Page 9 of An Earl, His Valet, & Their Wife

Thoroughly nonplussed, Katherine glanced at him. “Er, Michael…ah…”

Her husband looked utterly miserable. “Please accept my humblest apologies. I am…that is…good evening, my lady. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And with that, he climbed out of bed, grabbed his robe, and fled to his own chamber.

Sticky, embarrassed, and disgruntled beyond belief, Katherine could only glare at the connecting door.

That could not be it. Surely. He’d promised pleasure, yet there’d been barely a hint. Certainly no little internal explosion!

Turning onto her side, she scowled. Simply unacceptable. If Michael wanted an heir, he had to play his part. First thing in the morning she would insist on orgasms.

The Countess of Whitmore deserved nothing less.

* * *

His first day as a husband, and he’d failed every test.

Michael leaned against the smooth polished wood of the connecting door, his eyes closed in sheer embarrassment as his mind taunted him with a gleefully detailed recollection of a lackluster wedding feast followed by a disastrous bedding.

Poor Katherine.

Gerry had allocated him one task. ONE. To make the Countess of Whitmore’s first sexual experience good, to ensure she orgasmed and would welcome him again and again to her bed until she conceived his heir. Instead, he’d behaved like a green and rather foolish young buck, inflicting on his wife a fiasco in three acts: too little preparation, entering her too soon, then coming the second her inner walls lightly rippled around his cock.

It was all exceedingly humiliating. How could he possibly explain to Gerry how far he’d fallen short of expectations?

“Ye are back sooner than I expected, mo chridhe. Are ye well?”

Michael’s eyes flew open to see his lover emerge from the far antechamber with a fresh nightshirt draped over his arm. It would forever warm his soul when Gerry called him mo chridhe, a Gaelic phrase meaning “my heart.” But his expression, and tone, were worried.

Damn it.

Michael forced a grin. “Didn’t want to outstay my welcome, first time and all that.”

Gerry moved closer, not looking entirely convinced. “The lassie enjoyed herself?”

His stomach flipped and churned. Confessing he’d been a terrible husband would disappoint Gerry more than he could bear. And yet he couldn’t lie to his lover of five years either.

Michael cleared his throat. “Katherine said it was, ah…lovely.”

Gerry brightened. “Lovely is an excellent start. I’m proud o’ ye—bedding a virgin is no easy feat when fear of the unknown or a head stuffed full of puritan nonsense is a wall between ye both. But it sounds like ye served her well. Won’t be long at all before her belly swells.”

Please God, let that be so.

Michael rubbed his jaw. Something he had not considered prior to visiting his countess’s chamber was experiencing such lust for her. And yet when Katherine had shrugged off her dressing gown to reveal that whisper of a nightgown, then arched her back until it strained across her pale pink nipples…he’d wanted the cobweb lace to tear. Feeling those nipples stabbing at his palm had made him harder than stone.

He’d thought that readying his wife with the oil would give him time to regain control. However, parting Katherine’s crisp blond bush to touch her silken, petal-soft labia and hearing her sensual little whimpers as he circled her clitoris had catapulted him to the verge of orgasm. With no finesse, he’d near-shoved himself inside her lest he spill on her thigh. Even more embarrassing, he’d lasted barely two minutes in the hot, tight clasp of her virgin pussy before spurting like a damned geyser.

Neither of his courtesan encounters had prepared him for that. But significantly more disturbing: in those two minutes, Gerry had not been at the front of his mind and the disloyalty made him feel ill. How on earth was he supposed to walk this jagged cliff edge? Katherine absolutely deserved a pleasurable marriage. Yet every orgasm he gave her or experienced himself would be a betrayal, no matter how encouraging and supportive his lover was. Christ. A marriage of convenience was the worst plan in the history of the world, but it couldn’t be undone now. Not without an act of parliament, at least.

“Michael?”

Pull yourself together, man. Gerry needs his earl, not a wet mop.

He took a deep breath. “Would you send to the kitchens for some hot water? I know it is rather late, but I’d really like a bath with my valet. Oh, and if you could arrange water for Katherine as well, I would appreciate it. Just tonight; hopefully she will find a lady’s maid she likes tomorrow.”

Gerry smiled. “Of course. I’m certain there’ll be nae grumbles from the kitchens—they well know it’s been a long day for ye. And the lass.”

“There you go again, being kind and understanding.”