One of her questing fingers brushed over a hard, flat nipple and Martin shuddered. The realization that she held as much power over him as he had over her lasted only a moment before his mouth was on hers again, urgent and needy, demanding she focus on him alone.
A few quick tugs and her corset fell, joining the pile at her feet. Even as his tongue tangled with hers, his fingers fumbled with the ties of her chemise and then he pulled back and pulled it up and over her head. Another tug and her drawers were at her feet. He pulled her forward, out of the pile of her discarded clothing.
*
Go slow. Go slow. Go slow. The words were a drumbeat in his skull, a counterpoint to the constant throb of his erection. Her untutored touches might be driving him mad but she was still a virgin. He had to remember that. Had to take it slow for her sake.
He had to get himself back under control.
A near impossible goal, with Teresa standing naked before him. Her skin was pure cream, kissed gold by the firelight and pink by the flush in her cheeks. A flush that extended down her neck and spilled out over the breasts that had tormented him since that night in the library three weeks ago.
He’d known the gowns had only hinted at the figure beneath but seeing the reality was something else. The current style of fashion didn’t favor women like her, with curves that enticed a man to pull her close and explore every inch.
Unable to keep his distance any longer, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Allen had already turned down the covers and so he was able to lower her to the sheets before making quick work of his own breeches and drawers.
Teresa sucked in a breath as he turned back, giving her her first glimpse of his erection. “I don’t see how that can possibly fit.”
Her voice trembled slightly, although she tried to cover the nerves with humor. He could appreciate that, knowing he wouldn’t want to admit to them either.
“Your body will surprise you.” He climbed onto the bed to join her. “Don’t think. Feel.”
Running his hand up her side, he ducked his head down to take a nipple into his mouth. Teresa’s gasp turned into a moan as he suckled it, the nub tightening further under his tongue. His hand played with the other nipple, not wanting to neglect it.
Then her fingers brushed against his cock and he had to bite back a groan, fighting to maintain his slender thread of control. Catching her wrist, he released her nipple and captured her mouth in a kiss, plundering her mouth in an effort to keep his need for her leashed as his other hand moved down to the curls between her legs.
She was already wet, the damp heat sending another pulse of need down his cock so intense he nearly spilled himself on her leg. Threading his finger through her curls, he stroked the cleft there, teasing the point that would bring her the most pleasure.
Her hips bucked, trying to force his hand closer as he slid his finger up and down her slick folds. Everything in him wanted to thrust into her, to show her the pleasure he could give her, but still he held back, stroking slowly up and down, around and around.
*
“Martin!” It was a plea now, not a moan or a gasp. Teresa felt suspended, a purely physical creature. Her world was now Martin and the things he was doing to her. Coherent thought was gone, leaving only the burning desire for him to touch her, fill her, to satisfy the need that consumed her, throbbing in time with his tongue’s strokes over her nipple.
And yet he teased, dancing around the aching point and instead slowly pressing a finger inside her, stroking from the inside. She gasped at the sensation as it slid in and out, first one, then another. Then both at once, stretching her even as his thumb traced lazy circles around the place she ached for him to touch. Her hips lifted, her body begging for what it needed of its own accord.
“God, you’re so tight.” His voice was a growl against her breast, her nipple so sensitive that she felt even that rumble against the fullness inside of her. Then his thumb brushed against the nub and stars threatened to explode behind her eyes. She could feel herself clenching down, his fingers inside her only intensifying the feeling.
Then, inexplicably, she felt his fingers begin to withdraw. “No,” she moaned, feeling the pressure disappear and feeling strangely empty for its absence.
“Just for a moment.” Martin propped himself up and nudged her leg aside, moving so that his erection rested just above her curls. She could feel it there, heavy and solid and warm. Her hips lifted, wanting to rub against him, desperate to satisfy the ache, but she couldn’t get enough leverage.
He shifted and then she felt him nudging at her entrance, slowly pressing inward. The pressure built, almost to the point of discomfort before he stopped, holding himself above her on his arms.
“I’m sorry.”
Before Teresa could figure out what he was apologizing for, he pushed in until their bodies met, a short sharp pain that quickly vanished under the cascade of sensation as he captured her mouth with his again. As he slowly began to move in and out of her, giving her body time to adjust, one of his hands came up to claim a nipple again, rolling it back and forth as he plundered her mouth.
She felt full, claimed in the most primal of ways. All she could see, all she could feel was Martin and yet it wasn’t enough. She rotated her hips, needing to be closer.
It was as if that movement unleashed something in Martin. His thrusts grew faster and she began to meet them, her hips moving in time with his. Each time their bodies met, she could feel the pressure building, pleasure propelling her up higher and higher.
“Teresa…” He said her name, a plea and a prayer bound together even as she lost the ability to understand it, spiraling up tighter and tighter. Her legs locked around Martin’s waist, trying to hold him closer.
Not just holding him, but urging him, faster and faster.
The last tether holding her to reality snapped. She cried out as the pleasure crested over her, crashing down as the world fractured. Waves radiated out from her core, clenching down on him. His continued thrusting only intensified the sensations.
