Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

She would not make the mistake of thinking fidelity was love. Martin had made his feelings on that subject clear. But he respected her. He would honor her. He was beginning to trust her. He was attracted to her.

  That can be enough, can’t it? She’d already been willing to compromise, looking for someone who could treat her as a partner instead of holding out for true love. Now she had that.

  Decision made, she blinked, surprised to realize that the sun was much lower in the sky than it had been when they’d returned to the house. She would have to move quickly if she was going to surprise him tonight, particularly if she wanted the cooperation of the kitchen.

  *

  Martin rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the worst of the knots from too much time bent over correspondence. He’d intended to spend the rest of the afternoon out at the stables, working with some of the younger horses, but that had been before he’d learned of the note. Aware that an immediate response was required, he’d instead closeted himself in the library after the ride. As a result, several missives had been added to the pile for the post when Russell knocked on the door and informed him that the lady had requested he dress for dinner.

  He raised an eyebrow slightly at that. Teresa had been amenable to his suggestion after the first two nights that when it was just the two of them, there was no reason to dress for dinner. He preferred it that way, as it allowed him more time to deal with tenant concerns or the never-ending pile of correspondence. The informality of it had been a side bonus, making it easier to relax as they chatted over the meal.

  Still, Teresa must have had a reason for asking and after clarifying with Russell that the request was for tonight only, Martin was willing to oblige. His valet had clearly been informed, as his preferred dinner dress for meals at home was already set out when he entered the room.

  A quick wash and change later, he pulled on his dinner jacket, thankful he kept one cut loose enough that he could dress without assistance. His valet grumbled about that but was willing to allow it in the country, where Martin’s unfashionable attire would not reflect poorly on him. It was a compromise Martin could live with, as he refused to be uncomfortable all the time to satisfy the dictates of fashion. Straightening his cuffs, he checked his cravat in the mirror and then made his way down to the dining room.

  Russell greeted him just outside the door with a bow. “My lady said to let you know that she is running slightly behind but you should feel free to go in without her. She anticipates being down shortly.”

  “Thank you.” Bemused, he nodded as Russell opened the door. The room inside was darker than normal, with only half the usual candles lit. Stepping inside, he saw that the table was set for two, with several covered dishes already sitting between the settings. The aromas from the table were enough to make his mouth water, especially as he recognized several of them as his favorite dishes.

  The door opened and closed softly behind him and he turned to see Teresa had slipped into the room and now stood looking at him. She was wearing the red dress again, her hair pulled back into a simple bun with a few loose tendrils escaping and a shawl tucked in her elbows. Martin could feel his groin tightening even as he moved to take her hand for a kiss.

  “I’m sorry to have made you wait, Martin.” Her voice was low and a little throaty, reminding him of how she’d sounded that first night in the library. Before he’d gone and made a mess of the whole situation. “I hope it wasn’t for long?”

  “Not at all.” He bowed over her hand, having deposited the kiss, then released it. “But even if it were, the end result would have been worth the wait.”

  Her cheeks flushed and she looked away for a moment before looking back up at him with a genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Moving to the table, he pulled out a chair for her, making sure she was comfortably seated before taking his own across from her. He’d been happy to follow Teresa’s lead on the table arrangement, as it made dinner conversation far easier.

  It also makes it much easier to appreciate the view. The candlelight caught the light gold highlights in Teresa’s hair, making them glow in the low light of the room and reminding him of how the sun played off her hair when they were out riding together. He wondered what it would be like to run his hands through it.

  Teresa busied herself removing the covers from the dishes and setting them to the side before picking up the closest one to begin serving herself. Apparently they were serving themselves this evening, not that he minded a break from the constant hovering presence of the footmen. He did the same.

  “I’m impressed by what Moore achieved, given that I changed the dinner menu at rather late notice.” The words were conversational, the tone friendly. Despite that, Martin couldn’t shake the distinct impression that she was nervous.

  “I did think the menu was rather more than a coincidence.” He couldn’t fathom why she would be nervous but he was happy to tease her if it offered a distraction. “Normally there’s nothing I can do to convince the chef to serve roasted chicken and Welsh rarebit at the same meal. I may have to beg for your secret.”

  The smile that creased her cheeks could only be called impish. “There’s no secret to it. I simply asked.”

  “He must simply like you better.” Martin rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation. “That seems to be the case with all of the household staff, near as I can tell. I should be careful to make sure they never feel like they have to choose between you and me.”

  “I’m only following in my mother’s footsteps.” Teresa exchanged plates with him and began filling his. “She considered the household staff her best allies in maintaining order, not adversaries to be defeated.”

  “I didn’t realize people considered them anything other than servants.” He’d certainly never given the matter much thought.

  “Most people don’t,” Teresa said tartly. “The better members of the ton at least still treat them with some respect, but there are plenty of people like my aunt who are happy to treat their servants like livestock, with no regard for their wellbeing.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” It fit the character of a woman who would steal from her niece and then write a pathetic letter in an attempt to extort money from her.

