his thrusts. He kept going, even after she whined for him to let up, the muscles around his fingers growing wetter and wetter. “You got more in you, love, I know it.” Killian has heard of Omega’s with the ability to almost drown their Alpha’s in slick, a strategically placed pressure point just inside of them the spot he needed to find.

And find it, he did indeed, no more than a moment later. Emma nearly collapsed completely at the sensation but his free hand seized her hip firmly as she tried to wiggle away from the ravenous way he was eating into her still, pulling her back against his mouth and pressing on. A new heat built up inside her, overwhelming the first and she swore she blacked out for a minute as sheer pleasure exploded in her veins. A sensation she'd never experienced before jolted through her and it felt like her slick was fountaining from her oversensitized flesh onto his cheeks and chin, all over his hand. She was a trembling, sobbing mess by the time he was through, slipping his fingers from her and bringing her down from her high with broad laps of his talented tongue.

Killian rolled her over, her body limp and lifeless in his hands, her limbs heavy. She was still trembling, the aftershocks still ripping through her each time he skimmed his hands over her hypersensitive flesh, kissing her nimble ankle bone as he held her foot to his lips. “There's my good girl,” Killian rasped sultrily, clambering up onto the bed to finally hover over her, his length bumping the inside of her thigh when he settled between her legs.

The sheets were soaked, dark patches by his knees as he kissed her, mouth gliding against hers tenderly to bring her back down from her high, whole body pressing into hers to make sure she felt safe in his arms. “Emma, my love,” he whispered against her lips, waiting for her eyes to flutter open. “Was that good?” he teased, biting his bottom lip and rolling the flesh between his teeth, something he knew she was powerless to resist.

She didn't answer him with words, her eyes snapping open and locking to his with a feral hunger that he had yet to see from her in the entirety of the time they'd been together. With a strength neither of them were aware she still possessed after an orgasm like that, her knees came up around him to frame his hips and squeezed, rolling them over on the mattress so she was sitting on the bunched fabric around his thighs. She growled in frustration and scrambled off the bed, ripping the remaining clothing free from his body and clambering back to sit astride him. One of her thighs slipped between his legs, the other draped over his hip, her core rubbing deliciously over the bare muscle of his thigh.

Grabbing at the chain around his neck, she pulled him upright to crash her lips against his once more. When he groaned at the contact, she wasted no time slipping her tongue into his mouth, probing every corner of it and tangling around his own tongue. The taste of her on his lips was intoxicating, but underneath it all, the kiss still tasted like him and that made her want all over again.

She felt him shift beneath her to sitting fully, his arms wrapping around her under the fabric of the flannel she still wore and pressing her bra covered breasts to his chest. Her hips rocked down automatically at the new stimulation and her core gained the friction she was craving against his leg. His hands bolted up to her hips and pulled her more tightly against him.

“Oh, God, Alpha, need you so much,” she panted against his mouth, her hands splayed over his jaw as she rocked her hips again. She whimpered as electricity flowed through her blood, concentrating at the apex of her thighs, and she wasn't sure if she would ever be sated at this point. She was completely lost in him, her Alpha, her mate, and love welled up in her chest, taking residence right alongside her arousal. She rocked and rolled her hips faster and faster, his renewed hardness pressing into her hip and leaking precome in a steady stream as she took her pleasure against his flesh.

“Just like that,” Killian growled, watching her ride his thigh with a groan of frustration. It wasn’t enough, her slick coating his flesh like a second skin, hot and humid as she increased her friction and pressure on his thigh. “Take what you need, love,” he coaxed, cupping her face in one hand whilst he snaked the other down to the globe of her behind. He pulled her roughly, each one of her thrusts amplified against his body until her mouth hung open in a silent scream of ecstasy and she was falling once again.

The second she came, she went rigid in his arms, jaw clenched tightly and eyes pinched shut, but Killian was not going to let her pleasure ebb away so quickly. Both of his hands found her backside, fighting against the tense muscles of her legs as he rubbed her still harder against his thigh, her clit bumping the juncture of his hip and making her cry out in a pained euphoria. She shook against his hold, fingers clawing his chest, a fine line of sweat adorning her brow that he could see as she shook her head back and forth and begged him to stop.

“Need…” she gasped, her hips indecisive on whether she was rutting into him or pulling away out of oversensitivity. “Need you, Alpha. Need you. Need you to fill me up, need you to make me whole, please…” the last word came out on a whisper. She had never felt a hunger like this for her Alpha, and she didn’t want it to stop, even though it was consuming her entire being. He rocked back into her, and the sight of his renewed arousal jutting out between them made her mouth water all over again. She swallowed thickly, rutting her hips up and she saw stars, her walls clenching around nothing as she came on his thigh again.

“Please, please, please,” she chanted into the crook of his neck where his scent was the strongest, the scruff on his jaw rubbing over her forehead where he had turned into her, his breath fanning her hair in every direction. She nuzzled into him and clung tighter to his shoulders, sure her nails had broken through his skin by now. He didn’t seem to mind, and she supposed that was a good thing because she could not make her grip on him loosen.

“Shhh,” Killian whispered. His tone was soft but still assertive, and he wrapped his arms around her frame as she rocked against him. “You don’t have to beg,” he growled against her face, leaning forward and laying her out beneath him. Killian kissed her face, soaking up in her post orgasmic glow, loving the way she whimpered at his touch and smiled when he kissed her eyelids.

Emma was limp from her release, and together they were covered in slick and sweat, but Killian wasn’t finished with her yet. She was precious and he had never been so drawn to her. There was something new in her scent and it pulled him in, squeezing him with desire and he never wanted to be free. His hands skimmed over the flannel she wore, making light work of the buttons and pulling the edges apart to expose her creamy skin.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, hands finding her bra and pulling it down to expose her breasts. He kneaded them gently, his chin tucking into the hollow of her neck and lips brushing the ridge of her mark scar. He pressed a kiss to the healed wound, one hand tucking under her behind whilst the other worked his length between her thighs, his tip slipping through her folds on each stroke and stiffening him even more.

“There’s something new about you, Omega,” he rasped into her skin, tongue darting out to taste the top of her breast. His chin scruff tickled her pebble like nipples and she arched her back even harder towards his eagerly awaiting mouth. Killian dragged his nose down her skin, tongue tasting her slowly, huge deep breathes finding the new taint to her being. “Your body calls to me, love,” he growled, positioning himself at her entrance. “More than usual.” His hands slid back up her body, teasing the shirt from her shoulders, gently moving to pull her arms free, but Emma had other ideas.

“No!” Her small hand reached up to cover his own, a low growling sound that she had never made before rumbling up from her chest into her throat. Her eyes flashed in warning and she yanked the fabric free from his grip, pulling it tighter against her. “No,” she repeated, her tone quieter but no less firm. “I… I need it.” Her grip was almost white knuckled around the collar as she protected it from being removed from her body, her growl returning with every twitch of his hand. She was an Omega acting on pure baser instinct, her actions beyond her control and leaving her and Killian both slightly confused.

Killian sat back on his heels, fingertips brushing over the outside of her thighs as he smirked down at her. “What’s got you so possessive?” He teased, tickling her skin in slow, lazy circles as he watched her pout. “Am I not enough for you now?”

“You are,” she rushed to assure him. “I just, I need it. I can’t explain it. It smells,” she inhaled deeply into the collar of the shirt through her nose, “so good.”

“Don’t I smell good?” Killian grinned, cocking his head to one side. He leaned forward again, falling over her frame until his tip bumped her opening and she gasped. He pushed his hips forward, sinking his entire length into her with ease, her slick more than aiding his entry. “Don’t I feel good?”

“Yes,” she moaned, feeling herself stretch deliciously around him. Her walls clenched involuntarily at the intrusion, making them both groan a little. “You feel so good.” She rocked her hips up, seeking more friction, but Killian remained solid, unmoving inside of her. “Killian, Alpha, please, I need to feel you. Move,” she begged again.

Her plea was all he needed to end her torture, drawing his length out of her with a hiss. He rolled his hips, enjoying the way Emma shook beneath him as he did, her muscles pulling him in even deeper when he sunk back into her warmth. He felt her hands on his back, clawing his skin as he buried himself inside of her, and something inside of him snapped. He wasn’t in rut, and yet he felt like he needed to claim her, pound himself into her until he knotted her and she knew he wanted her as much as she did him.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, ‘mega,” he growled, his hot breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. His hands tucked under her behind, changing his angle of entry and making her cry out. “I’m going to make sure you know you’re mine.”

“I am,” she gasped as he delivered a particularly deep thrust into her pliant core. “I’m yours, nobody else’s.” She tried to keep pace with him, rocking her hips in his hold, but he held her firm, exactly where he wanted her, making her take all he was giving her.

“Say it again,” He commanded darkly, pumping into her at a furious pace. He was so hard, stamina increased from his first orgasm, and he knew he was hitting the sweet spot because of how wet she was. He grinned against her neck, voice harsh and raspy. “Say you’re mine and I’ll make you come, Omega. I know you need it.” Killian’s fingernails were digging into her fleshy behind so hard he wasn’t sure if her screams were from that or his clit slapping thrusts, each one slamming her sensitive nub with his pubic bone.

“Yours!” she screamed out, exploding around him, vision blurring at the edges as he delivered on his promise, thrusting into her so hard and deep that she didn’t know which way was up. “Yours, yours, I’m yours, just yours,” she continued to cry out as he fucked her through her high, feeling him swell and twitch inside of her.

The flutter of her muscles around his length had Killian shaking, every muscle in his body contracting as he fought off his release. His thighs quaked, Emma’s moans like music to his ears, his body wet with a mixture of sweat and slick, the smell turning him on even more. His fingernails dug into her flesh, scraping at her skin with eagerness as her core tightened around his length and Killian felt the heady start of his own orgasm. It shook him to the core, rendering him blind as he cried out, fighting the swell of his knot as it tingled in his groin.

“Oh, ‘mega,” Killian gasped, his throat dry and his voice raspy. He released his grip on her bruised skin, smoothing his palm over the area and relaxing his muscles after he came. Still buried inside of her, he fought for breath, his hand finding the side of her face and caressing her cheek. “My sweet thing,” he whispered, planting a kiss to her face, coaxing her back from her own euphoria. “You made your Alpha come, darling,” he smirked against her skin, nuzzling her nose with his.

Emma turned her face so she could meet his gaze head on, a wicked twinkle taking up residence in the depths of her green eyes. Despite having come so many times she'd lost count at this point, she felt that insatiable need rise up in her belly again. She squeezed her knees tight around his narrow hips and rolled them over so she was straddling him, his still marble hard length pressing deeper inside of her.

Killian's eyes blew wide in surprise at the movement and she moaned, leaning forward to brace herself on his sweat slicked chest and beginning to move again. She rocked slowly at first, her recent orgasm sparking back to life, or maybe a new one altogether brewing. It didn't matter because she was soon chasing that end, building speed and throwing her head back at the sensation, her long blonde hair tickling the tops of Killian's thighs.

“God, Alpha,” she whimpered, slamming her hips into his with brute force.

“Oh, fuck,” Killian gasped, his head slamming into the flat pillow behind his head. His hands found her thighs, clawing at her skin in an attempt to control the coil in his stomach that threatened to unfurl at any moment.

Emma rode him hard, her hands flattened to his tensed belly, fingernails scratching at the thatch of hair there with every slam of her hips. His toes tingled, stretching out into nowhere, his still hard member keeping up its duty within her depths. He didn’t even soften a little, his come dripping down his length each time Emma lifted herself almost clean off him, the wet sounds between them only adding to his arousal.

“Omega, I’m going to-,” Killian grunted, his voice laced with confusion as he unexpectedly shot another load of his seed into her. She didn’t stop, clearly turned on by his new release, her muscles pulling him in even further as his cock twitched and spent itself inside of her.

Who knew exactly how long they had been going at it at this point. It felt like an eternity and no time at all as her body shattered above him again. The muscles in her thighs and arms spasmed and she collapsed onto his chest, his arms coming up automatically around her to cradle her twitching form to his body. She was thoroughly spent, but impossibly she craved more, wanting to be filled over and over again. He hadn't knotted her, but she could feel the press of the ring of muscle at the base of his length nudging against her folds. She panted, trying to regain her bearings.

Killian inhaled her scent, the sweet mixture of her slick and sweat making his taste buds tingle. He had no idea what had gotten into her, but he felt a powerful need for more. His hand drew lazy circles on her back, her hips still rutting into his body as his cock obeyed her demands and stayed rock hard inside of her. A smirk played on his lips, fingers stroking through her damp hair as her weight pressed down on him.

“You’ve bewitched me, Emma,” he rasped but all he got in reply was a small squeak of a whine. “You’ve-,” he paused, taking a sharp breath laced full of her musk once more. His words left him, his body taking over as he pushed himself into a sit and clutched her to his chest as she slid onto his member even further. His release coated his length, sticking their bodies together until he eased her down onto the bed with a small whimper of protest and pulled himself from her clutches.

“Easy, love,” he soothed, kissing her chin. “I’ll be back where I belong soon,” he growled, fighting his own body’s reluctance to leave the warmth of her core. Killian kissed down her throat, taking his time to savor her skin with every kiss and a flick of his tongue, until he was face to face with her swollen, slick covered sex. “I just need a taste,” he purred, pressing the flat of his tongue to her clit and closing his mouth hungrily over her folds.

Emma’s body jolted at the contact and she shrieked. Her hips rocked and twisted, as if her over sensitive body wasn't sure if she actually wanted more or if it was too much. He drove her higher and higher, nonetheless, his large hands slipping around her thighs to keep her splayed and steady for him, making her take the pleasure he was giving her.

She felt like she might very well literally explode, the heat in her belly growing exponentially. It was unlike any need she had ever felt before, unlike any ecstasy. When he growled into her flesh, the vibrations had her falling apart all over again and she felt her body push out even more liquid. She was going to need an IV to rehydrate when this was all said and done, but it was so worth it. She turned her face into the collar of the flannel she still wore, breathing in its scent with every breath she took, which only served to heighten her pleasure.

When her heartbeat had stopped thundering in her ears long enough for her to hear anything else, she hardly recognized her own hoarse, wrecked voice as she chanted his name and title like it was the only thing she knew to say. Every muscle in her body was tingling and trembling, but she knew there was more to come.

The taste of his own come was intoxicating, mixed with Emma’s slick as he lapped it up. She was soaking wet, every nerve ending in her sex so hypersensitive that all it took was a small brush of his fingertip, or a flick of his tongue and she was crying out his title. It was all Killian could hear as he devoured her, her slick tainted with something other than his own release, something he couldn’t fathom in the confusion of arousal. He was drunk on her, like an addict taking a fix, and he felt himself harden again between his legs as soon as she sighed his title.

He surged forward, capturing her mouth with his, grinding his growing erection against her thigh as his tongue mapped out the inside of her mouth. Emma moaned, the taste of herself on her own tongue such a turn on she was begging for his hardness against the press of his lips.

“You want more, Omega?” Killian teased her, nipping her bottom lip playfully. His hand gripped at her jaw, holding her darkened green eyes with his own, both their eyes clouded in a haze of lust. Her silence was deafening, and Killian reached down between them to finger her spit covered clit, rousing her back to him with a gasp. “You need my knot, don’t you baby?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice coming out in a raspy whisper. “Please, Alpha. Need you. Need your knot.” She rolled her hips up into his with what little strength she had left, and she felt his responding growl rumble inside his chest where she was pressed against him. She couldn't explain her need, and she didn't want to try. Her baser instincts had taken over her body completely and her world consisted of nothing but her Alpha and what pleasure he could give her.

“Present,” Killian growled, pulling himself away from her and sitting back on his heels. He stroked his length, lazily watching Emma writhe at the loss of contact his moving had left her with. She was in a state of confusion, barely able to form words when Killian shuffled forward between her thighs and slapped his rock hard length against her clit. “Present for your Alpha.”

Her body reacted on instinct at the command, rolling over onto her belly and shuffling her knees underneath her. She was still shaking from the previous exertions her body had undertaken and her upper body lay so heavily on the mattress, she was almost flat against the surface. She parted her knees, her glistening sex peeking through her legs, and she waited, knowing she would have her Alpha's knot soon.

Her hands gripped the ruined sheets tightly, grounding herself, and she could almost feel the burn of Killian's gaze on her, her core clenching against nothing as he waited for her to settle. She was exhausted, but she couldn't think of anything she wanted more in this world right at that moment than to be tied to her Alpha in the most intimate of ways.

“Shhh,” Killian whispered, smoothing his palms over the globes of her behind. She was exquisite, in every way, and he felt the swell of his knot as he toyed with his erection just by looking at her exposed to him like this. He rose up on his knees behind her, rubbing his tip over her folds, loving the way she tensed her muscles and tried to pull him into her. “So eager for my knot, aren’t we darling?” He crooned, teasing her with the tip of his cock through gritted teeth. “I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he growled, pushing into her a little more, gripping his base so he didn’t pop his knot from the sensation alone. “Give you my knot and fill you up.”

“Yes,” she whispered, rutting back against him. Her muscles protested the movement but she wasn't satisfied just yet. Killian's hand came up to hold her hips tightly as he sank fully into her heat, the delicious stretch making her feel whole once again. Her body lit back up at the push and pull of his length against her walls. She didn't think it was physically possible for her to come again but her body had different ideas. The slightest brush of his length against her g-spot had her crumbling again, wailing out his name and her knees almost giving out beneath her.

Killian held her upright, continuing to rut into her and she pushed back as fervently as she could. It ended up being more of a writhing, wriggling sort of movement as she tried to keep the pace with him. Her body was nonexistent anymore, she was floating on some astral plane of sensation where light and sound were abstract concepts that filled her every pore. She needed just that little bit more to feel truly complete.

Before she knew what was happening, they were rolling, Killian's arms banding around her waist as he turned onto his back, keeping her firmly against his chest. It was too much. It would never be enough. Her inner muscles spasmed in no particular rhythm around his length and he continued to push up into her. Her legs kicked out of their own accord, sliding against his slicked, muscular thighs, trying to gain some kind of purchase.

Killian barely moved, Emma’s movements pulling him in deeper as she pseudo struggled to be free. Her body cried out for mercy, yet she didn’t want it, muttering his title on a cry. He held her through it, rutting into her so slowly he could barely take it himself, her constant state of overstimulation making her muscles twitch with orgasm after orgasm. Finally, he grabbed her face, turning it to his and gobbling up her moans with a kiss, lips pressed against hers so hard they hurt, sure to leave bruises in the morning. The swell of his knot exposed, he gave a single hard thrust up into her warmth, locking himself in place as he spilt yet another orgasmic release up into her and held her tightly against his body as she came for a final time.

“Oh, Emma,” he whispered, cock still throbbing inside of her and his knot pulsating to fire the last remnant of his seed into her. “You’re bloody insatiable. My beautiful treasure,” he rasped smoothly, stroking the side of her face as he kissed her eyelids. “My Omega.” He kissed her again, this time slowly, his lips calming the tremble of her own and helping her body relax against his for the first time since he had walked through the door.

Emma sighed, content for the first time all day. Wrapped up in her Alpha, the candles didn't even matter anymore. This was the scent she had been missing. Her Alpha, their love, home. It was perfect. Even if she'd have to pick up several pillows from where they'd scattered themselves on the floor during their enthusiastic bonding.

She turned her face and breathed deep into the collar of the flannel that still enveloped her torso. It still smelled like Alpha musk, even stronger now that Killian himself was moulded against it, but she herself caught a whiff of something she didn't recognize. She could smell her own scent mingling with his in the fabric, but there was definitely something more. It was almost like her own scent but… brighter somehow. A freshness to the tang and earthiness she was used to.

“Killian?” she asked softly. He grunted in response, making her smile. “What did you mean earlier when you said there was something different about me? Something that called to you?”

“I’m not sure,” Killian said softly, his words muffled by Emma’s hair where he had nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. He could smell her scent gland, still emitting her intoxicating scent that was somehow tainted. Not with anything sinister, but something that was almost comforting. “All I know is that there is something about your scent that is driving me wild.” Killian shifted them, careful not to pull his knot and cause her pain as he rolled them over and pressed his body to hers, drawing lazy circles over the skin of her stomach. He tucked his chin against her collarbone, pressing his lips to her skin and inhaling her scent contently. “You smell like you, but there’s more,” he said, puzzled.

“Mm,” she agreed. “I smell it, too. Like there's two of me.” She let a short laugh out but it caught in her throat and she froze.

“Love?” Killian asked, concerned that she had suddenly stiffened in his arms. “What is it? Are you alright?”

Emma's throat felt dry, her mind flashing through a hundred things at once. The sensitivity to smells. Her heat coinciding with his rut. The ravenous way she'd been at him. When was her last regular period?

Two of her.

Or at least another half of her. The other half Killian.

“I… I don't know,” she answered honestly. “I just had a thought. A really, really big thought. And I think it's more than a thought.”

“Well, rest assured, love, that whatever it is, I’m here.” Killian pulled her tighter to his chest, the warmth of her body against his something he would always treasure. Even Killian knew that marking an Omega didn’t always mean they were bonded forever, and he had known other Alphas to break their bond in favour of an Omega with an exciting new scent, but Emma was different. She was his true mate, a bond that nothing could break. “I’ll always be here.”

“I'm glad,” she murmured and snaked her hand up to gently encircle his wrist with her fingers, dragging his hand down from beneath her breasts over the flat of her stomach to rest just below her belly button. “Because I think I might need you here with me more than ever these next few months.”

She waited, silence filling the space as she let her words sink in. She chewed on her lip nervously and tried to tilt her head back to catch a glimpse of his face from the corner of her eye as best she could while they were still locked to one another.

Killian’s brow furrowed a little as Emma pushed his hand flatter over her stomach, his thumb brushing the softness of the skin there with an instinctive tenderness that made him realise what she meant. “Are you?” Killian asked with a smile he was sure Emma could hear from behind her, the excitement in his voice something he couldn’t hide. “Are we?” He stammered, the words catching in his throat.

Emma shrugged, a lightness to the gesture she wasn't sure she felt. There was a giddiness rising up inside her, anticipation and excitement that had her cheeks dimpling in a grin. The sound of elation in Killian's voice was music to her anxious ears.

“Makes sense,” she said, her voice high and tight as if she was barely holding in her own emotion. “I think we should get a test. Find out if you're gonna be a daddy.”

And there it was. The words were out there.

The tingle shot through Killian and it was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was a mixture of love and pride, the swell in his chest almost causing tears to prick at his eyes. The pull of his knot as it deflated was ignored, the moment he had been waiting for coming to the forefront of his mind as he rolled Emma onto her back and loomed his weight over her. “I love you, Omega.” He couldn’t hide his grin, his excitement or his eagerness to taste her lips on his as he kissed her, pouring everything he had to offer.

It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a promise; of love, of devotion, of his heart’s desire. For her. For them. For their future.

#cs fic #cs au #abo #omegaverse #alpha!killian #omega!emma #rated: e #for hollye #happy birthday! #from us #because we love you

[searchingwardrobes]

Hope is the Thing With Feathers: 3/4

@hollyethecurious and I started this fic as a gift to @kmomof4 for her birthday. Fittingly, it keeps getting longer because I swear Krystal is a muse disguised as a human being. Story banner created by Hollye as well.

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the tiny, quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to get obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the mysterious, handsome man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon discovers that both the castle and the man have secrets that she could never have imagined. For @kmomof4 on her birthday.

Rating: M (yes, I upped the rating. This isn’t smut, but I definitely flirted with the line. All for you, Krystal!)

Words: 2,000 and some change in this chapter

Can also be read on Ao3

Trigger warnings: positive portrayal of past Millian

 Tagging: @artistic-writer @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @teamhook @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @let-it-raines @branlovestowrite @shireness-says (for some reason, I have no tag list for this, so I’m flying blind here! Hope I didn’t forget anyone!)

Chapter Three: And On the Strangest Sea

“Get off your ass. You’re taking me on a date.”

Emma Swan bursting through his front door with a demand upon her lips wasn’t how Killian foresaw his evening going. He set the beer he’d been nursing down on the coffee table next to his bowl of evening stew, Emma seemed to take that as Killian not taking her seriously judging by the scowl on her face and the way she fisted her hands on her hips.

“Did you not hear me, Jones?”

Killian lifted both hands in surrender. “I heard you, love, I’m just a bit taken aback by the delivery.”

She shuffled nervously, but the spark of anger remained in her eyes. “Well, I’m here to ask you out, okay. Like to dinner or something.”

Killian arched a brow. “Now?”

“Yes now!” she practically shouted. “So why are you still sitting there?”

He rose from the couch and approached her cautiously. He gave her a flirtatious grin as he fiddled with the ends of her hair. “A man likes to be wooed, love. Why the demand?”

Her brow wrinkled as she searched his face frantically. “Come on, Killian, let’s get out of here and go somewhere.”

“What’s happened, Swan? You were fine when you left here the other day.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Maybe I want to be sure it wasn’t just sex for you. Is it so wrong to ask that you take me out?”

He rubbed her arms up and down. “Of course, but give me time to plan the evening. You can come here tomorrow night, and I’ll serve you the best meal you’ve ever eaten.”

Emma shook her head vehemently, stepping quickly away from his embrace. “No, I want you to take me somewhere.”

He swallowed down the sudden fear that welled up inside and forced himself to smile charmingly. “Perhaps a picnic then, I know the perfect spot -”

“A restaurant,” Emma interrupted firmly, “maybe even a movie.”

He felt the color drain from his face. “I prefer a more intimate setting.”

She stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve done intimate. I want to go out.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed wearily at his forehead. “Emma, I just don’t like being around people.”

“Bull shit. You are many things, Killian Jones, but a recluse is not one of them. It doesn’t suit your personality.”

“Oh, really,” Killian snapped, stepping into her personal space, “you think you know me so well?”

“Actually, I don’t think I know you at all!”

She shouted the words so loudly, it startled them both into silence. He felt a knife twist in his gut as Emma’s face fell into a mask of hurt.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered.

His eyes widened. “What I am . . . who I am . . . you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Killian collapsed onto the couch and rested his arms on his knees. He gestured to his dinner. “Ghosts don’t eat, Swan. Do they?”

She eyed him and then his stew as if she might run out the door any second. “No. I guess not.”

“I’m very much alive.” He winked at her in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Or did you not feel that the other day?”

She huffed out a wry laugh. “So why can’t you leave?”

“You’re quite perceptive, Swan. The best way to explain it is . . . I’m cursed.”

Emma blinked, but didn’t move. “That’s what Belle said, but I had a hard time believing it. You’re the pirate. The one who was Milah Gold’s lover.”

“Aye.”

Emma sank onto the couch, shaking her head in disbelief. “But . . . how? Why?”

Killian stood and paced to the window. “Gold cast the spell first, on Milah, after he learned of our dalliance. He knew it was the only way he could keep her. Milah and I truly loved one another, but she also craved freedom. She longed to travel and see the world.”

“No wonder she fell for a pirate.”

Killian turned to see Emma smiling at him. He nodded. “Gold assumed I would sail away and forget her. He didn’t know how deep our feelings ran.”

“But you couldn’t just give up the sea . . . or did you?”

Killian chuckled, rubbing at his jaw. “You sound like Milah. She wouldn’t hear of me giving up my ship.” He stepped closer to Emma and extended his hand. “Come, I’d like to show you something.”

Emma tilted her head skeptically, yet she took his hand anyway. He searched her eyes.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Emma,” he told her sincerely, squeezing her hand.

She nodded. “I trust you.”

*****************************************************

Emma stood in awe, her hair blowing on the wind gusting up from the sea. The sound of waves breaking on the rocky Maine coast was as soothing as the warm sun beating down upon her face. It was like something out of a movie, this jagged cliff with a pristine view of the sea.

“This is one of the farthest boundaries of my curse,” Killian said softly at her side, “and Milah’s before me. She would watch for my ship from this very spot as often as she could, and I likewise would look up to this cliff as we approached Hopeful Harbor.”

His eyes were wistful as they gazed out at the gorgeous view.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Emma breathed out.

“Aye, the sea can be so calming,” he agreed. Then he gave her a wink. “Yet it can also turn volatile on a whim. Like a woman.”

Emma elbowed him, and he gave an exaggerated grunt. “So I take it you found reasons to come back to Hopeful often?”

“Naturally,” Killian agreed, settling down on the quilt he had laid out on the grass. “I wasn’t about to abandon the woman I loved. This was our meeting place.”

“Kind of exposed isn’t it?” Emma asked as she settled down beside him.

He arched a brow. “Makes it sort of thrilling, actually.” He inclined his head towards the tree line. “There was a spot over there in the forest as well, more secluded. We not only made up for lost time with moments of intimacy, we also racked our brains trying to figure out how to break her bloody curse.”

“Belle said you dabbled in magic you didn’t understand.”

He chuckled. “That was an understatement. And those books of her husbands she smuggled out of the manor? They were the very ones the Hopeful parson caught her with that fateful day when everything changed.”

Emma put her hand on his arm gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Killian took her hand, rubbing his fingers over her knuckles. “I don’t know exactly what went wrong. All I know is the curse was transferred to me. And ironically, by freeing Milah, I gave the mob the power to kill her.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Emma took his arm and looped it over her shoulder. He pulled her close against him, pressing his lips to the top of her head. She leaned into him, closing her eyes as she relished the scent of him that enveloped her.

“So you can’t die?” she whispered.

“No,” he sighed, her hair fluttering under his breath, “there was a dark time when I tried to end my miserable existence. To no avail.”

“What about Gold? That had to be some strange karma, his wife’s lover stuck on his property.”

Killian chuckled. “Aye, that was the one silver lining in it, actually. I got my revenge rather spectacularly.”

Emma pulled away, her eyes wide. Not that she was scandalized. In her opinion, Gold got what was coming to him. “What did you do?”

That cocky grin of his filled his face. “I may not be a ghost, Swan, but I do a rather good impression of one. I can haunt people with the best of them. Robert Gold did indeed fall to his death from his third floor balcony, but it wasn’t because he was consumed with grief.”

Emma grinned back. “You didn’t!”

Killian raised both hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t say I pushed the man. Physically, anyway. But mentally? I don’t think he could take my . . . haunting him anymore.”

Emma laughed, shaking her head at his smug expression. Killian lay back on the quilt, crossing one arm under his head and reaching the other out to her. She gladly came to him, settling in the crook of his arm and resting her cheek on his chest.

“How did you . . . live?”

“In the beginning my first mate was my connection to the outside world. He became Captain of my ship, but continued to share a portion of all the spoil. He also brought me provisions. I didn’t spend all my coin, squirreling away as much as I could.”

He fell silent as he ran his fingers through her hair. Emma twisted so she could look up at him. His expression had gone wistful again.

“Then, after Smee,” he continued, “there were others like Belle, like your boy, who had a heart of belief. Each one was a tenuous link to the rest of the world out there.” His jaw clenched and his arm tightened at her waist.

“But eventually they all . . . “ she couldn’t finish the thought.

“Aye,” was all he said. Finally, he looked at her again and flashed her a light-hearted smile. “Then technology advanced by leaps and bounds. Radio, TV, cell phones, the internet. Especially the internet. As time marched on, I withdrew more and more to avoid suspicion.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Until now.”

Emma rolled over, perching her chin on his chest. “It sounds lonely.”

“It was,” he said softly, tracing her jawline with his fingertips, “and I certainly never thought I could love again after losing my Milah,” he swallowed nervously before continuing, “that is until I met you.”

His words made the breath leave Emma’s lungs. Since she didn’t know what to say, she slid forward and pressed her lips to his.

*******************************************************

Killian had been right, there was something thrilling about making love out in the open in broad daylight. Though the sun was now dipping closer to the horizon, and the breeze was a cold gust. Killian had the quilt cocooned around their naked bodies. As she watched the sky turn yellow and red and felt Killian’s hand drawing circles on her back, she couldn’t think of being more content.

“We need to head back,” Killian told her softly, though he made no move to release her.

Emma didn’t move either, running her fingers instead lightly through his chest hair, their breaths rising and falling together. “This project with the manor . . . why is Belle so insistent on it? Won’t it make it harder for you to stay under the radar?”

Killian’s hand stilled on her back, and he cleared his throat nervously. “Belle has this crazy idea that she’s found a way to break my curse.”

“And how is that?”

“Um . . . you, actually.”

Emma sat abruptly, clutching the quilt to her chest. “What?”

Killian sat up too, and Emma tried not to be distracted by the fact that his muscular body was no longer covered.

“You see, the key ingredient in the spell I cast was the crushed wing of a cardinal. A symbol of freedom, or so I thought. And apparently, the other side of that coin is . . . a pure white Swan.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “So this is all about my name?”

Killian shrugged. “Belle thinks maybe it doesn’t have to be a literal Swan. Especially since she sensed a connection between us . . . “

Emma stood abruptly, reaching for her clothes discarded on the grass.

“Emma,” Killian said softly.

“So you what?” she snapped, her hands trembling as she slipped into her underwear. “You seduced me because of my last name? Thinking it might do the trick?”

He leapt up, heedless of his nudity, and reached out for her arm. “No, Emma, of course not. My feelings for you are real. I haven’t felt alive in a hundred years, and then your boy shows up -”

“Don’t bring Henry into this! Or are you interested in him too? Because he’s also a Swan?”

Emma shoved her feet into her boots, trembling all over. She blinked rapidly as she faced him, refusing to let him see her cry. “I trusted you!”

“And you were right to!”

She backed away, both hands up in warning. “I’m leaving, okay. Don’t follow me.”

As she turned away, he whispered, “As you wish.”

#cs ff #storybrooke is hopeful instead #alternate universe #cs ghost story kind of #cs halloween fic #for Krystal

[jennjenn615]

Happy Birthday, darling!! May it be as fabulous as you are!! Thank you for your consistent flails and support. I hope you have a terrific day!!

Awww Hollye thank you so much!!!!! I love reading and flailing over your fics cause they are wonderful!!!!! And so are you!!!!!!

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 1

And we’re back with the first chapter of Part 1 for A Mistress to No One! I’m sorry I’m so late in posting this evening, but I did finish writing the fic today and that took up most of the day! So we do have a final chapter count! Thank you for your patience! 

More hugs and belated birthday celebrations to my bestie @hollyethecurious​, for whom this fic was written! Thank you to @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing eyes, and running tackle internet hugs to @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Emma, Killian, and Cora in the artwork! Love all you ladies very much!

Enjoy this new chapter and please let me know what you thought!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 2640 of 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current chapter

On Tumblr Prologue

New tag list. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​

So without further ado, here we go! Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Part 1

Ch. 1

Dearest Reader,

The most sought after invitation of this year’s season must be the Jones’ masquerade ball, to be held Monday next. Indeed, one cannot take two steps without being forced to listen to some society mama speculating on who will attend, and perhaps more importantly, who will wear what.

Neither of the aforementioned topics, however, are nearly as interesting as that of the two unmarried Jones brothers, Killian and David. (And before anyone points out that there is a third unmarried Jones brother, let This Author assure you that she is fully aware of the existence of Henry Jones. He is however, sixteen years of age, and therefore not pertinent to this particular column, which concerns, as This Author’s columns often do, that most sacred of sports: husband-hunting.)

Although the Misters Jones are just that- merely Misters- they are still considered two of the prime catches of the season. It is a well-known fact that both are possessed of respectable fortunes, and it does not require perfect sight to know that they also possess, as do all the Jones offspring, the Jones good looks.

Will some fortunate young lady use the mystery of the masquerade to snare one of the eligible bachelors? This Author isn’t even going to attempt to speculate.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 18

~*~*~

“Emmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaa!”

The decibel level of Zelena’s screech was enough to crack the windows. Emma hurried up to the bedroom of her step-sister, not that she’d ever been acknowledged as such, barely able to catch her breath.

“Yes, Zelena?”

“My tea is cold,” she informed Emma with a haughty sniff of disdain.

It wasn’t when I brought it an hour ago, Emma thought, but didn’t dare say. Zelena’s treatment of Emma was nearly as bad as Cora’s, and Emma knew Zelena wouldn’t hesitate to smack her upside the head, or any part of Emma’s person she could reach, if she so much as rolled her eyes at whatever Zelena had complained about this time.

“I’ll bring you a fresh pot,” she said instead. “Would you like me to leave the biscuits?”

“I want fresh ones,” she said, looking down her narrow nose at the plate as if it had the audacity to offend her somehow.

“Right away, Zelena,” Emma said, with a small curtsy. She picked up the tray and carried it out of the room, where she nearly ran into Regina coming down the hall in her costume for the Jones masquerade ball next week. She was dressed in a riding habit of soft tan breeches and a high collared, fitted, light blue velveteen coat over a white blouse. Tall dark brown riding boots and gloves completed the ensemble.

“Oh, Emma,” she cried, surprised. “I was looking for you. What do you think of this costume?” She turned around slowly and Emma looked critically at the fit and asymmetrical hemline of the jacket, which was short in the front and came down to her knees in the back. The costume fit her beautifully and the pale color of the jacket contrasted nicely with the darkness of her hair and eyes, making her quite lovely indeed.

“You look wonderful,” Emma said sincerely, causing a light blush to color Regina’s cheeks.

“Thank you. Mother has been an absolute bear all week about the masquerade ball. And I know I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t look my best.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Or if she thinks I don’t look my best. She’s determined that Zelena or I snag one of the Jones brothers, you know.”

“I know.” Emma almost felt sorry for Regina. Cora’s ambitions and expectations for her daughters were high indeed and Emma was thankful she didn’t have to suffer under them. She had enough to suffer under from the detestable woman.

“And to make matters worse, that Whistledown woman has started talking about them again.” Regina rolled her eyes and snagged a biscuit off the tray in Emma’s hand. “It only whets Mother’s appetite.”

“How was today’s column?” Emma asked. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”

Regina slowly munched on her biscuit before speaking. “Oh, just more of the same. There was a rundown of the Blanchard Ball last week and a bit about Baron Marionette. It seems he’s disappeared again, and in the middle of the season! Then a rather longish piece on the Jones masquerade. It was all rather humdrum, actually.”

Emma bit back a sigh and struggled not to roll her eyes. What wouldn’t she give to live Regina’s humdrum life for only a single day? Well, she certainly wouldn’t want Cora for a mother, but she’d love to be the one attending the ball instead of just reading about it. The Whistledown Society Papers was Emma’s only real enjoyment in her life. Cora worked her to the bone, but she could usually find enough time to read the column when it was released. In it, Emma found glimpses of the life that could have been hers if her parents had made their union legal.

