Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  She’d tried to convince herself it was because gentlemen preferred not to show that in public and did her best to ignore the crowds surrounding the declared beauties of the Season or the attractive young widows fluttering their fans. Only in the quiet space right before falling asleep had she been able to admit to herself how much she wanted someone to look at her that way.

  None of those experiences had prepared her for the heat that flared in her belly in response to that hunger in Martin’s eyes, a visceral pulse that made her aware of the way her legs pushed together. The heat of his body was an answering flame and she could no longer ignore just how scandalously close he was sitting. The room felt too warm, her cheeks burning such that she was sure they were bright red.

  Oddly, it was that flush of heat that brought her some clarity. Martin might not be playing with her physical reactions like she had thought after lunch in the conservatory but he wasn’t seeing her as an equal. Not that I can be, given his likely experience. He all but admitted to bedding other women in the past over dinner. That thought cooled some of the heat, allowing her to take a breath and steadying her nerves.

  “I’m sorry you dislike it, my lord.” Her voice sounded calmer than she felt, maybe a tad cool. She would take any advantage she could get. When it came to convincing him that they could be true partners, she would do neither of them any favors by yielding without a fight. “Perhaps I should go change?”

  “I didn’t say I disliked it.” His voice was still rough, as if he was holding onto control by the barest of margins. Rising to his feet, he pulled her up with him and then stepped back, looking her up and down. Teresa raised her eyebrow at the blatant inspection but said nothing, waiting to see his reaction. His gaze met hers again, the gold sparks flashing in clear desire. “I like it very much. I like the idea that you wear this dress only for me even better.”

  “That seems a waste of money, to spend so much on a dress that only you’ll see.” The dress might have cost her nothing but the idea of relegating it to the back of her closet again was strangely unappealing, given the reaction it had produced. Part of her wanted to see what would happen if she wore it in London, out of fashion as it was.

  Martin’s eyes flashed. “Given how you look in that dress, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.” He stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to continue to meet his gaze. The intensity in his gaze was like a brand and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “For some reason, I find myself unwilling to share with my peers how blind they were.”

  It was nearly impossible to ignore the flutter that his words produced in her stomach, for all that she tried to tell herself that the only thing he had expressed appreciation for was her appearance, not her. He didn’t really care for her; if he did, he would be willing to open up and share himself with her.

  Then Martin bent his head and all thoughts vanished as his lips found hers. No featherlight touch to start this one, just an unyielding demand for her attention as his hands on her waist pulled her closer to him. His lips were firm and warm against hers and her knees felt weak. She found herself clutching at his coat jacket as his lips parted and his tongue traced her lips.

  His hand moved up to cradle the back of her head as he drew back from her lips and then he was kissing along her jaw, his lips firm and warm on the sensitive skin near her ear. Teresa couldn’t suppress a shudder.

  “Martin…” His lips captured hers again before she could do more than breathe out his name. They were more coaxing this time, inviting her to open up, to let her tongue dance with his. Sensation flooded through her until she was drowning in it, his touches sparking across her nerves. The hand at the back of her head, the feel of his lips on hers. Under her hands, his chest muscles bunched and tensed as he shifted and then the flood slowed to a more manageable trickle as he lifted his head, looking down at her.

  “You are temptation incarnate.” His chest rumbled against her hands as he lifted his hand from her waist to the neckline of her gown again — but this time, tracing the skin just above the fabric. Teresa sucked in a breath, frozen by the warmth of his touch as it skimmed down along her shoulder, closer and closer to the swell of her breasts. His finger was smooth on her skin, not rough like she might have expected given his tan — a whisper of silk drawing down over her shoulder and leaving a trail of fire behind.

  “So perfect.” His finger reached the curve of her cleavage and he paused for a moment. Her breath was coming faster now, her breasts rising and falling beneath his finger. With every breath, her aching nipples rubbed against her chemise. Then he dipped his finger beneath the fabric, reaching down to brush against one of the furled buds.

  The touch seemed to rocket through her and directly to her core, the heat transforming into a clawing ache that demanded she do something, anything to sate it. Seemingly oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking on her ability to think, Martin stroked his finger back and forth over her nipple. With each pass, an answering throb pulsed in that ache, until Teresa was no longer sure her legs could support her and grabbed at his jacket. “I can’t…”

  “You can, sweeting, you can.” His arms surrounded her, guiding her back down to the sofa. She was vaguely aware of him pressed up against her again and then his hand was once more in her bodice, lifting her breast out over the low neckline of the gown so it sat exposed. The cool air felt like a caress as his eyes traced the curve, focused on the pink nipple centered in the creamy expanse of skin. A quick movement and her other breast joined the first, leaving her exposed.

  Face flushing, she realized that Martin was still fully dressed. Exposure turned into vulnerability and she squirmed slightly, aware of how the ache between her legs had only increased. Martin smiled at the movement.