  “No.” Teresa looked down at her plate, and then looked back up. “Speaking of my aunt, I can’t tell you how much your offer today meant to me. Even if you don’t succeed in recovering my parents’ manuscript, that you’re willing to try is more than I could have dreamed of.”

  Uncomfortable to be praised for such a small thing, Martin shrugged. “You deserve better from your aunt and uncle. What I’m doing is little enough to try and fix that.”

  Teresa shook her head. “You do that a lot, refusing credit. What you’re doing deserves acknowledgment, Martin. Not just what you’re doing for me, but what you’ve done here, for the people who depend on you.”

  Her voice shook with intensity and he blinked, taken aback. Why should it matter so much to her that other people see what he was doing? Especially when what he was doing shouldn’t be noteworthy. “All I’m doing is what any gentleman should do.”

  “I’ll agree that perhaps any gentleman should do it, but you’re unique in your willingness to actually follow through. At least in my experience.” Teresa took a swallow of her wine. “I was out for nearly three years and had very little to do for most of that time besides watching the ton. I never saw anyone work as hard as you do to take care of the people under your protection. You don’t require proof of ability to pay or make them prove their usefulness to you before you work on their behalf. You do it because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I’m no saint, Teresa.” There were too many difficult decisions he’d made, too many places where he’d omitted the truth or let people draw a different conclusion than the reality. Especially when he’d first taken over the estate and had been struggling to keep it going long enough for his first improvements to yield results. “I did what I needed to
do in order to keep the estate intact.”

  “You give yourself far too little credit.” She motioned around the room with her fork. “All of this didn’t happen because you were just doing what you needed to do. You’ve put in the work for it. You’ve prioritized others over what many of the ton take as their due.”

  Martin didn’t know what to say to that, so he took another bite. Teresa bit her lip, looking suddenly unsure. “I know it’s not a lot, but I wanted to do something to acknowledge what you’ve done.”

  “I can’t object to a meal like this.” It was far more to his preference than being put up on a public pedestal for simply fulfilling his responsibilities. He took another bite. “Delicious.”

  They both fell silent, the only sounds the scrape of utensils on the china as they gave the meal its proper due. Finally, Martin pushed his plate away, satisfied. Teresa took one last bite and leaned back. Glancing around, he saw that all the dishes had been served.

  “No dessert?” Not that he normally ate dessert, preferring savory flavors, but the urge to tweak Teresa was irresistible.

  Teresa flushed and pushed to her feet. Habit brought him to his feet with her. “Actually, I thought we might skip dessert in favor of something else tonight.” She took a deep breath, clearly trying to work up the nerve for something. “Martin, would you make love to me?”

  It took his mind a moment to process what she’d asked, time his body didn’t need. His erection flared into full wakefulness, pressing against his trousers. Every nerve in his body screamed to take her now, before she could change her mind and sentence him to more physical torment. He fought to hold onto his control.

  “You don’t have to do this as a reward, Teresa. I didn’t offer to get your parents’ manuscript back for this.” For some reason he couldn’t explain, he needed this to be her choice. Not one made out of gratitude or because she felt she had to bargain with him for the things that were important to her. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction between them, not anymore. He needed to know that she wanted him to be the one to introduce her to pleasure.

  “It’s not because of that.” Teresa’s cheeks were flushed with color but her voice was steady. “I trust you.”

  Martin considered himself a gentleman but even he was unwilling to ask twice.

  Chapter 26

  The hallway was a blur as Teresa followed Martin up to the bedrooms. He paused only to tell Russell not to disturb them until morning. She couldn’t keep her cheeks from flaming at that, even though she knew rationally that the servants would have all known anyway what was happening.

  The door to his bedroom was just past hers, although she hadn’t been inside it. It was open now, one of the first times she had seen it that way. He pulled her in before pushing it shut, giving the two of them a space apart from the rest of the world. There was the door to her room in the wall with the fireplace, the same massive stone structure with a cheery fire.

  She shivered when she saw the bed, which dominated the wall opposite the fireplace, a large four poster with curtains at the corners to ward off the nighttime chill. Anxiety warred with desire and for a moment, part of her wanted to run. She forced herself to take her attention off the bed and look around the room instead.

  A chair sat near the window with a small table next to it, a lit lamp and book left open. She suspected if she looked at the title, it would be yet another volume about farming advances or estate management. He said he read other books occasionally but she hadn’t seen any evidence of that yet.

  All of the furnishings were older and looked to have been in the house since at least his grandfather’s time, just like every room she’d seen so far. There was only one painting on the walls, a landscape of snow-covered hills surrounding a manor house. With a start, she realized that it was a view of the estate as it appeared from the crest of the road before it descended into the valley.