But she wouldn’t complain. She couldn’t. She was far better off in this situation than she could have been after her father died. He’d left Emma with nothing, other than a roof over her head. Her father’s will had at least given her that until she turned twenty, but for some reason, Cora had seen fit to keep her on as a virtual slave for over a year after her twentieth birthday. She probably didn’t want to take the time to try and find, or pay, a new maid. But if working as a slave, waiting on Cora hand and foot, was the devil she knew, then the world outside was the devil she didn’t know, and so she had stayed.

“I’ll let you go then,” Regina said, drawing Emma’s attention again.

“Yes, your sister is waiting for more tea.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Emma turned and started making her way down the stairs to the kitchen.

~*~*~

The day of the masquerade, Emma found herself on her knees, her mouth full of pins as she made last minute alterations on Cora’s Queen of Hearts costume. The gown had fit perfectly last week when it arrived, but when she put it on after lunch, she declared it a quarter inch too loose.

“How’s that?”

“Too tight.”

Emma took out a pin and put it right back in where it had been. “Now?”

Cora twisted this way and that. “It’ll do,” she finally declared. Emma smiled to herself as she helped her step out of the gown. “It needs to be done in an hour if we’re to make it to the masquerade on time.”

“Of course.”

Cora swept out of the room only for Zelena to barge in like a rampaging elephant. “Emma,” she snapped. “There is a tear in the hem of my gown. It must be repaired immediately.”

“I have your mother’s gown to alter first…” Emma began.

“I said, IMMEDIATELY,” she shrieked. Emma snapped her mouth shut to keep the words she wanted to say behind the guardhouse of her lips.

“Let me see,” she said, gathering the hem in her hands. She examined the hem of Glinda the Good Witch’s gown until she found the offensive tear. It was barely an inch and on the side of the dress. It would have never been seen nor made worse over the course of the evening. “This will take no time at all to repair, Zelena. You’ll have it back in plenty of time. I promise.”

Zelena sniffed indignantly. “Be sure I do. If I’m late for this ball, I’ll have your head on a platter.”

“You won’t be late,” Emma assured her. Zelena moved toward the door just as Regina came through.

“Ugh, Regina! Watch where you’re going!”

Regina’s hand flew to her chest in alarm. “You frightened me, Zelena! Oh, Emma,” she said, turning her attention to her, “Could you put my hair in a French braid for the ball?”

“I have your mother’s gown to alter first and then a tear to repair on Zelena’s gown.” Regina’s face fell and Emma tried her best not to grimace. She hated to disappoint Regina. Of all the members of the household, Regina was the kindest to her. “I’ll do my best though. Your hair is lovely even with nothing done to it.” Regina’s face broke into a small smile as Cora burst back into the room.

“Have you started on my gown yet?” she demanded.

Emma sighed. “Not yet, I’ve been speaking to Zelena and Regina.”

“Get to work!” Cora screamed.

Emma sat quickly and began work on Cora’s costume, muttering under her breath.

“Faster than immediately, quicker than a hummingbird’s wings…”

“What did you say?” Cora snapped, her eyes narrowing at Emma.

“Nothing, ma’am.” Emma looked back down at the dress in her hands.

“Well, whatever noise you were making, cease immediately. Your voice grates on my nerves.”

“Mother, Emma will be doing my hair in a French braid for the ball.”

“Fine, fine. Oh, Zelena,” she said, turning her attention to her other daughter. “You look absolutely exquisite. The pink of your gown just complements your hair so nicely.”

Emma’s blood boiled at Cora’s dismissal of her younger daughter, and she shook her head slightly to try and encourage Regina not to take Cora’s words to heart. The effusive praise of her first born- the kind of praise that was never directed toward Regina- was hardly warranted, in Emma’s opinion. She thought the color clashed horribly with Zelena’s hair, but nobody had asked her opinion.

“You’ll surely attract the attention of one of the Jones brothers,” Cora continued.

A smug smile formed on Zelena’s lips as she cut her eyes toward her sister.

“You look lovely, too, Regina,” Emma interjected.

Regina’s eyes brightened at Emma’s statement. “Do you really think so?”

“I do,” she replied. “You’re going to have a wonderful time.” Emma sighed. “I so wish I could go.”

Cora scoffed and Zelena snorted inelegantly. “Oh, that’s rich,” Cora exclaimed. “They don’t let bastards out in society, you know.”

Emma inhaled sharply at the blatant insult. “Of course I didn’t expect to go. I only wished I could.”

“Well, what’s the use of wishing for something that will never happen?” Zelena chimed in. “That only leads to disappointment.”

At that moment, old Granny Lucas, the housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. She had a small smirk on her face and shot Emma a wink. To say that Emma was surprised would be a grand understatement. The stern older woman had always treated Emma well enough, but she didn’t think Granny had enough joy or mischief in her heart to indulge in such a frivolous action.

“Emma, are you even listening to me?” Zelena broke Emma from her stunned confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.

Zelena huffed. “Nevermind. Just be sure to get my gown finished on time. If we’re late, you’ll be to blame.”

“Of course.” Emma bent back to work and wondered again about Granny. Why would she wink?

~*~*~

Three hours later, Emma and the other servants stood at attention as first Cora, then Zelena, then Regina took their seats in the carriage that would take them to the Jones Masquerade Ball. It was only a few blocks away, but Emma knew how much Cora loved to make a grand entrance.

As soon as they were gone, Emma turned back toward the house. She was looking forward to an evening free from obligations. Whether it was an oversight on her part or just the excitement of the evening, Cora had neglected to leave Emma with a list of chores to accomplish while they were gone. As soon as she entered the house, Granny appeared at her side, grabbing her elbow.

“Hurry,” she said, “We’ve no time to lose.”

“What are you talking about Granny?”

“Come with me, come with me,” the old woman urged. She led Emma up the stairs to the servants’ bath where she found the other housemaids bustling about around a steaming tub of water.

“What is this?” Emma cried.

Granny grasped her by the arms and looked right into her eyes, a beaming smile on her face. “You, Emma Swan, are going to the ball!”

~*~*~

An hour later, Emma had been transformed. She’d been bathed and perfumed, her hair twisted up into an elegant chignon with long tendrils left loose to frame her face. A trunk Emma hadn’t noticed at first was opened, and Emma gasped at the contents. Gowns that had belonged to the late Earl’s mother, her grandmother.

At the very bottom they found a gorgeous, shimmery, blue gown, trimmed with silver accents at the top of the v-neck bodice and where it met the tulle skirt, which sparkled like stars in the sky. The silver accents also decorated the illusion sleeves topped with white feathers. Emma felt like a princess just brushing her fingers over it.

It fit her perfectly.

“Ooo, look,” Granny said, “I found matching gloves.”

Emma reached out and took one of the long, elbow length white gloves from her and examined it closely.

“Look, it has the Glowerhaven crest and initials.”

“Sarah Louise Spencer,” Granny said. “Your grandmother.”

Emma looked at Granny in surprise. No one had ever verbally acknowledged Emma’s blood ties to the Spencer family.

“What?” Granny asked, indignantly. “It’s true. And it’s high time we stopped tiptoeing around the truth. It’s shameful that those girls are treated like the daughters of the house when the Earl’s true blood is relegated to being a servant in her own house.” The other maids nodded vigorously. “Just once. Just this one night, Emma Swan, you will be the belle of the ball.”

Emma turned and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Is that me?” she whispered, stunned by what she was seeing reflected back at her.

Granny nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright. “You look lovely, my dear.”

Emma couldn’t speak over the rather large lump that had formed in her throat. It made her realize just how much the other servants cared about her, even after her father was long gone. They all stood admiring the end product of all their work this evening.

“Here’s your mask.” Granny handed her a silver demi mask with elegant swan detailing around the right eye that would cover the top half of her face. It tied at the back so her hands would be free. “Now all we need are shoes.”

“I have nothing even approaching appropriate for such finery.”

One of the housemaids held up a pair of silver slippers. “From Zelena’s closet.”

Emma shook her head. “Her foot is much larger than mine. I’d never be able to walk in them.”

“What about Regina’s, then?” the other asked. Emma shook her head again.

“Hers are too big, too. I should know, I’ve cleaned enough scuff marks off of them.”

Granny huffed. “There’s nothing for it then. We must raid Cora’s collection.”

Emma tried not to shudder. The thought of walking around all night in Cora’s shoes was rather creepy. But it was that, or go barefoot. Moments later the housemaid returned with a pair of white satin slippers, trimmed in silver. They looked like they’d been made to go with the gown she wore. Emma slipped her foot into the shoe. Another perfect fit.

“Now listen to these instructions very carefully,” Granny urged her. “The coachman has returned from taking the countess and he will now take you. But he has to be waiting outside when they are ready to depart, so you must leave not a minute after midnight for him to make it back there in time. Do you understand?”

Emma nodded and looked at the clock. It was a bit after nine, so she’d have over two hours at the ball. She felt tears well up in her eyes.

“Thank you so much,” she breathed.

“You have a good time, my dear. That’s all the thanks I need.” Granny gathered her close in a tight hug before releasing her.

Two hours. Two hours that would have to last a lifetime.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Ch2 will be up on Sunday and our favorite couple will finally meet! See you then!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 2 Ch4

We are back, y’all! Part 2 begins with a bang and our favorite couple are reunited... sorta... Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me! I so hope you enjoy this new chapter and would love to hear what you think!

All the love and thanks to the ladies who helped in some way to bring this fic to fruition. @hollyethecurious​, for whom it was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing expertise as well as being sounding boards and plot buddies, and @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Leroy and Astrid, and Killian in the artwork. And another thank you to @jrob64​ for keeping her up WAY past her bed time as she helped me revamp the artwork... 

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. 

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process. Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 5100 of approx 61,6k

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut, TW for this chapter only- attempted sexual assault

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

Two Years Later

Alcohol and cigars. Card games and lots of women, both hired and not. It was just the kind of party Killian would have enjoyed more than a few years back, but it had little appeal for him now.

How he’d gotten roped into coming, he still couldn’t understand. It was a case of a friend of a friend inviting him to a party held by one Neal Gold, a distant acquaintance simply by virtue of their social standing. What he did know of the man didn’t impress Killian at all. He hadn’t seen his own friend for the last several hours and Killian decided he’d had enough.

Good manners demanded that he find his host and inform him of his departure, but he’d been searching for the man for almost ten minutes, and still hadn’t located him. Going back into the house from the back gardens of the country estate, Killian turned toward the parlor where a high stakes card game was in progress. One of the men was sweating profusely. Probably a single card away from losing his family’s ancestral home. Killian shook his head. He hated card games like these where the stakes were higher than the participants could afford.

A little further on, he could hear rhythmic grunts and moans coming from behind a closed door. Killian rolled his eyes. At least they’d had the presence of mind to shut the door before commencing with their activities.

If he didn’t find Neal Gold in the next five minutes, he was leaving, good manners be damned. He came across a couple of fairly sloshed party goers who informed him that their host, whom they barely remembered, was out front. As Killian left them to their revelry, he could hear them singing Neal Gold’s praises for his excellent hospitality. He crossed to the front door, thinking he could be gone in five minutes time. It put him in a much better mood.

~*~*~

It was high time Emma Swan found a new position of employment. It had been two years since she’d been kicked out of her own home. Two years since she’d been forced to be completely on her own. When she left Spencer House that June morning, she’d immediately pawned the shoe clips she’d taken from Cora’s closet. They’d brought her enough money to buy a ticket to Wiltshire, where she’d been lucky to find employment quickly as an upstairs maid to Robert and Milah Gold. An ordinary couple, they expected good work from their servants, but did not demand the impossible. After slaving for Cora for so many years, this job was a virtual vacation.

All that changed when their son, Neal, returned home from his European tour, about a year after she’d arrived. He’d immediately taken a shine to Emma and did everything in his power to coerce her into his bed. When his subtle hints and innuendos were rebuffed, he got more aggressive.

As long as Mrs. Gold was in residence, Emma felt safe enough. She didn’t think Neal would attack her with his mother in the house. But then Mr. and Mrs. Gold decided earlier in the week to visit relatives in Brighton, and Neal decided to throw a party for a couple dozen of his closest friends.

She should have left as soon as her employers did, but she couldn’t bring herself to simply leave without giving notice. She changed her mind when she spent the first few hours after they were gone, literally running away and hiding from Neal Gold. Once he was gone from the room where she’d hidden herself this time, Emma snuck out, packed her bag, informed the thankfully sympathetic housekeeper, and slipped out the side entrance of the house.

It was a two mile hike to the village, but the moon was full and the evening pleasant. She was in much better financial circumstances than she’d been in two years before, so she set out with determination and a bounce in her step. She came around the front of the house and stepped onto the front drive when she heard a raucous cry. She turned around and her jaw dropped in horror.

Neal Gold. Obviously drunk, looking even meaner than usual, and surrounded on either side by two others, who looked even more drunk than he was. Emma turned, gathered her skirts and the cloak she wore, and ran. She hoped he was drunk enough that he’d be unable to catch her, but he was several inches taller than her and carried no burden like she did. He must have taken her flight as a challenge, because she heard him whoop with delight from behind her and then begin pursuing her on the gravel of the drive.

Her heart was in her throat as she could hear him drawing closer and she cried out when his hand landed on her shoulder and dragged her against him. They were both out of breath from the pursuit but his arms around her were like iron as she struggled in his embrace.

“Let me go, Mr. Gold!” she demanded, trying desperately to keep the fear out of her voice.

“Oh, I don’t think I will, Emma,” he whispered in her ear, his nose running up and down her neck. His words were slurred, but they were dripping with lust and Emma knew she was about to be raped. “What do you think, boys? Peter? Felix? Should I let the lady go?”

“Oh, hell no,” the taller of the two said. Emma shut her eyes against their leering twin gazes. “Although, ‘lady’ might be a bit above her station,” he added.

“Too right,” Neal agreed. “This one is a maid, and as we all know, that breed is made to serve.” All three of them laughed and Emma felt herself pushed forward. She stumbled before she hit another solid wall of male flesh. “Have a look at the goods, my lads.”

Emma felt the bile rise in her throat as whoever held her fondled her with rough hands. She was pushed again, into the arms of the third, but before he could do more than snake his arm around her waist, she heard a loud voice from the direction of the house.

“Gold,” the voice called. Emma tried to contain her terror and despair. Dear God! Weren’t three enough?

“Jones,” Neal called. Emma’s eyes flew open. “Come join us!” Neal sounded much more sober now and quite delighted with himself.

Jones? Emma thought. She turned toward the house to see a tall, well built man coming toward them. The lights from the house kept his face in shadow, but somehow she knew exactly who it was.

“What have we here?” the man asked.

Dear God in heaven, she’d know that voice anywhere. The one that haunted her dreams. It was Killian Jones.

~*~*~

Killian emerged onto the front portico and took a deep breath. The night air was cool and free from the smoke he’d been forced to endure while inside. He opened his eyes and could see movement of several people further down the drive, but he was too far to see who it was. He moved down the front steps and ambled in their direction.

“Gold!” he called, hoping that if one of the persons was not Gold himself, they’d at least know where to find him.

“Jones,” a voice replied. “Come join us!”

Killian moved a bit faster, pleased to have found his host at last. As he came closer he could see that Gold and his companions were surrounding a young woman. She wasn’t dressed like one of the guests of the party, and so he assumed she must be a servant. He wasn’t yet close enough to discern whether she was enjoying the attentions of the men around her, but if she wasn’t, he had far too many younger sisters to ignore her plight.

“What have we here?” he asked as he could finally see the faces of all four persons. The young woman’s face was utterly terrified, and Killian’s fury rose. One of the men had his arm snaked around her waist, holding her tightly against him, her back to his front. He could see the man’s other hand groping and kneading the girl’s ass.

“Just a bit of sport,” Neal answered. “My parents were kind enough to hire this prime specimen as an upstairs maid.”

Killian took a deep breath, keeping a very tight lid on his rage. He didn’t doubt that he could make very short work of all three men, but it was always better to hold those passionate emotions close to the vest, keeping his adversaries blind to exactly how much danger they were in.

“She does not seem to be enjoying your attentions,” Killian murmured.

Neal scoffed. “She’s enjoying it just fine,” he said, grinning lecherously. “Fine enough for me, anyway.”

“But not for me,” Killian said, stepping closer to where the girl was still held tightly around the waist.

“You can have a turn with her,” the man holding her said, “just as soon as we’re done.”

Killian chuckled lightly. “No, you misunderstand.” He moved into the man’s space and looked him square in the eye, a hard edge to his voice that even someone as drunk as he was should be able to understand. “Release the girl.” He watched as the man’s countenance ran through lust, humor, confusion, and finally to understanding. “I don’t want to fight you. And believe me when I say, you do not want to fight me.” The man’s eyes skittered over to where Neal Gold still stood, sputtering in his anger.

“You can’t just come in here and take her away from us!”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “And why not? I don’t believe rape is legal in this country. And I’m quite confident in my assessment that that is what you intended to do. Am I right?”

“She’s my maid and she has to do what I say,” Neal insisted, sounding more like a petulant child than a man.

“She’s your parents’ maid, you jackass,” Killian replied. “So no, she doesn’t have to do what you say.” None of the men moved to release the girl, so Killian rolled his eyes before his right fist shot out, catching the empty handed young man square in the face. He fell to the ground, blood spurting from his broken nose as he howled into the night sky.

Neal moved toward him then, his fist poised to strike. Killian caught it in his hand and twisted hard to the right until he heard the bone crack, bringing Neal to his knees. Killian released the man’s fist and readied his own punch, knocking Neal out cold. Killian turned to where the third man still held the girl against him. As soon as he caught Killian’s gaze, he released her, his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Get out of my sight,” Killian growled. The man needed no other urging. He turned and fled, leaving Neal and the other man still on the ground.

Killian turned to the young woman. “Are you alright?”

She was still too terrified to speak, and so nodded instead.

“Do you need to pack anything?” He noticed then a small bag laying on the ground. “Is this yours?” he asked, picking it up and handing it to her. She nodded, still looking like a rabbit caught in a snare.

He held his elbow out to her and waited until she looped her own through it. “Come with me,” he said, patting her hand in comfort. “I assume you were leaving the Gold household when they caught you?” he asked, looking down at her. She nodded again.

Killian inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. She was still in a bit of shock after her ordeal and Killian thanked God he had come along when he did. “Where were you going? Do you know?” When she only shook her head in answer, he stopped them in the middle of the drive.

“I planned to journey to My Cottage, which is about an hour away to spend the night before returning to London tomorrow. I can take you with me, if you’d like. I’m sure I could find employment for you in my mother’s household in London.” He couldn’t see her eyes very well under the full moon, but he could see them widen slightly in surprise at his offer. “I assure you, you’ll be properly chaperoned while at My Cottage. The caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. Miner, will not allow anything untoward to happen.” He paused for a moment to see if she would respond verbally. When she didn’t, he spoke again, injecting as much calm and sincerity into his words as possible. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

She looked up and into his eyes, and he had the strangest feeling that he knew her somehow.

Her voice was no more than a whisper and if he hadn’t been standing so close to her, he would have missed her words.

“I know.”

~*~*~

Ten minutes later, Emma sat next to Killian Jones in his phaeton on their way to his cottage. She was still having trouble coming to terms with this sudden chain of events, and an apparent reversal in her fortunes.

When Neal caught her, she’d never felt such terror in her life. At the very least, she knew he planned to use her to fulfill his base desires, and then pass her around to his companions as if she was nothing more than a hired whore. Her stomach still churned with anxiety over the fate from which Killian had saved her.

And then there was Killian himself. The moment she recognized his voice, she couldn’t contain her shock and dismay. When she’d met him two years prior, he didn’t seem the type to attend these kinds of gatherings, filled with debauchery and depravity. But then, she’d only spent a couple of hours with him. And just because she felt a connection with him- a soul deep connection she’d never felt with anyone before- didn’t mean that she knew what kind of man he truly was. But he had saved her. That was irrefutable fact.

“Thank you.”

He turned his head to her, startled. “For what?”

She turned and stared at him. Did he truly not know? Emma prided herself on being able to tell when someone was lying to her, and as she searched his face, she saw no artifice, no cunning or craftiness there to contradict the plain meaning of his words.

“You saved me,” she explained. “I don’t think I adequately expressed my sincere appreciation for that. Three against one, most men wouldn’t have intervened.”

“I have four younger sisters,” he told her. “There’s no way under heaven I would have left you to your plight.”

“Still,” she looked down at her hands clasping the small bag that held everything she owned. “It meant everything to me.” She turned and looked at him again. “Thank you.”

He held her eyes a moment before speaking. “You’re welcome, Miss…?”

“Swan,” she informed him. “Miss Emma Swan.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Emma Swan,” he said, a smile on his lips. “I am Mr. Killian Jones.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Killian Jones.” She returned his smile with one of her own and tried very hard to tamp down her racing heart. She never thought she’d see him again, and sitting here next to him now, on her way to his cottage, and presumably to London on the morrow to be employed in his mother’s household, all the dreams she’d had of him came flooding back.

There hadn’t been a single day in the last two years she hadn’t thought of him. It was the only thing that brought any joy to her drab and dreary existence. Her dreams ran from the impossible to the purely fantastical. Meeting him at a ball thrown by her loving and devoted parents, followed by a true and genteel courtship. Or, Killian Jones finding her somehow, recognizing her as the lady he taught to dance at his mother’s masquerade ball, and saving her from a life of servitude. Of course, the dream ending the same way they all did- him sinking to one knee before her, declaring his everlasting love and devotion, and asking for her hand in marriage. Followed, of course, by several children. All born within the sanctity of marriage. It was a lovely thought.

But this reality was far different. Yes, he had saved her from a fate worse than death, but he didn’t recognize her. At all. And when she thought about it, she realized there was no real reason for him to recognize her.

Two years ago, a mask had covered half her face and she was dressed like a princess. There was a world of difference between that night and this. She looked down at her clothing- a simple cream, woolen dress covered with a dark blue cloak that tied at the neck. People saw what they expected to see, and there was no trace of the fairytale princess from two years ago in the appearance of a humble housemaid this night.

“You have a very refined accent for a housemaid,” he said suddenly.

She wasn’t terribly surprised at his statement, as she’d heard it often over the years. As such, she had a stock answer already prepared.

“My mother was a housekeeper and the family she worked for was very kind and generous, allowing me to take lessons with their daughters.”

Killian’s eyebrow raised slightly and he nodded in understanding. “I assume you’re not speaking of the Gold’s,” he said.

Emma shook her head. “No.”

“What made you leave?”

Emma tried to contain her surprise. No one had ever cared enough to seek more information about her upbringing. It took her a moment to come up with something that made sense.

“My mother passed on and I didn’t get along with the new housekeeper,” she finally settled on.

“I see.”

They both fell silent for a time, the only sounds the whistling of the wind and the clip clop of the horses’ hooves on the road. Emma looked up, noticing the full moon was now obscured by clouds.

“Was that a raindrop?” she asked as she ran her hand across the top of her head where something had just landed.

Killian looked toward the sky. “It didn’t look like rain when we left, but I do believe you’re right.”

“How far are we from this cottage of yours?”

“Still about thirty minutes, I believe.”

Although she didn’t relish getting caught out of doors in a storm, Emma smiled.

“I don’t mind a little rain,” she said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “There are far worse things than getting wet.” They both knew exactly what she spoke of.

It was only moments later that the skies opened, drenching them both in just a few minutes.

“I’ll get there as fast as I can,” Killian shouted over the wind and rain.

“Don’t worry about me,” Emma shouted back. Killian looked over at her and saw the way she clutched her arms and hunched in on herself, trying to present as small a target for the furious weather as possible.

“Let me give you my coat,” he shouted again, trying to get an arm out while still controlling the horses with the other.

Emma laughed. “That will only make me wetter,” she observed, “with it as soaked as it is.”

Killian shrugged in acquiescence and flicked the reins for the horses to pick up the pace. But the road was becoming muddy now and he sighed in annoyance.

This was just what he needed. He’d had a bloody awful head cold all last week that he’d just recovered from- he probably could’ve used it as an excuse to avoid Gold’s party, if he’d thought of it. But then, he wouldn’t have been there to save Emma, so he couldn’t truly regret it- and now driving through a blinding, freezing rainstorm was likely to set him flat on his back again.

Although, if he was forced to stay at My Cottage for more than just a single night, his mother wouldn’t be able to force him to attend every single party in town. Granted, she only wanted to see him happily settled down like Liam and Belle, but he knew the difference between his two beloved siblings and himself was that they had both married the right people- people they truly loved and were happy with. Killian, on the other hand, hadn’t met the right person yet.

Well… then again... His mind wandered back a couple of years to his mother’s masquerade ball. He had met someone that night. Someone who set his heart racing and made him believe that perhaps there was someone out there for him. As he led her in her very first waltz out there on the terrace, he felt a connection with her that he’d never known in all his born days. A desire, so much more than simple lust, a desire to know her, protect her, love her.

But her disappearance made that longing all but impossible to fulfill. It was as if she'd fallen off the face of the earth. Descending from heaven for that one night, making him think about his future for the first time in his life, filling him with hope, only to be snatched away and taken back to where she belonged.

When calling on the Spencer household looking for her proved fruitless, he’d had to simply look for her at every ball and social event of the season. And every season since. It had simply become part of who he was. He was Killian Jones. He had seven brothers and sisters, he was quite skilled with a sword and a drawing charcoal, and he always kept his eyes open for the one woman who had touched his soul.

He knew she was out there somewhere, and while he also knew it was high time he married, he couldn’t quite muster up the enthusiasm to do so. What if he were to marry and the very next day, he found her? It’d be enough to break his heart.

No, it wouldn’t. It’d be enough to shatter his soul.

Killian breathed a sigh of relief as the village near My Cottage came into sight. That meant they were only a very few minutes away and he flicked the reins again to get the horses to move just a bit faster. He couldn’t wait to get inside and into a warm bath.

He glanced at his companion, who shivered under the weather’s onslaught. She hadn’t offered a single word of complaint and he tried to think of any female of his acquaintance who would have held up to the elements with such fortitude and grace. He couldn’t think of a single one. Even Belle, who was as good of a sport as any, would have been howling about the cold by now.

“We’re almost there,” he shouted, moments before he was seized with a fit of coughing. The deep kind that rattled down in the bottom of one’s lungs. They felt like they were on fire and his throat felt as if a razor had been taken to it.

“Are you alright?” she shouted. He turned to look at her. Her face was filled with concern, but he couldn’t respond before another coughing fit took him.

Once he got control of himself, he tried to wave aside her concern. “I’m fine.” He flicked the reins again, trying to make up for the lack of direction when he’d been coughing.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Had a head cold last week,” he tried to explain before another round of deep coughs racked him. Damn, his lungs were sore. “Must have moved down.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “That does not sound like your head.” Another round of coughs took him and Emma reached for the reins. “Let me drive.”

He jerked his head toward her and the reins away from her. “I can drive!” he exclaimed, a bit indignant. His words were negated, however, when yet another deep seated cough overtook him. Emma reached for the reins again as he got himself under control. She flicked them and the horses picked up the pace.

“And how,” he said before being interrupted with another cough, “do you know how to drive a phaeton?”

“The same family I took lessons with,” she informed him.

“The lady of the house must have really liked you,” he observed.

Emma couldn’t quite hide her smirk as she remembered how Cora always vociferously objected when her father insisted that Emma receive the same lessons her girls did. All three of them had learned to drive a team the year before the earl died.

It was nice to find she could still do something from her previous life. There were some things you just didn’t forget how to do, she supposed. She’d worn fine clothes then, had good food to eat, and had interesting lessons. She sighed. It hadn’t been all bad.

“What’s wrong?” Killian shouted over the wind.

“Nothing,” she shouted back.

“You sighed.”

She turned incredulous eyes on him. “You could hear me over the wind?”

“I’ve been paying close attention.” He coughed deeply again. “I’m sick enough without you landing us in a ditch. Turn right right here.”

She took the turn without bothering to reply to his other statement.

“What’s the name of this cottage of yours?”

“My Cottage.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I might have known.”

Killian smirked. The effect was rather pitiful with as sick as he obviously was. “I’m not kidding.”

“Oh, I believe you,” she assured him. And sure enough, just a minute or two later, they arrived at the gate of an elegant country house, a small unassuming sign upon it which read ‘My Cottage’.

“The previous owner named the house,” Killian explained as he directed her to the stables. “But I thought it fit me as well.”

She looked at the house, which was not nearly as large as where they’d come from, but was by no means a humble dwelling. “You call this a cottage?”

“No, the previous owner did,” he replied. “You should have seen his other house.”

A few minutes later, they were out of the rain and Killian was trying to unhitch the team. His fingers were trembling with the cold.

“Here, let me help,” Emma said, stepping up beside him.

“I can do it,” he insisted.

“Of course, you can,” she placated him, “but it will go faster with help.”

They worked side by side until Killian was wracked with coughs once again. Emma didn’t like the rattle she heard coming from his chest, even after the coughing itself subsided. She took his arm and led him to a bench along the wall.

“Please sit down,” she begged him. “I can finish this.” To her surprise, he didn’t object.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Not very gentlemanly of me.”

“I think you can be excused given what you did earlier,” she told him. She tried to give him a smile, but for some reason it wobbled and she found that she was suddenly near tears. She turned back to the team, hoping he didn’t catch it. Her fingers trembled with the cold and a sudden barking sob escaped her.

Only a moment later, he was by her side and she was in his arms. He held her tightly as she cried, whispering soothing words in her ear, his hand rubbing circles along her back.

She cried for everything. She cried for what could have been her fate earlier this evening, she cried for her fate since she came to Spencer Hall all those years ago, she cried for the memory of being in his arms at the masquerade, and she cried for being in his arms right now.

She cried because he was so kind to her. Even though she was nothing to him- nothing but a housemaid- he still felt the need to care for her, to protect her. She cried because she hadn’t let herself cry in years and she cried because she was so alone.

Her tears finally subsided. Killian pulled back and looked her directly in the face. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded, because she did actually feel better.

“Good,” he said, before another deep cough seized him.

“We really need to get you inside, out of the rain,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Race you to the door.” Emma’s eyes widened in surprise, stunned that he had the strength to make a joke like that. But he was off like a shot and she took off after him. By the time she joined him under the covered front porch, she was laughing with the exertion and the sheer ridiculousness of running through the rain to get out of the rain when they were already soaked to the skin. Killian banged on the door.

“Don’t you have a key?” Emma shouted.

Killian shook his head. “I wasn’t planning on stopping.”

“Do you think the caretakers will even hear you?”

“I bloody well hope so,” he muttered.

Emma looked at the darkened windows of the first floor. “It seems very dark,” she observed. “Are you sure they’re even here?”

“I don’t know where else they’d be.”

Emma was starting to think there was no one here to let them in. “I think you might need to start looking for an open window.”

“Not necessary,” he told her. “I know where the spare key is kept.”

“Ok, why the frown then?”

He coughed several times and then sighed. “Because it means I have to go back out into the bloody storm.”

Emma knew he must be nearly to the end of his patience. He’d cursed twice in the last few minutes, and he didn’t seem the type to curse in front of a lady. Even a housemaid.

“Stay here.” He dashed back out into the rain and it was only a few minutes later that she heard the doorknob rattle from the inside. The door swung open revealing a dripping wet Killian Jones holding a candle. “I don’t know where Mr. and Mrs. Miner are, but they are definitely not here.”

“We’re alone?” she asked.

“Completely,” he confirmed.

“I- I’d better find the servants quarters,” she stammered. He grabbed her arm.

“Oh, no you won’t,” he growled.

“I won’t?”

He shook his head. “You, my dear, aren’t going anywhere.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Still deciding whether to keep with the twice a week posting schedule or go to weekly, but I will tell you, if I don’t post the next ch on Wednesday, I WILL post a sneak peek. Until then, y’all!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 1 Chapter 2

And we’re back with the masquerade!!! Are you ready for our favorite couple to meet? I sure am!

All the love and hugs again to my bestie @hollyethecurious​, for whom this fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing expertise, and to @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Emma, Killian, and Cora I used in the artwork! Love you all, ladies!!!

I’ve changed my mind a little bit about the posting schedule for this fic. Ch3 which brings Part 1 to a close is a relatively short chapter and since Pt2 is really the main focus of the fic, I’m going to post Ch3 this Wednesday and start Pt2 next Sunday. Updates will then be weekly.

Thank you all for your enthusiasm for this fic! I can’t tell you what it means to me! I hope you enjoy this one and let me know what you think!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. 

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: Almost 6900 of 61,6K

Tags: Birthday fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1

New tag list. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Dearest Reader,

The day of the Jones masquerade ball has arrived and This Author waits with bated breath to behold the finery members of the ton will don for the evening's festivities.

There will of course be the requisite literary characters- This Author understands Countess Cora Spencer will be dressed as the Queen of Hearts of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland fame, with rumors suggesting that young Tilly Jones will be dressed as the title character. There appears to be a full complement of Faire Tale Princesses as Mary Margaret Blanchard plans to dress as Snow White and Aurora Rosen as the Sleeping Beauty.

As for the men, if previous masquerades are any indication, the portly will dress as Henry VIII, with the fit as either the devil or Alexander the Great. The bored (of which the eligible Jones brothers will almost certainly be among) will dress as themselves, in basic black attire with a demi mask as a nod to the occasion. But of course, This Author could always be surprised.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 30

~*~*~

Killian Jones stood along the wall of his mother’s ballroom, wishing desperately that he was anywhere else but here. As the son of the hostess, and as one of two eligible sons of the hostess, he found himself surrounded by either a host of tittering, banal debutantes, or their bloodthirsty mamas, who he rather thought of as sharks, always on the lookout for eligible bachelors for their trite and simpering daughters. At the moment, he was cornered by an aging shepherdess.

“Another Jones! No other family has blue eyes like the Jones’ do. Which one are you? I know you’re not David, I just saw him.” She waved her hand vaguely toward the other side of the room. “So you must be the Viscount or Number 2. Which is it?”

Killian eyed her coolly, but he was afraid he couldn’t keep the touch of anger he felt out of his gaze. While he loved his family very much and would not truly wish to be a member of any other, he sometimes wished he was seen as less of a Jones and more as himself.

“Number 2,” he bit out.

“Oh, I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I must go tell Aurora. I told her you were number two-”

“Killian,” he all but growled.

“-but she was sure you were the Viscount. That’s why she’s over there, talking to…”

“Please excuse me,” he interrupted her suddenly. “I’ve just noticed someone I must speak to.” It was either that or murder the twittering ninnyhammer. And with this many people in attendance, he didn’t think he could possibly get away with that.

He moved away from her, making his way to the ballroom’s side door, hoping for some peace and quiet, and perhaps a glass of rum in his brother’s study.

“Killian!”

He cursed under his breath. He’d nearly made a clean getaway. He turned to Alice Jones with a smile on his face.

“Good evening, Mother.” She was dressed as some Elizabethan character, probably Shakespearean, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out who. “What can I do for you?”

The dowager viscountess beamed at her son and Killian’s heart sank. Her smile could only mean one thing.

She placed her hand on his arm before speaking. “Would you just look at Ella DeVille over there? Her Little Red Riding Hood costume is just too much red. It makes her look like a vampire. And no one is talking to the poor girl at all. Would you dance with her? Please? For me?”

Killian fought to keep from rolling his eyes. He loved his mother dearly, but if there was one thing that grated on his nerves, it was her tendency to meddle in the romantic affairs of her unmarried children. Followed very closely by not being able to abide a proverbial wallflower at any ball.

“Have mercy, Mother,” he begged. “No one is asking her to dance because she has the most twisted sense of humor and a laugh that can be heard for miles.” He cast his eyes around the room until they landed on another prospect. “I’ll dance with Mary Margaret Blanchard, how’s that?” He turned back to his mother to see her nod her head and the corner of her lips lift in a secret smile.

“That’ll do. Thank you, Killian.” He turned and when his eyes landed on Mary Margaret again, he was reminded that it could have been much worse. He’d known her for years and he really did like her. She was kind and gracious and objectively quite attractive, though he himself wasn’t romantically interested in her. As a result, he was completely confounded on why she hadn’t snagged herself a husband yet. Perhaps she was holding out for someone in particular.

He began to approach her when he heard a wave of whispers behind him. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end and a sense of anticipation gripped him. He knew he shouldn’t allow anything to distract him from his pledge, but his curiosity overwhelmed him and he turned toward the entrance of the ballroom.

It was as if time stood still.

Just inside the doors stood what he could only describe as a true princess come to life. She was dressed in a beautiful, shining blue gown whose skirt sparkled like diamonds. The bodice and sheer short sleeves were trimmed with silver detailing that flashed when it caught the light. Her mask was silver and had an exquisite swan detail around the right eye. Tendrils of blonde hair framed the other side of her face. But it was her gaze that captured his attention the most. This was a woman filled with unadulterated joy. She looked around the room as if she’d never seen a more glorious sight than all the silly members of the ton dressed in their ridiculous costumes.

Her beauty was truly breathtaking, the way she held herself, the poise, the grace of her movements. She was radiant and he had to be close to her. Mary Margaret was completely forgotten as he strode purposefully across the room. Three other gentlemen had beaten him to the lady and stood around her, showering her with praise and compliments.

She didn’t react as he would expect a lady of the ton to react. She didn’t lower her eyes demurely, she didn’t giggle, she didn’t act coy or as if their adulations were her due. She simply smiled at them. Or beamed rather. He held his hand out to her.

“Pardon me, gentlemen. But the lady has already promised this dance to me.” He gazed into her green eyes, which widened slightly at his bold pronouncement. He wondered if she would expose his lie for what it was.

She smiled and placed her hand in his. He drew her closer, then led her out to the dance floor.

“Have you permission to dance the waltz?”

She shook her head. “I don’t actually dance.”

He was taken aback. “You don’t?”

“I’ve never learned how.”

Killian was stunned speechless for a moment. What young lady of the ton would have reached her age and not learned how to dance?

“There is only one thing to do then.”

She tilted her head at him in question. “And what’s that?”

“I shall teach you.”

Killian was shocked and then utterly charmed when a surprised laugh burst from her lips.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, trying not to sound too affronted.

She contained her giggles and turned her sparkling eyes upon him once again.

