Page 10 of An Earl, His Valet, & Their Wife

“Almost like I love ye?” said Gerry over his shoulder as he departed the chamber to attend to the baths.

Michael’s heart twisted once more. Damn it. Blast. Fuck.

He had to say something, that he’d felt lust for Katherine. And yet how could he hurt Gerry like that?

Struggling to control his panic, he stumbled over to the carved wooden desk that sat beneath the large window overlooking Grosvenor Square. In one corner, bathed in the soft golden glow of a lit candelabra, a decanter of premium French brandy and two tumblers rested on a silver tray, and he poured himself a generous measure and swiftly gulped it back. The smooth amber liquid made his eyes water, but a comforting warmth slid down his throat all the way to his innards, provoking a small sense of peace within the chaos. Good old brandy. Assisting Englishmen to mask their feelings or gain more mettle for hundreds of years.

After he’d finished a second drink, a brief knock sounded at the door. Shortly afterward, a small procession of footmen carrying buckets of steaming water entered his chamber to fill the gold-flecked Tuscan marble tub tucked behind a bathing screen in one corner of the room. Gerry had encouraged him to have the luxury modern convenience installed so that the servants no longer had to lug the ungainly copper tub up and down the stairs, and quite frankly it was one of the best decisions Michael ever made. Instead of nearly folding himself in half to bathe he could stretch out, there was more than enough room for two, the built-in steps made entry and exit so simple, and it even had a pipe that funneled the used water into a large barrel outside. Many an issue had been resolved in this bath; in truth, if walls could talk, they could speak a great deal on love and lust and the many ways a Scot could make an Englishman come so hard he nearly passed out.

As soon as the footmen had filled the tub and departed his chamber, Michael shrugged off his robe and nightshirt, then stepped into the steaming bath. The temperature made him hiss, but he sank down until the water was chest deep. Half-heartedly, he reached for a bar of the finely milled herbal soap that Gerry made each month.

“Allow me, my lord.”

Michael sighed in relief as Gerry also stepped into the bath and took charge, washing him thoroughly with the soap and a sponge until his skin tingled. “I swear that soap has healing properties.”

Gerry snorted as he resettled his brawny frame in the bath, draping one arm over the side and the other around Michael’s shoulders. “And yet ye needed a few measures of brandy as well. Tell me what ails ye, and do not dare lie. There’ll be nae spanking or clamping either, not ’til you’re feeling better.”

Staring at the steam rising from the water, Michael gulped, his chest abruptly tight. “But I need punishment.”

His lover turned and took his chin in a harsh grip. “Dinnae use me for absolution because ye enjoyed fucking your countess, mo chridhe. Cunt is meant tae be savored and worshipped and conquered.”

Michael sighed. He might just be able to claim the conquering part, but savoring and worshipping? Definitely not. In no way had he earned the reward of spanking, pinched nipples, and rough use of his mouth. “It felt…good,” he confessed softly. “When I was inside Katherine. Too good. I…I didn’t last very long.”

Gerry shook his head. “Stop that. She’s a comely lass, you’ve nae been with a woman in many years, had the pressure of a goddamned wedding night, and she was a virgin tae boot. Next time will be a vast improvement on lovely, for both of ye. Won’t it?”

“I swear I’ll get Katherine pregnant quickly,” said Michael, taking Gerry’s hand and rubbing his cheek against it. “Then we’ll all be happy. I’ll do whatever it takes, just please don’t leave me.”

“Leave ye?” growled Gerry. “What horseshit is that? You’re mine, mo chridhe. And when ye are properly rested, that fine arse will pay for such foolish talk.”

Michael quivered, both at the ruthless promise in his lover’s eyes, and in sheer relief. Once again, this bath had weaved its magic. It was all too easy for him to retreat inside his head, to be consumed with worry about even the smallest thing until he drove himself quite mad. But Gerry’s love, his plain-speaking, no-nonsense care and reassuring touch coaxed him back out.

Next time he would do right by Katherine. Ensure she came so hard that the whole of Grosvenor Square heard her. As long as he played his part, and she didn’t discover the relationship between her husband and his valet, all would be well.

CHAPTER 3

It was a trifle chilly when Katherine awoke; last night’s fire had dwindled to a pile of ash. While she didn’t know the exact time, the light peeking through the heavy window drapes was dull, suggesting the sun hadn’t yet risen.

But she desperately needed the chamber pot.

Grimacing, Katherine climbed out of bed and scampered over to a screened-off area in the north corner of the room. Some muscles offered a mild protest, but she felt surprisingly good after a decent sleep, and was clean because her husband had sent hot water and a soft cloth. Yes, she was still annoyed about her lack of wedding night orgasms, but his thoughtful gesture had eased her ire somewhat.

They just needed to talk. Privately. Frankly. That was how a marriage succeeded.

After rinsing her hands in the cold washstand water, Katherine returned to bed and burrowed under the pretty embroidered quilt. Just a little longer, then she would attend to the business of being a countess.

It seemed like mere moments later, but abruptly the drapes were drawn and her chamber was flooded with light.

Katherine bolted upright. “Good morning…er…”

A silver-haired, neatly dressed woman bustled over. “Mrs. Calder, madam. The housekeeper. We met yesterday.”

“Oh,” she replied, wincing at the gaffe. “Forgive me, I…oh dear, what is the time?”

“Don’t fret about either,” said Mrs. Calder briskly. “Wedding days are enough to overwhelm anyone. But the clock has chimed eight and I’ve come to help you dress. Many moons ago I was a dressmaker’s apprentice, so I’ve laced and buttoned more ladies than I care to remember. What would you like to wear today for your interviews?”

Katherine bit her lip. “Is his lordship up? I should like to speak with him privately.”

Unaccountably, the housekeeper tensed before offering a laugh that sounded forced. “Oh, not yet, my lady. I don’t think it improper to say that his lordship is quite a beast in the mornings. No one dares enter his chamber but Mr. Hunter, and even he dons armor.”