  “You have no idea how delectable you look sitting there, ripe and ready to be tasted.” He leaned toward her, using a hand behind her head again to pull her into a kiss as his other hand reached up to cup one breast. Using his thumb and forefinger, he rolled the nipple, catching her gasp in his mouth before raising his head again. “A feast for every sense, it seems.”

  Teresa was still trying to work out a response to this when he dipped his head again, taking her sensitized nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled around it even as he lightly bit down, the wet warmth and pressure only magnifying the pleasure surging through her. His hand had switched to her other breast, kneading the flesh before capturing the nipple, mimicking the movements of his tongue with his fingers. Teresa couldn’t keep herself from crying out as the throbbing between her legs intensified to a fierce burn under the pleasure-laden onslaught.

  “Please.” Teresa wasn’t sure what exactly she was asking for, just that what Martin was doing felt so good, she didn’t want him to stop even as it felt like she couldn’t take more of it. “Please…”

  His hand left her breast and she felt a tug on her skirts, his hand sliding up her thigh before reaching the aching, needy place between her legs. Teresa bit back another cry as one of his fingers slipped through the slit in her drawers and stroked her curls before pressing in to circle around the nub that was burning with sensation.

  For a moment, Teresa hung, suspended by a thread in a world frozen. Anticipation thrummed through her veins and she strained, reaching for something just beyond her fingertips. Then Martin’s finger brushed over that nub again and the world shattered, pleasure cascading in waves through her, muscles contracting and releasing in a matching rhythm.

  Slowly, the waves began to subside and she rode them down again, feeling like a leaf spiraling back down to earth after being caught up in a windstorm. Her body felt deliciously limp, the ripples of a pleasure she had never dreamed of still echoing through her veins.

  It wasn’t until Martin withdrew his hand that Teresa remembered where she was. At some point he had released her breast and was now staring at her face, his other hand reaching up to brush back the curls that had escaped from her updo. She flushed, feeling self-conscious again.

  “Don’
t.” Martin’s finger stroked her cheek. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “That was…” She struggled to find a word for how she felt, difficult given that she wasn’t exactly sure how she was feeling. “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

  Martin’s smile was slow and a trifle smug. “I look forward to showing you more, since that’s only the beginning.” His thumb traced her lip, making her shudder as he leaned in closer to her ear. “Come upstairs with me.”

  Upstairs. The bedrooms. Teresa stilled, the reality of what had just happened and where it would lead sinking in. The dreams she’d thought she’d buried flashed in front of her eyes, the fairy tale romance dissolving into the image of a coldly civil relationship like the one her aunt and uncle had shared. No love, but even less trust.

  Love was out of her reach now but she wasn’t willing to give up on trust. She was already keenly aware of how vulnerable she felt, her emotions far from under her control. Her earlier contentment was fading, replaced by wariness and caution. “I thought you were willing to give me time.”

  Martin frowned. “I was. I am. I thought you were enjoying this.”

  “I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to go any farther.” Teresa pulled her skirts down over her legs and tried to push her breasts back into her bodice.

  “Why not?” His tone was a challenge, one that set up Teresa’s back.

  “Maybe you’re capable of acting on a mere physical attraction, my lord, but I’d like something more for my first time.” Teresa could feel tears threatening and she choked them back ruthlessly. She would hold onto the anger, not the ashes of the dreams that wouldn’t be. “If physical attraction is all you’re going to offer me, I’m not interested. Even this was a mistake, but I thought perhaps you cared enough about me as a person and so I overlooked your lack of trust even as you asked for my trust in return.”

  “What trust? What makes you think I don’t trust you?” Martin seemed equal parts confused and frustrated, running his hand through his hair and looking around the room before returning his gaze to her face. “You’re my wife. Of course I trust you.”

  “Only when it comes to superficial things. You ask me to trust you not to hurt me but then you won’t talk about your past. I’m not looking for a love match, just enough trust to build a partnership!” She squelched the little voice in the back of her head that tried to hope otherwise, that said she was lying to herself.

  “I don’t see how or why that matters, not for this.” Martin stood, anger evident in the tense set of his shoulders. “This is simple. I’m attracted to you. You hardly appear indifference to me. We’re married to each other. There’s absolutely nothing standing in the way of continuing to act on that attraction.”

  “Nothing physical, no, but I hoped for something more. A sign you cared just a little, that I could care back.” Teresa flushed, realizing how Martin was likely to interpret that but it was too late to take the words back.

  “I thought this was about the fact that I wouldn’t trust you, not that we didn’t care for each other.” His eyes were suddenly cold, all the earlier warmth and easy banter gone from his tone.

  “I can’t care for someone I don’t know.” Teresa pushed herself up from the couch and stood toe to toe with Martin. His anger was palpable, a physical weight, but backing down from this wasn’t an option, not if she wanted to respect herself in the morning.

  “Martin,” she softened her tone, pleading just a little, “I think you are someone I could care for very much, if you would just trust me enough to let me in.”

  He turned on his heel and stalked out of the library without saying a word.