“Even I know that dancing lessons are not conducted at a ball.”

“And what does that mean exactly, hmm?” he asked, speculatively, “Even I?”

She didn’t answer.

“Mmhmmm,” he murmured. “Well, I cannot allow this sorry state of affairs to continue. A beautiful lady such as yourself must learn to dance. Come with me.” He began to pull her toward the doors.

“Where are we going?” she laughed. He stopped and turned toward her again.

“Your laugh,” he said. “It’s so lovely.”

Her smile widened impossibly further. “I’m happy.”

“I can tell.” He could only see half her face, but the beaming smile, the laughter and joy in her eyes had him completely under her spell, and he would happily remain there.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Hmmm?” he asked, startled out of his musings.

“Where are we going?”

He smirked and moved closer to whisper in her ear. “The private terrace.”

She turned to face him, her face inches from his. “And how would you know of the private terrace?”

Killian pulled back, staring at her in shock. Was it possible she was unaware of his identity? Not that he expected everyone to know who he was, but as a Jones, he was used to being recognized by members of London society. Even if it was only as Number 2.

“Let’s just say I have my ways.” He tugged on her hand again. “Come, dance with me.”

She took a step toward him and Killian knew his life had changed forever.

~*~*~

Emma hadn’t seen him when she arrived at the ball, but she’d felt the magic in the air, a tingling anticipation that melted into a soul-deep warmth when he appeared before her, his gloved hand outstretched. She placed her hand in his and suddenly knew that he was the reason she was here tonight.

He was tall, with artfully tousled dark hair. Sparkling blue eyes, the shade of which she’d never seen in her life, shone out from behind his mask. His strong jawline was covered with dark scruff, with just a touch of ginger evidenced under the lights. He was dressed in tight leather pants, with a black waistcoat over a white blouse which was open enough to show quite a bit of chest hair, and a long, high-collared tan coat over all.

People seemed to know who he was. When her eyes landed on his, the men who’d been fawning over her since she entered the room seemed to back away in deference, and when he’d led her out to the floor, couples already there parted for them.

He was handsome and strong, and for this one moment in time, he was hers. When the clock struck midnight, her life of drudgery would return- a life of abuse, hatred, and attending to Cora’s every wish. Shouldn’t she have this one night of dreams?

It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to dream.

She felt like a princess. And for this one night, he would be her prince.

They emerged into the hallway outside the ballroom and Emma laughed again, simply delighted with everything about the evening. Her prince paused and turned back toward her.

He ran his knuckles along her jaw as he spoke. “Your smile is so lovely, too. I like to watch you smile.” His words were low and cloaked with sincerity and she could almost believe that he meant them and she wasn’t just this evening’s conquest.

But before she could respond, they were interrupted by a blonde prince striding down the hall. “There you are!” he exclaimed as he approached them.

Emma gasped, terrified she’d been found out. But the man was looking at her prince rather than her. “Mother has been looking everywhere for you. You disappeared before dancing with Mary Margaret, and I had to take your place.”

He wore a black mask like her prince, with a white blouse underneath a dark red quilted jacket. His strong jaw and blue eyes were very similar to her prince. She looked back and forth between them before recognition dawned. They were both Jones’! And given the fact they’d both been conscripted to dance with Mary Margaret Blanchard, they must be Killian and David. Killian was her prince, for everyone knew that David Jones was the only male in the family with blonde hair.

“So sorry,” Killian murmured, not sounding the least apologetic. A fact that didn’t escape his brother’s notice. “Some things are unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“If you leave the party and abandon me to that pack of she-devil debutantes, I swear I shall exact revenge until my dying day.”

“A chance I’m willing to take,” Killian said, looking at Emma. She realized then that David was also staring quite intently at her.

“Good evening, milady,” he said, holding his hand out. When she placed her unoccupied hand in his, he raised it to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “May I request an introduction?” he asked, directing his words to his brother.

“You can try your best, but I doubt you’ll succeed. I haven’t even learned the lady’s name yet, myself.”

“You haven’t asked,” Emma replied, with a smirk.

He turned fully toward her. “And would you have told me if I had?”

Emma shrugged. “I’d have told you something.”

“But not the truth,” Killian rejoined, his eyebrow raised at her and a smirk on his face. Emma felt her cheeks heat at the teasing gesture.

“Tonight isn’t a night for truth.” David tilted his head in question at her response and Killian glared at him.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he growled.

David shook his head. “I’m quite sure Mother would prefer for me to be in the ballroom, but it’s hardly required.”

“I require it.”

Emma felt a giggle bubble in her throat.

“Very well,” David sighed. “I shall take myself off, then.”

“Excellent,” said Killian.

“To face the ravenous wolves.”

“Wolves?” Emma questioned.

“Eligible young ladies,” David clarified. “Ravenous wolves, the lot of them. Present company excluded, of course.” Killian rolled his eyes. “My mother would like nothing better than to see my dear older brother married off.” Killian groaned. “Except, perhaps, to see me married off.”

“If only to get you out of the house,” Killian commented drily.

“But then again, you are so much more ancient than I am, brother. Perhaps you should be the first to the gallows, er, altar, I mean.”

This time Emma did giggle.

“Do you have a point?” Killian asked, exasperated in the extreme.

“None, whatsoever. I swear, brother.” David’s eyes were full of false innocence and Emma couldn’t have stopped smiling if her life depended on it. “So then,” he continued, looking back at Emma and motioning with a grand flourish of his arm, “will you take pity on my long-suffering mother and chase my brother down the aisle?”

“Well, he hasn’t asked,” she quipped.

“How much have you had to drink?” Killian grumbled.

“Me?” Emma asked.

“No, him,” Killian replied.

“Nothing at all,” David assured them, “but I am seriously considering remedying that fact. It’ll likely be the only thing to make this evening bearable.”

“If going after a drink removes you from my presence,” Killian said, “then it will be the only thing to make my evening bearable as well.” David grinned, jauntily turned on his heel and was gone.

“It’s nice to see two siblings that love each other so well,” Emma murmured.

Killian had been staring rather menacingly at the door through which David had disappeared when her words drew his attention back to his companion. “You call that love?”

Emma thought of Zelena and Regina, the animosity, the constant bickering and sniping between them. “I do,” she said. “It’s obvious you would lay down your life for him. And he for you, as well.”

Killian released a put upon sigh, then smiled, completely ruining the effect. “I suppose you’re right. As much as I hate to admit it.” He leaned against the wall, looking irresistibly handsome. He cocked his head at her in question. “Do you have any siblings?”

Emma thought about his question for a moment, before answering decisively, “No.”

“You took a rather long time to answer that,” he mused. “I’d think it’d be a rather simple question, not requiring much thought.”

Emma turned her head away from him, not wanting him to see the pain in her eyes. She’d always wanted a family. In truth, she’d never wanted anything more. But her father had never acknowledged her as his, and Cora actively hated her. As much as she’d hoped for a sisterly relationship with Zelena and Regina before she met them, only Regina came anywhere close to being a friend, not the sister Emma had dreamed about.

“I am an only child,” Emma finally said.

“And that’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?”

Emma nodded. “That is all I’m going to tell you.”

“Very well,” he answered, lifting himself from the wall and walking toward her again. “What am I permitted to ask you?”

“Nothing, really,” she said.

“You won’t tell me anything about you?” he asked, a touch of desperation in his voice. “Nothing at all?”

Emma tapped her chin, contemplating her answer. “I suppose I could tell you my favorite color is yellow,” she said, “but beyond that, I shall leave you with no clues as to my identity.”

“Why so many secrets?”

The corner of Emma’s lips rose slightly. “Says the man in a mask.”

“Well, it is a masquerade, after all.”

“This entire night is a secret.”

“It is indeed,” he agreed, his smile dimming somewhat. “Why don’t you ask me a question, then?”

Emma turned to him surprised. “You would have me ask you a question? Any question?”

“Yes,” he exclaimed. “I have no secrets.”

Emma scoffed into her hand. “I find that very difficult to believe. Everyone has secrets. Things they’re ashamed of, things they’d rather remain hidden.”

“Not me,” he countered. “I’ve never seduced a married woman, I have no gambling debts, and my parents were completely faithful to one another.”

Which meant he wasn’t a bastard. Of course he wasn’t. His words made Emma’s throat tighten in heartache. That meant he’d never pursue her, honorably anyway, if he knew that she was.

“You haven’t asked me a question,” he reminded her.

Emma blinked in surprise. He was serious. “Very well, then, wh-what is your favorite color?” she stammered.

Killian’s eyes widened. “You’re going to waste your question on that?”

“I only get one?”

He shrugged. “Seems more than fair, since you’ll not allow me any.”

“Oh, very well then. Yes,” she insisted. “I want to know your favorite color.”

“Blue,” he answered without hesitation.

“Why?” she asked.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided her. “That’s two.”

“Oh, come on,” she complained. She had to restrain herself from stamping her foot in frustration, although she couldn’t really blame him. “Is it because of the ocean, or the sky?”

Killian’s eyes narrowed at her. “Are you an artist?”

“No, why?”

“Because most people would have taken my answer and left it at that,” he explained. “But you,” he continued, “you want to know why.” He paused for a moment. “Why yellow?”

Emma took a deep breath, unsurprised that he’d turned the question back around at her. “Because of the sun, I suppose. The sunshine makes me happy. When the sun reflects off the dew on the grass…”

“There’s not much grass in London,” he observed.

Emma sighed. “No, there isn’t.”

“You’ve spent time in the country, then?” he asked.

Emma caught her breath. Lady Whistledown might know all the gossip in London, but in all of her verbiage of the Jones family in general, and Killian Jones in particular, she’d never mentioned his perceptiveness. She was going to have to mind her lips, lest she give him any clues to her true identity. She couldn’t imagine what he might be able to glean from such an innocent fact, however. She nodded.

“You never told me why your favorite color is blue.”

Killian’s eyes turned faraway. “I’m not sure. I’m surrounded by the blue eyes of my family. Except Ruby and Henry. Their eyes are green. Like our mother’s.” He leaned toward her. “Like yours.”

Emma had trouble catching her breath. When he looked into her eyes like this, it felt like he could see to her very soul. He leaned back, out of her personal space and she could breathe again.

“Everyone says the Jones’ blue eyes are like the sky on a cloudless summer day. Perhaps that is what I miss. The blue sky.”

“If it wasn’t raining, it wouldn’t be England,” Emma commented drily.

“I went to Italy once; the sun shone constantly.” His face was contemplative as he remembered.

“That sounds like heaven,” she sighed.

“Would you believe that after just a few weeks there, I missed the rain?”

“No!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” he insisted. “I missed the rain.”

“I spend half my life grumbling about it.”

Killian laughed. “You’d miss it if it was gone.”

Emma fell silent, wondering if there was any part of her life she’d miss if it was gone. She certainly wouldn’t miss Cora or Zelena and the abuse she suffered on a daily basis. But she’d miss Granny and the other servants. She’d probably miss Regina, at least a little bit.

But it was a moot point. After this one perfect, magical night, she’d be right back to her life as usual.

She supposed she could have left Spencer House before now. If she was stronger. If she was braver. But where would she go? She’d need references to get any other type of job and Cora certainly wasn’t going to give her one.

“You’re very quiet,” Killian murmured, drawing her out of her musings.

“I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“What I would miss in my life if it were to drastically change.”

“And do you expect it to change?” He was close now. His eyes intense as they gazed into hers.

“No.”

“Do you want it to change?” he whispered.

She gripped his forearms as he laid his hands gently on her waist.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes.”

 He released her and took her gloved hands in his own, kissing each in turn. “Then we shall begin tonight. And tomorrow, you will be transformed.”

“Tonight I am transformed,” she said sadly. “Tomorrow, I will disappear.”

“Then we must pack a lifetime into this very night.”

He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his face to hers, gently brushing her lips with his own. It was her first kiss of any kind and a singularly thrilling sensation, but she couldn’t let it continue. She pulled back and away from him before it could go any further.

“Dance with me,” she begged.

She saw the disappointment in his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by amusement. “You said you didn’t know how.”

“You said you would teach me,” she countered.

“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her around the corner and up a staircase. At the top, they emerged in front of a pair of French doors. He opened them and led her out onto a small private terrace. It was decorated with several potted plants and housed two chaise lounges to the side. Her sense of direction was excellent, so she knew they were directly above the ball room. She could hear the music floating up from below.

“Handel,” she breathed. “My governess had a music box that played this very tune.”

“You had a governess? You obviously loved her very much.”

There was that perception again. Emma’s cheeks flamed. Why couldn’t she seem to keep her mouth shut around him?

“Is it that obvious?”

Killian grinned, a sort of roguish, smug smirk that made Emma realize she might be better off gluing her lips shut for the rest of the evening.

“Yes. I can see it on your face. The same way I could see that you prefer the country to the city.”

“Well, I did spend more time with her than anyone else in the household.”

“That sounds like a lonely upbringing,” he mused.

“In some ways it was, in others, not so much.”

“You’re such an enigma.”

Emma’s lips lifted in a small smile. “Good.” She paused for a moment. “You didn’t have a lonely upbringing, obviously. All those brothers and sisters running about.”

“You know who I am, then?”

She nodded. “I didn’t at first.”

He grinned. For some reason, that information delighted him. “What gave me away?”

“Your brother,” she answered honestly. “Everyone knows David is the only Jones brother with blonde hair, and since he was perturbed with you about leaving him to the ‘wolves’, as he described them, I knew you had to be the other eligible Jones brother, Killian.”

“You’re quite the detective.”

Emma shrugged. “It wasn’t terribly hard to put together, with as much as Lady Whistledown writes about the Jones family.”

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed. “Now we come to it. You know about me from Lady Whistledown.” His smile was broad again, and Emma found herself responding to it in kind. “So what else do you know about me from Lady Whistledown?”

Too caught up in the back and forth between them, Emma wracked her brain for things she’d read about Killian Jones over the years, completely throwing caution to the wind.

“I know you won some silly horse race last month in Hyde Park.”

Killian was indignant. “It wasn’t silly. And I’m a hundred quid richer for it.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him, a smile on her face.

“I know that you once lopped off the head of one of your sister’s dolls.”

“I’m still wondering how that blasted woman found out about that.”

“Perhaps she’s a Jones,” Emma observed.

“Impossible,” Killian declared. “Not that none of the Jones are smart enough to pull it off, but if she were, we’re too smart not to have figured it out by now.”

“I know your name has not been seriously linked with any young lady of the ton,” she continued, “and that your mother despairs of ever seeing you married.”

Killian wondered if she realized just how many clues to her identity she’d just given him. If she only recognized him because of what was written in Lady Whistledown, then she obviously hadn’t been out in society long. And if she knew about the doll- which Whistledown had written about in the early days of her column, two years before- he knew she had been in London at the same time. Because while Whistledown was now delivered all the way out to the country, in the early days, it had strictly been for Londoners. So she’d been brought up in the country, with a governess, but had been in London for at least the last two years, and yet, not out in society. There was also the matter of her hesitation when she talked about family. A most puzzling conundrum.

Killian shrugged. “The pressure has somewhat lessened of late with the marriage of my brother.”

“The Viscount?”

Killian nodded.

“Whistledown wrote about that, too,” she observed. “In great detail, I might add.”

“Well,” Killian hedged, “she didn’t have all the facts. Lady Whistledown doesn’t know everything that goes on in society.”

“She seems to.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” His gaze sharpened as he gazed at her. “But I’d venture to say that if she were here on this terrace, Lady Whistledown wouldn’t know your identity. Am I right?”

Emma nodded. “But I’m so well disguised, no one would know who I am.”

“What if you removed your mask? Would she recognize you then?”

Emma’s eyes widened behind her mask and Killian took just a bit of satisfaction from that.

“I don’t think I’m going to answer that,” she said, turning from him and leaning along the edge of the terrace.

“I didn’t think you would.” She could hear him approach behind her. The heat from his body enveloped her and she turned toward him, catching her breath. He was inches away from her and his gaze behind the mask rooted her in place. Emma couldn’t speak. Nor could she breathe through the searing connection between them. Intense blue fire filled his eyes. Here was a man used to getting what he wanted, and right now, he wanted her. There was also an honesty and a strength in his gaze that she desperately wanted to lose herself in. If anyone could take her away from the life she now led, this man could.

This was anticipation. Desire. This is what a gently bred lady shouldn’t even know about. But she wasn’t a gently bred lady. She wasn’t a member of the ton, nor would she ever be. Being alone with him on this terrace was enough to ruin a reputation, but she didn’t have one to begin with. So why should she abide by society’s rules?

She’d always sworn to herself that she would be no one’s mistress. She refused to condemn any child she bore to her own fate as a bastard, but there were miles between one dance, one embrace, one kiss, and falling into his bed and staying there for as long as he’d have her, betraying herself in the process. She desperately wanted this one night. This one night of fantasy.

She lifted her chin, getting lost in the cerulean depths of his eyes.

“You’re not going to run away, then? ” he murmured. She shook her head, realizing that he’d read her once again. She should have been afraid at how easily he seemed to do that, but right now, with this something flaring between them, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Are you going to teach me how to dance?” she breathed.

Killian’s smile rivaled the sun she loved so much. “In a waltz, there’s only one rule,” he said, positioning her hand on his shoulder and taking her other hand in his own, “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

He began to lead her in a basic three step. It was only moments before her foot came down on his.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, looking up into his face again.

“My sisters have done far worse,” he assured her. “Let’s try again. Can you hear the music?” She shook her head. “Close your eyes and listen closely.”

She did as he bade and in moments she could hear the soft swell of the music over the low murmuring of the crowd below.

“One, two, three, One, two, three,” he murmured in her ear. “Do you feel that? The rise and fall of the music?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He smiled. She didn’t know how she knew he smiled, but she could feel it in the tenor of his voice. “Good. Now watch our feet and allow me to lead you.”

She opened her eyes and looked down. They tried again, and she was suddenly doing it.

“Oh,” she gasped. “This is wonderful!”

“Look up,” he ordered gently.

“But, I’ll stumble again.”

“You won’t. I won’t let you,” he assured her. “You appear to be a natural.” She could hear the smile in his voice again and looked up into his eyes. At that moment, something clicked inside her. He led her in the waltz, twirling her around the terrace, slowly at first, then picking up speed until she was breathless and giddy.

He brought her back close, holding her tightly against him. “What do you feel? In your heart.”

Emma couldn’t speak as she tried to catch her breath. His hard, lean body was solid against hers and she wished she could melt into that strength and never leave.

His hand on the small of her back pressed ever so slightly as he spoke again, more urgently this time. “Answer me. Please.”

“I-” She could barely get it out, but whatever tomorrow would bring, she owed him at least this. “I feel everything,” she admitted. “Joy… fear… anticipation…”

“What do you hear?”

“The music.” She paused. “Like I never have before.”

“And what do you see?”

“I see you.” Her words were only a whisper now. “I see… I see…” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say that she saw her very soul in the depths of his blue eyes. The moment was too charged. She was too vulnerable. If she were to admit that here, now- for she could see that he felt the same- if she were to admit the truth to him and he did the same, she’d be lost to him forever, and she couldn’t be unfaithful to herself in that way. Not now, not ever.

“I can’t,” she breathed. “Please don’t speak. Please don’t make me say it.”

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his eyes darting between hers. “I won’t speak. I won’t say a word.” And then his lips were on hers. It was different this time, no less thrilling than it was earlier, but now he was more forceful. Their first kiss, if you could even call it that, was only a brushing of lips, but this was a full possession of her mouth, still gentle and achingly tender, but cloaked in passion and desire. She was powerless against it. When his tongue touched the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, she opened for him, shuddering in his arms.

The hand in the small of her back, the one that had led her through the waltz, exerted gentle pressure, bringing her even closer to him. She felt very small in his embrace, safe, warm, protected. And like the most beautiful woman in the world.

It made her think anything was possible. Perhaps even a life without servitude and stigma.

One hand moved to the back of her head as his lips left hers and peppered kisses across her jaw and down the slope of her neck. Shivers of pleasure ran down her spine as she lifted her chin to grant him more access.

“Your hair is like silk,” he murmured into her skin.

Emma couldn’t help it. A sudden laugh burst out of her. He pulled back, an amused expression on his face.

“And now what are you laughing at?”

“How do you know my hair is like silk when you have gloves on?” A boyish grin spread across his lips.

“I don’t know how I know. But I do,” he insisted. “But just in case, perhaps I should test that with my bare hands.” He held his hand up to her. “Would you, perhaps, do the honors, milady?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off of his as she gently tugged at each finger in turn and then pulled the entire glove off. The expression in his eyes was something she’d never seen before. Hunger… and something else. Something almost spiritual. His hand cupped her face, the pads of his fingers moving gently across her skin. The tingling left in their wake threatened to completely undo her. They reached up until they ran through the tendrils left loose from her chignon.

“I was wrong,” he murmured. “It’s softer than silk.”

Emma was suddenly overtaken by a desire to touch him the same way. She pulled back slightly and held up her own hand in between them.

“It’s my turn.”

Something flared within his eyes and he grasped her hand with his gloved hand while the other worked at the fingers of her glove. But instead of drawing it down her arm and removing it, he pulled her close and brought his lips to the edge of the glove, all the way at her elbow, and kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her arm.

“Also softer than silk,” he pressed into her skin. Now he slowly, agonizingly slowly, drew the glove down her arm, following with his lips. Her skin was on fire and she grabbed his shoulder with her other hand, no longer confident in her ability to stand. Just below her elbow, he glanced up, barely breaking the kiss. “You don’t mind if I stay here for a bit?”

Emma couldn’t speak, so she shook her head instead. His tongue darted out and traced the bend of her arm. Emma gasped in pleasure.

“Thought you’d like that.” His words were hot against her skin. She nodded. Or at least, she thought she did. His lips continued his trail down her arm until they paused at her wrist. He remained there for a moment before he pressed a kiss into the very center of her palm and then looked up.

“Who are you?”

She shook her head.

“Please,” he begged. “I have to know.” She stood as still as a statue. He raised her hand to his lips and began running them along her knuckles. “I want to call on you tomorrow. I want to meet your parents. I want to pet your dog. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She still couldn’t move, but tears filled her eyes.

“I want…” His eyes were surprised, as if he couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words. “I want your future. I want every little part of you.”

She felt a tear slip past her eyelid and she closed her eyes, steeling herself against the emotion in his.

“Don’t say another word. Please. I can’t bear it.”

“Then tell me your name. Tell me how to find you tomorrow.”

“I…” The clanging of bells interrupted her. “What is that?”

“It’s the signal for the unmasking.”

“What?”

“It must be midnight.”

“Midnight?” she gasped, her hand flying to her mask in alarm. “I have to go!” She gathered her skirts in her hands and ran from the terrace.

“Wait!” She heard him call behind her, but she didn’t dare stop. She wiped the stray tears from her face as she flew down the stairs, chastising herself the entire way for completely falling under Killian’s spell and not paying attention to the time.

She arrived at the ballroom doors and whimpered in dismay as she spied her destination on the other side of a wall of people all taking off their masks with delighted laughter and frivolity. She turned to see Killian just reaching the bottom of the stairs behind her. There was nothing for it. She plunged into the sea of humanity, murmuring apologies and excusing herself as she went.

Suddenly she found herself face to face, or face to mask rather, with none other than her stepmother. Why did it have to be her? For if anyone here tonight would recognize her, it would be Cora. Emma caught her breath and tried to keep the terror out of her eyes and words as she excused herself yet again.

“Watch where you’re going,” Cora snapped. Emma watched with open mouth as Cora swished her skirts and walked away. Cora hadn’t recognized her! If she wasn’t so terrified and frantic to get out of the Jones house before Killian caught up with her, she would have laughed with relief. She looked behind her and saw that he’d spotted her. He was making his way across the ballroom with much more efficiency than she had done. With renewed determination, Emma moved forward until she reached the far doors.

There was the Spencer carriage, just like Granny said it would be. She turned and saw that Killian had been waylaid by David, but his visage was thunderous as he caught her eyes. She ran down the steps and into the waiting carriage.

“Go, go, go!” she cried to the driver. And with a crack of the whip, a trundle of wheels, and the clipping of hooves on the cobblestones, she was gone.

~*~*~

Killian could have murdered his brother for stopping him when he’d nearly caught up with his mystery lady. By the time he’d extracted himself and made it outside to the square, she was nowhere to be found.

David, horrified that he’d thwarted Killian’s pursuit, was most apologetic when he returned to the ballroom.

“And you never got her name?” David asked, incredulously.

“She refused to tell me,” Killian exploded. “It was a masquerade ball, brother, in case you didn’t notice!” He hated to sound so hateful, but he was truly at his wits end and had no patience for nonsense.

David took no offense and simply rolled his eyes at his brother. “Yes, I’m aware. But we still recognized most everyone here. And you’re sure you’d never met her before?”

“Never,” he assured him.

David spied the glove Killian still held in his hand. “Is this hers?”

Killian looked down. He’d quite forgotten he still held it in his hand. Hope flared in his chest. “Yes.” He brought it up to his face to get a closer look.

“It has a crest and initials, too,” David observed.

“Do you recognize the crest?” Killian asked.

David shook his head. “No, but Mother will.”

Killian speared him with a look. “I’d like to avoid that scenario, if at all possible.”

David laughed good-naturedly and slapped Killian on the back. “Don’t blame you. But I honestly don’t see any way around it.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “You’re probably right. Damn. Of all the women Mother has trotted out before me, and now I finally found one, I’m going to need her help to find her!”

And he knew it wouldn’t be easy. It was never easy to find someone who didn’t want to be found. And she most definitely didn’t want to be found. She’d made it quite clear that he’d never see her again after tonight. But he had to try. A few dropped hints concerning Lady Whistledown’s column, and this glove. It was all he had to go on.

He’d find her. He’d find her and make her his. Or his name wasn’t Killian Jones.

~*~*~

Thirty minutes after her arrival home, Emma was returned to her true self.

The gown, mask, and slippers had all been returned to where they belonged. Her hair taken down, her makeup scrubbed off.

The princess was gone. The housemaid reappeared.

She crawled into bed, her hand knitted baby blanket bunched up under her chin, and let the tears fall for the life, for the man, she’d never have.

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading and sharing! I’d love to hear what you thought! Ch3 will be up on Wednesday!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One  A Birthday Fic for hollyethecurious

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HOLLYE!!!!

Today is the birthday of the other of my besties, @hollyethecurious​!!! Benedict is her favorite of the Bridgerton siblings, so to celebrate the day of her birth, I decided to write her a CS fic inspired by his story. I so hope you have a fabulous day and that you enjoy this fic, babe! It’s certainly been a long time coming! Love you to the moon and back again!!!!

All the love and thanks to @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing expertise, and all the brainstorming sessions they had to endure when I got stuck. Which was a lot... Also boatloads of internet hugs to @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips I used in the artwork. Thank you all so much, ladies!!!

The fic is not completely written yet, and it currently stands at a Prologue, Pt. 1 which includes Chs 1-3, and Pt. 2 which includes Chs. 4-8. I’m expecting there to be one or two more chapters, for a total of nine or ten chapters plus the prologue. I’ll be posting this one a little differently. Ch.1 will be posting this Wednesday, Jan. 25, with ch2 posting next Sunday, Jan. 29. From there, chs will be posting weekly.

I so hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. 

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut)

Words: Almost 1900

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3

New tag list! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Emma Swan was a bastard.

And what was worse, everyone knew she was a bastard, not just Emma herself. Fortunately, everyone at Spencer Hall loved Emma and had since she was a little girl when she arrived on the doorstep one dark and stormy November midnight.

George Spencer, the Earl of Glowerhaven, was in residence and had briefly scanned the correspondence stuffed into the pocket of the too large coat Emma wore. After tossing it in the fireplace, he stood and watched the fire lick at the edges of the missive, then turned to the housekeeper and ordered a room made up for the child near the nursery of the country estate. There she had remained ever since.

She’d been introduced to the staff of Spencer Hall the next day as the Earl’s ward, the orphaned daughter of an old friend. Nevermind that the resemblance she bore to the Earl’s sister and deceased mother was too great to be ignored. But ignored it was, as none of the staff of Spencer Hall wanted to risk their livelihoods by speaking of it.

Emma didn’t remember much of her life before coming to live at Spencer Hall, but she did remember the woman who carried her to the front door of the manor telling her that she was going to live with her father now. The look on the Earl’s face when his eyes met hers told her the truth. A truth that, at the age of five, she was too young to really understand, but had been made clear to her as the years rolled on. He called her Emma, she called him ‘My Lord’, and she only saw him a few times a year when he returned home from London. He asked about her lessons once she was old enough for school and she did her best to make him proud of her. The arrangement pleased everyone.

Until the Earl decided to marry.

Emma was pleased with the news, because along with it came the revelation that the Earl planned to spend more time at Spencer Hall now that he was a family man. Besides that, the new Countess had two daughters, very nearly the same age as Emma herself. She couldn’t help but hope that with him spending more time at Spencer Hall with his new wife and daughters, he’d treat her more like a daughter and they could truly be a family.

The day finally came when the Earl would arrive home with his new wife, and Emma was beside herself. She stood on the other side of the foyer from where all the servants were lined up to meet the new mistress of the house, rather at a loss of what to do with herself.

If she were truly a ward of the Earl, she’d be near the front of the line awaiting to be introduced to the new Countess. As it was, however, the Earl didn’t even notice she was there until she cleared her throat a second time, a little more loudly than the first, after everyone else had been introduced.

“Emma,” the Earl said, surprise lacing his tone. “I didn’t see you there.”

Emma smiled widely and curtsied, thrilled that he wasn’t purposely ignoring her.

“And who is this?” a sickly sweet voice asked. The Earl turned to his new wife and Emma caught her breath. She was beautiful. Chestnut hair with highlights of red framed a narrow face. Dark brown eyes took Emma in from head to toe before narrowing as the Earl introduced her.

“This is my ward, Miss Emma Swan,” he said. The new Countess’ eyes narrowed even more as she speared Emma with a perceptive, assessing look.

“I see,” she said. She took the hands of the two girls on either side of her, and turned back to the Earl. “I’d like to go upstairs now, please. I assume you have rooms ready for Zelena and Regina?”

“Of course, my dear,” the Earl assured her. “Near the nursery, right next to Emma.”

The new Countess sniffed with disdain, as she again looked at Emma. Not wanting to meet that penetrating gaze, Emma looked at the two girls on either side of the new Countess. One was taller than the other, she must be the older one, Emma thought, and was very thin like the Countess. Her hair was a wild mass of red curls that reminded Emma of the setting sun. The girl took her cue from her mother and looked down the bridge of her narrow nose at Emma without saying a word. The other girl wasn’t as thin as the first, and had dark brown, almost black, straight hair, coming down below her shoulders. Her dark eyes held indecision as she looked first at her mother and then back at Emma. Emma offered her a tentative smile, but the girl only looked down at her feet, not meeting Emma’s eyes.

The new Countess swept away up the stairs of the manor, taking her daughters and the Earl with her. Emma did her best to hide the tears that filled her eyes.

~*~*~

The next morning, Emma had been at her lessons for an hour when the new Countess and her daughters entered the nursery. The governess, Johanna, jumped quickly to her feet and curtsied.

The new Countess sniffed with disdain when she spotted Emma, then took in the governess. Emma didn’t smile at the daughters this time. It seemed like it wasn’t a good time to repeat the previous day's gesture.

“Johanna?”

“Yes, My Lady,” she replied, curtsying again and not looking the imperious woman in the face.

“I understand from the Earl that you are to teach my daughters.”

“I will do my best, My Lady.”

“This is Zelena,” she said, motioning the red head forward. “She is twelve.” She then motioned to her other daughter who hadn’t raised her eyes from the floor. “And this is Regina. She is ten.”

“Emma is also ten,” Johanna volunteered. The new Countess seemed put out to be reminded of Emma’s presence and huffed indignantly.

“I’d like you to show my daughters around the house and gardens,” she said.

“Of course. Emma, put down your slate and…”

“Just my daughters,” the Countess interrupted. Johanna’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, but she snapped it shut just as quickly.

“Yes, My Lady,” she murmured.

As soon as the door shut behind Johanna and the girls, the Countess turned to Emma, pure hatred blazing in her eyes.

“I know who you are,” she hissed.

“M-my Lady?”

“You’re his bastard and don’t you deny it.”

Emma didn’t say a word. Of course, she knew it was true, but it was the first time anyone had spoken of it to her face. The Countess grabbed her by the chin and turned her face this way and that. Emma struggled to hold in the whimpers caused by the pain of the woman’s fingernails digging into her face.

“Now you listen to me,” the Countess growled. “You might live here at Spencer Hall and you might take lessons with my daughters, but you are nothing but a bastard and that is all you will ever be. Don’t you ever think that you belong to this family. You are not to speak to my daughters except during lessons. They are the daughters of this house, and they shouldn’t have to be burdened with the likes of you.” The sneer on her face and contempt in her voice was enough to bring tears to Emma’s eyes. “You are not ever to speak to me and you will endeavor to never be in my presence. My husband feels some misguided duty to you, but you are an insult to me and to my daughters. To have you in my house, fed and clothed as if you were one of us.” She looked down her nose at Emma, the venom in her gaze turning Emma’s blood to ice. “Do you have any questions?”

Emma wasn’t fool enough to believe the question was sincere, so she silently shook her head.

“Good.” The Countess spun away from her, her skirts flaring, and walked out the door.

~*~*~

It wasn’t long before Emma became even more aware of her precarious position in the Earl’s household. The servants knew everything and the gossip eventually reached Emma’s ears.

The Countess’ name was Cora and she had demanded the very day she’d arrived at Spencer Hall that Emma be removed. The Earl had refused. He informed his new bride that she didn’t have to love Emma, or even like her for that matter, but that he had an obligation to her that he’d met for the last five years and he wasn’t going to stop now.

Zelena followed her mother’s example to the letter in her dealings with Emma, but Regina had a kind heart that wouldn’t allow her to participate in the level of torture and cruelty that Zelena seemed to relish subjecting Emma to. And while Regina didn’t speak up or stop Zelena in her mistreatment of Emma, when the younger girls were unsupervised, Regina was surprisingly kind to her.

“Your parents not being married isn’t your fault,” she said with a shrug. “And I see no reason to treat you so badly.” Unfortunately, Regina’s fear of her sister and mother kept those sentiments and any actions that might confirm them solely between the two of them.

Life continued in this way for the next five years, when one afternoon during tea, the Earl clutched at his chest and fell over, dead before he hit the ground.

No one was more surprised than Cora, who’d been trying since their wedding night to conceive the all-important heir.

“I might be with child,” she all but screeched at the solicitor. “You can’t give the title to some distant cousin when I might be with child!”

And so the reading of the Earl’s will was delayed until they could be quite certain whether the Countess was with child or not.

A month on, it was verified she was not, to the Countess’ enraged dismay.

When the will was finally read, Cora had been forced to sit next to the new Earl, a rather dissolute young man who was drunk more often than not. The will itself was fairly straight forward. The Earl had established funds for Zelena, Regina, and even Emma, ensuring they all had respectable dowries.

Then the solicitor came to Cora’s name.

To my wife, Cora Spencer, Countess of Spencer Hall, I leave a yearly income of two-thousand pounds…

“That’s all?” Cora cried indignantly.

... unless she agrees to house and care for my ward, Miss Emma Swan, until she reaches the age of twenty, in which case, her yearly income shall be trebled to six-thousand pounds.

“I don’t want her,” the Countess bit out.

“You don’t have to take her,” the solicitor reminded her.

“And live on two-thousand pounds a year? Are you mad?” The solicitor, who lived on much less than two thousand pounds a year, remained silent and tried not to roll his eyes.

“What is your decision?” he asked.

Cora stood with as much dignity as she could muster. “Fine, I’ll take her,” she replied, teeth clenched in anger.

“Shall I find the girl and tell her?”

“I’ll tell her myself.”

But when Cora spoke with Emma, she left out some important details…

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Happy birthday, Hollye! Part 1: Ch. 1 will post Wednesday!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 2 Ch6

We are back with the concluding chapter of part 2! This was one of my favorite chapters to write and I so hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! 

I have invited folks who have read the book to guess what scene inspired the fic, and I think I’ve received one guess, so here’s a hint. The scene is in this chapter! So I will expect some speculations in y’all’s comments! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! It means more than I can say!

All the love and thanks to @hollyethecurious​, for whom the fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing expertise, and @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Leroy and Astrid and Killian I used in the artwork. Love you all to bits, ladies!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 5900 of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Dearest Reader,

In spite of an answer in the affirmative, Killian Jones was absent from the Rosen ball last evening, much to the quite vocal dismay of the resident debutants, and their mamas.

According to Lady Jones (his mother, not his sister-in-law), he’d left for the country over a week ago and has not been heard from since. But fear not for his health or well being, Gentle Reader, for Lady Jones seemed more vexed than concerned for her wayward son.

In the past few years, no less than two couples each year met their future match at the Rosen ball. But if any matches are to come out of this year’s soiree, Lady Jones’ second born will not be among the grooms.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

April 7

~*~*~

There were certain advantages to a long, drawn out recovery from illness, Killian soon learned.

The first was the sheer quantity and quality of food he’d partaken of from Mrs. Miner’s kitchen. He’d always been well fed when he stayed at My Cottage, but Mrs. Miner had truly gone above and beyond as he recovered.

Second, for the first time in his adult life, he had time to himself. He could read, draw, or simply daydream without feeling guilty about neglecting some task or other.

But the best advantage to lying abed, by far, was Emma. She popped in several times a day just to check on him, bring him food, sometimes simply to read to him. He had the feeling her care for him came from a desire to show him with actions her thankfulness for his saving her from Neal Gold. He didn’t actually much care why she came, he was just glad she did.

She’d been quiet and submissive at first, very much a servant in every way, but Killian put a stop to that behavior quickly. She was absolutely delightful- beautiful to look at, engaging to converse with, pleasant to simply be in the same room with- but he had to admit he also rather enjoyed her when she was mad enough to spit in his eye. He would ask her to join him when she brought his meals or tea, then he’d purposely engage her in conversation- sometimes needling simply for the pleasure of getting a rise out of her. They discussed all manner of things- from history, to politics, to literature. She constantly surprised him with her knowledge, and while she kept many things about herself hidden, he was beginning to get a clearer view of her upbringing.

