Page 27 of An Earl, His Valet, & Their Wife

“Katherine? How do you fare? I hear you received a special delivery for your shelves,” said Michael as he approached, his smile warm but cautious. “Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Calder.”

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy. “My lord. Shall I wait for you in the kitchens, my lady?”

“Please,” said Katherine. “I’ll be just a minute.”

The moment they were alone, Katherine turned, went up on her tiptoes and kissed Michael firmly on the mouth. As he’d done previously, Michael parted his lips for her tongue, except this time he kissed her back and grasped her hands in his.

“Well,” said her husband, his cheeks pink and spectacles slightly askew, when she eventually stepped away. “That was quite a welcome home, my lady. Perhaps I should go visit my mother more often. She is feeling much better, by the by.”

Katherine nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Would you take tea with me later? I must first confirm the ball supper with Mrs. Calder, but after that? There is something very important I must discuss with you. In private.”

Michael’s shoulders went rigid, but he slowly inclined his head. “I’ll be in my library. You can find me there when you are ready.”

She smiled, trying to be reassuring when nerves twisted her own stomach. Her husband had no idea exactly how important this discussion would be. Something that could potentially change their marriage forever.

She was attracted to Michael and Gerard. Gerard and Michael were apparently long-term lovers, but Gerard wanted her as well.

Everything hinged on Michael.

Was there any chance that they could be a trio rather than two couples?

Only time would tell.

CHAPTER 6

His thoughts were so jumbled, Gerard had actually fled the house.

There were very few things he kept from Michael; mainly shameful details about his past. But he’d not confessed the near-indiscretion with Katie, and now guilt was shredding him.

Michael was so loving. So trusting. He deserved infinitely better than a lover lusting after his countess. No, worse than that. A lover wanting more than lust with his countess.

In truth, running from the scene of his crime—as he’d done so often in Glasgow—to order decorations, supplies, and engraved invitations had been the easiest decision he’d ever made. But now, even after a full hour by himself, he was no closer to inner peace. In fact, he might be more frustrated, aroused, and uncertain than he’d ever been.

Gerard rested his head against the smooth leather squab of the spacious town carriage, more irritable than a bear with a sore paw.

Everything and nothing made sense.

He’d thoroughly enjoyed commanding the couple, and been so damned proud of Michael’s efforts. But taking Katie’s hand had been his first mistake, holding her today his second. The woman was imprinting herself upon his soul, making him crave her as he craved Michael. Which meant he could no longer merely instruct them in her bedchamber. Couldn’t be a passive observer when every instinct demanded he own and dominate.

It was time to seek advice from someone experienced in trio relationships: his longtime friend, the acclaimed playwright Lennox Townsend. Once upon a time they’d attended orgies together, reveling in their desire to bed both men and women. Beyond that they had much in common, kindred souls who had both survived dark times as street orphans before transforming themselves into gentlemen. But last year Lennox had found something more profound than a play’s happily ever after: true love with his patron Lord Jonathan Grant and Jon’s dancer wife, Viola Townsend-Grant.

The trio lived on a sprawling estate outside London, one boasting both an indoor and outdoor theater, and it took another half-hour before Gerard was ushered into Lennox’s library. The light, airy space was a mess of quills, inkpots, crumpled paper, and discarded tea trays, but it wasn’t that making Gerard twitch. His friend’s primrose-yellow jacket would halt a carriage at fifty paces.

“Afternoon, Lennox.”

The dark-haired, dark-eyed playwright looked up warily. “Are you here to save me from this festering turd of a manuscript? If so, you may sit. The Flame of Passion has enjoyed a much longer run than I dreamed, but Jon and Viola insist I write something new. Outrageous!”

Gerard snickered. “Where are ye darlings?”

“Jon is supervising a minor repair to the outdoor stage. Viola is rehearsing some new steps to her fairy princess routine. But they’ll both be here shortly.”

“Good. I need…advice from all of ye.”

Lennox fixed his gaze on Gerard in that uncanny way of writers, like they read minds and saw every murky twist. The Welshman understood human frailty better than most, he dressed in bright colors to defy his own demons, but that underlying rawness, that watchfulness remained. “May I ask,” his friend ventured, “if this concerns Lord Whitmore’s recent nuptials?”

“Aye,” Gerard bit out.

“Then pull up a chair. Help yourself to tea, one of the pots is fresh. Or there’s brandy on the sideboard.”