She was vaguely aware when he thrust forward one last time, crying out even as she felt him stiffen and pulse inside her. Then he collapsed onto her, as if unable to support himself any longer.
Small quivers continued to run through her body, aftershocks from the explosion of pleasure that had stolen her ability to put thoughts together. Even now, her capacity for rational speech was buried somewhere under the piles of sensation rolling through her.
Not that she had any idea what she might have said. Ask Martin to lift himself off her? His weight was a comfort, rather than a burden. Without it, she half-thought she might drift away, never to find the earth again. In a daze, she murmured a protest as Martin withdrew from her, rolling to turn down the lamp and pull the covers up over both of them.
Her last conscious thought, curled up under the arm he’d draped possessively over her, was that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so content.
Chapter 27
The light slanting through the windows of her sitting room failed to live up to the promise of summer. No golden sunbeams or brilliant sunsets, just the dim light of another day overcast and gray. Although the rain had stayed away, the sun had refused to come out. Puddles still dotted the drive from the road to the house.
None of it had been able to dampen the glow Teresa saw each time she looked in the mirror.
Four days since her first night in Martin’s arms and the world still felt different. Or maybe I’m different now and the world has stayed the same.
Waking up that first morning to a hand stroking her breast and kisses feathering her neck had been a revelation. She’d been more than willing to meet his enthusiasm with some of her own, growing ever more confident in her body’s responses. More than one morning had seen them late to breakfast, a state of affairs the servants were all politely pretending not to notice.
Just like they pretended not to notice that her bed had remained untouc
hed for the past four nights or the noises that came from behind the closed bedroom door. Mostly, anyway. Teresa had caught more than a few smiles out of the corner of her eye.
She didn’t mind. It was worth it for the relaxed look that had appeared in Martin’s eyes.
No, more than just his eyes. Over the past four days, she’d noticed a change in Martin. He laughed more and there were fewer tension lines around the corners of his eyes. Work for the estate hadn’t stopped, of course, but he smiled every time he saw her. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was an entirely different man from the one she’d married.
It pleased her to think that she’d played some role in that change, even if it was a small one.
The nights with him had certainly changed her. Teresa had never thought of herself as a woman of passion but she couldn’t get enough of Martin’s touch — or touch him enough. Merely looking at him no longer sufficed. She needed to explore his body with her hands, to place kisses on every inch. The thought of spending the night apart from him — something that had been normal just five short days ago — now seemed untenable.
Which makes me hopeless. Spending time in Martin’s arms and getting more glimpses of the man beneath the Earl had only reinforced her earlier conclusion: she had indeed fallen in love with her husband.
A husband who had been quite clear that he would never return those feelings, even if she found the courage to voice them.
It was better not to think about it. If she thought about it, it was harder to lie to herself and pretend it didn’t matter. She’d overheard enough gossip as a wallflower to know she was lucky, that for many women in the ton the marital act was at best a chore, devoid of pleasure. For some, it was much, much worse.
Martin, on the other hand, only took his own pleasure after making sure she had been satisfied. His attention to detail frequently found her limp against the pillows, unable to wring another drop of pleasure out of muscles quivering with exhaustion.
It was then that she found it hardest to keep the words from spilling out, curled up and sated in his arms. It felt like the most natural thing in the world and yet she couldn’t bring herself to say three little words. Because I’m a coward and I can’t stand the thought of being rejected that way.
It had been so much simpler in her dreams. The gentleman she loved would have loved her from the start, courted her openly despite the ton’s mockery, and declared his love both in word and deed even before their betrothal. She wouldn’t have had to bite back her feelings because they would have been returned in equal measure from the very beginning.
Barring that, she’d imagined a relationship built on mutual respect and partnership where neither of them had feelings for the other beyond friendship — much like what Society considered a successful marriage, if one actually cared at all for the happiness of the parties involved. That had been her goal, even if her heart hadn’t been willing to abandon its dream of love.
Worrying about this isn’t going to change anything. Rationally, she knew that.
She wished knowing that made any difference when it came to her inability to stop going over and over it in her head, considering every one of their interactions and looking for some sign that he might soften on his convictions. If there was any hint that he might grow to love her, that had to be better than being stuck with feelings that would never be returned — not the way she needed them to be.
Sighing, she leaned back in the chair. The open book in her lap had once again failed to distract her from her thoughts. To be fair, very little had been successful at that. It felt like the only time she wasn’t thinking about Martin was when they were actually together or she was out riding Artemis. The weather had conspired against her there as well, the wet ground keeping her rides short and slow compared to what both of them wanted.
Hoofbeats sounded on the stones of the drive and she looked up to watch a rider enter the courtyard and pull his horse to a halt before swinging down. A groom ran out to take the reins and the rider reached into his saddlebags before moving toward the door. The post again, she guessed. They had few enough visitors otherwise, mostly tenants coming to meet with Martin on one concern or another.