She reminded him slightly of his mystery woman. It was no wonder that when he dreamt of her now she looked more like Emma than his rather faded memory. Yes, they were similar in appearance- both with long blonde hair and a very pleasing form- but the ladies' differences in station made Emma an unsuitable match for him. No matter how much he desired her.

And desire her, he did. Whenever they traded barbs back and forth in their rather animated discussions, he thanked God above that she was physically out of his reach, because if she hadn’t been, he would have been hard pressed not to haul her against him and kiss her within an inch of her life.

A sharp knock brought him out of his musings and a grin broke over his face as he raised himself up in the bed.

“Enter.”

Emma poked her head in. “Mrs. Miner thought you’d like some tea.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Tea? Or tea and biscuits?”

Emma giggled adorably and Killian couldn’t help but grin. “Of course, tea and biscuits.”

“And you’ll join me?” he asked. She hesitated, as she always did, still feeling restrained by propriety, before she nodded, as she also always did.

She set down the service and went about preparing his tea and plate. “You are looking much better, Mr. Jones. Your color is back,” she commented as she handed them to him, “and you don’t look nearly as tired. I should think you’ll be back to your normal self soon.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed. “I do feel stronger.”

She sat down and he raised his eyebrow at her again. She sighed, even as the corner of her lips lifted, and fixed her own tea cup and plate. He was secretly pleased, or maybe not so secretly, that he no longer had to say a single word about her fixing her own cup and plate when she brought him tea.

“So what have you been doing?” he asked.

“Since I last saw you two hours ago?”

Killian just grinned delightedly.

“Mrs. Miner is preparing beef stew for supper and needed potatoes peeled,” she informed him, “Then I found a novel and spent some time reading in the garden.”

“Oh, really? How was the book?”

Emma smiled and sipped her tea. “It was silly and romantic,” she said with a small shrug. “I was enjoying it.”

Her cheeks blushed a lovely pink and Killian didn’t think she could be any more adorable if she tried. It also brought his musings from before she entered the room back in full force. He changed positions on the bed and bunched the coverlet around his waist.

“Are you alright, Mr. Jones? Would you like me to fluff your pillows?”

Killian inwardly groaned. If she came anywhere near him right now, he wasn’t sure he could control himself. And he was quite sure the visions going through his mind would not sit well with Emma herself.

“No,” he squeaked, before clearing his throat and repeating himself, in more of his normal tenor, “No, that’s not necessary, I assure you.”

Emma raised her eyebrow at him, expressing her disbelief at his words without a single one of her own. It probably should have alarmed him how easily they both seemed to read the other- much like an open book- but at the moment he was too agitated to care.

“Why don’t you choose something from my collection to read?” he suggested, anything to take his mind off his desire.

“Very well,” she agreed. “What would you like to hear?”

“Oh, anything.” He was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Even her voice was affecting him.

“Poetry?”

“Splendid,” he assured her. Although he rather thought he’d have answered the same way if she suggested a book detailing the mating habits of creatures living in the arctic tundra.

She perused the books on his shelf before turning to him again. “Byron? Or Blake?”

“Blake,” he said decisively. If he had to sit through a single stanza of Byron’s romantic drivel, he’d probably lose his mind.

She moved back to her chair, gathering her rather unattractive skirts underneath her as she sat down. Killian frowned. It was the first time he’d noticed how ugly the dress she wore really was. Even the dress and cloak she wore the night they arrived was more becoming than this thing. He ought to buy her a new dress. She’d never accept it, of course, but perhaps if the clothes she now wore were accidentally burned…

“Mr. Jones?”

But how exactly would he be able to burn her dress? It would have to be off of her, of course, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmmm?”

Her face clearly conveyed her indignation. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“My apologies,” he said sincerely. “My mind got away from me. Please continue.”

She shot him a look that was equal parts resigned and perturbed and Killian nearly chuckled out loud. She began again and Killian fully focused on her face, but even more, her lips, which proved to be a severe error in judgment. Because now all he could think about was capturing those lips with his own. He squirmed in discomfort again. If one of them did not leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he would owe her a thousand apologies.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

Her eyes widened and Killian cursed himself. She looked hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He simply needed to get her away from him before he hauled her into the bed.

“I- I- I,” he stammered, “I have some personal business to attend to.”

Relief flooded her countenance and Killian relaxed as well. “Ohhh,” she said in realization. “I see.” She dropped a small curtsy, before speaking again. “I’ll just leave you alone, then.”

“Yes, thank you.”

She all but ran out of the room and Killian jumped from the bed, running to the window. Good. No one was in sight. He removed his dressing gown and pulled on a shirt and breeches before looking out the window again. Still no one around. He prayed his luck held as he searched for his boots. Once he got them on, he went to the window again. Excellent. Still no one in sight. He swung one leg over the window sill, then the other, and finally shimmied his way down the large elm tree outside his room.

Once on the ground, he took off for the very cold lake nearby, to take a very cold swim.

~*~*~

Emma descended the stairs, heading for the kitchen, grumbling to herself.

She just couldn’t understand why Killian had so much trouble treating her like what she was, a servant. He kept saying he would find her employment in his mother’s household but he also expected her to join him for tea and engage in conversation with him as if she was of his same class.

If he would just treat her like a servant, her life would be so much easier. She’d have no trouble remembering that she was nothing but a bastard, an illegitimate nobody, while he was a member of one of the ton’s most wealthy and influential families. Every time he treated her like a real person- because in her experience aristocrats did not treat their servants like real people- it took her back to that night, that one perfect night, when she had been a lady of the ton. A lady of grace and beauty. A lady who had the right to dream about a future with Killian Jones.

He treated her as if he enjoyed her company. And that was perhaps the cruelest aspect of all. Because he was making her love him. More than she had these past two years, when he was no more than a dream. For now he was flesh and blood, and close enough to touch. But then reality would come crashing in and it hurt so damn much.

She entered the kitchen to see Mrs. Miner standing over the stove stirring the stew.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, surprising the woman.

“Oh, no, dear,” she said, waving aside her offer. “The stew just needs a few hours to simmer. And besides, Mr. Jones has not been pleased that I’ve allowed you to do anything around here.”

Emma snorted. “I don’t know why,” Emma began. “I’m just a…”

“No arguments, if you please,” Mrs. Miner interrupted her. “He’s quite right. You are not a servant here, you are a guest. And I should have been treating you as such more than I have.”

“You already have been, Mrs. Miner,” she said, an affectionate smile on her face. Mrs. Miner reminded her of Granny in a way, especially from that night. The way she fussed over her, making sure everything was just right. “But I’m not a guest.”

Mrs. Miner looked over at her, an astute look on her face. “Well then, what are you?”

Emma didn’t expect the question and faltered for a moment. “I have no idea,” she finally said. “But, a guest…” she stammered, trying to make sense of her thoughts and feelings, “a guest would be someone from his social class, or at least close to it. A guest would be someone who had never scrubbed floors… or… waited on another person… or… or…”

“A guest is someone who the master of the house has invited into the house,” Mrs. Miner interrupted gently. “Don’t belittle yourself, dear. If Mr. Jones has seen fit to invite you into the house, then you are a guest. When was the last time you were able to live in comfort and not have to work your fingers to the bone in return?”

“He can’t truly regard me as a houseguest,” Emma said quietly, “because, if he did, he’d have installed a chaperone to protect my reputation.”

Mrs. Miner huffed. “As if I’d allow anything untoward to happen under this roof.”

Emma smiled. “Of course you wouldn’t. But in this world we live in, appearances are just as important as reality. And in the eyes of society, a housekeeper does not qualify as a chaperone, no matter how pure and strict her morals may be.”

“If that’s true,” Mrs. Miner sent her a significant look, “then you need a chaperone, Miss Emma.”

“No, I don’t,” she protested. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a chaperone because I’m not of his class. No one cares if a housemaid lives and works in the household of a single man. No one thinks any less of her, and she wouldn’t be considered ruined by anyone who would consider her for marriage.” Emma shrugged. “And Mr. Jones thinks the same way, though he’d never admit it, because he has never said a single word about my presence here being improper.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Mrs. Miner informed her. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Emma smiled. Because it really was quite nice for her to care in the first place. “Well, if you really don’t need any help in the kitchen, then I think I’ll go outside for a walk, as long as I’m in this hazy position. I’m not a guest, not really,” she added when Mrs. Miner’s mouth opened in protest, “but I’m also not a servant, so I shall enjoy this freedom while it lasts.”

Mrs. Miner nodded in agreement. “You do that, Miss Emma.”

Emma left the cottage and started down the path that led to the nearby pond Killian had told her about. The sun was unseasonably warm, and she turned her face up to it, closing her eyes against its rays. The sunlight had always made her happy and she could feel her spirits lift from the anxiety and turmoil she’d experienced in the last few minutes, both with Killian and Mrs. Miner.

She opened her eyes, seeing a rather dense patch of forest up ahead. If she remembered correctly, Killian had told her the pond was hidden from view of the house by the trees, so she knew she was going in the right direction. She lifted her skirts slightly as she entered the canopy. The trees were dense and she had to step over tree roots and push stray branches out of the way to make her way forward. She could see a clearing up ahead and guessed the pond must be contained within.

But as she drew closer, she could hear splashing. With a gasp of fright, she realized she wasn’t alone. Who on earth would be swimming at this time of year? she thought. The water had to still be freezing this early in the season. She was only about ten feet from the edge, easily visible by whoever was in the water, so she ducked behind one of the large trees that lined the pond. Whoever was in there hadn’t spotted her and continued cavorting around in the water. Emma slowly poked her head out around the trunk and gasped in surprise.

It was Killian Jones.

And he was naked.

It was wrong of her stay. So very wrong. But she just couldn’t bring herself to leave. She moved back behind the tree and tried to find another hiding place. Perhaps something that would hide her and yet would give her a good vantage point. Was it terribly wicked of her to want to get a better look? Yes, yes it was. And she didn’t care one bit.

All her life she’d done the right thing, the safe thing. Only once had she deviated from that path and it was the single best night of her life. She’d tried to keep her eyes averted the other night when she’d undressed him, and when she did have to look at him to get his undergarments off, the shadows made by the candle kept him pretty well hidden from her curious gaze. But this was in the bright daylight. After all, what did she have to lose? She had no job, no prospects beyond Killian’s promise to secure her a position within his mother’s household. And she still wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

She spotted a large boulder off to the left with a low bush sitting in front of it, obscuring it from view. If she sat on the boulder, the bush should be high enough to keep her hidden. She moved slowly and carefully until she was seated on the rock, sitting as still as possible and keeping her eyes wide open.

~*~*~

Killian had never considered himself superstitious. Nor would he have said that he had a sixth sense. However, there had been a couple of times in his life when a sudden awareness washed over him. A kind of tingling sensation that told him something important was about to happen.

The first time was the day his father died. He’d been racing Liam on horseback when a sort of numbness had overtaken him, starting in his fingers and toes and rushing up his extremities until it centered in his chest, making it hard to draw a deep breath. It left him with a feeling of terror he’d never known in all his life. When they arrived back at the house, they received the news their father was already dead, having collapsed after being stung by a bee.

It was the kind of sucker punch none of them was prepared for. His youngest sister, Tilly hadn’t even been born yet, with Tink and Henry still young enough that it was unlikely either of them would even remember him. How someone so strong and vital could be suddenly taken from them, he just couldn’t comprehend.

The second time it happened was the night of his mother’s masquerade ball. Like the first time, the feeling had started in his extremities, but instead of numbness, it was a tingling sensation, as if he was waking up after sleepwalking. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end in the moments before he turned and saw her. Then, once he did, he knew exactly why he attended the ball that night; why he’d been born. He’d believed all of that then, but she’d proven him wrong by disappearing into thin air.

Now, as he stood in the pond, naked as the day he was born, he was struck again with an odd sense of being more alive than he had been just moments before. It was a good feeling, an exciting feeling.

Something was about to happen. Or perhaps, someone was near.

His life was about to change.

He stepped into a little deeper water before turning in a complete circle. He scanned the trees and bushes as best he could, but he could see no one.

“Who’s there?” he called.

Silence.

He hadn’t really expected an answer, but it had been worth a try. He squinted and did another sweep of the shore in the direction of My Cottage but could still see nothing. Moments later, something came over him and he suddenly knew exactly who was watching him.

“Emma!”

He heard a gasp, followed by a flurry of activity behind a bush on the shore.

“Emma Swan,” he yelled, “if you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you, and I will not take the time to don my clothing!”

The rustling of the bush slowed, but didn’t stop completely.

“I am stronger and faster than you, and I will catch up with you,” he continued. “And I wouldn’t put it past me to tackle you to the ground, just to be sure you won’t escape.”

“And you call yourself a gentleman,” she called, still hidden behind the bushes.

“Says the lady spying on a naked man,” he called back. Silence. Killian huffed in satisfaction. “Good. Now show yourself.” There was no response from the shore and Killian grew exasperated. “Emma, I already know you’re there. Just come out, already!”

He could almost see the petulant frown on her face as the bushes rustled again and she finally emerged. She was wearing the same dress, and seeing her there framed among the spring leaves and flowers made his desire to burn the awful thing that much stronger.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I went for a walk. What are you doing here?” she asked in return. “You’re supposed to be ill! I can’t imagine that,” she gestured vaguely at the water, “is going to help your recovery!”

“Were you following me?” he asked, purposefully ignoring her question and comment. It certainly wouldn’t do for him to tell her the truth about why he was here.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. He knew from her expression she was telling the truth. He knew she didn’t possess the acting skill to feign that level of righteous indignation. She was too much of an open book to him. “I’d never follow you to a swimming hole. It would be indecent.”

Killian raised an eyebrow at her, not bothering to point out her hypocrisy, and her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He lifted a hand from the water and motioned for her to turn round. “Give me a moment to get dressed, if you please.”

“I’ll just return home so you can continue your bath in privacy.”

“You will stay right there,” he demanded sternly.

“But…”

He raised his eyebrow again and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do I look like a man to be argued with at the moment?”

She stared at him mutinously.

“I will catch you if you run,” he warned her again.

Emma eyed the distance between them and then tried to guess the distance from here back to My Cottage. If he stopped to pull on his clothing, she might be able to make it, but if he didn’t…

“Emma, I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears,” he said, thoroughly exasperated. “Please stop whatever mathematical computations you’ve got going on in your head trying to decide if you could beat me back to the cottage and just do what I asked.” She still didn’t move. “Now.”

Sighing loudly and grumbling under her breath, Emma turned away from him. The infuriating man wasn’t being quiet as he emerged from the water. Now he was out, now he was picking up his breeches. She couldn’t help herself. Her wicked imagination ran away with her and she couldn’t say she minded. He could have allowed her to return to the house, but she supposed he did have the right to confront her with her wrongdoing, even if it was accidental. Her entire face was on fire and she dreaded his response when she finally faced him.

This was torture. He was purposely taking his time and her toes were falling asleep from how rigidly she was holding herself as she waited. She wiggled her toes in her shoes, and he must have noticed for he growled behind her.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not!” she protested. “My toes were falling asleep.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “And hurry up! It can’t possibly take you this long to get dressed.”

“Oh?” he drawled. She could practically see the raised eyebrow and smug smirk on his face.

“You are doing this just to torture me,” she accused.

“You find it torturous to be this close to me while I dress?” He sounded inordinately pleased at his statement. “I’m flattered. But you may turn around at any time. I asked you to turn around for the sake of your sensibilities, not mine.”

Emma huffed. “Asked, huh? I don’t recall you asking. Sounded more like a demand to me.”

“Point granted,” he acknowledged. “But you would concede that I have the right to speak to you about your indiscretion.” It was a statement instead of a question and Emma simply acknowledged it with a half shrug of her shoulders. “You may turn around, now,” he informed her gently.

She was a bit nervous to do so. Some of their banter back and forth and the way he almost seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of her made her worry that perhaps he wasn’t as decent as propriety demanded.

She lowered her head and peeked over her shoulder to see his pants on his body and so she turned fully, gratified, yet mixed with no small amount of disappointment, that he was quite decently dressed, unless one counted the damp spots on his clothing where the water had seeped through.

“It’s very bad form to spy on one’s host, you know.” He leaned back against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles with one toe digging into the ground. He looked utterly relaxed and breathtakingly handsome.

“It was an accident,” she insisted, her voice a bit more breathless than she’d like.

“Oh, I believe you there,” he informed her. “But even so, given the opportunity, you took it.”

Emma’s cheeks flamed again. She was damn tired of how easily he flustered her. “Well, do you blame me?”

Killian shrugged. “Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I might have done the same thing myself.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “You would have spied on me?”

“I said ‘might’. I am a gentleman, after all.” He pushed himself away from the tree and slowly moved toward her, his blue eyes intense. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said, “in case you hadn’t noticed. And I have a hard time believing that you’re completely unaware of this thing between us. About how you affect me. About how I know I affect you.” He was standing right in front of her, his voice a whisper.

Her skin was hot and her heart hammered in her chest. The breath caught in her lungs and her hands trembled. Everything she’d ever dreamed of was swirling in his blue eyes and if he didn’t take her in his arms soon, she might collapse at his feet.

“Killian,” she breathed.

A slow smile spread across his face and she realized her mistake immediately.

“I like to hear you say my name.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t say that,” he urged, touching a finger to her lips. “Please. Don’t you know that’s not what a man wants to hear?”

“I don’t have any experience with men.”

Killian smirked. “Now that’s exactly what a man wants to hear.”

Emma raised a brow in doubt. She knew men wanted innocence in their wives, but Killian wasn’t about to marry a girl like her.

He touched a fingertip to her cheek and ran it down until he cupped her jaw with his hand. “It’s what I wish to hear from you.” He stared into her eyes for a moment and Emma could barely breathe. “Sometimes I have trouble believing you’re real.” His other hand came up and cupped the other side of her face. “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

“You think?” she whispered.

“I think I have to kiss you,” he amended. “It’s like breathing. Rather hard to live without.”

He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. It was achingly tender and soft and Emma whimpered as his arms came around her and held her close. His tongue touched the corner of her lips and she opened to him eagerly. It was exactly the same as before, a gentle request, full of passion and desire. Two years of remembering the single most exquisite experience of her life and now she was reliving it.

“You’re crying,” he said, pulling back and catching a tear that had fallen unbidden from her eye on the edge of his finger. “Do you want me to stop?”

Emma shook her head vehemently. No, she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to continue, because this time the clock would not strike midnight and she would not have to flee.

His lips took hers again. This time with more passion, more desire than even that night at the masquerade. Her mouth opened under the onslaught and his tongue took full advantage, searing her, branding her as his. His hands were not idle as his mouth made love to hers, fully possessing her. One held her tightly against him, where she could feel the desire he had for her, while the other stroked her side until he cupped her breast. His mouth left hers, as he peppered small kisses along her jaw and down the slope of her neck, making her shiver.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured into her skin. “Tell me you want me, please,” he begged.

Oh, how she wanted it. How she wanted him. She wanted him to kiss her, hold her, love her. She wanted him to know who she was, that she was the lady from the masquerade, and yet at the same time, she never wanted him to recognize her. She was so confused, but one thing, one shining emotion rose above them all. She loved him. Well and truly loved him. And she would do anything for him.

It was that thought and that thought alone that pierced the fog enveloping her mind- the one that would have given him anything he asked for- making her pull back from him. As much as she wanted this, as much as she wanted him, she couldn’t forsake her own convictions, her own pledges to herself. If she didn’t maintain her own integrity, her own honor, what else did she have? For Killian would never love her the way she loved him. He would never marry her and bring her into his world, the one that, by rights, should have been hers. Even if he did fulfill his word to find her a position within his mother’s household, he would someday marry and leave her behind to continue on with his life, but if she broke every promise she’d ever made to herself for this one time, this one chance to be his, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

He looked at her somewhat dazed with desire and it nearly brought her to her knees.

“I can’t.”

“What?” The dazed look in his eyes gave way to confusion.

“I can’t do this.” Sudden clarity took over his countenance and his brow furrowed.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

The question made her pause as she truly pondered it.

“Won’t,” she whispered.

Killian swallowed hard at her response and his nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. “And why is that, I wonder? You certainly seemed willing a moment ago.”

“You want me to be your mistress,” she accused, and he couldn’t help the wince that overcame him at her words. “And I can’t do that. I won’t do that,” she repeated.

He reached for her, grabbing her around the waist. She stiffened in response. “I want you to be with me. Today. Tomorrow.”

“But you don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” she reminded him. “You will have to marry one day. And we both know you will not marry someone like me.”

Her words completely floored him and sudden clarity came upon him. “You’re illegitimate. Aren’t you?”

The blood drained from Emma’s face and he knew he was right.

“H- how…” she sputtered.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he interrupted her. “I don’t care that you’re illegitimate. Who was your father? Your mother?”

She almost told him she didn’t know, but then remembered her promise that she wouldn’t lie to him. “What does it matter?” she cried instead. “My mother died at my birth, and my father died several years ago. Yes, I’m illegitimate. And I will not condemn a child to the stigma I’ve lived with all my life.”

The heartbreak in her eyes and voice was breaking his heart as well. He really couldn’t blame her, given the life she’d lived, but he had to try one more time. Only once had a woman he cared for rejected him, disappearing as if she was nothing more than a dream, and he didn’t think he could survive it again.

“I thought you said your mother was a housekeeper?”

Emma gasped. She’d forgotten that she’d given him the same story she told everyone who commented on her manner of speech or her obvious education. Thankfully she’d told him that before she’d promised she wouldn’t lie to him.

Emma closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression as she told him the truth.

“I told you the same thing I’ve told anyone who noticed the way I speak. I did it to keep my background secret.”

Killian watched her intently as she stood before him, eyes shut, wound tightly as a spring waiting for his response. Another possibility suddenly occurred to him. “Was your father a member of the ton?” If Killian hadn’t still been holding her by the waist, he was sure she would have collapsed. “Nevermind. Nevermind. Forget I asked. It’s not important. But, don’t you see? You wouldn’t be. I would care for any children we had. I could give you a roof over your head, fine clothes, jewels, good food to eat. I could give you everything you could ever want or need.”

It took her a moment to recover from his astute speculation, but once she did, she looked into his eyes and saw her own heartbreak mirrored back at her. “If you think that’s everything, Mr. Jones, then you probably wouldn’t understand why I must refuse.”

Her simple words cut him to the quick. He knew what she wanted, what she deserved, but she was right. Even though he didn’t hold a title, it would be socially unacceptable for him to marry a servant, even if she was an illegitimate daughter of a member of the ton. But there was one thing in her last statement that was also unacceptable. He pulled her closer to him and wrapped her in his arms.

“Mr. Jones!” she exclaimed. Her hands landed on his chest in a half-hearted attempt to keep him at a respectable distance, but he simply tightened his arms around her. “Let me…”

“Killian,” he interrupted. “I want you to call me Killian.” He lowered his head toward hers, waiting for her consent. She held herself stiff as a board for a moment and then relaxed in his embrace. As soon as she did, he closed the distance between their lips and gently kissed her. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted, but as a gentleman, he had to honor her wishes. He wanted her close to him. He could still pursue her- perhaps he’d be able to change her mind. “I’m still going to take you to London and find you a position in my mother’s household.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she protested. “You’re not responsible for me.”

“You became my responsibility when I realized what they had planned for you,” he bit out angrily. She knew exactly who he meant, and it made her heart melt in her chest. His finger ran along her jaw gently. “I will not see you cast adrift.”

Emma looked into his eyes. They were filled with heartbreak, but they were resolved as well. She wouldn’t be his mistress, but she could not deny him this.

“Very well, Killian,” she whispered. “I’ll come with you.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Sneak peek of the new chapter will be posted on Wednesday! Don’t forget to guess what scene inspired the fic!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 3 Ch. 10

🎶 It’s the FINAL CHAPTER🎶 Yes, those musical notes are to indicate singing those words to the tune of Europe’s The Final Countdown. Yeah, I know I’m dating myself, but I DON’T CARE!!! We made it to the end and happy endings abound in this last installment! 

Speaking of this last installment... Y’all... this fic has been finished for six weeks. But I decided on Thursday to add just a bit to the end... well, that bit turned into approx 3,000 words, bringing the final word count of the chapter to just over 10k 😳😱 I have NEVER posted a 10k chapter... So be sure you have plenty of snacks and a drink handy when you sit down to read... That bit also includes smut, which is again separated at the beginning and end by a double scene change line, like this...

~*~*~

~*~*~, if you’d like to skip it.

Thank you all so much for coming along on this journey with me! All the love, comments, likes, and kudos this fic has gotten has been so thrilling and humbling!! I am so glad y’all enjoyed the ride! Thank you all so much again!!!

All the love and thanks in the world to @hollyethecurious for her love and support, and for whom the fic was written, @jrob64 and @zaharadessert for their betaing expertise and their help getting unstuck, and finally to @motherkatereloyshipper for her manips I used in the artwork. Thank you all so much, ladies!!! Love y’all very much!!!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut)

Words: Just over 10k of nearly 65k

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Regency Romance, Smut

On ao3 From the beginning/ Current ch

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Dearest Reader,

La! What excitement yesterday on the front steps of Lady Jones’ residence!

First off, Mary Margaret Blanchard was seen in the company of not one, not two, but THREE Jones brothers, surely a heretofore impossible feat for the poor girl, who is rather infamous for her wallflower ways. Sadly (though perhaps predictably) when she finally departed, it was on the arm of the viscount, the only married man in the bunch.

If Miss Blanchard were to somehow drag a Jones brother to the altar, it would not only be the end of the world as we know it, but This Author, who freely admits she wouldn’t know which way was up in such a world, would be forced to resign her post on the spot.

Now if Miss Blanchard’s gathering wasn’t shocking enough, not three hours later, a woman was accosted right in front of the townhouse by the Countess of Glowerhaven, who lives right across the street. It seems the woman, whom This Author suspects was working in the Jones household, used to work for the Lady Glowerhaven. Lady Glowerhaven alleges that the unidentified woman stole from her two years ago and immediately had the poor thing carted off to jail.

This Author is not certain what the punishment is these days for theft, but one has to suspect, when the alleged victim is a Countess, it is quite severe, indeed. The poor girl is likely to be hanged. Or at the very least find herself transported to Australia.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 8

~*~*~

Killian’s first inclination the following morning was to pour himself a stiff drink. He may not normally partake this early in the day, but after the emotional upheaval from the night before and then the lousy night’s sleep he’d had, he thought he was entitled.

But then he remembered he’d made a date with David for a fencing match that morning. Skewering his brother sounded rather appealing, no matter that he had nothing to do with Killian’s quite wretched mood.

What else were brothers for, anyway?

“I’ve only an hour,” David said as he attached the safety tip to his foil. “I have an appointment this afternoon.”

“No matter,” Killian replied, lunging forward a few times to loosen up his leg muscles. It had been quite some time since he’d fenced. It felt good to hold the sword in his hand. “It won’t take more than an hour to best you.”

David rolled his eyes and pulled down his mask while Killian walked to the center of the room. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Not quite,” David said. Killian lunged again. “I said I wasn’t ready!” David cried, jumping out of the way.

“You’re too slow,” Killian snapped.

David cursed under his breath. “What the hell’s gotten into you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Killian all but snarled. “Why would you say so?”

“Oh, perhaps because you nearly took my bloody head off,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“If I did,” Killian snarked back, “it’d be quite bloody indeed.”

“Are you ready?” David asked, getting into position.

Killian nodded and bent his knees.

“Regular rules,” David said, assuming a fencer’s crouch. “No slashing.”

Killian nodded sharply.

“En garde!”

Both men raise their right arms, twisting their wrists until their palms faced up, foils gripped in their fingers. Killian advanced immediately, lunging and attacking, but David had always been rather fleet of foot, and he retreated carefully, meeting Killian’s attack with an expert parry.

“You’re in a bad mood today,” David said, lunging forward and just nearly catching Killian on the shoulder.

Killian stepped out of his way, lifting his blade to block the attack. “Yes, well,” he said through gritted teeth. He advanced again, his foil stretched straight out. “I had a bad day.”

David sidestepped his attack neatly, touching the handle of his foil to his forehead in a mock salute.

“Shut up and fence,” Killian growled.

“I didn’t say a word,” David chuckled. He advanced, swishing his blade this way and that, keeping Killian on the retreat. “It must be a woman.”

Killian blocked David’s attack and quickly began his own advance. “None of your damn business.”

“It’s a woman,” David said, the smirk on his face clear from the tone of his words.

Killian lunged forward, the tip of his foil catching David on the collarbone. “Point,” he grunted, unable to keep a smug smirk off of his face.

David gave a curt nod. “Touch for you,” he said. They walked back to the center of the room and resumed their position.

“En garde. Fence!”

This time David went on the attack. “If you need some advice about women…” he said, driving Killian back to the corner.

“If I needed advice about women,” Killian interrupted, blocking David’s attack with enough force to send him stumbling backward, “I can assure you, you’d be the last person I’d come to.”

“You wound me,” David said, regaining his balance.

“No, that’s what the safety tip is for.”

“I certainly have a better record with women than you,” David asserted.

“Oh, really?” Killian said sarcastically. “‘I am certainly not going to marry Mary Margaret Blanchard.’”

Killian could almost feel David wince at the reminder of his faux pax.

“You,” Killian continued, “shouldn’t be giving advice to anyone.”

“I didn’t know she was there.”

Killian lunged, just missing David’s shoulder. “That’s no excuse,” he said. “You were outside, in broad daylight. Even if she hadn’t been there, someone could have heard and the bloody thing would have ended up in Whistledown.”

“I was foolish,” David acknowledged. “But you are stupid.”

“What the hell does that mean?’

David sighed as he pushed up his mask. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and marry the girl?”

Killian just stared at him, his foil down at his side. Was there any possibility that David didn’t know who they were talking about? He removed his mask and looked into his brother’s blue eyes and nearly groaned aloud. David knew. He didn’t know how David knew, but he definitely knew.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been terribly surprised. David always knew everything. In fact, the only person who ever seemed to know more gossip than David was Ruby.

“How did you know?” he asked, quietly.

One corner of David’s lip lifted into a crooked smile. “About Emma? It’s rather obvious.”

“David, she’s…”

“A maid?” David interrupted. “Who cares? What is going to happen to you if you marry her?” he asked with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “People you couldn’t care less about will ostracize you? Hell, I wouldn’t mind being ostracized by some of the people with whom I’m forced to socialize.”

Killian shrugged dismissively. “I’d already decided I didn’t care about all that.”

“Then what in bloody hell is the problem?” David demanded.

“It’s complicated.”

“Nothing is ever as complicated as it is in one’s mind,” David asserted.

Killian thought about his brother’s words then took a deep breath. “Do you remember Mother’s masquerade?”

David blinked at the unexpected question. “Two years ago, just before she moved out of Jones House?”

Killian nodded. “That’s the one. Do you remember meeting a woman in blue? You came upon us in the hallway.”

“Of course. You were rather taken with…” David’s eyes got big as saucers. “That wasn’t Emma?”

Killian nodded.

“But… how…”

“I don’t know for sure how she got there, but she’s not a maid.”

“She’s not?”

“Well, she is a maid,” Killian clarified, “but she’s also the bastard daughter of the Earl of Glowerhaven.”

“Not the current…”

“No, the one who died several years back.”

“And you knew all this?”

“I knew she was a nobleman’s bastard,” Killian admitted. “But I just found out his identity yesterday.”

“I see.” They were both quiet for a minute. “What are you going to do?”

“That… is a very good question.” Killian looked down at the floor. Yes, he was still angry and confused over her concealing of her identity, but his speculation about where she came from made the bile rise in his mouth in disgust. He knew the Countess of Glowerhaven was a witch, but if his guesses were true, there was no measuring his hatred for the woman.

And what of Emma herself? He’d already decided to risk social ostracizing and ask her to marry him. The bastard daughter of a nobleman was better than a servant, but only slightly. It was quite possible he and Emma would have to eschew London society for a quiet life in the country. It took him only a moment to realize a life with Emma in the country was far preferable to a life in London without her.

But would she agree? She said she loved him. But the things he’d said to her, the anger and bitterness and leaving her the way he did… Did it really matter that she was the woman from the masquerade?

No. It didn’t. She may have concealed her identity from him, but as he spent time with her the last month, she took up more and more of his heart, of his mind. He knew her soul.

When they kissed, when they laughed, when she kept him company as he sketched, that was the real Emma.

And he loved her.

“You look like you’ve come to a decision,” David said quietly.

Killian eyed his brother thoughtfully. When had he grown so perceptive? Or rather, when had he grown up? David had never had to assume any real responsibility and his character had always reflected that.

But as Killian looked at him now, he saw a man. His shoulders were a little broader, his posture a little more steady. And his eyes were wiser. That was the real difference. If eyes were truly the windows of the soul, then his younger brother’s soul had gone and grown up on him when he wasn’t paying attention.

“I owe her a few apologies,” Killian said.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“She owes me several as well,” he said wryly.

He could tell David wanted to ask him why, but instead he said, “Are you willing to forgive her?”

Killian nodded.

David took Killian’s foil from him. “I’ll put this up for you.”

Killian stood there stupidly for a moment. “I have to go,” he blurted out.

David raised an eyebrow at him. “I surmised as much.”

Killian was suddenly taken by an overwhelming urge. He reached out and pulled David into a hug.

“I don’t say this very often, but I love you.”

David pulled back and patted him on the shoulder. “I love you, too. Now get out of here.”

Killian handed him his mask and strode out of the room.

~*~*~

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“Just that, Killian,” his mother informed him, her eyes sad and sympathetic. “She resigned her position and disappeared.”

The pressure building behind his eyes was almost too much. He rubbed his temples in agitation. He felt like he was going to explode.

“And you just let her go?”

“Killian, I couldn’t very well force her to stay if she wished to leave.”

“Where did she go?”

His mother seemed to deflate in her chair at his question. “I don’t know. I, of course, insisted that she take one of our carriages, just so I’d know where she went, but she disappeared before it could be brought round.”

Killian ran his hands through his hair, gripping at his temples trying to relieve the blinding headache forming there. How could he possibly find her? London was a huge city, and if she didn’t want to be found, he knew it’d be impossible to do so. She’d proven that two years ago.

“She’s Glowerhaven’s daughter,” he said, cutting his eyes toward her to see her reaction.

She nodded. “I surmised as much. Illegitimate, I assume?”

Killian nodded. She opened her mouth to say something else. But before she could, Tink and Tilly burst into the room, completely out of breath.

“What is it?” Lady Jones asked, rising from the sofa.

“It’s Emma,” Tink panted.

“Yes, I know,” she said, “She’s gone. We…”

“No!” Tilly cut in, slapping a piece of paper down on the desk. “Look.”

Killian tried to grab the latest edition of Lady Whistledown, but his mother got there first.

“What is it?” he asked, watching as his mother’s face lost all color. She handed him the paper. He scanned through it until he came to the section about Mary Margaret Blanchard, then he came to the section that could only be about Emma.

“Jail?” he whispered. His eyes met his mothers and the fear and concern in them sharpened into determination.

“We must see her released.” Her eyes flashed and she looked like a general about to charge into battle. Killian was already halfway to the door. “Wait!” she called. “I’m coming with you!”

Her words stopped Killian in his tracks. “You are most certainly not coming. I will not have you exposed to…”

“Oh, please,” his mother shot back. “I’m hardly a shrinking violet. And I can vouch for Emma’s honesty and integrity.”

“I’m coming, too,” Tilly said, skidding to a halt next to Tink, who had also followed them out into the upstairs hall.

“No!” The simultaneous reply from both their mother and brother silenced whatever protests they may have thought to utter.

Killian turned to his mother. “If you want to go, we leave immediately.”

“Have the carriage brought round, and I’ll be waiting out front,” she assured him.

Ten minutes later, they were on their way.

~*~*~

Emma sat in the dark, dank prison feeling utterly sorry for herself. It was cold, it was filthy, it stank, and there were rats. Just the thought made her shudder in revulsion.

“You have a visitor.”

Emma jumped at the gruff, unfriendly voice of the warden. She couldn’t help the increase of her heart rate. Was it possible that Killian could have discovered what happened to her?

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”

Cora. Emma’s heart sank.

“Emma Swan. I never would have guessed that you would have the audacity to show your face in London again,” she crooned. Emma held her tongue and let all the hatred she had for the woman show on her face. She knew Cora wanted to get a rise out of her, and she refused to give her the satisfaction.

“Things are not looking well for you,” she said, her head wagging in false sympathy. She leaned forward and whispered, “The magistrate doesn’t take very kindly to thieves.”

Cora watched her, waiting for her to say or do something, she was sure, if only to try and tack that on to the list of charges against her.

“The shoe clips were bad enough,” Cora said, tapping her chin with her finger. “But he grew positively incensed when I informed him of the theft of my wedding ring.”

Emma’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t…” she said, before cutting herself off.

“Oh, didn’t you?” Cora replied, a sly smile on her face. She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers in front of the bars. “I don’t appear to be wearing it, and it’s your word against mine.”

Emma’s rage was white hot at this hateful, hateful woman, but she didn’t say a word. Because Cora was right. No one would take her word over a countess. Cora smiled.

“You’ll either be hanged or sent to Australia,” she informed Emma with a shrug. “Not that it matters to me. Either way, I’ll never have to see you again.” Her smile turned cold and absolutely evil.

Emma looked at this woman, who had tormented her for so many years and she suddenly had to know. “Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?”

Cora came close to the bars and spoke, a sneer in her voice. “You exist. He forced me to live with you. He was punishing me for not giving him an heir.”

Emma could say nothing.

“How could he have gone and had a child with some whore and I couldn’t give him a child?” Emma knew she didn’t really expect an answer, and so she remained silent.

“I hated you. I hated to see you. I hated to hear you. I hated that you had to live in my house.”

“It was my house, too,” Emma whispered.

“I know,” Cora said bitterly. “And I hated that, too. So once he was gone and I was forced to keep you, I decided to take everything I could from you. You deserved it. And I was entitled.”

Emma shook with rage, humiliation, and fear. How could she stand up to such blind hatred? But as she stared at this woman who’d done everything in her power to destroy her, Emma suddenly felt the fear disappear and a resolve fill her that she’d never known. She stood up as straight as she could and looked Cora right in the eye.