  “This is beautiful,” she said to Martin as he came to stand behind her, looking up at the painting. Now that she was in his room, he had given her some space as he loosened his cravat, something she appreciated. Looking back at the painting, she could almost feel the chill of winter closing in, hear the crunch of snow underfoot and the chime of sleigh bells. The house glowed in the setting, light spilling out onto the snow as a beacon of warmth.

  “I believe my grandmother painted it. One of the rooms was clearly set up as a studio of some sort when I first arrived at the house. I found the painting in there. I got it framed in London when there were sufficient funds to spare, about four years ago.” His face softened slightly. “It reminds me of the first time I saw the estate, riding in after my father’s funeral. It was in much worse repair by then, but the potential was still there.”

  “And you’ve restored it.” A labor of love, she thought, not that he would ever think of it in those terms.

  “Mostly.” His hands settled onto her hips, their warmth seeping through the satin of her dress. There was nothing hesitant about his touch as he pulled her back so that she pressed up against him, still looking at the painting. The lack of eye contact made it easier to counter the butterflies in her stomach, even as the solid wall of muscle behind her both unnerved and excited her. She shivered again, even though the fire going in the fireplace ensured that the room was warm.

  “Are you nervous?” His hands slid up along her sides to rest on her shoulders, the contact skin to skin as the dress exposed her shoulders. Then he started to rub her shoulders and it took everything she had not to melt into him.

  “A little,” she admitted. She saw no reason to lie about that.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, his hands on her shoulders turning her around so she faced him. One lifted her chin, raising her face up to his. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt at all, but there will be pleasure too, both before and after.”

  Pain? Her aunt hadn’t mentioned anything about pain — not that her aunt had mentioned much of anything at all…

  Martin’s lips just brushed hers and the thought short-circuited, cut off by an avalanche of sensation. The flutters in her stomach turned into a flush of heat surging outward through her limbs. His hand cupped the back of her head and he teased her lips with his, every touch featherlight. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

  Pushing forward into the kiss, she met his tongue with hers. Her breasts ached, feeling heavier with each stroke of his tongue. She pressed herself up against him, feeling wild and wanton but needing that physical touch to anchor herself to the world, even as it threatened to take her over.

  His hand lifted from her chin and trailed down, tracing her collarbone before closing over her breast. His hand was big enough to span it all, her nipple a hard peak in his palm. He squeezed it through the fabric and her knees threatened to give out.

  She moaned, a low sound she hardly recognized as coming from her own throat and Martin pulled back from the kiss, keeping his hand on her breast for a moment longer before stepping back. For a moment, he merely looked at her as she stood there, trying to process the overload of sensation.

  “You are so beautiful.” His voice was rough, far removed from his normal controlled tones. “Take your hair down for me?”

  The request caught her off-guard. Reaching up, she found curls already escaping from the bun. Resigning herself to the fact that it was a lost cause, she teased out one hairpin after another until the bun came loose, her hair falling down her back in waves.

  “Like liquid gold.” He reached out, hooking a curl with one finger and running it through his hand. Teresa shivered, needing to feel his hands on her again.

  As if he sensed that, he dropped her hair and traced his fingers up her arm, raising goosebumps on her skin. When he reached her shoulder, instead of following the front of her gown like he had that night in the library, he reached around and found the first hook at the back of her dress, undoing it.

  Teresa held her breath as he slowly worked his way down the buttons until the dress slid down to pool at her
feet. A few short seconds later, her petticoats followed it, leaving her standing before him in her chemise and corset. Looking down, she realized her nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric of her chemise and she flushed.

  “This hardly feels fair. Why am I practically naked and you’re still in your clothes from dinner?”

  Martin laughed. “We’ll both be more than practically naked soon enough.” Still, he moved to the chair and sat, pulling off his boots before standing and tugging off his jacket. He tossed it onto the chair, followed by his cravat and waistcoat.

  Somehow his shoulders seemed wider now, seeing him in just his shirt. He gave it a quick tug, pulling it out of his breeches, and then began undoing his own buttons. She watched as a broad expanse of tanned chest appeared from under the crisp white shirt, a sprinkling of dark hair around his nipples. A small trail followed the taper to a narrow waist, still encased in the breeches concealing a rather large bulge.

  “Now we’re equally practically naked.” He pulled her back against him, the heat that much more intense now that there were fewer layers of clothing between them.

  Then his hand was on her breast again, lifting it out of the corset and rubbing his thumb over the nipple still covered by the chemise. Pleasure rippled through her, threatening to shatter the fragile calm she’d managed to piece back together after the earlier sensation overload.

  “Martin…” His name was half a moan, half a plea. He responded with a quick tug and her nipples were free of the chemise, once again exposed to his gaze. Already she could feel the dampness between her legs, her sex aching for him to touch it like he had in the library and grant her the same explosive release she’d experienced then.

  Then he rolled one taut nipple between his fingers and any last shreds of modesty vanished, consumed in the inferno raging through her blood. Reaching out, she slid her fingers under his shirt and brushed along his chest. His skin was smooth and soft, radiating heat as if the same fire burned in him.