Page 14 of An Earl, His Valet, & Their Wife

Everyone including his heir needed to believe this was nothing less than true love.

* * *

It had taken some wrangling, but Gerard had coaxed London’s best and most eye-wateringly expensive modiste into leaving her salon to make a personal visit. This was no small feat; Madame Odette was a prickly French genius with a full appointment book and no tolerance whatsoever for English nonsense. Most admirable qualities.

What he didn’t have was a countess. But it wouldn’t require the Watch to find her.

Gerard entered Michael’s library and quietly closed the door behind him. Just as he’d suspected, Katherine lay sprawled on a chaise next to the window, deeply absorbed in a leather-bound copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. She looked so happy in her cozy little nook, so beautiful with the pale afternoon light haloing her blond hair…and so damned alluring with one leg partially uncovered, that he hated to disturb her peace. But there was a task to complete.

He did indeed wish to tear her gown right off.

Among other things.

Gerard discreetly cleared his throat. When that didn’t work, he strode forward to the chaise. “Lady Whitmore.”

She started, the book thumping onto the floor as she scrambled to pull down her gown hem and stand up. “Mr. Hunter! I didn’t hear you come in,” Katherine replied breathlessly.

“Forgive the disturbance, but Madame Odette waits in your chamber tae take measurements for a new wardrobe.”

Katherine had the temerity to wrinkle her nose. “Oh.”

“It willnae take long. Then ye may return tae witches and murderous Scots.”

“Ha! You mean an hour of poking, prodding, and having my figure judged until I wish to weep. At least offer an incentive, Mr. Hunter.”

His jaw clenched. When Michael displayed such provocative behavior, it was an unspoken plea for stern discipline. But Katherine was a lady. Far too pure and proper to be sullied by his rough, dominant ways. “Exquisite new gowns that will flatter ye, Lady Whitmore. Not one in pale pink. And my gratitude.”

Katherine bit her lip. “It will please you?” she asked softly, her green eyes wide and cheeks rosy.

The way this woman tortured him with her innocently suggestive comments!

He should not be lusting after his lover’s wife. Nor be indulging in any banter that might lead to things that couldn’t be unsaid. Like I want to fuck you, my lady. So hard and deep you’ll not be able to move without thinking of me.

Although if he did fuck her, at least then Katherine Whitmore would be purged from his thoughts, just like every woman he’d bedded before Michael. No longer would he ponder ways to make her laugh, or which bloodthirsty novels to fill her bookshelves with once construction was complete. The situation remained impossible, especially when he couldn’t discuss it with Michael. His beloved was already struggling. Besides, the household relied on Gerard being a rock, the foundation holding everything together. If he lost his mettle the Whitmore nursery would remain empty, a most unacceptable outcome. He needed to do his duty, just as Michael was. Then all would be well.

“Aye,” Gerard said brusquely. “It will please me. Come, my lady. The sooner ye submit, the sooner ’tis done.”

Submit? Bloody hell.

But Katherine merely nodded and they walked in silence to her bedchamber where Odette waited, clearly impatient.

“Forgive the small delay, Madame,” he said smoothly. “May I present Lady Whitmore.”

The elegant, dark-haired Frenchwoman looked Katherine up and down with an expertly assessing eye. “Countess. Up onto the footstool. Up! Up! We have no time to lose. But where is your maid to assist?”

Katherine hesitated. “I did interviews earlier, but she cannot begin until tomorrow.”

“Then Monsieur Hunter will be my apprentice.”

Gerard froze. Surely not. “Er…I dinnae think…”

“Mon dieu!” snapped Odette, gesturing in that very French manner. “Surely Lady Whitmore is not so missish. It is writing numbers, not an orgy. Should I leave?”

“No, madame,” said Katherine meekly. “Please proceed.”

The next half hour was agony. Although he turned his back while Odette stripped Katherine of her gown, stays, and petticoat to take more accurate measurements, he could see everything in the nearby mirror. Katherine’s ankle-length chemise was thin enough to reveal the shadow of her nipples and bush, and his fingers positively itched to remove the garment so he might learn the exact hues of pink and blond.

Instead, he dutifully noted numbers as the modiste barked them out.