“I was right. All those years ago,” she said, quietly. She didn’t expect her words to make any difference, but they brought her a peace she didn’t expect, given her circumstances. “My heart is far kinder, far better than yours. If you even have a heart. No matter what you do to me, you will never be satisfied. You will always be hateful and bitter, and cruel, and you will never know love. And that is no way to live.” Emma felt the tears gather in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. At least she had known love, even if it was beyond her reach now. Simply loving Killian Jones, actually experiencing it for herself, made her a better person.

There was a commotion around the corner that caught both their attention.

“What the devil?” Cora asked, stepping back and craning her head to try and see. And then Emma heard a very familiar voice and her heart leapt.

“Killian?” she whispered.

Cora snapped her head toward Emma. “What did you say?”

But Emma ignored her.

“I said,” Killian roared, “let us pass! And bring the magistrate!”

“Killian!” Emma shouted. She forgot that she didn’t want him to see her in such degrading circumstances. She forgot there was no future for them. All she could think was that he found her. He’d come for her.

A rather sickening smack, obviously that of flesh against bone, echoed through the air, followed by a thud, likely the target of the first smack falling to the floor. Then she heard running footsteps.

“Killian!”

“Emma! My God, are you well?” His hands reached through the bars, cupping her cheeks, touching her face everywhere he could reach. His lips found hers, the kiss this time not of passion and desire, but of terror and relief.

“Mr. Jones?” Cora squeaked.

Emma somehow managed to pull her eyes off of Killian and onto Cora’s shocked face. In all the excitement, she’d quite forgotten that Cora was unaware of her ties to the Jones family.

Killian turned blazing eyes on Cora and crossed his arms over his chest. “What are your charges against her?” he demanded.

And instead of cowering and quaking as any sane person would have done in the face of Killian Jones’ ire, Cora straightened up, planted her hands on her hips and looked him straight in the eye.

“Theft!” she shouted.

Suddenly, Lady Jones came around the corner. “I cannot believe that our Emma would ever…”

“This…” and here Cora threw a scathing glance at Emma through the bars, “girl had the audacity to steal my wedding band!”

“I didn’t steal your wedding band and you know it!” Emma cried, unable to contain herself any longer.

“You stole my shoe clips,” Cora shot right back. Emma snapped her mouth shut. “Ha! See?” Cora crowed. “A clear admission of guilt.”

“She is your step-daughter,” Killian growled. “She never should have been put in the position of feeling the need to…”

“Don’t you ever,” Cora seethed, her face turning red, “call her my step-daughter. She is nothing to me.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lady Jones interjected, “but if she was truly nothing to you, why are you here, in this filthy and stinking jail, gloating over her and trying to get her executed?”

Cora was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the warden, who sported a spectacular black eye, and the magistrate. Since the warden had spanked her as he pushed her into the cell, Emma could not find it within herself to feel sorry for him.

“What is going on here?” the magistrate asked. He was a thin man, with a head of curly red hair and spectacles on his face.

“This woman,” Killian began pointing at Cora, his loud voice effectively silencing the rest of them, “has accused my fiancée of theft.”

Fiancée?

Emma clutched tightly to the bars, as her legs threatened to give out on her.

“Fiancée?” Cora gasped.

“Yes,” Killian confirmed, glaring at her.

“And who exactly are you?” the magistrate asked, obviously realizing Killian was someone important, even if he didn’t know precisely who.

“Killian Jones,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Er…” the magistrate began, looking a bit nonplussed. “Any relation to the Viscount?”

“He’s my brother.”

“And she’s your,” he said, gulping hard and pointing at Emma, “your fiancée?”

Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing and stood silently gaping like a fish out of water.

“You can’t marry her!” Cora screeched.

“And why not?” Killian looked first at Emma, love shining in his eyes, then at his mother. “As long as she agrees, is there any reason I need to consult Lady Glowerhaven about this?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Lady Jones confirmed.

“She’s nothing but a whore!” Cora screamed. “Her mother was a whore, and so is…”

She was cut off sharply and completely by Killian pushing her to the wall, holding her there by the throat. “Do not say another word.” His voice was low and deadly and Emma thought she might swoon.

The magistrate tapped Killian on the shoulder. “You really should let her go.”

“Might I put a muzzle on her?”

The poor man looked torn, but he did eventually shake his head. With obvious reluctance, Killian let her go.

“If you marry her,” Cora wheezed, rubbing her throat, “I will make sure everyone in the ton knows exactly what she is- the bastard daughter of a whore.”

Killian moved into the countess’s face. “And your step-daughter,” he growled.

“She stole from me!” Cora cried.

“No, you stole from her!” Killian roared. The room descended into complete silence.

“You stole her very childhood from her! The hatred and abuse she suffered at your hands from the time you married her father, and then, after he was gone, making her a servant in her own house!” Killian knew he was veering into unconfirmed territory concerning Emma’s past with his words, but the pain in her eyes and her desperation to keep the truth hidden from him told him he could probably bet his sizable fortune that he was very close to the truth. Close enough that no one would question it. He turned back to the magistrate. “My fiancée is the bastard daughter of the late Earl of Glowerhaven. And that is why the dowager countess has falsely accused her of theft. It is revenge and hatred. Pure and simple.”

The magistrate looked from Killian to Cora, and finally to Emma. “Is this true?” he asked her. “Have you been falsely accused?”

“She took my shoe clips!” Cora shrieked. “I swear on my late husband’s grave, she took the shoe clips!”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Mother, I took the shoe clips.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open and everyone’s attention turned to the newcomer. “Regina?”

Killian looked back at Emma when she spoke to find her white as a sheet.

“Get out of here,” Cora hissed. “You have no place in these proceedings.

“Obviously she does,” the magistrate interjected. “Now just who are you, miss?”

“Miss Regina Mills, sir,” Regina introduced herself. “Daughter to the countess. If Emma is to be transported for theft, then I must be, too.”

The warden took out his keys and looked to the magistrate. “Sir?” he asked.

“Put those away,” the magistrate said. “We’re not incarcerating the countess’ daughter.”

“Do not put those away,” Lady Jones cut in. “I want my future daughter-in-law released immediately.”

The warden looked helplessly at the magistrate. “Oh, very well,” he sighed. “Release her. But no one is going anywhere until I have this straightened out.”

The warden dutifully released Emma, and Killian moved quickly to gather her in his arms. “But no lovey-dovey reunions until I figure out who is to be arrested.”

“No one is being arrested,” Killian growled.

“She is going to Australia,” Cora cried, pointing at Emma.

“No, she isn’t,” Regina shouted, “not if I’m the one who took the shoe clips!”

“Regina, will you please be quiet?” Emma whispered, “Trust me, you do not want to be in that cell. It’s dreadful. And there are rats.”

Regina began to inch away from the cell.

“You will never see another invitation in this town,” Lady Jones said to Cora.

“I am a countess!” Cora hissed.

“And I am more popular,” Lady Jones replied with a haughty lift of her chin, the snide words so out of character for her that both Killian and Emma’s jaws dropped with surprise.

“Enough!” the magistrate shouted. He turned to Regina while pointing at Cora. “Is she your mother?”

Regina nodded.

“And you said you stole the shoe clips?”

Regina nodded again. “I kept them in my own closet. And no one stole her wedding band, either. It is in her jewelry box at home.”

But Cora insisted. “It is not!”

The gleam in Regina’s eye was evident and Emma felt like cheering. Yes, she was thrilled that Regina was speaking up on her behalf, but more than that, that she had finally found the strength to speak against her mother.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Regina continued. “The one you keep in the third drawer on the left.”

Cora’s face lost all color. The magistrate turned to the countess. “You don’t seem to have a very good case against Miss Swan, Lady Glowerhaven.”

Cora shook with rage as she pointed a long finger at her daughter. “Miss Swan stole from me and my daughter is lying,” she hissed in a low voice so full of malice it almost didn’t sound human. “I don’t know why she is lying or what she hopes to gain from it, but she is lying.”

It was all Emma could do to keep from rolling her eyes at Cora’s hypocrisy. But her stomach began to churn painfully at the thought of what Regina would face when she got home. She couldn’t allow that.

“Regina didn’t…” Emma stopped, completely breathless from where Regina had elbowed her in the belly. Hard.

“Excuse me,” the magistrate asked. “Did you say something?”

Emma shook her head, completely unable to speak. Regina had knocked her breath clear to My Cottage. The magistrate let out a weary sigh and pulled off his glasses to clean them. He looked at each of them in turn when he was finished and then spoke.

“Clearly, there is more here going on than just a shoe clip,” he said.

“Shoe clips,” Cora interjected, “There were two.”

The magistrate rolled his eyes. “Regardless, you all obviously detest one another, and I would like to know why before I go ahead and charge anyone.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then they all started speaking, shouting over one another.

“Silence,” the magistrate hollered over them all. “You,” he said, pointing at Emma, “start.”

“Uhhh…” Now that Emma had the floor, she was rather self-conscious. Killian held her closer, and Regina squeezed her hand in silent support. “What he said was correct,” she said, turning her eyes upon Killian briefly, before turning her attention to the magistrate again. “I am the daughter of the late Earl of Glowerhaven, though I was never acknowledged as such.”

Cora opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again at the withering glance the magistrate shot her way.

“I lived at Spencer Hall for five years before my father married the countess. He said he was my guardian, but everyone knew the truth.”

Lady Jones smiled. “I knew them. Your father, your grandmother, and your aunt,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s why you’ve always looked so familiar to me.”

Emma flashed her a small smile. Hearing these words made Emma feel that much more confident. That much more secure, as she continued her tale.

“When the earl married the countess, she didn’t want me living there, but the earl insisted. I rarely saw him, and I don’t think he thought very much of me, but he did see me as his responsibility, and wouldn't allow her to boot me out. But when he died…” Emma stopped and swallowed thickly. She’d never told this part of her story to anyone and while Killian had guessed it correctly, the words still felt strange in her mouth. “When he died, his will specified that Lady Glowerhaven’s portion would be trebled if she kept me in her household until I turned twenty. So she did. But my position changed dramatically. I became a servant.”

Killian hugged her closer to his side as she continued to speak, the anger at having his earlier words confirmed running through his veins.

“Well, not really a servant,” she continued, wryly. “A servant is paid. I was not.”

Emma looked over at Cora and felt a wave of satisfaction come over her. Everything was going to be alright. The man she loved had, in a rather roundabout way, asked her to marry him, and Cora was about to get exactly what she deserved. Even with everything this horrible woman had done to her over the years, Emma’s heart and spirit were still strong. Cora had not defeated her.

“After the earl died, Lady Glowerhaven kept me on as an unpaid lady’s maid. Although in truth, I did the work of three lady’s maids, a housekeeper, and a scullery maid.”

“You know,” Regina interjected, “Lady Whistledown said the very same thing last month! About our maids doing the work of three.”

“Shut up, Regina,” Cora snapped.

“When I turned twenty,” Emma continued, “she didn’t turn me out. To this day, I don’t know why.”

“I think we’ve heard enough,” Cora interjected.

“I don’t think we’ve heard nearly enough,” Killian snapped, glaring daggers at Cora.

Emma looked to the magistrate for guidance. At his nod, she continued. “I can only deduce that she rather enjoyed ordering me about. Or perhaps having a free lady’s maid. There was nothing left to me from my father’s will.”

“That’s not true,” Regina interrupted. Emma turned to her in shock. “He did leave you money,” she insisted.

Emma’s mouth dropped. “B- but… but… that’s impossible. I had nothing. My father saw to my welfare up to age twenty, but after that…”

“After that,” Regina added, quite forcefully, “you had a dowry.”

“A dowry?” Emma whispered. She looked up at Killian who looked as shocked as she felt. Emma watched as that shock melted into a fury she’d never seen in his eyes as his gaze moved to Cora.

“That’s not true!” Cora’s voice was as shrill and grating as ever, but there was a hint of tremor in her words.

“You really shouldn’t leave incriminating evidence lying around, Mother,” Regina said. “I read the earl’s will last year. It was in the same box where she kept her wedding band.”

“You stole my dowry?” Emma whispered, still too shocked to manage more than that. All these years she’d thought her father had left her with nothing. She’d known that he’d only seen her as his responsibility, but it had stung that he’d left dowries for his two step-daughters and not her, his own blood. “He left me a dowry,” she said in a daze, as she looked at Killian again.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t need it.”

The magistrate turned to Cora. “And what has happened to her dowry?”

Cora said nothing.

Lady Jones cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s terribly legal to embezzle a young woman’s dowry.” A slow, satisfied smile spread on her face. “Is it, Cora?”

Killian decided he had never loved his mother more than he did at that very minute. The rage at Lady Glowerhaven still coursed through him, but he tried not to grin at the woman standing there, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“So, it appears the only one guilty of a crime here is the countess herself,” Killian said smugly.

The magistrate looked uncomfortable and Cora’s eyes blazed with hatred, self-importance, but no small amount of trepidation.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“In the eyes of the law, Countess, all are equal, no matter their class,” the magistrate said in a low voice. “I’m afraid I have no choice in the matter.” He nodded at the warden, who pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt.

Cora pulled her hands up toward her face, refusing to hold them out. Killian released Emma and moved into the countess’ personal space, his face inches from hers. The fear, though still tinged with the haughtiness she’d come to expect from Cora, was finally evident in her eyes and Emma couldn’t look away.

“You hold your hands out, Countess,” he spat out her title with disgust, “and accept what is your due, unless you want me to personally throw you into that cell.”

The haughtiness disappeared, only the fear and a blazing hatred remaining in her gaze. She swallowed thickly before speaking.

“I will go myself,” she whispered. Killian moved away from her as she gathered her skirts and entered the open cell. The warden closed the door behind her and turned to the rest of them.

“Well,” the magistrate said, relief clear in his voice. “That takes care of that, I do believe.”

“Agreed,” Lady Jones added. “Would you be so kind as to show us the way out? I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention when we came in.”

“Of course, Lady Jones,” he said. “Right this way.”

When they were all back on the sidewalk outside the jail, Emma turned to Regina and hugged her tightly as the young woman burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Regina cried. “I’m so sorry! I never stood up for you. I should have-”

“Nonsense,” Emma interrupted, pulling back to look her sister in the face. “You were young, I was young. And I know how difficult it is to stand up to her.”

“Thank you,” she sniffed, when Emma released her.

“Thank you?” Emma laughed, “For what? I have to thank you! I’d be on my way to Australia if it wasn’t for you.”

As Killian and Lady Jones watched Emma and Regina embrace, Killian bent down and whispered in his mother’s ear.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he asked.

She looked at him with a pleased smile. “No, but I know anyway.”

“Have I mentioned that you are the best of mothers?”

“No, but I know that, too.”

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you. It’s a privilege to be your son.”

Lady Jones gasped and then burst into tears.

“What did you say to her?” Emma demanded.

“It’s all right,” Lady Jones said, sniffling loudly. She threw her arms around Killian. “I love you, too!”

Regina turned to Emma. “This is a nice family,” she said.

Emma smiled. “I know.”

~*~*~

That evening, everything and everyone had been arranged. Regina had returned home to inform Zelena what had happened with their mother. Since Zelena had already accepted a proposal that season, she packed her bags and adjourned to her fiance’s home. Regina had been offered a place in the Jones home, which she’d eagerly accepted.

And now, Emma sat on Killian’s sofa. The same one on which she’d given herself to him just a couple of weeks ago. Lady Jones had questioned the wisdom (and propriety) of Emma coming to Killian’s home alone, but Killian had given her such a look that she’d quickly backed down, simply telling him to have her home by seven.

Killian sat next to her and took her hands in his.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, looking down at their clasped hands.

“No, I’m sorry,” Killian replied. Emma sighed.

“This is very silly, I suppose,” she said. “But let me go first, please.” Killian nodded, his blue eyes searching hers. “I should have told you who I was. It was wrong of me to keep it from you. I think I was afraid of how you’d respond.” She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “But what I told you was true. I did fall in love with you that night. I dreamt of you for two years until you saved me from Neal Gold. But then, when you didn’t recognize me, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.” She paused again and took a deep breath before continuing. “Because I did feel that connection with you. I felt you before I even laid eyes on you.”

“I did, too,” he interrupted. “And then I felt the same thing again before I discovered you were there at the pond.”

Emma shrugged, her face a bit sheepish. “When you didn’t recognize me, I thought…”

“You thought it was nothing more than a fantasy,” Killian finished for her. “Nothing more than a dream of a girl wishing for a better life.”

Emma nodded. “But then, there at My Cottage, I fell in love with you. The real you. I got to know you, and the… the… fantasy, the dream of love I held in my heart and mind became true. And by then…” she caught her breath as a sob threatened, “it was too late.”

“And I shattered any remaining part of the dream by asking you to be my mistress,” Killian concluded. Emma just looked at him, her silence indicating her agreement. “I never should have done that.”

“What else could you have done?” Emma asked. “To you, I was only a servant, and gentlemen of the ton do not marry servants. You wanted me, you said you were falling in love with me by then, but there was nothing to be done other than that!” She looked into his eyes, love and a profound contentment like she’d never known reflected there and settled her heart and spirit as she continued. “That connection. That very first night. I knew then I’d been born to be yours.” She looked down at their clasped hands and watched as a tear splashed onto them. She looked up at Killian and was shocked to see the tears there. His throat worked, but he couldn’t speak. He was completely overcome. She raised her hand to his face and drew him to her lips.

The kiss was tender. So tender and full of passion that it took her breath away. She opened to him with a quiet moan when his tongue requested entrance, his hands cupping her face. Long moments later, he pulled back, his forehead resting against hers.

“I love you, Emma. More than I ever thought possible, more than I could have dreamed.”

She looked into his eyes and ran her fingers down the side of his face. “I love you, too.”

He pulled back from her and searched her eyes. “Now it’s my turn. I may not have had an alternative to asking you to be my mistress at the time, but I should have respected your wishes and not continued my pursuit when you rejected my offer.”

“Well,” she interrupted, her eyes dancing with mischief, “if you hadn’t, we might not have made our way here.”

He acknowledged her point with a tilt of his head. “I love you, Emma. I want to marry you. I’d already decided before I found you in the nursery that social consequences could be damned. I was going to ask you to marry me and hope that you would have me.” He looked in her eyes, surprised to see the tears now swimming in her gaze. “We might not be able to live in London, but whenever I thought of what I really needed in life- not what I wanted, but what I needed- the only thing that kept coming up was you.”

He paused for a moment. “You took the time to see me,” he whispered. “Not Mr. Jones. Not Number Two. Me. Killian. You loved me for me.”

The vulnerability was back in his eyes and Emma touched his cheek gently. “You’re the finest person I know. I adore your family, but I love you.”

He pulled her into his arms. There was nothing else he could do. He had to feel her, reassure himself that she was there and that she would always be there. With him, by his side, until death did they part. He just had to hold her. Simply hold her. He turned his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent…

“Would you care for a bath?”

“Oh, God!” Emma cried, pulling back from him. “The jail was so filthy and I had to sleep on the ground…”

“Don’t tell me anymore,” Killian growled. “I don’t want to know the details. Although a more perfect environment for Cora before she is transported, I truly can’t imagine.” A smile tickled his lips. “I think you should have a bath.”

“Right.” She nodded as she rose to her feet. “I’ll go straight to your mother’s…”

“Here.”

“Here?”

He smiled fully. “Here.”

“But we told your mother…”

“That you’d be home by nine.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “I think she said seven.”

“Did she? Funny, I heard nine.”

Emma tilted her head, feigned chastisement on her face. “Killian…”

He took her hand and led her toward the door. “Seven sounds an awful lot like nine.”

“Killian…”

“Actually,” he continued as if she hadn’t even spoken, a sly smile lifting his lips, “it sounds even more like… eleven…”

“Killian!”

“Stay right here.”

“I beg your pardon,” she said, her eyes widening.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he said, his smile charming, and booping her on the nose with his finger.

Emma watched helplessly as he slipped into the hall only to return two minutes later. “Where did you go?” she asked.

“To order a bath.”

“But…”

His eyes and smile turned very, very wicked. “For two.”

“It’s nearly seven, you know.”

“But I’m allowed to keep you until twelve.”

“Killian!”

He pulled her into his arms. “You want to stay.”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, amusement written all over her face.

“You didn’t need to,” he countered. “If you truly objected, you would have found more to say than just ‘Killian!’”

She had to smile, because he was right.

“Am I right?” His grin was positively devilish and he looked utterly delighted with himself.

She didn’t say anything, but shot him a sideways smirk at his gloating.

“Mmhmmm,” he said. “I thought so.” He lifted her in his arms, carrying her towards the stairs and a steaming hot bath, for two.

As soon as Killian deposited her in the room, to her great surprise, he left. He never took his eyes off of her as he backed out, smiling gently at her just before shutting the door between them.

The steam from the tub caressed her skin as she undressed. She couldn’t help wrinkling her nose as she drew her dress over her head. Killian was right. It, and she, was rank.

The water was scented with oil she could just see floating on the surface of the water in between the bubbles. Lavender, one of her favorites. Emma dipped her toe into the fragrant, steaming water and the rest of her followed.

She sighed in pleasure as the water rose around her. It had only been two days, but the filth of the prison made it feel more like a year since she’d bathed. Waiting for Killian to join her, she leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, letting her long locks float in the water. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm as she tried to relax in the soothing water, but she was too anxious, too excited, too eager for the man she loved to join her. She shivered in anticipation, even with the deliciously warm water surrounding her.

She heard a click behind her. She lifted herself from her reclined position and turned. Killian stood just inside the closed door, wearing a maroon dressing gown, tied with a brighter red sash at his waist. His feet and legs were bare as he moved toward where her dress lay on the floor.

“I hope you don’t mind if I have this burned,” he commented. She smiled at him and shook her head. She knew he was directing his attention away from her at the moment to make her feel more at ease.

He moved toward her in the tub and she moved to make room for him. But instead of disrobing and joining her, he knelt there at the head of the tub.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

Killian shook his head as he picked up the cloth she hadn’t bothered with yet and dunked it in the water before rubbing the soap on it, generating a plentiful lather.

“Lean forward,” he commanded softly. She did, laying her forehead on her bent knees. She could barely contain her moan of pleasure as he began washing her back.

“I’ve dreamed of this for years,” he whispered. “All those nights, after the masquerade.” His words trailed away as he lifted her arm, running the cloth all the way down to her fingers, kissing each one after rubbing away the grime the night in the jail had left behind. Her other arm received the same tender ministrations. “Dunk your head so I can wash your hair.”

She did as he bade, rising quickly so Killian could rub the soap over her tresses, working it up into a thick lather. He ran his fingers through her hair, from her scalp all the way to the ends, gently tugging out the tangles.

“Ready to rinse.”

She dunked herself under the water, turning her head this way and that, before coming back up.

“You didn’t get it all out,” he said. “Stand up so I can get the remainder out and wash the rest of you.”

Emma caught her breath. Yes, she’d been intimate with this man, but she couldn’t help the embarrassment that came over her at the thought of standing before him, wet and naked.

Killian chuckled behind her. “You can stay facing that way, my love,” he assured her. “I won’t look as I finish up.”

Emma caught her bottom lip between her teeth and stood in the tub, her back still to Killian. He washed her bottom and then her legs, placing a tender kiss to the arch of each of her feet when he washed them. And when she turned to face him, true to his word, his eyes were tightly shut. Emma’s heart completely melted with love for this precious man.

He rose from where he knelt on the floor and proceeded to wash the front of her body, smirking slightly when she caught her breath as he washed her breasts. Still with his eyes closed, he bade her to turn around again. He knelt again, cupping his hands and filling them with water before rising and letting it pour over her head, rinsing her clean. He searched for the fluffy white towel to the side and, once he had it in his hands, held it open for her, eyes still closed. She stepped out of the tub and into his outstretched arms as he wrapped her in the softness of the towel and his embrace.

Killian opened his eyes and smiled before kissing her gently on the tip of her nose.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she whispered back.

“I should wait until we are actually married.” His eyes blazed blue fire and Emma could hardly breathe.

“I don’t want you to wait until we’re actually married.”

Her words made something break in him, and he could hold himself back no longer. He captured her lips with his own, his tongue requesting entrance she quickly granted. Tightening his arms around the woman he loved, the woman of his dreams, the woman he never thought he’d have, his lips left hers and began laying light teasing kisses down her jaw then her neck, to where it joined her shoulder.

“You’re going to marry me, aren’t you?” he asked in between kisses. “I didn’t exactly ask before.”

Emma’s head fell back granting him more access. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Killian,” she breathed.

“I would have married you no matter what,” he said, pulling back and staring into her eyes. “I’d already decided the ton could go to hell. I loved you, and if you would have me, I was going to marry you.”

Emma reached up and stroked his jaw. “Yes, I will have you, Killian. Till death do us part.”

Killian bent, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to his bed in the next room. He laid her gently on the coverlet, his eyes never leaving hers.

“In my heart, you are my wife.” He climbed up on the bed, stretching out beside her. “After the wedding, it will be legal. Blessed by God and country. But, this night, it is true.”

Emma reached up and ran her fingers through the hair that flopped over his forehead. “And you are my husband.” She paused, completely overcome and felt the tears fill her eyes. One escaped the corner and slid down into her hairline. “I never thought I’d get to say that. I never thought…”

“I know, my love. I know,” he murmured before capturing her lips in a kiss so soft, so gentle, Emma didn’t just feel loved, she felt revered.

~*~*~

~*~*~

The towel and dressing gown were tossed haphazardly away and when they were skin to skin, twin sighs of contentment passed their lips, before they joined in a passionate kiss that celebrated the reunion of lovers against all odds. Two pairs of hands roamed, reacquainting themselves with their beloved.

“Emma, Emma, Emma.” The words were pressed into her skin, his lips and hands driving her higher and higher with every kiss, every stroke, every nibble.

She responded in kind, his name a whisper on her breath as she held him close to her heart. He positioned himself in the cradle of her thighs and pulled back from her just enough to look into her eyes. Love and happiness poured from his gaze and his laughter joined hers when Emma’s joy bubbled up in a delighted giggle.

“I love you, Emma,” he breathed once their mutual mirth faded away. His gaze held hers as he pushed inside her, slowly filling her. Emma caught her breath just before he captured her lips, his tongue stroking hers, lighting a fire in her that she hoped would never die away. This was heaven. This was completion. This was perfect. He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers as he began to move. “I’m yours, Emma. To the end of the world or time.”

“Yes, Killian,” she murmured. He pumped a steady rhythm into her, ratcheting up her pleasure until she thought she’d burn to cinders in his arms. She clutched at his biceps as she met him stroke for stroke, chasing her own high, barely hearing the cries exchanged between them. White hot ecstasy suddenly burst inside her, sending tremors through all of her limbs down to her fingers and toes. Moments later he joined her in bliss, holding her tightly. She had never felt such love and adoration, such passion and euphoria as she did now, in his arms. She ran her fingers across the long lines of his back as they drifted on a sea of rapture and contentment. “I love you, too, Killian. And I am yours to the end of time.”

~*~*~

~*~*~

Several hours later, Emma shot upwards in the dark.

“Killian!” she gasped. “What time is it?”

Killian grunted beside her, so she grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

“Killian! KILLIAN!”

“I’m sleeping,” he mumbled.

“What time is it?”

“I’ve no clue.”

“I’m supposed to be back at your mother’s by seven.”

“Eleven,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Seven!”

Killian peeled one eye open. It looked like it took a great deal of effort. “You weren’t going to make it back there by seven when you decided to stay and take a bath.”

Emma blew out a rough exhale. “I know, but I didn’t think I’d be much past nine…”

Killian looked around the room. “I don’t think you’re going to make it.”

Emma spied the mantle clock and began to choke and sputter.

“What is it, Emma?” he asked, alarmed.

“It’s three in the morning!”

A slow grin spread on Killian’s face. “Might as well spend the night then.”

Emma rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Killian.”

“Oh, there we go again with the ‘Killian’.” His grin widened even more as he turned to her and gathered her in his arms. “You wouldn’t want to disturb the servants at this time of night, now would you? I’m sure they’re all quite asleep by now.”

“But…”

“Have mercy, woman,” he finally declared. “I’m marrying you next week.”

That got her attention. Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes widened almost comically. “Next week?!” she squeaked.

He tried to look serious, but her shocked expression was making it exceedingly difficult. “Well, it is best to take care of things like this quickly, you know.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he parroted.

“Yes, why?” Her confusion was adorable and Killian couldn’t resist kissing her on the end of her nose.

“Staving off gossip, you know…”

“Oh…” Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted enticingly. “Do you think Lady Whistledown will write about me?”

Killian rolled his eyes and released her, his hand covering his face as he lay back down on the bed. “God, I hope not,” he muttered. She emitted a little sound that had him uncovering his eyes and just catching the disappointment in her visage. “Well, I suppose she might,” he conceded. “Why on earth would you want to be in there in the first place?”

Emma shrugged. “I’ve read her column for years,” she admitted. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing my name in there.”

“You have very strange dreams,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Killian!”

“Oh, very well. Yes, I suppose Lady Whistledown will report our marriage, and Cora’s misfortune.” His grin turned diabolical at the mention of her stepmother and Emma couldn’t help giggling. “If not before the ceremony, then certainly very quickly thereafter. She’s diabolical that way.”

“I wish I knew who she was.”

“You and half of London.”

“Me and all of London, I’d imagine,” she countered. “I really should go,” she murmured. “Your mother is surely worried about me.”

Killian shrugged. “She knows where you are.”

“But won’t she think less of me?” she asked. There was a hint of uncertainty in her tone and Killian turned to her, surprised to see real dismay on her face. Looking at her now, he suddenly understood. Emma loved and respected Alice a tremendous amount and didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Of course not, Emma,” he soothed. “She knows where you are and what we’ve been through getting here. She’s going to give us both a bit of latitude considering we’re getting married in three days.”

“Three days?!” she squeaked again. “I thought you said next week!”

“Three days is next week,” he informed her.

Emma frowned. “Oh. You’re right.” The furrow in her brow smoothed as she looked at him. “Monday then?”

“Monday,” he affirmed with a satisfied smile.

“Imagine that,” she murmured. “I’ll be in Whistledown.”

Killian rose, propping himself up on one elbow, eyebrow raised. “Are you excited about marrying me?” he asked, “Or being in Whistledown?”

Emma smirked and slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Actually,” he said, his brow furrowing in thought. “You’ve already been in Whistledown. Twice.”

Emma couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice if she tried. “I have? When?”

“After the masquerade,” he said. “Lady Whistledown reported that I’d been rather taken by a woman in blue. And she never could ascertain the woman’s identity.” He grinned delightedly. “It might be the only secret in London the blasted woman hasn’t uncovered. And then today. Er, yesterday. It’s how we found you.”

Emma’s smile turned smug. “That is very satisfying,” she observed. “To be the keeper of a secret that even Lady Whistledown couldn’t uncover.”

She turned to Killian again, whose smile had turned decidedly wicked. “I can think of other just as satisfying things, or even more satisfying things than that,” he said, gathering her close again, his eyebrows waggling seductively. He began kissing down the slope of her neck and Emma arched under him, granting him more access.

“I love you, Killian,” she breathed. “As long as we both shall live.”

“And I love you, Emma,” he replied. “To the end of the world and time.”

~*~*~

Dearest reader,

On this, a beautiful Monday in May, may I be the first to offer my most heartfelt congratulations to Killian Jones and his bride Miss Emma Swan, bastard daughter of the late Earl of Glowerhaven.

This is apparently the same young lady whom This Author reported on just this past week, who’d been arrested for allegedly stealing from the Countess of Glowerhaven, the young woman’s stepmother. Yes, ‘tis true, this young woman did once work for Lady Glowerhaven. After the late Earl’s death, the Countess had relegated Miss Swan to become a servant in her own household. This Author was as appalled and disgusted when this tidbit reached her ears, as I’m sure you all are. But out of all of this intrigue, there is a silver lining. Come to find out, the Countess herself was the one guilty of theft, in the form of the embezzlement of the now Mrs. Jones' dowry, left to her by her late father. As a result, the Countess now finds herself in the most unenviable of states. Transportation to Australia. And may This Author again be the first to offer a hearty huzzah to that! Australia can have her.

And now back to the nuptials of Killian Jones and Emma Swan. This Author has it on the best authority that it was a small and joyous ceremony. Or as small as it could be with all the Jones extended family in attendance, as well as the closest of family friends. This celebration has been a long time coming, since the young lovers had been separated for a period of two years. They originally met the night of the Jones masquerade ball, after which, if you Gentle Reader may remember, This Author reported Killian Jones being rather taken by a mysterious lady in blue. Unbeknownst to and undiscoverable by This Author then, due to the countess’ deplorable actions outlined above and never presenting her stepdaughter to society, I can now reveal that lady in blue, was none other than Miss Emma Swan.

May the newlyweds find every happiness, for they certainly deserve it.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 11

~*~*~

“How?!” Killian exclaimed. “HOW?!” he shouted, waving the offensive sheet in the air.

Emma couldn’t help her pleased smile as she watched her husband gesticulate wildly in his agitation. Yes, it was wonderful and more lovely than she’d ever dreamed to be married to Killian and an official part of the Jones family, but Cora’s exposure and having the support of Lady Whistledown was the icing on the cake. She couldn’t care less that her past had been revealed. The people closest to her already knew her story. And now, Killian wouldn’t have to give up his place in London society because of her and every door out there would be open for their future children. What more could the bastard daughter of a Earl ask for?

 The End

~*~*~

Thank you again for coming along on this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!! Happy birthday, Hollye, even if it’s now 6wks later! I hope you love this half as much as I love you, cause that’ll be an awful lot! 😘

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit #now complete

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 2 Ch5

We are back, y’all!!! Thank you all for your love and support of this fic!!! We have some hurt/comfort incoming, so get ready!!! I hope you enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

All the love to @hollyethecurious​ for whom the fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their beta prowess, and @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Killian and Leroy and Astrid in the artwork.

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. 

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process. Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later chapter)

Words: 6759 of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

“We need a fire and dry clothes,” Killian declared, as he was interrupted by another coughing fit, “- before we catch pneumonia.”

“Of the two of us,” Emma replied, “I think you’re the only one in danger of contracting pneumonia.”

“Too right,” he agreed. He coughed again, doubling over at the waist, and Emma was torn between going to him and maintaining a proper distance right where she was.

“Mr. Jones?” she asked, getting more concerned by the minute. His coughing was getting worse and much more frequent.

“Just help me get the fire going before I cough myself into oblivion.” His voice was raspy and he seemed to barely get the words out.

Emma turned to the firegrate and easily got a blaze going. She’d certainly had enough experience with that as a household maid. In only a matter of minutes, they were both standing before it, their hands held out toward the warmth.

“I don’t suppose your change of clothing stayed dry, did it?” he asked, nodding his head toward her satchel on the ground in front of her.

“I sincerely doubt it,” she replied easily. “But if I stand here long enough, I’m sure I’ll dry out quickly.”

“I can find some dry clothes for you,” he offered.

Emma turned to him surprised. “You have women’s clothing here?”

He shrugged. “My sisters have stayed here from time to time and may have left some clothing here.” He turned his back to the fire when another coughing fit seized him.

“Really, Mr. Jones,” she began once he was over it, “It’s not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” he replied. “Why don’t you start the furnaces in two of the bedrooms, and I’ll go see what I can find.”

“Which room is yours?” she asked as he started toward the stairs. She followed quickly, not wanting to be left in the dark.

“Top of the stairs on the right,” he informed her. “You can have any other you like.” He had to stop halfway up the stairs to cough; he held the banister tightly and Emma took the candle from him, not wanting him to drop it and burn the house down. She couldn’t help the fear she felt as it seemed to take him longer to get it under control.

“I’ll just stay in the servants quarters,” she told him once he stopped coughing.

“Absolutely not,” he wheezed. “You are not a servant here, you are a guest. And besides, the bedrooms have feather mattresses and goosedown coverlets.”

Emma knew she should remember her place, but the thought 0f a feather mattress and down coverlet was just too exquisite to turn down. She hadn’t slept in such luxury in years.

“Alright then,” she acquiesced. “I’ll… just… get your furnace going. Oh, wait. Won’t you need the candle?” she asked. “Let me just…” She turned toward his bedchamber and entered it, where she found an oil lamp on the nightstand. She lit it quickly and then returned the lit candle to Killian still in the hallway. He moved to another bedroom across the hall as she returned to his.

This time when she entered, she took the time to look around. It was lovely. Warmly decorated and furnished, very masculine in nature. The furniture was dark and heavy, with navy blue accents on the bedclothes. She found several items of a personal nature scattered about the room. She saw miniatures of his family. At least, she assumed they were his family when she spotted a man with blonde hair- his brother David, she remembered. Leather bound books lined the shelves and on the writing desk, a small bowl filled with- how odd, she thought- rocks.

She picked one up and examined it closely. It was the color of a robin’s egg with a ragged pink vein through the middle.

“I found that one on a hike,” his voice came from behind her. She jumped, ashamed to be caught unabashedly snooping.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean…”

He waved aside her apology as he came into the room. He tossed a long sleeping gown on the bed. “I’ve been collecting them since I was a child. Each one special in their own way. I found that one the day my father died.”

Emma gasped in dismay. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I’m still sorry.”

He smiled sadly. “As am I.” He was wracked with another cough and he grabbed the post of the bed to keep himself upright.

“You need to get warm,” she said, turning to the furnace. She stood in front of it for several minutes, stoking the flames, until she was sure it wouldn’t sputter out. When she turned back to Killian, he was sitting on the bed, leaning against the tall post on the end, looking like death warmed over. She hurried to his side. “Are you alright, Mr. Jones?”

“Don’ feel so good.” His eyes were glassy and his voice was slightly slurred. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he was intoxicated, but she’d been in his presence for the last two hours and he hadn’t had a single thing to drink in that time.

“You need to get into bed, Mr. Jones.” It was horribly familiar of her, but his health was at stake, so she wrapped her arm around his waist, placing his arm across her shoulders, trying to get him to move toward the head of the bed. He looked down at her and grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“You coming?”

Emma snorted. “Now I know you’re feverish.”

His hand moved to his forehead. “Hmmm,” his brow furrowed, “I may be a bit hot.”

She felt his forehead herself. It wasn’t burning, but it certainly wasn’t cool either. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. Immediately.”

His voice was even more slurred when he spoke this time. “Yeth, I shuppose so…” His eyes were shut as she laid him back on the bed. He was so near the edge, she was afraid to move lest he fall right off onto the floor. His face looked positively white against the navy blue of the coverlet and Emma tried not to let the fear choke her. She’d never in her life had to care for someone who was ill with a fever. The closest she’d ever come was Mrs. Gold’s elderly mother who couldn’t walk.

