Page 5 of An Earl, His Valet, & Their Wife

“Granted,” grumbled Lord Queenhill. “I trust you’ll both behave.”

She rolled her eyes, but took Lord Whitmore’s proffered arm. They departed the library and walked in silence outside to the small but colorful enclosed garden.

“So,” said Katherine as she perched on a bench, abruptly uncertain about everything. “I hope…I hope we can speak frankly, my lord. Would you care to sit down?”

He grimaced slightly. “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind. My…muscles are a bit stiff. But I welcome frankness and will endeavor to answer any questions.”

“You are an exceedingly eligible bachelor. Why do you want to marry me?” she blurted, both needing and dreading the answer. “I’m not beautiful or young or especially accomplished. My dowry won’t fix the stables, let alone an entire estate. And I know it’s not love.”

Lord Whitmore tilted his head, his gaze intent. “I’ll respectfully disagree. I find you quite lovely. As to your age, I seek someone mature and sensible. Someone who knows who she is, yet can see the world from other perspectives. Oh, and your dowry is neither here nor there. I possess a great fortune; you would find me a most generous husband.”

Katherine nodded grudgingly. A measured answer with no false flattery, something she appreciated. But if he thought to curtail her reading, this would never work. “And what would you expect of your countess, my lord? I know many men are harsh in their rules, and I could not abide that. What are you offering?”

He grinned, and she almost sighed. The man was ridiculously handsome.

“Your directness is refreshing. But to answer your question, which I suspect stems from the fear that I would interfere with your reading, my wife would enjoy unlimited and unhindered use of my extensive library. Her choice of subscriptions to periodicals and magazines. An account at Hatchards and a private parlor to host literary salons. Oh yes, and servants who would firmly insist Lady Whitmore was out and about if her mother came calling.”

Katherine’s jaw dropped. Did the earl have otherworldly gifts? He’d just described her dream existence. “All that for a few heirs? You make a compelling case, my lord. But what if my chosen reading material was…objectionable?”

“Objectionable in what way?”

Her cheeks heated. “There are those who deem gothic novels inappropriate for well-bred ladies.”

“Not for the Countess of Whitmore,” he replied, his gaze steady. “I welcome a curious, open mind. In all aspects of marriage. Most especially, er, intimate aspects.”

Bedding. He meant bedding.

Katherine moved restlessly on the bench. “You’d make it…pleasant?”

“My best effort, yes.”

“What about love?”

Lord Whitmore hesitated. “I hope we’ll be friends. Good friends. I don’t require more than that.”

Ah. The rumor was correct. He did have someone special tucked away.

“You have a paramour,” said Katherine, as a vast swath of emotions twisted and turned inside her. Disappointment? Envy? Relief? “Someone you care for.”

“I do,” his lordship said gently as he eased into a crouch in front of her, then took her hand. “Someone I have loved for a long while but cannot wed. If you’ll accept that, a marriage without love but with friendship, children, the freedom to read, and all the protection of my title and fortune, then say yes, Lady Katherine. Be my wife.”

She shivered, her fingers tingling at his touch. While her heart wailed in protest at a loveless union, her head roared yes. As Lady Whitmore, all closed doors—and books—would open to her. There would be babies to lavish affection on, and the kindest man she’d ever met had promised a warm marriage bed. There was no question, really. This truly was a miraculous offer.

Katherine took a deep breath. “Yes. I will marry you.”

CHAPTER 2

Gerard had thoroughly underestimated how much it would hurt watching the man he loved wed another.

Taking several deep breaths to swallow his anguish, his bruised pride and sheer frustration, he forced himself to stand perfectly still, to even smile, as though his earl marrying at last was a great relief rather than soul-crushing. To forever hold his peace when the archbishop asked about impediments to marriage, rather than storming into the fray and spiriting his earl back to their bedchamber. The one small mercy: rather than a grand affair at St. George’s or Westminster, the ceremony was simple and private with a special license. It was a great relief that the only guests present in the lavish cream-and-gold Whitmore drawing room—apart from himself and the housekeeper, Mrs. Calder—were Michael’s mother and stepfather, and Lady Katherine’s family.

“Are you well, Mr. Hunter?”

At the gentle question, he glanced down at petite, silver-haired Mrs. Calder, who looked like the sweetest granny yet had scarred arms from an equally rough upbringing. She’d been cool to him at first, but on proof of his feelings and care for Michael, now mothered him relentlessly. Not even under pain of death would he admit he quite liked her clucking and scolding, something he’d never known as a child. But more than that, survivors recognized survivors, and they kept each other’s secrets. “Quite well, Mrs. Calder. ’Tis a grand day for the title.”

She pursed her lips. “Here’s hoping. It’s a great sacrifice he…and you…make. But Lady Katherine seems amiable enough; she didn’t look down her nose at anyone in the servants line.”

Gerard nodded slowly. The lass did seem amiable.