There were some local gentry, none of whom had been out to meet Teresa yet, although she was sure the gossip that the Earl had brought home a London bride had to have spread by now. Martin guessed they might write soon, looking for a house visit over the summer months. The estate was isolated enough that the courtesy was expected.
It hadn’t always been that way. During his grandfather’s time, the estate had expanded to swallow up many of the closer holdings, apparently when several of the local families had fallen on hard times. Martin’s father had sold a few of those, but most of the ton had been interested in them as hunting boxes and not permanent residences.
The isolation hadn’t bothered Teresa. To be honest, she’d valued the time spent with just Martin. Better to learn one role, even imperfectly, before tackling another. Now though, she began to wish for the distraction of houseguests. Seeing to their entertainment and making the appropriate arrangements for rooms and meals would at least give her something to do, instead of this enforced idleness that left her with far too much time to think about her husband.
No footsteps sounded outside her door, though. None of the post had been for her. Unsurprising, really. Her aunt was likely still waiting for a response to her missive, something Martin had asked Teresa to leave entirely in his hands. He hadn’t told her anything more, but she trusted him.
Besides, she didn’t really want to write to her aunt.
She could write another letter to Elizabeth. Then again, she’d sent two already with no reply. No, that wasn’t fair. The Season had only just ended. She had to remember to make allowances for that, especially since she’d gotten to miss the flurry of events that typically marked its final weeks. She remembered what that was like. By the time the social whirl ended, it had been a relief to retreat into her room and speak only to the servants for a week. Elizabeth would respond when she felt human again. Which will hopefully be soon.
She glanced around the room, searching for any kind of a distraction. At the sight of the desk, memory sparked into life. The day her aunt’s letter had arrived — the day she’d acknowledged her feelings to Martin, if only to herself, and discovered how glorious the time in his bed could be — that day she had been reading his grandmother’s journals. She’d forgotten, with everything that had happened since then. But there had been valuable information in the journals; information she could use. Ruth had mentioned the harvest festival too, something that had stopped when she was a young girl. The timing would have matched the countess’s death
Moving to the desk, Teresa pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped her quill in the inkwell. If she started now, there was plenty of time to plan a respectable celebration. It would be the perfect way to establish herself as lady of the estate. They could even open the manor up to the local gentry, turn it into sort of a house party. Her pen flew over the paper as she began planning in earnest.
*
The knock on the door was not unexpected. Martin had heard the hoofbeats entering the courtyard and a glance at the clock had indicated that it was about the right time for the post to arrive. Sure enough, Russell opened the door at his response, bearing a silver tray with a pile of envelopes, freshly arrived.
Martin suppressed the urge to groan at the height of the pile, a sure indication that he would not be finishing his correspondence before dinner. There would be no time for slipping away to surprise Teresa with a ride — either of horses or of him. His cock twitched at the thought, a reminder that indulging had thus far done nothing to satisfy the craving for her.
He could still feel her clenching around him as pleasure took her over the edge, a wild creature full of passion and need. There was nothing tame about her responses in the bedroom, none of the shy English miss he would have expected from a sheltered Society debutant
e. The closest she’d come had been a few blushes that first night, blushes that had quickly vanished under the onslaught of pleasure. Left behind in their place was a bold, passionate beauty who insisted on exploring him as he did her, reveling in the discovery of her own power as a woman.
He’d never seen anything so seductive. None of the Cyprians could hold a candle to her, unconventional beauty that she was. Even if fidelity weren’t ingrained in him, the thought of any other woman failed to excite him, not like she did. She’d ruined him for any other woman and she hadn’t even known she was doing it.
The thought made him restless, coming too close to the idea of love. It’s nonsense, he told himself. A physical reaction and nothing more. Another month or two and we’ll settle into a routine, the craving less. We’ll both tire of it. Keeping the proper distance was key, now more than ever. He would not — could not — repeat his parents’ folly.
Paging through the new arrivals, he froze as he recognized the handwriting on one. He forced himself to carefully break the seal instead of ripping it open and quickly scanned the letter.
I regret to inform you that it appears unavoidable at this point. I have consulted with three different law firms and they all reached the same conclusion. Your presence is required here in London in order to finish the transfer of the inheritance funds without drawing undue attention to the circumstances surrounding the clause in the will. If it were possible to do otherwise, you know that I would do so. Because the misunderstanding was mine, I am at your disposal in this matter; send your instruction and I will meet you in London at your convenience.
Martin swore. He’d half expected something like this, given the lack of word from Charles. Being right didn’t make the idea of a trip to London any more palatable. And it would require an extra trip — this was not the sort of thing he could put off until he was in town again for Parliament. Better to get it over with as soon as possible. If he left tomorrow and traveled light, he could be back in less than two weeks, the inheritance safely deposited in his accounts and available for use. And maybe Teresa would enjoy-He swore again, this time more vehemently. There was no need for Teresa to travel with him and every reason why she should stay here at the estate. That he’d even considered the notion was evidence he was already further gone than he was willing to admit. He needed distance and quickly.
Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1) Page 24