“Mr. Jones,” she said, “Mr. Jones,” she said more loudly when he didn’t respond.

“Huh? What?” he asked, startled awake.

“You fell asleep.”

His face was incredulous. “And the problem with that is…?”

“You’re still in your wet clothes!” she exclaimed. “And I’m not strong enough to lift you more fully onto the bed.”

He tried to take a deep breath, but started coughing again when he did. He somehow summoned the strength to sit up, causing it to finally taper off. He tried to unbutton his shirt, but his fingers were still very wet and trembling. He sighed and let his hands drop.

“I… might need some help,” he said sheepishly, scratching behind his ear.

“Oh, dear,” Emma breathed. She reached for him, but jerked back again, uncertain. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and started undoing his buttons. She concentrated fully on the buttons themselves, trying desperately to ignore the skin being revealed as she went. Once she was done, she looked up to find that he was asleep again. But at least this time he was fully on the bed and not about to fall off, and was raised up enough that she didn’t think he’d have another bad coughing fit.

Emma sighed. He didn’t need to sleep in those wet pants, either. Her eyes skittered to his face. He was well and truly unconscious and there’d be no waking him to get the pants off. So it was either sleep on top of the covers in wet pants, or she’d have to take them off herself and get him under the covers. Getting him under the coverlet wasn’t an issue. In caring for Mrs. Gold’s mother, she learned quickly how to change a bed with a person in it. But completely undressing Killian Jones was. Even unconscious, she was nervous, not sure she really should. But the depth of his cough was frightening. And the fever seemed to be just getting started. If he was going to have any hope of recovery, she needed to get him warm. And quickly.

She took another deep breath and determined that she would not look at his body more than was necessary to get his pants off and tucked into the bed. Thankfully, he’d taken his boots off downstairs, so all she had to get off were his stockings and breeches. She rolled down his stockings and draped them over the back of the chair in front of the furnace. She turned back toward the bed and pressed her lips together in a thin line. There was nothing for it. She had no choice.

She worked the coverlet out from under him so once his bottoms were off, she could immediately cover him, thus, hopefully preserving his modesty, and her innocence. The pants were still wet and so clung to him like a second skin. Her fingers shook as she got the breeches and his underwear removed, blushing furiously when she couldn’t avoid looking at him. Once she got them off of his legs, she covered him up, made sure he was comfortable and then left the room with the nightgown he’d found for her.

It was only about fifteen minutes later that she fell into the bed, asleep moments after her head hit the pillow.

It seemed only moments later that Emma shot straight up out of a dead sleep. Her eyes darted around the room taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. The fire in the furnace was very low and the soft gray of predawn seeped into the room. Was that a moan? She grabbed the candle off of the end table and ran across to Killian’s room.

As soon as she got there, she lit the candle from the fire in his furnace and then moved toward the bed. He was almost unnaturally still, so she watched his chest carefully, waiting with bated breath to see it rise. When she’d left him the night before, he obviously wasn’t well, but he hadn’t seemed at death’s door, either. She wouldn’t have left him, otherwise.

“Mr. Jones?” she whispered. No response. She crept closer to the bed, relieved to see his chest rise and fall. “Mr. Jones,” she said a little louder, leaning over him.

His arm shot out suddenly, knocking her off balance so that she fell against him. His arms immediately came around her, holding her tightly against him.

“Mr. Jones,” she screeched. “Let go!”

He started to thrash and moan, complete nonsense spilling from his lips. His embrace was like iron and she was amazed at his strength while in the grips of a fever. For he definitely was. Emma wrenched one arm free and touched his forehead with her hand. It was on fire.

He was suddenly still, and Emma was wiggling out of his arms when he spoke. “Kiss me.”

“What?” Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. His eyes were still shut and he was very still.

“Kiss me,” he said again, a touch of desperation in his voice.

Emma ran her hand along his brow- it felt even warmer than it had a moment ago- and murmured, “You’re just dreaming, Mr. Jones.”

“Kiss me!” he demanded, grabbing her upper arms, but his eyes remained shut. She could see his eyes dart back and forth behind his closed eyelids. It was truly a marvel to watch someone dream.

“Dammit, kiss me! Please,” he begged. She was about to explain to him exactly why she could not kiss him when the thought crossed her mind, why ever not? It’s not like he’d ever remember this.

She moved toward him and gently brushed his lips with her own. She ran her fingers along his brow. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’ve always loved you.”

He was still for a moment and Emma thought perhaps he’d fallen back into a deep sleep before he spoke again.

“Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here, Mr. Jones,” she assured him, pulling back from his embrace.

“Don’t leave me,” he begged.

Emma grabbed his hand and squeezed. Even his hands were hot. “I won’t leave you,” she promised, “but I must first go fetch a few things.” She let go of his hand and hurried out of the room.

Thankfully, most houses of the aristocracy were run remarkably similarly. Emma had no trouble finding fresh sheets to replace Killian’s sweat soaked ones now on the bed and a tall pitcher she filled with cool water and basin with cloths to try and cool him down. She may have never cared for someone with a fever, but when she’d been ill when she was a child, she remembered how refreshing a cool cloth on her forehead, neck, and chest felt.

While she didn’t think it was such a good idea to put the cool cloth on his chest, surely it would feel good on his forehead and neck. He didn’t move when she laid the dampened cloth on his forehead and she took that as a good sign. She dipped another cloth into the basin and raised his head just a bit in order to lay it across the back of his neck, causing the cloth on his forehead to fall to his lap. Emma could feel her cheeks heating up as she hurriedly grabbed it, felt his forehead again, then placed the cloth back where it belonged. This time his forehead was warm and a bit clammy. Not a combination she expected, but at least he seemed at least a little bit cooler.

He started to thrash again, mumbling something completely incoherent.

“Really?” Emma asked, trying to smile and failing utterly. “I’m glad you think so.”

He muttered something else.

“No,” she answered, “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken on that count.”

He went still again.

“I’d be happy to revise my opinion, if you could convince me otherwise. Please don’t take offense.”

She was starting to feel quite foolish conversing with a man who was unconscious. Noting that he remained still, and that his breathing was no longer labored, she thought she might safely leave him for a moment to put her dry clothes back on and try and find them something to eat. She didn’t expect him to wake anytime soon, but if he did, he’d need to eat something to regain some strength.

She arrived back in his room about thirty minutes later, suitably dressed and bearing a fresh pitcher of water, some beef broth for him and a few small sandwiches for her.

She removed the cloths from his head and neck and felt his cheeks, his hands, and his chest to try and ascertain if the fever had broken yet. He still seemed quite warm, but not as blazing as he was when she awakened that morning. She dipped the cloths into the cool water again and bathed his forehead, neck and upper chest before covering him with a sheet. He was still, sleeping peacefully and so Emma helped herself to the sandwiches she brought up. It was nowhere near enough, but Emma didn’t want to leave him long enough in order to prepare something more substantial.

As Killian slept, Emma looked around the room. On his desk she found a leather bound notebook, opened it, and was shocked to find drawings. Quite good drawings, in fact. Had Killian done them? She looked in the corner to see his initials in a box. Emma was utterly charmed. She shamelessly flipped through the portfolio, too entranced to even consider how he’d feel about her looking.

The first several pages were of My Cottage- should I call it His Cottage?- details of the front door, with the portico covered with a tea rose vine, his bedroom, the window looking into the kitchen, and front parler.

 Then as she moved on, she found landscapes. Lush forests, babbling brooks she could almost hear meandering through the trees, a sunlit meadow filled with the most beautiful and perfectly pink roses she’d ever seen. A sunrise, a sunset.

Finally, she came to portraits. She guessed these must be sketches of his family. The older woman bore more than a passing resemblance to Killian and so Emma guessed this must be his mother. Right behind it was a portrait of a man. Not as old as the woman, but the resemblance to Killian was remarkable. Perhaps this was the father he’d lost so long ago? She kept flipping through the pages. She recognized David at once with his blonde hair. The next to last page in the book was a domestic scene. David was one of several people engaged in some kind of outdoor game. The fun and laughter on their faces almost made Emma laugh aloud. One of the ladies had her face screwed up in concentration as she made ready to hit a ball with a long handled club through a wicket. The scene made her sigh in happiness. Did Killian even realize how blessed he was to have been born into such a large and happy family?

She turned to the last page and gasped.

The final page, the final portrait, was her.

It was a full length portrait and he’d gotten every detail of the fairytale princess dress perfectly, down to the long gloves and the mask with the swan detail around the eye. Even her hair was exquisitely rendered.

Killian suddenly groaned and Emma hurriedly closed the portfolio, laying it on the desk where she’d found it, and moved over to the bed.

“Mr. Jones?” she asked. How she wanted to call him Killian. It was what she called him in her dreams, how she thought of him all these years. But it would be completely unacceptable for her to do so here.

“Mr. Jones?” She touched his arm lightly and his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes were still glazed with fever and he blinked several times. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

He turned toward her and squinted. “Emma?” he asked. “The housemaid?”

“Yes, I’m here,” she assured him. “What do you need?”

“Water,” he croaked.

“Right away, sir.” She turned to the fresh water pitcher and poured him a glass. He took it, swallowing eagerly. He grimaced and fell back on the pillows.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She fought the instinct to curtsy, he likely wouldn’t notice anyway. She touched his forehead, and while it still seemed rather warm, just the fact that he was awake and lucid made her think the fever had broken.

“Do you think you can eat something?” she asked. “I brought you some beef broth.”

“My throat is on fire, but maybe just a swallow or two.” He pushed himself up on the pillows and took the bowl she handed him. He took a sip, his eyes shutting against the pain of swallowing. Emma grimaced along with him. He took another deep sip and handed the bowl back to her. “Very good. Thank you.”

“Of course. Your fever seems to have broken. I think you’ll feel much better tomorrow.”

Killian chuckled, but it turned into a cough, although not nearly as deep as those from the night before.

“Not likely,” he said.

“Well, not recovered, definitely,” she acknowledged. “But I do think you will feel better than you do right now.”

“I truly can’t imagine feeling any worse.” Emma chuckled at his attempt at humor.

“Do you think you can scoot to one side of your bed, so I can change your sheets?”

He nodded and did as she asked. “That’s a neat trick,” he said once she’d finished.

She smiled. “Mrs. Gold’s mother was bedridden and I cared for her when she visited,” she explained.

Killian nodded. “I’m going back to sleep now,” he informed her, unnecessarily.

“Go ahead,” she told him. “I’ll be right here if you need anything. I won’t leave you.”

But Killian Jones was already fast asleep.

~*~*~

The rest of the day was spent closely watching Killian, only leaving him when she absolutely had to. He didn’t have any more of the vivid hallucinations brought on by the high fever, and his cough was much better, but she couldn’t help the fear that if she left him, he’d somehow have a setback. She kept the fire in the furnace going and repeatedly checked his temperature, just to make sure he really was better. He woke again briefly as the sun was setting and she was able to coax him to have a little more broth, before he fell asleep again.

Emma was torn between going back to her room for the night and staying right where she was in the armchair, keeping silent vigil over him. In the end, she stayed with him, bringing the coverlet from her bed to keep herself warm. In her mind, she justified staying with the thought that she wanted to be close by if he needed her.

She slept fitfully, not terribly comfortable sleeping in an armchair, but exhaustion finally took her sometime in the dark and silent hours after midnight.

Emma awoke, late morning sunlight streaming into the room, to see two faces staring curiously at her. The scream she released startled the strangers and well and truly brought not only herself to full wakefulness, but Killian as well.

“Wh- what?” he cried, thrashing a bit as he sat up to find they were no longer alone in the room.

“Mr. Jones,” the woman cried, turning to him on the bed. Emma looked at the man still staring, rather belligerently in her opinion, at her and then over to Killian still on the bed, being fussed over by who could only be Mrs. Miner.

“Who are you?” Mr. Miner asked, training his suspicious eyes back on her.

Emma swallowed hard before speaking. “Miss Emma Swan,” she introduced herself. She motioned to Killian on the bed. “I… he…”

“Spit it out, girl,” the man growled.

“Don’t torture her,” Killian croaked. Mrs. Miner continued to fuss over him, fluffing his pillows amid exclamations of surprise at his presence.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “We were visiting my sister on the other side of the village. If we’d known to expect you, we would have come home straight away.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Killian informed them. “Found myself at a bad party and decided to leave.”

“What about her?” Mr. Miner asked, jerking his thumb in Emma’s direction.

“Oh, I was…”

“She was also there,” Killian interrupted, giving her a significant look. Emma cut her eyes to Mr. and Mrs. Miner before continuing.

“I wasn’t attending the party, I was a servant of the house.”

Mr. Miner’s eyebrows rose. “If you were a servant of the house, what are you doing here?”

Killian coughed lightly, catching everyone’s attention. “Can I bring you some more water, Mr. Jones?” Emma asked.

Killian shook his head. “Tea, please,” he rasped.

Emma jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Miner said kindly but firmly.

“May I help with anything?” Emma asked, full of contrition. Something about Mr. and Mrs. Miner made Emma feel like a child. It was obvious they were used to running things around My Cottage and Emma responded to their authority without question. Mr. Miner was short and rather squat with Mrs. Miner several inches taller and thin, but they obviously cared deeply for one another, and Killian as well.

“A fine housekeeper I’d be if I couldn’t prepare tea.”

Emma couldn’t tell if Mrs. Miner was truly miffed or was just joking. “I didn’t mean…”

Mrs. Miner waved aside her apology. “Shall I bring you a cup?”

“Oh, that’s not…”

“Bring her a cup,” Killian interrupted. Emma glared at him, and he glared right back. He turned back to Mrs. Miner and gave her a smile that would have melted the ice of a lake in the dead of winter. “Would you be so kind as to bring Miss Swan a cup, as well?” he asked.

Mrs. Miner curtsied. “Of course, Mr. Jones. But may I say…”

“You may say anything you like when you return with the tea,” he promised.

She gave him a stern look. “I have a lot to say.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

She hurried out and Mr. Miner turned his gaze back on Emma. “Well?” he asked.

Emma wasn’t sure what to say. “Well?” she parroted, drawing the word out in question.

“What are you doing here if you were a servant of the house at this party Mr. Jones attended?”

“Could we please save the interrogation for when Mrs. Miner returns with the tea?” Killian asked, “Since I am sure she will just repeat all of your questions.”

“Of course,” Mr. Miner conceded. “She’ll be back in just a few minutes. And with breakfast as well. When we saw your horses in the stable, Mrs. Miner went to work on it straight away. She knows how you love your eggs, Mr. Jones. We just didn’t know there’d be two of you.”

Killian smiled weakly and leaned back on the pillows. “I do love my eggs,” he agreed.

“I’ll just…” Emma looked around helplessly before dropping a small curtsy and rushing from the room, explaining she would see if she could help Mrs. Miner bring the tea up.

“Once a servant, always a servant,” Mr. Miner commented. Killian couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but for some reason, Mr. Miner’s statement irritated him. While they waited, Mr. Miner explained where they were and why.

“Molly had her baby- a girl,” he said.

Killian was truly pleased for them. “Congratulations.”

“If we’d known you were coming, we wouldn’t have stayed as long as we did.”

Killian waved aside his contrition. “It is of no concern. You had no reason to expect me, and every reason to be with your family for a few days. Emma has taken very good care of me since we arrived.”

“When did you get here?”

“Uh,” Killian mused. “Night before last, I believe. The night of the storm. I haven’t exactly been fully aware of what was going on since we got here.”

“Yes, that was the night before last,” Mr. Miner agreed, his brow furrowing even further than it already was. Killian was always amused when he thought of Mr. and Mrs. Miner. More divergent personalities he could hardly imagine, especially between a long time and happily married couple. Mr. Miner rarely smiled, tending to scowl instead, while Mrs. Miner had the sunniest disposition of anyone he knew, always smiling, always ready to help.

The ladies came through the door just then, bearing a splendid tea service and breakfast. Emma set the tray down as Mrs. Miner fussed over Killian, pouring his tea, and filling his plate.

Emma seemed content to fade into the background as he dug into his meal. He was famished. After he’d taken a couple of bites and a swallow of tea- he was really going to have to pace himself with his throat as sore as it still was- he caught her attention.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” he asked.

“Oh, w-well,” she stammered. Mrs. Miner immediately moved over to her and began fussing over her the same way she had done him. Killian’s lips lifted in a satisfied smirk as Mrs. Miner carried on and Emma blushed furiously.

“When was the last time you ate, girl?” Mr. Miner asked as Mrs. Miner dished up her plate. Killian knew Mr. Miner well enough to know that while his countenance was stern, he had a heart as big as London itself and that his question came from a place of concern that she’d been too busy caring for him to adequately care for herself as well.

“Um…” He could see Emma was flustered in the extreme and Killian suddenly felt sorry for her. She was a servant and wasn’t used to having anyone fuss over her. He knew that he’d been very ill indeed if he’d been essentially unconscious for thirty-six hours. As conscientious as she’d been in getting him into the bed, and what he remembered from his moments of lucidity, there was no doubt in his mind that she had neglected her own needs in order to care for him. “Sometime yesterday… I think…”

“As I said,” Killian interjected in between bites, “Emma has taken very good care of me since we got here.”

“And we are glad to hear it, aren’t we, Mr. Miner?” Mrs. Miner asked her husband. “But now that we’re here, you are a guest and you’ll be treated as such.”

“But…” Emma tried to protest and Killian couldn’t help but chuckle when Mrs. Miner pooh poohed them all away.

“Now, sit and eat,” Mrs. Miner said, laying the plate on the desk and all but forcing Emma down into the chair. “And not another word about it. I’m going to make up a room for her,” she said to the room in general.

“In the servant’s quarters, please,” Emma said.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Miner replied. “As I said, you are not a servant here, you are a guest.”

“Do you need any help, my dear?” Mr. Miner asked. Killian smiled as he watched him. Mr. Miner’s face was as soft as it got when he looked at his wife. Not exactly pleasant, but just a little dreamy, perhaps. Tenderness and love shone out of his eyes, and Killian wondered if he’d ever find someone whom he would look at like that.

Mrs. Miner nodded, and they both hurried from the room, but not before Mrs. Miner told Killian to make sure Emma filled her plate again.

He ate slowly and kept glancing at Emma as they ate. He could tell she was trying to put on her best manners, but it wasn’t long after Mr. and Mrs. Miner left the room that she began shoveling food into her mouth. Killian could feel his jaw tick as he clenched his teeth. He did not like seeing Emma so hungry.

He felt protective over her. They had a strange little bond between them, not something he ever would have expected to occur between himself and a housemaid. He had saved her and she had saved him. Or at least, she had helped him recover much faster than he would have otherwise. If his fever had been truly dangerous, he’d still be fighting it now. But if she hadn’t been here, he truly couldn’t imagine what would have happened to him.

As he and Emma continued their meal, Killian’s thoughts again drifted to Mr. and Mrs. Miner’s relationship and Emma’s care for him. He vaguely remembered her caring for him- mopping his head with cool cloths, feeding him spoonfuls of broth when he woke, changing the sheets on the bed when his fever broke- but the recollections were hazy at best, more like dreams than anything. Suddenly Killian remembered a particularly vivid dream from sometime after they’d arrived.

It was her.

The mystery woman from his mother’s masquerade ball two years ago. It wasn’t a new dream, but he hadn’t had it in a while. He had begun to think that not having it for so long meant he was getting over her, finally. Apparently not. Perhaps his thoughts turning to her in the minutes before they arrived at the cottage triggered the dream.

And what a dream it was. Killian was no saint, and the dream reflected that. He remembered details- whispered endearments, running his fingers along her naked skin- and felt his member stir to life. His eyes cut over to where Emma continued to eat. He couldn’t afford to let his thoughts run away with him, not with her in the room.

“Get some more,” he told her. Emma stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth. “I can assure you, Mrs. Miner knows exactly how much food is on the tray, and she’ll blame me if it hasn’t decreased any by the time they return.”

Emma nodded and placed more eggs and bacon on her plate. “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Jones?”

“Much better than when we arrived,” he assured her. “My throat is sore from all of the coughing, but I’m no longer chilled, and the cough itself has much improved. Thank you,” he said sincerely, after taking another bite and sip of his tea. “It was very kind of you to care for me.”

“It was nothing,” she said, waving aside his gratitude. “I did what anyone else would have done.”

Killian’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her self-deprecation annoyed him and it made him wonder if anyone had ever thanked her for anything.

“It may not have seemed like anything to you,” he countered before parroting the words she’d said to him the night they arrived, “but it was everything to me. I can’t imagine what kind of shape I’d be in right now if you hadn’t been here to care for me.”

Emma blushed, but she didn’t contradict him again.

“Uh,” he began, nervously, scratching behind his ear, “I didn’t do anything for which I need to apologize, did I?”

Emma nearly spat out her drink in shock. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the single perfect kiss she’d pressed to his lips when he begged her to in the throes of a fever dream.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he said. Emma looked at him and saw his face was as red as she was sure hers was. Even the tips of his ears flamed.

“What makes you think you might have done anything you needed to apologize for?” she asked.

“Oh, well…” he was scratching behind his ear again and Emma tried to tamp down her smile at his nervous tell. “Just a dream I had that I was afraid may have worked its way out of my head and into my members… er, my limbs… I mean, I was afraid I might have physically done something untowards… to you. I mean, I hope I didn’t. But if I did, I sincerely apologize.”

Emma’s heart pounded in her chest and she could only pray he was too embarrassed to notice.

“You didn’t, Mr. Jones,” she assured him. Killian looked extremely dubious.

“Are you sure?” he asked her. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Emma caught her breath at his words. Did he mean about this particular question? Or in general? Because couldn’t it be said that she was lying to him now by not confessing exactly who she was? The lady he’d taught to dance two years ago at a masquerade ball. The lady who, for two blissful hours, he’d seen and treated like an equal, not like the servant she was.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied, vehemently, her hands flying to her face. Her cheeks felt hot. She was definitely blushing.

“Oh, yes, you are,” he insisted.

“Well, if I’m blushing,” she said pertly, “it’s because of the nature of your question. Of course you didn’t do anything untowards.”

Killian grinned as the thought crossed his mind of why she might be blushing. “Oh, so are you blushing because you’re imagining what it’d be like if I had? Or if I did?” He couldn’t deny the surge of male pride he felt that she apparently found him attractive. And he had to admit, she was very attractive as well, even when she resembled a drowned rat the other night. “You know, you have a rather smart mouth for a servant.”

Now her cheeks flamed for another reason entirely. She had to remember herself when she was around him.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize,” he urged her. “I find it, and you,” he added, “rather refreshing. Don’t stifle yourself on my account.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” She rose from her seat, her plate clean.

“Where are you going?”

“Well, now that Mr. and Mrs. Miner are here to take care of you, I should probably leave to try and find a new position. Somewhere.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Killian objected. “First of all, Mrs. Miner is making up a room for you as we speak, and secondly, I already told you I’m sure I could find you a position in my mother’s household in London.”

Emma gulped hard. She couldn’t exactly tell him she didn’t want to accept any position in his mother’s household in London, because it meant she would see him. And she didn’t think she’d be able to survive that kind of torture.

“And I truly appreciate that,” she told him instead, “But I’d prefer to stay in the country.”

Something tickled the edge of Killian’s mind- something about the way she spoke, a turn of a phrase, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He brushed it aside.

“We have a country estate. In Kent,” he informed her. “You could work there.”

Emma inhaled sharply. “You shouldn’t think of me as your responsibility.”

“I told you I’d find you another position, and I will,” he countered easily. “What else is there to discuss?”

Emma huffed under her breath. There was no use arguing with him at the moment. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Good,” he told her, laying his head back against the pillows. “Glad you see it my way.”

She looked around helplessly for a moment, not sure what to do with herself. Mrs. Miner had made it clear that she wasn’t a servant here, so she didn’t think the woman would appreciate her collecting the dishes and bringing them down. And she needed to get away from Killian before she did or said something she regretted. She couldn’t blame him too much. As a Jones, he was used to making decisions and commands and not having them questioned. But if he thought she was going to meekly come along and submit to him on this, he had another thing coming. There was no way under heaven she would work in his mother’s household.

“Now where are you going?” he asked, rising up from the pillow, the sheet covering him falling towards his waist. She cut her eyes away from him. He hadn’t left the bed since she’d gotten him into it two nights ago, and so was still as naked as the day he was born.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

He raised his eyebrow at her sardonically. “Really. Ok, then. Have fun with that.”

Emma’s nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply and her fingers closed around the spoon from her tea.

“Don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Throw the spoon.”

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line and forced her fingers to drop the spoon. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she informed him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished her. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me. You are dreaming of it right this minute. You just wouldn’t do it.”

Remember your place, remember your place, remember your place, she screamed at herself, suddenly realizing the spoon was back in her hand.

“My, my, my, what ever could you be thinking to look that adorably ferocious?” he asked. “Don’t tell me. I’m sure it involves my extremely painful and untimely demise.”

She loosened her fingers again, letting the spoon drop to the desk. He smiled smugly at her. “That was very mature of you.”

“Are you this charming with everyone, or is it just me?” she asked indignantly.

“Oh, only you,” he assured her. “I shall have to make sure you come to work in my mother’s household, for you do bring out my best, Miss Emma Swan.”

“This is your best?” she asked him in stunned disbelief.

“I’m afraid so.” Killian chuckled and Emma crossed to the door, intent on leaving.

“Oh, Emma?”

She turned toward him to find him smiling slyly, his eyebrows waggling at her flirtatiously. “I knew you wouldn’t throw the spoon.”

What happened next was entirely his fault. Because Emma had absolutely no control over herself. It was like she was watching the scene from somewhere up above the action. She saw this other Emma reach out and take the stump of the candle she had used in the night while she attended to him. This other Emma drew back and hurled the stump straight at Killian Jones’ head.

She didn’t wait to see if her aim was true, but was gratified when he laughed loudly and called after her.

“Well done, Emma Swan.”

Emma smiled.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! A sneak peek will be up on Wednesday with the new chapter dropping next Sunday!!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 3 Ch. 9

We are back, y’all!!! And I should warn you, this chapter is a doozy!!!

Again, don’t yell at me too hard, please...

All the love and thanks in the world to four very special ladies. @hollyethecurious​ for all her love and support and for whom this fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing help and getting me unstuck, and @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips I used in all the artwork. Love you ladies to the moon and back again!!!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a previous ch)

Words: almost 6900 of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 From the beginning/ Current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic�� @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

It had been a full fortnight since Emma had last seen Killian, and while she was immensely relieved to find that she definitely was not with child, she couldn’t decide whether she was pleased, surprised, or disappointed at Killian’s absence.

She was certain she’d made the right decision, but that didn’t make the ache in her heart any less. Each night she cried herself to sleep, longing for the love and safety of his embrace. And her dreams were no better. They ranged from reliving their lovemaking, to dancing with him at the ball, to a future that could never happen. She woke every morning more tired than she’d been the night before, and she knew Lady Jones and the girls had noticed. They looked at her with concern in their eyes and spoke with extra gentleness.

“Emma,” Lady Jones called one afternoon, “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You haven’t joined us for tea in over a week, and I must insist you do so today. Belle is here and Mary Margaret Blanchard will also be joining us shortly.”

Emma sighed quietly. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get away with it forever, but it was just too difficult to sit in a room with the Jones ladies and not think about Killian. As much as she did enjoy their company, it did nothing more than bring to the front of her mind that which she would never have. A family of her own, with a husband she loved and who loved her. She knew there were certainly women who would throw off respectability for passion and love, but she was not one of those women.

Love did not conquer all. At least, not for Emma Swan.

She entered the upstairs parlor to find the girls already all in attendance, trading smiles and jokes as the warm scones were passed around. Belle, the eldest Jones daughter, now the Duchess of Gamwell, was also there, with her young daughter Caroline in her arms.

“Has anyone else noticed that Killian hasn’t visited in ages?” Tilly asked.

Emma inhaled sharply and took a too large swallow of her tea, burning her tongue in the process.

“He hasn’t been around to visit Will and me, either,” Belle said.

“Well, he told me he would help me with my arithmetic and he has certainly reneged on his promise,” Tilly grumbled.

“I’m sure it just slipped his mind,” her mother soothed. “Perhaps if you’d send him a note.”

“Or bang on his door,” Tink offered. “It’s not as if he lives very far away.”

Tilly looked affronted. “I’m an unmarried female! I can’t just march up to a bachelor’s lodgings.”

Emma coughed.

“An unmarried female who’s fourteen,” Tink shot back. “And his sister!”

“Nevertheless…”

“You should ask Will for help,” Belle interjected. “He’s better at numbers anyway.”

“This is true,” Tilly mused. “Pity for Killian. He’s completely without use to me now.”

They all giggled, except Emma.

“But in all seriousness,” Tilly continued, “What is Killian good at? Will is better with numbers, Liam knows more of history, David is funnier, of course…”

“Art,” Emma interrupted, trying to keep her irritation at bay that Killian’s own family didn’t recognize his individuality and gifts.

Tilly’s eyes were wide with surprise. “I’m sorry?”

Emma straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “He’s quite good at art. Sketching, specifically.”

“Really?” Belle asked. “I didn’t know that.” Emma looked up at the Duchess. Of all the Jones ladies, she knew Belle the least, but it wasn’t difficult to discern her keen intelligence. Belle was obviously interested in Killian’s hidden talent, but she was also curious why Emma knew about it when no one else apparently did.

“I should like to see some of his sketches,” Lady Jones said, “Provided he would share them with me.” The silence stretched until a young woman Emma had not met appeared in the doorway.

“Mary Margaret,” Ruby exclaimed. “Come sit by me.” She moved over on the sofa, making room for the young lady. She was quite lovely, with black hair and green eyes and Emma suddenly became conscious of the fact that she was studying Emma just as intently.

“Have we met?” Mary Margaret asked abruptly.

Emma was suddenly seized with an almost premonition-like certainty that they had met before. Although for the life of her, she couldn’t think of when it might have happened.

“I- I don’t think so,” she stammered.

Mary Margaret’s gaze never left her face. “Are you certain? There is something terribly familiar about you. Not exactly your looks, but more the way you hold yourself, if that makes any sense.”

“Emma is our new lady’s maid,” Tilly volunteered. “And she often takes tea in the afternoon when it’s just us.”

“I see,” Mary Margaret murmured. She accepted a cup of tea from Lady Jones, when suddenly it hit Emma where she had met Mary Margaret before.

It had been at the masquerade ball, only moments before she’d met Killian. She’d just entered the room, the men who had quickly surrounded her still making their way to where she stood in the doorway. Mary Margaret had been standing right there, without a mask for some reason, when someone else knocked right into her, nearly making her lose her balance.

Emma reached out to help her and had just managed to say something like, ‘there you are’ before several gentlemen arrived at her side, pushing Mary Margaret aside and separating the two women. Then Killian appeared and Emma had eyes for no one but him. Mary Margaret- and the abominable way she’d been treated by the other gentlemen at the ball- had been forgotten until this very moment.

But clearly, the incident had remained buried in Mary Margaret’s memory as well.

Emma rose quickly, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’m afraid I must be going,” she said, desperate to get out of Mary Margaret’s line of sight. “I have some mending to tend to,” she turned her attention to Lady Jones, “if that’s alright.”

“Of course, my dear,” Lady Jones replied.

“Oh, before you go,” Tilly interjected, “I was wondering if you could help me later this afternoon? I promised I would entertain my cousins and there are four of them. I’m sure to be overrun.”

“Of course,” Emma assured her. “I’d be happy to help. How old are they?”

Tilly shrugged her shoulders.

“Tilly!” Lady Jones scolded. “They are between six and ten,” she informed Emma.

“Come get me when they arrive,” Emma said. “We’ll have a lovely time, I’m sure.”

“Are you…” Mary Margaret started to say something, but cut herself off. “Nevermind.”

Emma looked over to find Mary Margaret still staring at her with a most perplexed expression. She opened her mouth to speak then shut it again before muttering, “I know I know you.”

“I’m sure she’s right,” Ruby said with a smirk. “Mary Margaret never forgets a face.”

Emma inhaled sharply and curtsied. “If you will please excuse me,” she said, directing her words to Lady Jones.

“Of course,” she replied.

“I’ll come for you when my cousins arrive,” Tilly reminded her. Emma nodded in acknowledgment and rushed from the room.

~*~*~

Killian had been in a foul mood for two weeks, as anyone who’d been around him during that time could attest, and it was about to get even worse. He’d been avoiding his mother’s house because he just couldn’t stand to be anywhere near Emma without being able to touch her. But his mother had called for a family meeting and as much as he wanted to avoid his family, he didn’t dare ignore a summons from her.

No sooner had he started up the stairs to the front door, when he heard a call and saw Liam and David coming down the street. Killian groaned internally. No one knew him better than his brothers and hiding a broken heart and sour mood around them would likely prove impossible.

“Haven’t seen you in an age,” Liam said once they arrived at the step. “Where’ve you been?”

“Here and there,” Killian hedged. “Mostly at home.” He turned to David. “Where have you been?”

“Wales.”

“Wales? What’s in Wales?”

David shrugged. “Nothing really. I’d just never been there before.”

Killian lifted an eyebrow at him. “One usually needs more of a reason than that to disappear in the middle of the season.”

“Not me,” David said jovially, with the easy grin he was so known for in the ton.

Killian and Liam continued to stare at him. He looked at them both and deflated a bit.

“Oh, very well. I had to get away from Mother. She’s started hounding me about marriage again.” Killian tried for his smug smirk which he would have done had the topic not been such a sore subject at the moment. Unfortunately, it came out as a scowl instead. He was thankful Liam was too focused on David, and David was too embarrassed to really notice. “She’s been talking about Mary Margaret Blanchard nonstop. I tell you, I’ve known the girl for years.” He waved his hand around and frowned mightily as he searched for words and Killian was able to join Liam in laughing heartily at their younger brother.

“The point is,” David said forcefully, “I’ve known her forever and can’t imagine myself falling in love with her.”

Liam smirked at Killian. “They’ll be married within a year. Mark my words.”

“Liam!” David cried, indignant, crossing his arms.

“Maybe two, he’s young yet,” Liam amended.

“Unlike you,” David retorted, turning his attention to Killian. “For heaven’s sake, you’re two years older than me. Why isn’t she hounding you? Why must I be the one to suffer all of Mother’s matchmaking attempts.”

Killian’s brow furrowed, realizing David was right. His mother had been uncharacteristically silent on the topic of Killian and marriage, and why it should happen sooner rather than later. Of course, he had been avoiding his mother for the last couple of weeks, but even before then, she’d not mentioned a word.

“At any rate,” David continued. “I am not marrying anytime soon, and I certainly am not marrying Mary Margaret Blanchard!”

“Oh!” It was a very feminine ‘oh’ and Killian knew without looking up exactly who he’d see standing there. And sure enough, Mary Margaret Blanchard stood at the top of the steps, framed perfectly in front of the open door, her rosebud mouth in a perfect ‘O’ of shock, eyes filled with heartbreak.

And in that moment, Killian realized what he’d been too stupid (and probably too male) to notice. Mary Margaret Blanchard was in love with his brother.

David cleared his throat. “Mary Margaret,” he squeaked, sounding more like a lad in the throes of puberty than a grown man. “I- I didn’t see you there.” He looked at his brothers, begging them silently to save him. Neither did. It was one of those moments that just couldn’t be salvaged.

“Obviously not,” Mary Margaret replied, coolly.

David swallowed with difficulty. “Were you visiting Ruby?”

She nodded. “I was invited.”

“Of course you were!” he said quickly. “You’re a great friend of the family.”

The silence was horribly awkward and seemed to stretch forever. Just as Killian was sure she would rush down the steps and away from all of them, she fixed her gaze on David.

“I never asked you to marry me.”

David turned a shade of red that if Killian had not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed was possible. His brother opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It was the first time in Killian’s memory that David was truly at a loss for words.

“And I never,” Mary Margaret continued, swallowing nervously when the words came out rather tortured and broken, “I never told anyone I wanted you to ask me.”

“Mary Margaret,” David finally said, “I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said.

“No, I do,” David insisted. “I hurt your feelings, and…”

“You didn’t know I was there,” she interrupted.

“Nevertheless…”

“You are not going to marry me,” she said hollowly, as if she hadn’t heard him. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I am not going to marry your brother, Killian.”

Killian had been trying to avoid looking between the two, but he snapped to attention at Mary Margaret’s words. She turned toward him, her green eyes focused on him.

“It doesn’t hurt his feelings for me to say I’m not going to marry him. Does it, Mr. Jones?”

“No, of course not,” he replied.

“It’s settled then,” Mary Margaret said tightly. “No one's feelings were hurt. Now, if you gentlemen would excuse me, I’d like to go home.”

The men parted before her like the Red Sea.

“Don’t you have a maid?” David asked when she reached the bottom step.

She shook her head. “I just live around the corner.”

“I know, but…”

“I’ll escort you,” Liam interrupted smoothly, holding his arm out.

“That’s really not necessary, my lord.”

“Humor me,” he said.

Mary Margaret nodded and looped her arm through his. Killian and David watched them for a full minute, before they turned the corner and were gone. Killian turned to his brother.

“That was very well done of you.”

“I didn’t know she was there!”

“Obviously,” Killian drawled.

“Don’t,” David said, “I feel horrible enough about it already.”

“As well you should.”

“Oh, come off it,” David said, anger and hurt coloring his words. “As if you’ve never inadvertently hurt a woman’s feelings before.”

He was saved from having to answer by their mother arriving at the top of the steps.

“Is your brother here yet?”

“He’s escorting Miss Blanchard home,” Killian informed her.

“Oh, well, that’s very thoughtful of him. I… where are you going, David?”

David paused briefly before heading inside. “I need a drink,” he mumbled.

Their mother looked a bit taken aback at his words. “It’s a bit early…”

“Let him go, Mother,” Killian urged her, laying a hand on her arm.

She opened her mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it, closing it again and nodding. “I had hoped to gather everyone for an announcement, but that can wait, I suppose. In the meantime, why don’t you join me in the sitting room?”

Killian tried to conceal his irritation.

“Oh, good heavens, Killian, it’s not serious, I assure you. You look like you’re heading to the gallows.”

It probably would have been rude to point out that’s exactly how he felt, so he bent down and kissed her on the cheek instead.