  Chapter 20

  Despite rising early and fighting through muscles sore from yesterday’s ride, Teresa found herself alone in the breakfast room the next morning. A quick query to the footman revealed that Martin had left even earlier for a visit to one of the outlying tenants and was not expected back until supper. She thanked him and served herself breakfast, settling into a chair to consider the options before her.

  Logic had reasserted itself overnight, after her temper had had time to cool from their argument and his abrupt departure from the library. Something was driving Martin to react so poorly to the idea that someone might care about him — in the light of morning, it was clear that those words had pushed him over the edge — and it had been naive of her to think she could overcome that in a single evening’s conversation when she didn’t even know the cause.

  Pride goeth before a fall. She’d spent too long watching from the sidelines and foolishly thought she understood human nature reasonably well as a result. Living through the situation was entirely different. Even knowing there was something bothering him on this topic, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from pushing him on it.

  It was so much easier just watching. No emotions to get in the way, nothing to distract from evaluating what happened and why. It’s so much messier to live it.

  Emotion was at the root of it, she knew. Emotion made life messy. But it also makes it worthwhile, she reminded herself. Her parents never seemed to regret trading the fashionable life in London for their contented country exile with each other.

  And that’s out of your reach now. Focus on what you can have. Her heart might be insisting otherwise, that she still had a chance at love, but that was nonsense. Martin made his opinion of that clear last night. She would keep her expectations reasonable. With time, Martin might trust her enough that they could build a real partnership.

  Still, she reflected sourly, it’s rather petty to disappear rather than face me across the breakfast table.

  Breakfast finished, she rose stiffly and nodded to the footman as she headed for the door. Despite the aches, a ride would help clear her head. Just a short one, a reminder that she was no longer trapped in London with all the expectations of Society. Besides, she remembered her father saying, the best way to work out the aches was to use the muscles again. She could feel her mood improving even as she climbed the stairs.

  An hour later, she arranged herself in Hestia’s saddle as one of the grooms held the mare’s head. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a groom with you, my lady?”

  He was clearly concerned, which Teresa supposed was fair because she still wasn’t familiar with the estate grounds or the horse, for all that she had been out riding her the day before.

  “I’ll be alright. I don’t intend to ride out of sight of the house.” Not quite the truth, but she didn’t intend to ride more than one hill beyond it. That was still close enough that she would be able to see the smoke rising from the chimneys, even if she somehow got turned around and lost her bearings. The idea of a groom trailing along behind her felt too much like London, with its chaperones and eyes everywhere.

  The groom’s expression was skeptical as he handed her the reins, but he didn’t argue with her. A lady of the manor was still a new concept for many of the servants, Teresa had noticed, and they gave her a wide berth. She wasn’t above taking advantage of it to get the result she wanted right now. Still, his concerns were valid.

  “I should be back in an hour or so.” That would give her enough time to breathe and reset. Apparently reassured by this, the groom stepped back as she twitched the reins and Hestia began to move forward.

  Freedom, if only for a little while, was just over the hill.

  *

  Ares thundered over the hills, Martin content to let the stallion choose his own way. The extra time in London for the Season had been far too busy to allow him to take Ares out to the countryside for a real ride. The result for both of them had been restlessness and irritation, something not helped by his ongoing and inconvenient lust for his wife. At least one of us is getting what we need this morning.

  His conscience pricked a little at the memory of how he had left the house before breakfast, using tenant visits to excuse his early departure. If he was honest with himself, he could have waited another day or two for these v
isits, but after a night spent tossing and turning with no relief, he’d needed the ride more than ever.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to sit in the library and work without reliving the events of the night before, both good and bad. A problem, given the pile of paperwork that awaited his return. True, he had told the servants he would be out until supper when he knew that was highly unlikely, but they could adapt if necessary. The demands of running the estate — normally a responsibility he embraced — felt like a burden dragging him down.

  In his memory he could clearly see Teresa sitting there, her breasts spilling over the top of that damned dress, her head thrown back as she’d quivered underneath his hands and found her release. It had been an experience unlikely any he’d ever had in any of his previous romantic liaisons.

  He’d been telling the truth when he’d said that he’d never had a mistress. All his previous experiences had been discreet arrangements with a Cyprian who understood that there would be no more permanent arrangement. All parties left with their physical needs met and an hour or two of pleasant company.

  That had been much more to his preference than the stories he had heard from friends about the trials of keeping their mistresses happy — not to mention the financial drain of those arrangements. He’d chosen his partners with care and always made sure they enjoyed the experience as much as he did, but never once had it been as vital to see her orgasm as it had been for him to watch Teresa as she fell over the edge.

  He stopped himself before he could picture it again, the memory enough of an erotic experience that he would find it difficult to ride if he dwelt on it for too long. His need was no longer a mere craving but had been turned into an obsession, one he’d been unable to cure since she had pulled back from him.

  His hand fisted in the reins and he forced himself to relax before Ares picked up on his tension. Her nonsense about trusting him — about caring for him — was exactly why he had stayed away from long term arrangements in the first place. He had thought he had made his feelings on the matter clear. He’d thought she’d agreed.