“Well, that’s a nice surprise,” she said, beaming up at him. “Now come with me. There’s someone I want to tell you about.”

“Mother!”

“Just hear me out. She’s a lovely girl…”

 The gallows indeed.

~*~*~

Forty-five minutes later, Killian was slouched in his chair, eyes glazed. He did have the presence of mind to keep his mouth firmly shut as his mother droned on and on and on about not one, not two, but seven young ladies, each of whom she’d assured him was better than the last.

He was going to go stark raving mad. Right here. In his mother’s sitting room. He was going to rise out of his chair, scream, and attempt to pull his hair out before running out of the room and down the street.

“Killian, are you listening to me?”

Damn, now he was going to have to attend to his mother’s never ending list of potential brides. Losing his mind was a much more attractive prospect.

“I was trying to tell you about… oh, nevermind.” She waved her arm dismissively, the look on her face more amused than frustrated. Killian was instantly suspicious. If there was one thing his mother was never amused about, it was her children and their tendency to drag their feet getting to the altar. “I can see I cannot compete with whatever has your attention at the moment.” Silence reigned for just a moment before Killian opened his mouth to speak before closing it again.

“Yes, Killian?” his mother asked.

“When you met Father…”

“It happened in an instant,” she said softly, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

“So you knew he was the one?”

She smiled, and her eyes took on a faraway, misty look. “Oh, I wouldn't have admitted it,” she said. “At least not right away. I’d always scoffed at the notion of love at first sight.” She paused for a moment and Killian knew she was no longer in the sitting room with him, but at some long ago ball, meeting his father for the first time. Finally, when Killian was sure she’d forgotten the conversation entirely, she spoke again. “But I knew,” she whispered.

“From the first moment you saw him?”

“Well, from the first time we spoke, anyway.” He could see the tears in her eyes and offered her his handkerchief. She dabbed at them, seemingly embarrassed by her tears.

Killian felt a lump rising in his throat. He wondered if there was anyone who would cry over him more than a decade after he died. It was a humbling thing to be in the presence of True Love. His parents found it and had the good sense to recognize and cherish it. Few were so fortunate.

“His voice was so soothing, so warm,” she continued. “When he spoke to you, it was like you were the only person in the room.”

“I remember,” Killian said, a fond smile on his face as he reminisced. “Was quite a feat to be able to do that with eight children.” He paused for a moment. “Well, seven I guess, since Tilly wasn’t born yet.”

“Still…” his mother replied.

“Still,” he agreed, a small smile on his face. He reached out and patted her on the hand. She squeezed it slightly before releasing it.

“So, was there any particular reason you asked about your father?”

“No,” he lied, “At least not… well…”

She watched him patiently, giving him the space he needed to put his thoughts into words. There was really no one better suited to giving advice about the heart than his mother, and the way she was looking at him now, made it all but impossible to hide anything from her.

“What happens,” he began before clearing his throat, “if one were to fall in love with someone unsuitable?”

“Someone unsuitable?” she repeated, her face a careful mask, revealing nothing.

Killian nodded with difficulty.

When she spoke again, she looked to be choosing her words carefully. “What exactly do you mean by unsuitable?”

“Someone…” he paused for a moment and swallowed heavily, “Someone whom someone like me probably shouldn’t marry.”

“Someone, perhaps, not of our social class?”

Killian looked out the window and nodded again.

“I would have to say…” Killian looked back at his mother when she paused, her countenance filled with peace, a deep and abiding joy, and love. Above all, love. “I would have to say I love you very much and I would support you in all things.” She turned and faced him then. “If we are indeed talking about you.”

It was pointless to deny it, so Killian simply nodded.

“But, I should caution you,” his mother continued. “Love is, of course, the most important quality of a good and happy marriage. But, that said, there are many outside pressures on a marriage that could make things difficult. If you were to marry, say, someone from the,” she paused and cleared her throat, and Killian was sure she knew exactly who they were talking about, “servant class, then you will find yourself the subject of no small amount of gossip and perhaps a bit of ostracism as well. And you may find that a bit difficult to bear.”

“What do you mean?” Killian bristled a bit at her choice of words.

“You are handsome, smart, talented, and popular with everyone. And I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” Her smile turned just a bit sad. “It’s not easy to be a wallflower.”

And Killian suddenly knew why his mother was forever asking him to dance with girls like Mary Margaret Blanchard. Girls who stood on the edges of the ballroom with no admirers of their own.

She had been a wallflower herself.

It was difficult to imagine. His mother now was very popular in the ton, and had loads of friends. And if Killian had heard the story right, his father had been considered the catch of the season.

“Only you will be able to make this decision,” she said. “But if you do choose to join your life with someone not of our class, I will, of course, support you in every possible way.”

Killian looked at her sharply. There were few women of the ton who would say such a thing to their sons.

“You are my son,” she said simply. “I would give my life for you.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn’t say a single word.

“I certainly wouldn’t banish or disown you for marrying outside of our social class.”

Her words settled on him and Killian let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” It was all he could manage to say.

His mother sighed, looking tired and wistful. “I wish your father was here.”

“You don’t say that very often.”

She looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. “I always wish your father was here.” She paused for a moment, shutting her eyes briefly. “Always.”

It suddenly all became clear. As he watched his mother’ face, finally realizing- no, finally understanding- the depth of his parents’ love for one another, everything he’d been wrestling with suddenly became perfectly clear.

He loved Emma. He thought he’d loved the mystery woman from the masquerade, but she’d been nothing more than a fleeting moment in time. Nothing more than a dream.

Emma was everything he needed.

His mother looked at him with a small satisfied smile on her face. She nodded, then rose and left the room. Killian poured himself a much needed glass of rum and knocked it back before leaving the room himself, only to be caught by Ruby.

“You cannot leave yet,” she declared. “Mother has been trying to get everyone here for a big announcement from Belle.”

“With child again?” Killian asked, with a knowing smirk. Ruby slapped him on the arm.

“Act surprised,” she told him. “No one is supposed to know.”

“I’m not going to act anything,” he said drily. “I’m leaving.”

Ruby grabbed his arm this time and he tried to keep his irritation in check. “You can’t,” she insisted. “Besides, you told Tilly you’d help her with her arithmetic.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “It’s not like she has a school to flunk out of,” he muttered.

Ruby slapped his arm again. “What a terrible thing to say!”

“I know,” Killian groaned, trying to stave off a tirade.

“We females may not be allowed to study at places like Eton or Cambridge, but that doesn’t mean our educations are any less important,” Ruby ranted, completely ignoring Killian’s weak I know.

“Furthermore,” she continued. “I am convinced that the reason we’re not allowed to study at Eton or any other of those stuffy institutions, is because if we were, we’d trounce the lot of you in every subject.”

“I’m sure you’re correct.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Ruby, the very last thing I would ever consider doing is patronizing you,” he assured her.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “Well, don’t disappoint Tilly.”

“I won’t,” he said, resigned to his fate.

“I believe she’s in the nursery.”

Killian lifted himself from where he’d been leaning against the wall during Ruby’s diatribe and moved toward the stairs. But as he began to climb, he didn’t see his mother poking her head out of the music room and Ruby shooting her a big wink and smile.

~*~*~

As Killian approached the nursery, he heard the loud and high pitched laughter of his much younger cousins. He remembered they were visiting and figured Tilly must be helping to keep them entertained. He moved to the open door and leaned against the frame to see Tilly and his cousins hiding behind various pieces of furniture around the room. Then his attention moved to the blind man in their game of Blind Man’s Bluff.

It was her.

Her.

Not Emma.

Her.

And yet, it was Emma. She was blindfolded, smiling as she held out her hands toward the giggling children. He could see only the bottom half of her face and that’s when he knew.

There was only one woman in the world that he’d recognize from only seeing the bottom half of her face.

The smile was the same. The dimple in her chin was the same. It was all the same!

Emma was the woman in blue. The mystery lady at the masquerade.

He had finally decided to let her go. He was going to ask Emma to marry him, social consequences be damned. And it turned out they were one and the same.

And she hadn’t told him.

The signs were all there if he’d been brave enough to put the pieces together- the similarities in appearance, especially her green eyes, the education she’d received, her manner of speaking, her affinity for the country- but he’d been too surprised, and yes, fearful too, he was ashamed to admit, that he’d fallen in love with a woman wholly unsuitable for his station.

The final realization that was plain as day, if he'd bothered to really look, was that his mystery lady did not belong at the Jones Masquerade Ball. She was a grown woman who’d never learned to dance, and she’d made very clear to him that night that he’d never see her again. She was not a lady of the ton, no matter how she looked and acted, or what he believed about her. She was an imposter.

“Is everything alright?” Emma asked. The room had grown silent around her, the giggles of the children tapering off to nothing.

“Tilly,” Killian said, “take the children and leave the room, please.” He was quite proud of the steadiness of his voice as a rage he’d never known coursed through his veins.

“But…”

“NOW!” he roared.

“Come along, children,” she said. “There are biscuits in the kitchen, I’m sure.” Moments later the room was empty and Killian silently stared at Emma who stood still in the middle of the room.

“Killian?” she asked, trying to undo the knot that held her blindfold in place. “Killian?”

He entered the room and shut the door behind him. The loud click caused Emma to startle.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, still trying to undo the knot. He watched her silently, quite satisfied to see her at such a disadvantage. He didn’t feel particularly charitable at the moment.

“Do you have something you need to tell me?” he asked quietly. Again, he was just a bit proud of the steadiness of his voice, but his hands were shaking.

She went still. So still he thought she probably had an idea of what this was about. She cleared her throat- a hesitant, broken kind of sound- and then went back to work on the knot.

“Can you help me with this, please?” she asked. Killian didn’t move.

“It’s quite interesting to see you with a blindfold on, Emma,” he said. Emma’s hands dropped to her sides. “It’s almost like a demi-mask, wouldn’t you say?”

She knew. Her lips parted, the soft puff of air that passed them the only sound in the room. He walked toward her slowly, the sound of his boots on the marble floor just loud enough that she could tell where he was. She held her hands stiffly by her side, the corners of her lips tight.

He hoped she was terrified.

He took another step toward her, his arm just brushing her sleeve. “Were you ever going to tell me we’d met before?”

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

“Were you?” he repeated, his voice still low and controlled.

“No,” she whispered, a slight quiver in her voice.

His eyebrow raised on his forehead. “Really?” She didn’t move or make a sound.

“Any particular reason?”

“It… it didn’t seem pertinent.”

He whirled around toward her, both eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline. “It didn’t seem pertinent?” he snapped. “I fell in love with you two years ago, and it didn’t seem pertinent?”

“Can I remove the scarf, please?” she asked, just a hint of pleading in her voice.

“You can remain blind,” he said coldly. “Like I was blind for the past month,” he continued, his anger finally breaking through. “See how you like it!”

Her hands dropped to her sides. “You didn’t fall in love with me two years ago,” she whispered.

“Oh, yes, I did,” he insisted. “I searched for that woman. Everywhere. For months. But it was like she’d disappeared off the face of the earth. And when I couldn’t find her, when I lay in my bed at night, I longed for her to be in my arms. And then I dreamt about her. I dreamt about finding her, courting her, marrying her, having children with her. And it was you all along. There was a connection between us that night. Didn’t you feel it?”

“Yes, I felt it!” she shouted, interrupting him in the middle of his tirade. “Yes, I felt it,” she repeated, quieter now that he’d stopped shouting. “And that’s why I had to disappear. I didn’t belong there. I didn’t have an invitation. I was a servant who’d been given this one night to feel like a princess. To feel like a lady of the ton.” She paused and gathered herself for a moment. “I fell in love with you, too,” she admitted in a whisper. “But there could never have been a future between us. So I had to return to my life, and you had to return to yours.” She was still for a moment and then went back to tearing at the knot of her mask with a vengeance, finally undoing it. She blinked several times against the light.

“What about when we met again?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Oh, you mean when you saved me from Neal Gold, drove us to My Cottage, and then were so ill, I feared for your life?”

“You could have told me after I’d recovered,” he said quietly. Emma looked into his eyes, anger and hurt swirling in the cerulean depths. “When we were by the pond. When I guessed your parentage and you refused to tell me anything else. I was falling in love with you by then, Emma. The woman from the masquerade wasn’t featuring in my dreams by then. It was you!”

She remained silent, because he was right. She could have told him then. But by that point, she’d been too fearful about how he would respond to the revelation, how she’d concealed the truth from him.

“Who are you?”

She stared at him, frozen for a moment.

“Tell me who you are,” he demanded. “Because you are no lady’s maid. That’s for damn certain.”

His gaze was furious and Emma couldn’t keep the slight wobble out of voice as she finally spoke. “I am Emma Swan,” she assured him. “I’ve been a servant since I was fifteen years old.”

“And who were you before that?”

“A bastard,” she whispered.

“Whose bastard?” he asked, his voice rising. “You said your mother died at your birth and I guessed correctly that your father was a member of the ton. Who was he?”

“No one you knew.”

“Who was he?!” he roared.

“The Earl of Glowerhaven,” she cried. “Yes, I am a nobleman’s bastard.” Years of bitterness spilled out of her lips and she didn’t even care. “And my mother was a lady’s maid. As I am a lady’s maid.” She paused for a moment, her chest heaving. “I will not be like my mother.”

He stood completely still. Not even blinking. That’s how she’d been able to use the gloves with the Glowerhaven crest. She must have been a servant in Lady Glowerhaven’s house. His head was completely spinning. He was still furious with her for lying to him, but the fact that she’d been used as a servant in her own household… He had to get out of here.

“I have to go,” he muttered, turning toward the door. “I can’t be here right now.”

It was the first time in his life he’d felt so out of control and it scared him. He had to get out of there before he threw something.

“I have to go.” He moved roughly past her and strode out the door.

~*~*~

An hour later, Emma was packed. There was no possible way she could remain in the Jones household after the confrontation with Killian. Lady Jones was fond of her, she knew, but Killian was her son, and she would most certainly choose her son over a lady’s maid. As well she should.

It was truly heartbreaking, even beyond the heartbreak she felt over Killian. She had come to love the Jones family as well and would miss them all terribly.

Unable to sit still, Emma jumped up from her bed and moved toward the window. “Damn you, Papa,” she said, looking up to the sky and wiping the tear that escaped. “There. I called you Papa. You never allowed me to do that. You never wanted to be that. How does it feel?”

But her father would never know how angry she was at him for leaving her penniless, and leaving her with Cora. He most likely wouldn’t have cared, if he did.

“You gave me a taste of another life,” she murmured, leaning her head against the glass. “It would have been easier if I was raised as a servant. Then I wouldn’t have wanted that life so much.” Emma sighed. It was time to go. She didn’t know where she would go, but she knew she had to. She had a bit of money from her employment with the Jones family, perhaps enough to secure passage to America. She’d heard things were easier there for those of less than respectable birth, that the boundaries of class weren’t quite as strict as here in England.

She peeked her head out of the door, finding the hallway blessedly empty. She didn’t want to say goodbye to the Jones sisters. It would be too painful and she’d likely cry, making herself feel even worse. But she couldn’t leave without speaking to Lady Jones. She’d been kind to her beyond all expectations and Emma couldn’t thank her by disappearing without a word.

She came to Lady Jones’ chambers and knocked on the slightly open door.

“Enter,” Lady Jones called.

Emma took a deep breath and stepped inside. “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

Lady Jones sighed and turned her full attention on Emma. “Yes, but it’s quite a welcome interruption. I don’t enjoy balancing the household accounts. What can I do for you, my dear?”

“I’m afraid I must resign my position.”

Lady Jones’ face fell at her words, and Emma thought she’d be hard pressed not to give in to the tears she felt gathering. She had thought she’d have an easier time keeping them at bay with Lady Jones as opposed to her daughters. She’d apparently been wrong.

“Has something happened? Are you not happy here? Have the girls been unkind to you?”

“Oh, no, not at all!” Emma cried. “Your daughters are lovely in every way and I’m very happy here.” She gasped as a sob caught in her throat and she swallowed thickly, trying desperately to get through this.

Lady Jones’ face became thoughtful, then sad. “It’s Killian, isn’t it?” Emma could not have been more shocked if she tried. She knew Lady Jones was smart, but she thought she’d kept her feelings about Killian well hidden. She’d apparently been wrong about that as well.

“It’s quite obvious there is an affinity between you,” Lady Jones said, gently. “Did something happen?”

Emma could do nothing but nod.

“And you think because of it, you must leave.”

Emma nodded again.

“I am sorry,” Lady Jones said, sorrow in every word. Emma could see in her eyes and face that she truly was sorry and that made it even harder to keep her own tears at bay. “I like you, Emma. You are the kind of woman I would have very much liked for my son.”

“How can you say that?” Emma whispered. “You hardly know me.”

“Our acquaintance may not have been long,” she began, “but I know your character and I know your heart. And I wish…”

A barking sob escaped Emma and Lady Jones acknowledged it with a small, sympathetic tilt of her head.

“I wish you were of a different background.” She paused for a moment. “Not that I hold that against you, or think less of you, but it does make things very difficult.”

“Impossible,” Emma whispered. “I really have to go.”

“If that is truly your wish, I can’t stop you. Where will you go?”

“I have relatives in the north,” she lied. Lady Jones nodded, but it was clear she didn’t believe her.

“You will, of course, take one of our carriages.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“You can’t think I would allow you to do anything else,” she said gently. “You are still my responsibility, and it is far too dangerous for you to leave unescorted.”

Emma looked at Lady Jones’ countenance and realized there’d be no budging her on this issue.

“Very well,” she acquiesced. “Thank you.”

“I assume you have already packed?” Emma nodded. “And said your goodbyes?”

“I’d rather not.”

Lady Jones nodded. “Sometimes that’s best. If you’ll wait for me in the foyer, I’ll have one of the carriages brought round.”

Emma nodded as Lady Jones moved toward the door.

“Lady Jones?”

The woman turned back to her, a hopeful look on her countenance.

“I… thank you.”

The hopeful look faded just a bit. “Whatever for?”

“For bringing me into your home. For accepting me. For allowing me to pretend I was part of a family,” she finished in a whisper.

“Don’t be sil…”

“You didn’t have to invite me to tea with you and the girls,” she interrupted. “Most women wouldn’t have. It was lovely… and new… and…” She gulped. “I will miss you all.”

“You don’t have to go,” she said softly.

Emma tried to smile, but it came out as a sniffle instead. She pulled out her mangled handkerchief and wiped her eyes and nose. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I do.”

Lady Jones stared at her for quite a long moment, her green eyes filled with compassion and perhaps a bit of realization, as well.

“I see.” And Emma was afraid that she really did see. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Emma nodded as Lady Jones left the room. She went down to the foyer and then decided she could just as well wait outside. The sun hadn’t quite set, and she thought the feel of the sun on her face might lift her mood just a little.

She opened the door and descended the steps to wait for the carriage. It shouldn’t take too long, ten minutes at most…

“Emma Swan!”

Emma’s stomach dropped straight to her toes. Cora. How could she have forgotten?

She couldn’t run back into the house, for then Cora would know exactly where to find her. She dropped her bag and began running.

“Constable!” Cora shrieked. “I want a constable! Someone stop her! Thief! Stop, thief!”

Emma ran as fast as she could until someone tackled her from behind, knocking her to the ground. She was dazed from the collision with the ground, she could barely comprehend what was going on.

“I got her for you!” a man yelled. He was practically sitting on her.

“There you are!” Cora gloated as she hurried over. “Emma Swan. The nerve.”

Emma just glared at her. There weren’t words in the English language to adequately express the loathing in her heart for the woman.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Cora sneered, her smile pure evil. “Regina told me she’d seen you.”

Emma closed her eyes for a moment. Oh, Regina. She had no doubt it was unintentional on Regina’s part. Sometimes she spoke before she thought.

Cora planted her foot very close to Emma’s hand, and then moved it so that it was on top of her hand. Emma bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out at the pain.

“You shouldn’t have stolen from me,” she said, her dark eyes glittering. A man came running up just then.

“The authorities are on their way, milady. They’ll have this thief carted away in no time.”

Emma was torn between praying the constable would be delayed enough for Lady Jones to arrive, and praying that they’d come right away, sparing her the shame.

It was only a couple of minutes later that the authorities arrived and threw her in the wagon. And all Emma could think of was that none of the Jones would ever know what had happened to her, and perhaps that was for the best.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Don’t worry! You don’t have long to wait for the ABUNDANCE of happy endings! Sneak peek will be up Friday with the final chapter posting late Saturday night, my time. Until then, y’all!!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 3 Ch7

We are back with Part 3!! Emma and Killian return to London and they’ll be met by some familiar and not-so-familiar faces when they get there!! We have four chapters left and a LOT of story to tell!! I so hope you enjoy it all and let me know what you think!

All the love and thanks to a few ladies, who without them, this fic would not exist- @hollyethecurious​ for whom this fic was written to celebrate her birthday, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing prowess and always being available to bounce ideas off of and help me choose sneak peek passages, and to @motherkatereloyshipper​ for all her manips I used in the artwork! Thank you all so much, ladies!!! I love y’all to the moon and back again!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later chapter)

Words: 7652 of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 From the beginning/ Current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Killian looked across to the other side of the carriage where Emma sat looking out the window. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, rivaled only by his mystery woman. But the further away he got from that masquerade ball two years ago, the more the memory of that particular woman faded. He remembered his thoughts and feelings toward her with perfect clarity- the instant connection, the physical desire, the feeling that he’d been born to meet her, born to love her- but the more time he spent with Emma, the more the woman from his memory looked like her. Emma had perhaps a bit more meat on her bones, healthier looking rather than overly thin, but she had the same long blonde hair and green eyes.

But his mystery lady was a lady of the ton, and Emma was not. And there was no getting around that obstacle when it came to matters of the heart. Killian sighed and turned his attention to the window. Two years and his heart had been restless ever since. Until he met Emma. He looked at her again and felt his heart settle in his chest into the familiar comfort he felt whenever he was in her presence.

He was tired of chasing a dream. Tired of longing for an illusion. Emma was flesh and blood and right in front of him. It was time to put aside the fantasy and embrace the reality. Now, if only he could figure out how to do it so he would get what he wanted and also allow her to maintain her integrity to herself.

He was a selfish and despicable man. And there was no getting around that either.

~*~*~

As she sat in the carriage across from Killian and stared out the window, Emma realized she was looking forward to going to work in the dowager viscountess’ household. When she’d attended the masquerade two years ago, the home had been the most beautiful she’d ever seen. A dream home, literally. Ever since that night, whenever she’d dreamt of a future with Killian Jones, they’d lived in Jones’ House. It didn’t matter that as the second born, he wouldn’t have inherited the property, it was simply part of the dream she’d allowed herself when the bleakness of her life got to be too much.

The carriage came to a stop and Killian got down first, holding his hand out to her. She took it and looked up at the home in front of her, realizing she didn’t recognize it at all.

“Is this Jones’ House?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she probably didn’t keep the confusion and recognition out of her tone. Her glance at Killian’s face confirmed her speculation.

“You know Jones’ House?” he asked.

“Oh, well, you’ve mentioned it,” she stammered. “I guess I just pictured it differently in my mind.”

“I see,” he murmured. “No, actually, Jones’ House is the residence of my older brother, the Viscount, and his family. My mother moved out two years ago just before his first child was born.”

Emma nodded as Killian placed his hand in the small of her back, urging her toward the front steps.

“Um, I’ll use the side entrance, if you please,” she said, lowly, looking down slightly and cutting her eyes toward him. “No well bred lady would hire someone who came in through the front door.”

“I most certainly do not please,” he all but growled at her. “You are with me, and you will come in the front door.”

Emma sighed, exasperated. “Killian, I am a maid and there are certain proprieties that must be observed.”

“You are a maid because you insisted on being one.” His tone was still utterly vexed, and Emma worried that she may have pushed him too far. He’d never treated her as simply a maid when they were at My Cottage, and it would stand to reason he wouldn’t here, either. “And as a maid- while lower on the social scale, yes- you are still respectable. Certainly respectable enough for my mother.”

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line, but nodded in acquiescence. He urged her forward again and they climbed the steps together. He opened the door and let her precede him into the house. The butler arrived in moments.

“Ah, Tom,” Killian said, rolling his eyes as the man sneezed into his ever present handkerchief.

“Mr. Jones,” he said, “Welcome home.”

“Would you please inform my mother that I am here?”

“Of course, sir. And may I take the liberty of in- informing you,” -sneeze and wipe- “that she was rather curious as to your wh-whereabouts,” -sneeze and wipe- “this past week.”

Emma had trouble containing her giggle. She knew once the man found out her purpose for being here, he wouldn’t regard her with any kind of esteem since she’d entered the house through the front door. Giving in to her mirth over the man’s apparent allergies, would only lower his estimation further.

“I would be shocked if she hadn’t been,” Killian replied, a touch of affection coloring his words.

Tom nodded toward Emma with a questioning look on his countenance. “Might I inform her of your guest’s arrival?”

“Please do. Her name is Emma Swan and she is here to seek employment.” Tom’s rather thick eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. Emma was surprised. Butlers weren’t to show any expression whatsoever.

“As a maid?” he asked.

“As a whatever,” Killian said, exasperation creeping into his tone.

“Very good, sir.” With those words, he disappeared up the staircase.

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t think he thought it was very good at all,” she observed.

“Tom is not in charge here.”

“Tom might have something to say about that,” she informed him drily, her eyebrows rising.

Killian looked at her, a bit shocked. “He’s the butler.”

“Exactly,” she replied, a bit exasperated at his obtuseness. “And I’m a maid. I know all about butlers. More, I’d imagine, than you do, Mr. Jones.”

“Killian,” he bit out. “I want you to call me by my given name. You’ve done it before. Do it now.”

“Your mother is about to descend those stairs, Mr. Jones. And you are asking her to hire me as a housemaid. Do any of your other servants call you by your given name?”

She had him there and he couldn’t deny it. He could feel the tick in his jaw muscle as he clenched his teeth in annoyance.

“You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Jones,” she said, trying to suppress a tiny smile.

“Killian!” A woman who could only be his mother called, descending the stairs in front of them. She was tall, though not quite as tall as her son, with a narrow, elegant face, and long red curly hair. Killian moved toward her and took her outstretched hands in his, kissing her on both cheeks in greeting.

“Mother, it is good to see you.”

She gave him a knowing look before replying. “It would have been better to have known where you were this past week,” she informed him, “The last I heard, you’d gone off to the Gold party, but then everyone arrived back in town without you.”

“I left the party early and spent some time at My Cottage,” he informed her.

She gave him a look of affectionate chastisement. “Well, I suppose you are a grown man and can’t be expected to inform your mother of your whereabouts all the time,” she said.

Killian smiled indulgently at her as she turned her attention to Emma.

“And this must be your Miss Swan,” she said, holding her hand out to shake. Emma was surprised at the gesture, but couldn’t bring herself to shake the dowager viscountess’ hand. She curtsied instead.

“Yes,” he replied. “She saved my life at My Cottage.”

“What?” His mother was quite taken aback and Emma quickly interjected.

“I didn’t…”

“She did,” Killian insisted. “After recovering from that head cold, I relapsed after driving in the cold rain. Emma nursed me back to health.”

“You would have recuperated without me,” she murmured.

“No,” he said, directing his words towards his mother. “I really don’t think I would have.”

“Weren’t the Miners at home?”

“Not when we arrived,” Killian replied. “They were visiting Mrs. Miner’s sister who’d just had a new baby.”

His mother was looking very intently at Emma and so he felt compelled to explain further. “Emma had been employed at the Gold’s, but certain circumstances made it impossible for her to remain in their service.”

“I see,” the dowager viscountess said, not sounding at all like she did see.

“Your son saved me from a most dire fate,” Emma said quietly. “I owe him a great deal of thanks.”

Lady Jones cut her eyes toward her son with a pleased look on her face. “I see,” she said with much more conviction. “I would have expected no less.”

“I was hoping you might be able to find her a position within the household,” Killian said.

“Of course,” she replied. “I’m sure I could find a place for you.”

“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” Emma interjected.

“Not at all,” she insisted. She looked at Emma with a very curious look and Emma fought the urge to squirm. “Have we met?”

“Uh, uh,” Emma stammered, “No, I don’t believe so.” Emma was quite certain their paths hadn’t crossed at the masquerade, and so couldn’t imagine how Lady Jones might recognize her.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You do look very familiar though.” She smiled and turned her attention back to Killian. “Why don’t you go visit with your sisters and I’ll get Miss Swan settled in.”

“You need only take me to the housekeeper,” Emma said. It was very odd for the lady of the house to take a personal interest in the hiring of a servant. But then again, this entire situation was strange, what with Killian asking his mother to hire her in the first place.

“Ms. Blue is busy, I’m sure,” Lady Jones said. “Besides, I believe we are in need of a lady’s maid. Have you any experience in that area?”

Emma nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. I thought you might. You speak very well.”

“My mother was a housekeeper,” she said automatically. “She worked for a very generous family…” Emma broke off suddenly. She’d just remembered that she had confessed the truth to Killian at the pond the day before. Killian raised an eyebrow at her with a small smile, telling her silently that he remembered as well and wouldn’t expose her lie.

“The family she worked for was very generous,” she continued, “and they allowed me to take lessons with their daughters.”

“Very generous, indeed,” Lady Jones agreed. “That explains a great deal. I find it difficult to believe that you’ve been employed only as a housemaid. You’re clearly educated enough to pursue loftier positions.”

“She reads quite well,” Killian informed his mother. “She often read to me while I recovered.”

“Did she, indeed?” She turned her attention back to Emma. “Do you write as well?”

“Yes,” Emma answered. “I’ve been told my penmanship is quite neat.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Lady Jones exulted. “It’s always nice to have an extra pair of hands when addressing invitations. We have a ball coming up later this summer. I have two daughters out this year and I’m hopeful one of them will choose a husband before the summer is through.”

Killian raised his eyebrows again. “I don’t believe Ruby wants to marry.”

“Hush your mouth,” Lady Jones said.

“Such a statement is sacrilege around here,” Killian informed Emma with an amused smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Emma couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Come with me, Emma,” Lady Jones said. “I’ll introduce you to the girls, and,” here she wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste before continuing, “we’ll find you something better to wear. We can’t have you going about in something so shabby. People would think we didn’t pay you a fair wage.”

Emma had never known a member of the ton to be concerned with paying their employees a fair wage and so was touched by Lady Jones’ generosity.

“You,” she turned her attention to her son, “wait for me downstairs. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

“I will await your return with bated breath,” he assured her.

Lady Jones shook her head in exasperation. “Between him and his brother, I don’t know which one will be the death of me.”

“Which brother?” Emma asked.

“Either… both… all three… scoundrels, the lot of them.”

But they were clearly scoundrels she loved dearly. Emma could see it in her eyes and the way she spoke to her son. Watching their interactions made Emma wistful and more than a little jealous. She’d never wanted anything more than a family who loved her, and she couldn’t help but think that had her mother survived her birth, even if they were unrespectable in society, she would have loved Emma. And that was more than she could say for any other adult in her life. Including her father.

“Come along, Emma.”

As Emma followed Lady Jones up the stairs, she realized she was entering more than just a new job. She was being accepted into a new family. And it felt nice. Very nice indeed.

~*~*~

Killian watched his mother and Emma start up the stairs before he turned toward the parlor to wait for his mother to return. He’d only taken a couple of steps when he heard his sister Ruby call his name.

“Killian!”

He turned toward her just in time to catch her in his arms as she ran to him.

“Where have you been?” she asked after releasing him from her rather exuberant hug. “Mother has been grumbling all week, wondering where you were.”

“That’s funny,” Killian mused. “When I spoke with mother not two minutes ago, she was grumbling about when you were going to find yourself a husband.”

Ruby rolled her eyes in exasperation. “When I find someone who is actually worth tying myself down to. I do wish someone new would come to town. I feel like I keep meeting the same hundred or so people over and over again.”

“That’s because you do keep meeting the same hundred or so people over and over again,” Killian commented drily.

“Exactly,” she agreed with an expansive wave of her arm. “There are no more secrets to be had in London. I already know everything there is to know about everyone.”

Killian raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really?”

“Mock me all you want,” she said, pointing directly at him in a way he was sure their mother would have scolded her for, “but it’s true. I am not exaggerating.”

“Not even a little bit, hmmm?”

“Where were you this past week?” she asked, ignoring his question completely and smoothly changing the subject. He moved into the parlor and sat down on the sofa, propping his feet on the low table in front of him. He probably should have waited for Ruby to sit, but she was only his sister after all, and company manners didn’t necessarily apply to sisters. “Went to the Gold party. It was abominable.”

“Mother will have words with you if she catches you with your feet up,” Ruby commented. “And why was the party so dreadful?”

“The company. A more boring bunch of lazy louts, I’ve never met.”

“As long as you don’t mince words,” Ruby replied with a smirk and rolling her eyes.

Killian raised an eyebrow at her sarcasm. “You are hereby forbidden from marrying anyone who was in attendance.”

“An order I will likely have no trouble obeying.” Ruby drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair she sat in. Killian had to smile. She’d always been a ball of excess energy. “But,” she continued, “that doesn’t explain where you were all week.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly nosy?”

Ruby waved his comment away. “Oh, all the time. Where were you?”

“And persistent, as well.”

“It’s the only way to be. Where were you?”

“Have I mentioned I’m considering investing in a company that makes human sized muzzles?”

Ruby threw a pillow at him, making him laugh. “Where were you?!”

He tossed the pillow back in her direction. “As it happens, the answer is not the least bit interesting. I was at My Cottage recuperating from a nasty cough.”

“Weren’t you sick before the party?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought you’d already recovered. Did you have a relapse?”

Killian couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or annoyed at her knowledge. “How did you know that?”

“I know everything, I told you. So you had a relapse?”

He nodded. “After driving in the rain.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not particularly smart, if you ask me.”

Killian looked around the empty room and raised his arms as if he were directing his question to anyone but Ruby. “Why am I sitting here allowing myself to be interrogated and insulted by my ninnyhammer of a younger sister?”

“Probably because I do it so well.” She kicked at his foot on the table trying to dislodge it. “Mother is going to be back down any second, I’m sure.”

“No, she won’t. She’s busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Orienting the new maid.”

“We have a new maid?” Ruby asked, surprised, looking out of the room and toward the staircase. “Nobody told me.”

“Good heavens,” he said, feigning shock, “Something has happened in London and Ruby didn’t know about it.”

She kicked at his foot again. “House maid? Lady’s maid? Scullery?”

“Why do you care?”

Ruby looked affronted. “It’s always good to know what’s what.”

“Lady’s maid, I believe.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes at him. “And how would you know?”

Killian sighed and decided he might as well tell her everything. Heaven knew, she’d have the whole story by sundown anyway.

“Because I brought her.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed further. “And since when do you concern yourself with the hiring of servants?”

“Since this particular young lady nearly saved my life by nursing me while I was ill.”

Ruby’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened almost comically at that. He might as well let her believe he was at death’s door. A little sympathy might benefit him in the long run.

“You were that ill?”

Killian shrugged. “I have felt better. Where are you going?”

She was already on her feet and moving to the doorway. “To find Mother and meet the new maid. She’s probably going to be waiting on me, Tink, and Tilly now that Marie has left us.”

“You lost your maid?”

Ruby scowled. “She left us for that odious Lady Glowerhaven.”

Killian had to grin. He remembered well his own meeting with Lady Glowerhaven and his quite similar assessment of the woman.

“Lady Glowerhaven is notorious for mistreating her servants,” Ruby volunteered. The gleam in her eye and animated gestures told him she was just warming up to her tirade. “She’s gone through three lady’s maids this year. This last one she stole from the Blanchard household. The poor girl only lasted a fortnight. She came crawling back to Lady Blanchard, begging her to take her back after Lady Glowerhaven forced her to polish three hundred pairs of shoes.”

Killian couldn’t hold back his surprise.

“Marie will be back in no time begging Mother to take her back on,” Ruby continued, “you mark my words.”

“I always mark your words, Ruby,” he assured his sister. “I just don’t always care.”

Ruby stuck her tongue out at him- definitely not appropriate behavior for a grown woman of twenty-one- as she left the room. Killian reclined back and waited for his mother to return.

~*~*~

Emma looked around at her new room, surely the nicest room she’d ever inhabited as a servant. The bed was soft, the room was well lit, she even had a writing desk! A writing desk! Who ever heard of a servant having their own writing desk?

She had just begun pulling out her meager belongings and putting them away in the chest, when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she invited, after opening the door to Lady Jones. She was stunned by that small modicum of respect she’d never known in any of her previous employment. Lady Jones entered the room carrying something in her arms and Emma shut the door behind her.

“Here we are,” she said, moving to the bed and laying down two of the finest everyday dresses Emma had ever laid eyes on. “These belonged to Christene, the younger of the two I have out this season. She no longer has need of them, but I believe they will fit you nicely.”

Emma tried to contain her gasp, but wasn’t certain she was entirely successful. “Thank you so much, my lady.”

Lady Jones waved her thanks aside. “It is no trouble at all. I’m just glad they will receive some use again.” She turned around and sat down at the writing desk. “Now, Emma. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

“East Anglia, originally,” Emma informed her. She figured it was unlikely Lady Jones would be familiar with Norfolk, where she had grown up, since the Jones country estate was in Kent. “Not very far from Sandringham, if you know where that is.”

“I do indeed, though I’ve never been. Where did your mother work?”

“Blackheath Hall,” Emma replied, the lie slipping easily off her tongue. She’d long ago made up the fictional hall where her mother supposedly worked for those who delved a little more in depth into her background. Although this time, Emma had to admit, with as kind as Lady Jones had been to her, the words left a sour taste in her mouth. “A bit north of Swaffham. Are you familiar with it?”

“No, I don’t believe I am.”

“Most people aren’t,” Emma replied.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, ma’am, there was only me.” Emma wasn’t used to employers being interested in her background beyond her employment record and references, and she wondered if Lady Jones was truly interested or if she was somehow being tested.

“Well, at least you had the company of the girls you took lessons with,” Lady Jones commented. “That must have been nice for you.”

Emma kept her face carefully blank as she thought back to the days of lessons with Regina and Zelena. She much preferred the lessons she’d had alone with her governess, before her father brought his new wife and her daughters to Spencer Hall.

“It was interesting, anyway,” she allowed.

“What was the name of the family your mother worked for?”

“Grenville.”

Lady Jones’ brow furrowed. “I’m not familiar with them.”

“They don’t often come to London.”

“I see,” she nodded. “That would certainly explain it. But it was very generous of them to allow you to take lessons with their daughters. What did you study?”

Emma swallowed hard, the feeling that she was being tested back again. “Oh, the usual subjects,” she hedged. “Arithmetic, literature, history, French.”

Lady Jones’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “French? French tutors can be rather dear.”

“The governess spoke French, so it wasn’t any extra,” Emma explained.

“I see.” They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Emma still couldn’t hide her surprise as she moved to the door and opened it. Outside stood a tall, thin, dark haired young lady. “Oh, Ruby,” Lady Jones said. “What brings you up here?”

“Killian told me we had a new lady’s maid,” she said as she entered the room, taking in Emma from head to foot.

Lady Jones motioned to Emma. “This is Emma Swan,” she introduced. “Emma, my older unmarried daughter, Ruby. We were just chatting.” She turned her attention back to Emma with a small, knowing smile lifting the corner of her lips. “I believe we will get on famously.”

Ruby shot an odd look at her mother. Or, at least, Emma thought the look was odd. It was certainly possible the young woman usually looked at her mother with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, but somehow, Emma didn’t think so.

“Killian said you saved his life,” Ruby said, turning from her mother to Emma.

“He exaggerates,” Emma said, a small smile touching her lips.

Ruby looked at her with an intensity that was very similar to the way Killian often did. As if she could uncover all the secrets Emma was determined to keep buried. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, before a familiar smirk raised the corner of Ruby’s lips.

“I do believe my mother is right,” she said. “We shall get on famously.”

The feeling of being tested again came to the front of Emma’s mind, but the smiles on both of the ladies' faces made her feel like she’d passed with flying colors.

“Have you met Tink and Tilly yet?” Ruby asked. Emma shook her head, taking in how Lady Jones rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“I’ve given up correcting my children on their nickname for Christene,” she imparted to Emma.

“I started calling her Tink after I read Peter Pan,” Ruby informed her. “I thought she looked like Tinkerbell with her little upturned nose. And the rest of the family agreed with me.” She tossed a rather smug look at her mother and Emma had to bite back an amused grin.

“Christene,” Lady Jones emphasized, “is visiting Belle this afternoon and Tilly is off with Ava Blanchard. They appear to have gotten over their row and are again inseparable.”

Emma smiled and nodded, wondering why they were sharing such information with her. They were treating her like family, which was more than her own family had ever done.

It was odd.

Odd and wonderful.

“Is something wrong, Emma?” Ruby asked, “You have a tear in your eye.”

Emma shook her head. “Just a speck of dust, I’m sure,” she said, wiping at the corner of her eye. She knew neither of them believed her, but she didn’t much care.

~*~*~

It was only a few minutes after Ruby left him that Killian heard his mother’s footsteps in the marble hallway. He removed his feet from the table in front of him and quickly rose to his feet. Manners may be temporarily set aside for one’s sister, but never for one’s mother.

“I saw your feet on the table,” she informed him as she came into the room.

Killian scratched behind his ear and waited for her to be seated before resuming his own.

“Alright, Killian,” she began in an extremely no-nonsense voice. “Who is she?”

“Miss Swan?” he asked.

His mother speared him with a look and he knew he’d better mind his words. “I honestly have no idea, Mother. Other than the fact that she worked for the Gold’s and was shamefully mistreated by their son.”

Alice gasped in horror. “I had a feeling from what you both said earlier. Did he…?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” he rushed to reassure her. “I got there in time.”

She sighed in relief. “The poor girl. I’m so glad you were able to save her.”

Killian found that he didn’t much like to remember that night at the Gold’s. The situation may have ended favorably, but he was quite sure if he hadn’t come along when he did, Emma would have been raped. Multiple times. And now that he knew Emma- had come to care for her- that thought made him sick to his stomach.

“Well, she is not who she says she is,” Alice said. “Of that, I am quite certain.” Killian looked sharply at his mother and sat up straighter. Alice Jones was no fool. In fact, she was one of the most brilliant women he’d ever known, rivaled only by his sisters, Belle and Ruby. He couldn’t break Emma's confidence, but it would certainly behoove him to see exactly what his mother had managed to conclude about Emma in the few minutes they’d spent together.

“What do you mean?”

“She is far too educated to be a housemaid,” she began. “Her mother’s employers may have been generous enough to allow her to share some of their daughter’s lessons, but all of them? Killian, the girl speaks French!”

“She does?”

“Yes,” Alice nodded. “I suspected when I saw her reading a book on Christene’s desk that was written in French, but then she confirmed it herself when I asked her what she studied.”

“I see,” Killian mused.

“Perhaps she’s the cast-off daughter of an aristocratic family,” Alice continued, warming to the subject.

“Cast off?”

“For getting herself with child,” she explained.

Killian was not used to his mother speaking so plainly. He kept his face carefully blank for she was far too close to the truth.

“Or perhaps,” she continued, “she’s the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman.”

“But, if she was,” he began, desperate to redirect her thoughts, “wouldn’t he have settled enough funds on her that she didn’t have to work as a housemaid?”

“One would think,” she mused. “But many noblemen completely ignore their by-blows. It’s nothing short of scandalous.”

Killian raised his eyebrow. “More scandalous than having by-blows in the first place? Besides, if she were the bastard of a nobleman and he cared enough to have her educated as a child, why is she penniless now?”

“That is a good point,” Alice acknowledged. She tapped her finger against her chin and pursed her lips. “Have no fear,” she said suddenly, “I shall figure out her identity within a month.”

Killian smirked at her assertion. It would be terribly entertaining to watch her try to discover Emma’s secrets. “I recommend asking Ruby for help,” he commented drily.

“Brilliant,” Alice exclaimed.

Killian stood. “I must be going. I’m weary from the road and want to get home.”

“You could always avail yourself here,” Alice suggested.

Killian smiled in return. There was nothing his mother loved better than having her children close at hand. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for finding a position for Emma.”

“Miss Swan, you mean?” she asked, a knowing smirk on her face.

Killian waved his hand vaguely, feigning indifference. “Emma, Miss Swan, whatever you wish to call her.”

He already has his back turned and so missed the broad smile on Alice’s face.

~*~*~

By the next morning when Emma came down for breakfast, she’d met five of Killian’s siblings. Ruby, Tink, and Tilly all still lived with their mother, Liam had come by with his young son the afternoon she arrived, and Belle, now the Duchess of Gamwell, had also spent the afternoon with her mother planning the end-of-season ball. Henry, who was off at Eton and David, who was, in Liam’s words, God knows where, were the only two she had yet to meet. Although she had actually met David two years ago at the masquerade.

She couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about the prospect of meeting David. She didn’t know why. If Killian had failed to recognize her, what made her think David would? It was still, however, stressful to think about.

She descended the back stairs, planning to take breakfast with the other servants, when she found Killian at the bottom. He grinned delightedly, a spark of mischief in his eyes, when he saw her, and Emma caught her breath, not sure whether to be angry at him for surprising her like that or swoon at his feet.

“So, how was your first night in my mother’s household?” he asked her.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself to face whatever he might say to her. “Splendid,” she informed him before moving to her left in order to go around him. But he moved to his right, effectively cutting her off.

“Have you been given a tour of the house?”

“Yes,” she answered him, trying to keep from grinding her teeth in agitation. “By the housekeeper.”

“What about the grounds?”

Emma scoffed. “There are no grounds.”

“There is a garden,” he said, smiling a little more genuinely now.

“About the size of a p0und note,” she retorted.

“Nonetheless…”

“Nonetheless,” Emma interrupted, “I have to eat breakfast. Please excuse me, Mr. Jones.” She couldn’t help her own smirk when he shot her an annoyed look but moved out of her way.

“Until we meet again, Miss Swan,” he murmured.

Emma had a feeling they would meet again very soon.

~*~*~

After she’d finished her excellent breakfast, Emma peeked around the door frame of the servants dining room, half-expecting Killian to jump out at her.

He wasn’t there.

She slowly crept forward into the hallway, heading for the side stairs, chastising herself for her timidity. She kept looking side to side, expecting him to ambush her at any moment.

“Stupid girl,” she mumbled to herself as she straightened up and moved with purpose toward the stairs.

“Who’s stupid?” Killian asked. “Surely not you?”

Emma jumped out of her skin and covered her scream with her hand. “Where did you come from?” she demanded over her racing heart. “Do you make a habit of surprising people like that?”

“Only those I care about,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Emma didn’t know what to think about his words and so rolled her eyes at him in annoyance.

“Excuse me, please. I have to get to work,” she said, attempting to brush past him.

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” she insisted.

“Tilly is eating breakfast,” he informed her. “It would be difficult to dress her hair while she is still eating.”

Emma grit her teeth at him. “I also attend to Ruby and Christene.”

Killian’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Christene? You mean Tink? Why are you calling her Christene? No one has for years.”

“Uh, oh, well,” Emma stammered, “Your mother said her name was Christene, and when I asked her what she’d prefer to be called, she said it didn’t matter to her, so I thought it’d be respectful to Lady Jones to call her by her given name.”

Killian rolled his eyes at her explanation. “Mother is literally the only one to call her by her given name. Friends, family, even servants, all call her Tink.” He leaned forward into her space. “And she and Ruby are also still at breakfast. Truly, you have nothing to do at the moment.”

Emma sighed with annoyance. “Which shows how little you know about the kind of work a lady’s maid does. I have ironing and mending and polishing shoes to do.”

“Sounds dull,” he drawled.

“I’m aware,” she informed him, struggling to hold back her sudden tears.

His countenance was suddenly filled with contrition and he moved closer to her, running his finger down her cheek. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotion she couldn’t give voice to.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” he whispered. The tenderness in his voice nearly undid her, and she grabbed his wrist in desperation.

“It does.” She opened her eyes to see her same heartbreak reflected in his. He moved away from her and she ran up the stairs.

~*~*~

He next found her in the garden a few days later. Lady Jones was taking a nap and all three of the Jones sisters had gone to visit their sister-in-law Elsa for afternoon tea. Emma had all their dresses mended and pressed and ready for the evening’s social event, hair ribbons had been selected, and shoes polished.

Lady Jones had informed Emma that she was free to borrow any book from her extensive library that she pleased, and so with some time to herself, she selected a recently published novel and sat down outside, enjoying the fresh air. She was a chapter into it when she heard footsteps on the flagstones and a shadow fell over her. She laid the book in her lap and looked up to find Killian smiling down at her.

He was so devastatingly handsome she caught her breath and hoped he wouldn’t notice. The soft, genuine smile on his face morphing into a pleased smirk told her that hope was futile. Emma rolled her eyes in annoyance even if she fought back a smile at his presence.

“May I help you?” she asked, not realizing until the words were out of her mouth exactly how they sounded. Killian’s smirk turned positively wicked as Emma stammered in her embarrassment. “I- I mean- oh, dash it all, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Killian shrugged, and made himself comfortable in the other chair. “You may not have really meant it, but often the first impulse is correct and would be wise to follow.”

“You know that’s not going to happen,” she informed him drily.

He shrugged again, making her temper rise. “It was worth a try.” He was silent for a moment and Emma picked her book back up. “And what are you reading today?” he asked.

She laid down the book again, exasperated. “Nothing, while you’re here. You’re too distracting,” she mumbled, bringing the book back up again.

“Oh, am I?” He sounded immensely pleased at her statement and Emma’s cheeks flamed. She rose to her feet. Killian immediately followed. The gesture of respect was not lost on Emma. Gentlemen usually did not stand for servants.

“I’m going inside.”

She started to walk away from him, but came to a stop when he spoke softly. “Your new dress is quite fetching.”

Emma swallowed heavily and turned to face him. Even as unnerved as she was at his presence, good manners were good manners and she couldn’t just ignore a sincere compliment. “Thank you. It was a gift from your mother. I believe it belonged to Tink.”

Killian raised his eyebrows. “Ahhh, I see you took my suggestion and joined the rest of us in calling her Tink,” he commented, making her cheeks flame, before addressing her statement. “And it’s customary to gift a dress to a maid?”

Emma nodded, thankful for the change in subject. “When one is through with them, of course.”

“I see.”

Emma eyed him suspiciously. She couldn’t fathom why he cared about where her clothing came from.

“What are you up to?”

His face was all innocence. “Up to? Me? You wound me.”

She crossed her arms and speared him with an unamused look. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t up to something.”

Killian grinned. “Why, thank you, milady. I do believe that was a compliment.”

Emma wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she remained silent. She also didn’t move any closer to the door. She wasn’t sure why, but her feet refused to obey what her head was saying. She needed to get away from him. For her own peace of mind. She desperately loved this man. Longed for him. But he’d never be hers. The life she dreamed of with him would never be. She really couldn’t fault him for wanting her to be his mistress. He’d done what any man in his position would have done. He wanted her close to him, and when she rejected his offer, he did the next best thing. There was no place for her at his side except as his mistress.

She was under no illusions about her place in London society, about her place in Killian’s life. She was a maid, a servant. The only difference between her and other maids and servants was that she’d had a taste of luxury as a child. She’d been reared as a lady, if without love, and that experience had shaped her views, her convictions, her ideals and values. Now she was forever stuck between two worlds, not truly belonging in either.

“You look very serious,” he said quietly. Stepping forward, he moved to touch her face, but then stopped himself. Something about her right at this moment was untouchable, unreachable. “I can’t bear it when you look so sad.” He hadn’t meant to say the words, they just slipped out, unbidden.

His words caught her attention then and she looked up at him. “I’m not sad.”

“There is a sorrow deep in your eyes,” he murmured, “It’s rarely gone.”

Her hand flew to her face, and Killian took it in his own and brought it to his chest, over his heart. “I wish you would share your other secrets with me. I think I’ve proved myself trustworthy to protect them. And you.”

“I have no…”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interjected, more harshly than he intended. “You promised you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“There is nothing wrong with secrets,” she whispered.

“Your secrets are eating you alive.” He couldn’t stand here and listen to her excuses. And that frustration eroded his patience. “You have the opportunity to change your life. To reach out and grasp happiness with both hands, and you won’t do it!”

“I can’t.” She closed her eyes against the anguish and frustration in his. She couldn’t bear to see it anymore. “Please, Killian,” she begged, “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Something snapped in Killian when she said his name and he pulled her fully against him so she could feel for herself just how hard he was.

“You think it’s not hard?” he growled, “You think it’s not hard?”

“I didn’t say that!” she cried.

“I burn for you, Emma,” he murmured into her ear. “Every night, I lay in my bed, thinking of you, wishing you were with me, instead of here.”

“I don’t want…”

“You don’t know what you want,” he cut in, teeth clenched in anger.

It was cruel. Condescending in the extreme. But, God help her, it was true. She didn’t know what she wanted. Right now, at this moment, she didn’t know which way was up or which way was down. Which way would be her destruction and which way would be her salvation. But being held so tightly against him, she could fight him no longer. She relaxed in his arms and turned her lips to his.

Killian was stunned only for a moment when her lips met his and she all but melted in his embrace. Her arms wrapped around him, her hands plunging into his hair, her mouth opening under his. He didn’t know why she suddenly decided to kiss him, but he wasn’t about to pull back and ask her.

He seized the moment, tasting her, drinking her in, drowning in her. He was no longer convinced that he’d be able to change her mind about becoming his mistress, so it was absolutely imperative that this kiss be more than just a kiss. He might have to live on this kiss for a lifetime.

A picture of the mystery woman from the masquerade flashed in his mind and he remembered saying they had to pack a lifetime into that single night. He’d been overconfident then, not believing her when she said he’d never see her again.

He would not lose Emma the same way.

She was here now, in his arms, and she felt like heaven. She was born to rest in the safety of his arms, and he was born to hold her.

“Come home with me. Please,” he begged.

“I can’t,” she said, her breath whispering across his skin.

“You can,” he insisted, holding her even tighter to the hard planes of his body.

She shook her head, but she didn’t pull away, so he captured her lips with his own, his tongue delving into the depths of her mouth, exploring every part of it. His hand ran up her side until it met her breast and he squeezed gently, making her gasp and shiver in his arms. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anywhere near enough. He wanted to touch her skin, not have this blasted fabric between them.

But he couldn’t here. They were in his mother’s garden, for heaven’s sake. Anyone could come out of the house at any time and find them. It would be enough for Emma to be fired on the spot, no questions asked.

Then she would have to be his mistress. She’d have no choice.

But it suddenly occurred to him- and how he had the presence of mind at this moment for anything to occur to him, he’d never know- that part of the reason he cared so much for Emma was her strength and her sense of self. She knew exactly who she was and she didn’t flinch away from standing up for her ideals and her convictions. She refused to compromise her values. Even when offered a life with him.

Right now, if someone were to come out and find them- if he were to ruin her so publicly, in front of people she respected and admired- it would break her spirit. And that would be unforgivable.

He slowly pulled away. Her eyes were half lidded, still caught up in the passion between them. He still wanted her, but he wasn’t going to force the issue by compromising her in his mother’s household.

“You stopped,” she whispered, her voice sounding dazed.

“It’s not the time or the place,” he murmured. It took a moment for his words to register, but then horror dawned in her eyes. “Shh, shh, shh,” he urged her. “No, no, no. No one has seen us. We’re alone,” he assured her. “I want you, Emma. I want you to come home with me. I want you to be mine. But I won’t do it like this. There will be no trickery. No manipulation. I want your heart, Emma. And I will wait for you to give it. Of your own free will.”

Emma shook her head. “We can’t do this again.”

He placed his finger against her lips. “You’re spoiling it.”

“No, but…”

“Humor me. Please,” he said, “let me believe that I left you here without you saying it could never happen again.”

“But…”

“You’re not humoring me.”

“But…”

“Can’t I have this one fantasy?”

That finally broke through. She smiled.

“Good. Now that’s more like it.”

Her lips quivered, and amazingly, her smile grew.

“Excellent,” he murmured. “Now, I am going to leave, and you have one task and one task only. And that is to keep smiling. Because it breaks my heart for any other expression to find a home on your lovely face.”

“You won’t be able to see me,” she pointed out, her smile turning into more of a smirk.

He gently brushed her cheek with his finger. “I’ll know.” Then he turned around and walked away.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Sneak peek will be up on Wednesday!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 1 Ch3

We are back with the final chapter of Pt1!!! Killian certainly has his work cut out for him, trying to find his lady! Will he succeed? Well... eventually he will... I am so glad y’all are enjoying this fic so much and hope you continue to do so!

All the love and hugs to the ladies who had something to do with the creating of this fic, @hollyethecurious for the inspiration of adapting her favorite Bridgerton sibling, Benedict, to a CS fic, @jrob64 and @zaharadessert for their betaing expertise, @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Emma, Killian, and Cora in the artwork, and finally to @kymbersmith-90​ for answering all my questions about titles and royalty! Love you all, ladies!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. 

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process. Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 4100 words of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2

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More than one masquerade attendee has reported to This Author that Killian Jones was seen in the company of an unknown lady dressed in a blue gown.

Try as she might, This Author has been unable to ascertain the lady’s identity. And if that is the case, you can be sure, it is a closely guarded secret, indeed.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 31

~*~*~

“Do you recognize this crest?” Killian asked his mother, before he even sat down in the pale green and soft pink drawing room where she received visitors.

She took it from him and only glanced at it before she nodded definitively. “Glowerhaven.”

“As in ‘Earl of’?” he asked, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

Alice nodded. “And the S would be for Spencer. The title passed out of the family some time ago, I believe,” she added. “The Earl passed without issue, but he had no close blood relative, so the title went to some distant cousin. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you failed to dance with Mary Margaret last night,” she scolded. “You were lucky your brother was there to dance in your stead.”

Killian rolled his eyes and tried to bring her back to the issue at hand. “Who, then, is SLS?”

Alice’s green eyes narrowed. Killian couldn’t meet her perceptive gaze. It reminded him too much of another pair of green eyes. “And why are you so interested?”

He tried to turn his brilliant and disarming smile on his mother, the one that he could usually rely on to get him out of trouble, but her countenance remained unmoved, her eyes narrowing further. Killian sighed.

“I don’t suppose you might just answer my question without posing one of your own,” he asked.

Alice snorted, lifting a delicate hand to her face. “You know me far better than that,” she countered. Her gaze sharpened and her eyes narrowed even further. “Who does the glove belong to, Killian?”

It was obvious she was already putting the pieces together in her head and he knew it’d work out far better for him if he just told her everything. He dreaded sharing these details with his mother. She tended to latch onto anything that even hinted at matrimony and cling to it with the tenacity of a barnacle on a ship. But he had no choice. Not if he wanted to find her.

“I met someone at the ball last night,” he finally said.

Alice all but bounced in her seat and clapped her hands in delight. “Really?”

“She’s the reason I forgot to dance with Mary Margaret.”

“You’re forgiven.” Alice looked like she might die of rapture. “Who? One of Glowerhaven’s daughters?” Her brow furrowed. “No, wait. He didn’t have any daughters. He had two step-daughters. Although…”

“What, Mother?”

“Oh, nothing really,” she replied, waving aside his question. “Having met the girls, I wouldn’t have thought you’d…” she trailed away, uncertain. “But, of course, if you are, I will invite the dowager countess over for tea. It’s the very least I can do.”

Killian started to speak then stopped when he realized his mother was frowning again. “What now?” he asked.

“Oh, well…” she took a deep breath and cut her eyes over toward him. Killian tried to rein in his impatience, raising his eyebrow in question.

“Spit it out, Mother.”

She smiled weakly. “It’s just that I don’t particularly like the dowager countess. I’ve always found her to be a bit pretentious, mean-spirited, and ambitious.”

Killian tried to smother his amused smile. “One might consider you ambitious, Mother,” he pointed out.

Alice looked affronted. “Of course I have great ambition that my children marry well and happily, but I am not the sort to marry my daughter off to a 70 year old man simply because he was a duke!”

Killian wracked his brain for a moment. He couldn’t recall a 70 year old duke making a trip to the altar lately. “Did the dowager countess do that?”

“No,” Alice admitted. “But she would.”

Killian bit back another amused smile as Alice continued, pointing to herself with great flourish. “While I, on the other hand, would allow my children to marry paupers if it would make them happy.” Killian raised an eyebrow at her. “They would be well principled and hard working paupers, make no mistake,” she explained. “No gamblers need apply.”

Killian didn’t want to laugh outright at his mother, so he coughed discreetly into his handkerchief instead.

“But I will put aside my feelings for the dowager countess if you care for one of her daughters.” She paused and looked at him intently. “Do you care for one of her daughters?”

“I’ve no idea,” he shrugged. “I never got her name. Just her glove.”

Alice gave him a stern look. “I’m not even going to ask how you obtained the lady’s glove.”

It was all Killian could do to keep from scratching behind his ear. She’d latch onto that tell before he could even blink. “It was all completely innocent, I assure you.”

Her expression was extremely dubious. “I have far too many sons to believe that.”

“The initials?” he reminded her.

She held the glove up, examining it closely. “It seems quite old.”

Killian nodded. “I thought the same. And I thought it smelled rather musty, as if it had been packed away in an attic.”

“And the stitches show wear,” she continued. “I don’t know what the L is for, but the S could very well be for Sarah, the late Earl’s mother, who has also passed on. Which would make sense given the age of the glove.”

“As I’m quite certain I wasn’t speaking to a ghost last night, who do you think it might have belonged to?”

Alice shook her head. “I have no idea. Someone in the Spencer family, I suppose.”

“Do you know where they live?”

“Of course. They live in Spencer House, just a few blocks away. The new earl hasn’t given them the boot yet. No idea why.” She gave him directions and such was his haste that Killian was already on his feet and halfway to the door before she finished.

“Oh, Killian,” she called as he reached for the door. He turned back around.

“Yes, Mother?”

“The daughters are Zelena and Regina. Just in case you’re interested.”

Killian’s brow furrowed slightly. Neither seemed to really fit. But what did he know? He reached for the door again.

“Killian.” This time his name was drawn out a bit and Killian turned to his mother again with a beleaguered sigh. Her smile was quite amused.

“You will tell me what happens, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mother.”

“You’re lying to me.” She waved at him dismissively. “But I forgive you. It’s so nice to see you in love.”

“I’m not…”

“Whatever you say, dear,” she interrupted.

Killian decided there was little point in replying, so he finally left his mother’s drawing room and hurried out of the house.

~*~*~

“Emmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa!” Cora screeched.

Emma’s head snapped up from where she was polishing a silver spoon. As ladies maid to Cora, Zelena, and Regina, polishing silver shouldn’t have been on the list of Emma’s chores, but Cora delighted in never giving her a moment’s rest and working her fingers to the bone. She set the spoon down and moved to the door of the room, looking this way and that for her mistress.

“Emmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaa!” Cora screeched again. Emma couldn’t imagine what had her in such a tizzy, but it was hardly infrequent behavior. Cora was always angry about something.

“I’m here,” Emma called, still unable to ascertain where Cora was.

She finally came around the corner holding something in her hands. “What is the meaning of this?”

She held it up and all but thrust it in her face. Emma gasped in shock when she recognized the slippers she’d worn to the ball the night before. “These are brand new! Brand new! I have never worn them! And they have a scuff mark. How could this have happened?”

Emma’s eyes widened as she thought frantically for some lie Cora might believe.

“I have no idea, my lady.” Cora’s eyes narrowed at her. “Perhaps you accidentally scuffed them yourself as you passed them in your closet?”

“Someone has worn my shoes and I want to know who.” Her voice was low and deadly calm and Emma’s mouth went dry.

“I can ask one of the maids,” she tried to placate her. “See if they know anything.”

“The maids are a bunch of idiots.” Emma waited for Cora to say Present company excluded, but of course, she did not.

“I can try to get the scuff mark out,” Emma offered. “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“You do that,” Cora huffed. “And while you’re at it, you might as well polish all my shoes.”

“My lady?” The butler entered and Cora spun around to face him. “There’s a gentleman to see you.” He handed her a crisp white card. Emma watched as Cora’s face turned from stunned surprise to pure delight.

She turned to the butler barking out orders. “Tea, and biscuits! The best silver! At once!” The butler hurried out leaving Emma with Cora.

“May I be of any help?” Emma ventured.

“What?” Cora looked a bit confused at Emma’s words, almost as if she’d forgotten she was even there. “No, of course not. I have no time for the likes of you. Go. See to my shoes.” Emma curtsied and hurried to the door. “Oh, be sure that Zelena and Regina are properly dressed. And then you may instruct Zelena to lock you in my closet.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Do you understand me?”

Emma couldn’t even bring herself to nod. Some things were just too demeaning.

Cora stalked over to her until their faces were only an inch apart. “You didn’t answer. Do you understand me?” Emma nodded, but just barely. Every day there was some new evidence of just how deeply Cora’s hatred for her ran.

“Why do you keep me here?” Emma whispered before she could think better of it.

“Because I find you useful,” was Cora’s dismissive reply. She spun away, leaving Emma pale and trembling in her humiliation and fear.

She climbed the stairs and found Zelena and Regina in the parlor. Both of them looked quite acceptable to her, and so she sighed and approached Regina.

“Lock me in your mother’s closet, if you will, please,” Emma asked quietly.

Regina gasped. “I beg your pardon?”

Emma sighed. “I was told to ask Zelena, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it.”

Regina’s face was pale with dismay. “And what are you supposed to do there?” she asked.

“I’m to polish all of your mother’s shoes.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina said, sincerely.

“I am, too.”

~*~*~

Killian had been waiting in Lady Glowerhaven’s parlor for fifteen minutes now. He huffed with impatience, absently patting his pocket to confirm that the mystery lady’s glove was still inside. Why others didn’t value punctuality the way he did, he’d never know.

His gaze wandered around the room, taking in the fussy and ostentatious furnishings. From what he’d heard from his mother this morning, he wasn’t terribly surprised. Appearances seemed to be overly important to the countess.

He finally heard footsteps coming down the stairs and rose to greet his hostess. A woman in her forties swept into the room. Her emerald green dress complimented her auburn colored hair nicely, but as she held out her hand to him in greeting, he noticed the deep lines around her lips, eyes and across her forehead that her makeup just couldn’t hide. There was a gleam in her eyes that told him she was delighted with his presence, but there was a cunning, grasping, desperate quality to it as well. It was a bit unnerving. He decided his mother’s summation of the dowager countess was spot on.

“Mr. Jones,” she gushed, “How lovely for you to honor our home with a call.”

“Lady Glowerhaven,” he greeted her, taking her outstretched hand in his and bowing slightly over it. “It is very nice to meet you.”

Her smile was wide and made him think of a barracuda. “I’ve informed my daughters of your presence and they should be down shortly.”

Killian nodded. He hadn’t expected anything different. Why else would an eligible bachelor be visiting the home of unmarried young ladies? “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

The countess’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t met either of them yet?” she asked.

Killian cursed himself. Now she’d be wondering why he was here. It wasn’t exactly common practice to call on someone to whom one had not yet been introduced.

“I’ve heard so much about them, I thought it was high time I met them in person.” He may have scrambled for an explanation, but he was rather proud of how smoothly the words flowed off his tongue.

“Of course,” she agreed. “My Zelena is considered one of the beauties of the season.”

Killian nodded his head in acknowledgment of her words. “And what about Regina?”

The lines around the countess’s mouth tightened and she hesitated a moment before speaking. “Regina… is lovely, of course.” She sent him a smile that told him she thought the exact opposite of her words in relation to her other daughter. Killian felt his distaste for the countess grow by the second. A mother who clearly favored one daughter over another, shouldn’t be a mother.

“I’m very much looking forward to meeting Regina,” he said, curious as to what her response would be. She sent him another tight smile as a servant came in with an elaborate tea service.

Cora huffed indignantly as she looked at the service and hissed at the maid. “I believe I asked for the best silver to be used.” She shot him another smile, but this one seemed more embarrassed than annoyed. Killian could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes.

The poor maid’s face lost all color and she stammered as she spoke. “Em- Emma was polishing the spoons when you sent her upstairs, milady.”

“Silence,” the countess hissed again. “I’m sure Mr. Jones isn’t too high and mighty to be concerned with the monogrammed spoons.”

“Of course not,” he assured her, with a smile at the maid. Her smile in return was shy, but a bit relieved. His attention returned to the countess, whom he thought must be a bit too high and mighty to even consider using monogrammed spoons.

“Begone,” she said to the poor girl. The maid bobbed a curtsy and left quickly. The countess leaned in conspiratorially. “Our better silver has the Glowerhaven crest on it, but the infernal girl can do nothing right, so it’s unlikely to be in any condition to be seen by guests.” She sighed dramatically. “It is so hard to find good help these days. I’m sure your mother says the same thing all the time.”

Killian hummed in response. His mother had never said anything of the sort. Because the Jones servants were treated very well and were utterly devoted to the family.

“One of these days, I’m just going to have to get rid of Emma,” the countess huffed. Killian found himself feeling sorry for the unknown Emma, and couldn’t help feeling like she could do much better than working in the Glowerhaven household. But he wasn’t going to get drawn into a discussion of servants.

“I imagine the tea is well steeped by now,” he observed.

“Oh, yes,” the countess agreed. “How do you take yours?”

“Milk, no sugar, please.”

As she prepared his tea, he heard the countess’s daughters finally descend the stairs. As soon as they entered the room, he knew neither was his mystery lady. The taller one had flaming red hair and had a rather affected manner, much like her mother, and the other had black hair. He tried to not let his disappointment show as their tea was prepared.

“I very much enjoyed your ball last night, Mr. Jones,” Zelena offered once she’d settled on the couch with her tea.

Killian nodded in response. “Well, it was more my mother’s ball, I had nothing to do with the planning of it, but I shall convey your compliments.”

“Please do,” she replied. “I noticed you spent some time with a particular lady. She wore a blue gown.”

The countess’s head snapped toward her daughter so hard and so quickly, Killian was amazed her neck didn’t crack. Zelena’s eyes were intense as she stared him down.

Killian tilted his head in question. “Did you, now?”

“Yes,” she persisted. “What was her name?”

“I never got it,” he admitted. “She left the ball before the unmasking.”

“Did she?” the countess asked, her eyes narrowing.

Killian rose before anything else could be said. There was no point in prolonging the visit. The countess had no other eligible daughters and there were almost certainly no Spencer cousins that the glove might have belonged to, since the title had passed out of the family and gone to a distant cousin.

“I’m afraid I must be going,” he said, with a small bow.

“Oh, so soon?” the countess asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “My mother is expecting me. It was lovely to meet you all,” he lied smoothly. He lightly shook the countess’s hand, then did the same with Zelena, before bowing over Regina’s and bringing her hand to his lips, just for the pleasure of seeing the countess’s face redden with indignation.

As soon as the door shut behind their guest, Cora turned to her daughters.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” she asked, her face a mask of contemplative confusion.

“I suppose…” Regina began.

“I didn’t ask you,” Cora snapped.

“Well then, who did you ask?” Regina asked, showing uncharacteristic fortitude in talking back to her mother.

“Perhaps he saw me from afar…” Zelena offered.

“Don’t be a fool, Zelena,” she bit out. “He didn’t see you from afar.” Zelena gasped. Her mother never spoke harshly to her. “You said he spent time with another lady last night.”

“Well, yes, but…”

“No buts. He was here for a reason.” Cora pulled back the sheer curtains near the door to see Killian standing on the sidewalk holding something in his hand. “What is he holding?”

“It looks like a glove.”

“It’s not a glove,” Cora replied without thinking, too used to contradicting anything Regina had to say. “Why, it is a glove.”

“I should think I know a glove when I see one,” Regina muttered.

“What is he looking at?” Zelena asked.

“Perhaps a bit of embroidery?” Regina speculated. “We have gloves with the Glowerhaven crest on them. Perhaps this is the same?”

Cora went white.

“Mother, are you alright?” Zelena asked. “You’ve gone very pale.”

“He came here looking for her,” Cora whispered.

“Looking for who?” Zelena asked.

Cora’s patience was nearly at an end and she rounded on Zelena. “The woman in the blue gown he was with last night, you clot!” she screeched.

Zelena’s shock at her mother’s treatment was complete and she could think of nothing to say.

“Well, she obviously isn’t here as none of us were wearing a blue gown last night,” Regina commented.

Cora remained contemplative, her brow furrowed as she connected the pieces. “My shoes. My brand new shoes were scuffed. Someone wore them. It had to be her. How did she do it? It had to be her,” she repeated. She pushed past her surprised and confused daughters and rushed from the room.

~*~*~

Emma was on her knees in the closet when the door flew open and crashed against the wall. She screamed, placing her hand over her heart, hammering in her chest with fright.

“Pack your things,” Cora growled.

Emma’s eyes widened in alarm. “My lady?” she asked, her words and the tremor in her voice betraying her confusion. “Why?”

“Do I really need a reason?” she barked. “It is enough that I want you out of my house.”

“Where will I go?” Emma asked, confusion giving way to fear beginning to creep into her words.

“That’s not really my concern now, is it?”

“But…”

“You’re twenty-one years old,” Cora interrupted. “More than old enough to make your way in the world. There will be no more coddling from me.”

“You never coddled me,” Emma muttered under her breath.

“How dare you speak to me like that!” Cora exclaimed.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Emma shouted. “You’re kicking me out of the house anyway. Why have you kept me here anyway?”

The haughtiness on Cora’s face made Emma physically ill. “You’re cheaper than a regular ladies maid, and I do enjoy ordering you about.” Cora’s smile was cruel and Emma swallowed hard. She was serious and Emma looked around, trying to swallow down her sudden fear and nausea. She may have hated Cora and her life, but at least she had a bed to sleep in and food to eat. Granny was a friend, and Regina was nearly so. Where would she go? What would she do? How would she support herself?

“You were there, weren’t you?” Cora asked, suddenly. “You were at the masquerade last night. You were the lady in blue.”

Emma’s heart stopped. How did she know? How could she have possibly found out? Emma shook her head in denial. “No,” she lied.

“I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did.” Cora continued speaking as if she didn’t even hear Emma. She kicked the shoes from last night toward Emma. “Put them on,” she demanded.

Emma stood, with as much dignity as she could muster and put the slippers on. They were, of course, a perfect fit.

“How dare you!” Cora seethed, marching closer until only inches separated them. “I told you to never even think that you were one of us. That you were nothing but a bastard and not fit for polite society. And yet you dared to defy me and attend the masquerade ball last night.”

Emma had had enough. Her fury at all the mistreatment and abuse she’d endured for so many years bubbled to the surface and Emma let it loose, not caring at all anymore.

“Yes, I dared,” she seethed. “And I had every right to. I am the earl’s blood, so I am just as good as you and my heart is far kinder…”

Emma was suddenly on the ground, her cheek stinging where Cora had slapped her.

“Don’t ever compare yourself to me,” Cora raged. “You are to be gone by morning.” And with that, Cora turned on her heel and walked out of the closet, locking her in again.

Emma looked around at the rest of the shoes in the closet. There was no way in hell she was going to continue polishing all these shoes. She’d simply wait here until someone came looking for her and released her from the closet. She thought about her next steps and her chin trembled as she tried to hold back her tears.

In all the years she’d worked for Cora since the earl’s death, she’d never seen a single pound in wages. She’d received a bit from her father while he was still alive, that she’d never spent, always knowing in the back of her mind this day might come. But that money wouldn’t last long. It might not even be enough to get her out of London, and there was no way she could remain here. She wouldn’t be able to find work without references and Cora would never give her one. Plus, there was the fact that Killian Jones was in London. And as unlikely as it was she’d ever see him again, she couldn’t take the chance that if she did, he might recognize her. And if that were to happen…

She couldn’t take the chance. Her eyes landed on a pair of shoes she’d already polished. On the toes were a pair of jeweled clips that could detach from the shoes. Cora never wore anything that wasn’t real jewels, even shoe ornaments, so there was no doubt these clips could fetch a decent amount. Enough to get her out of London.

Emma thought of all the money Cora had at her disposal and how she’d never paid her a single wage in all these years. And then she thought about her conscience. Could she possibly? Emma stuffed that voice down. This was about survival. In circumstances like these, she had no use for that voice.

She took the clips and slipped them into her pocket.

Many hours later, when Regina came and opened the closet, Emma packed her few belongings, bid Granny and Regina goodbye, and left Spencer House forever.

To her surprise, Emma didn’t look back.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Part 2 will begin on Sunday and I’ll be updating weekly thereafter!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit