Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  “It wasn’t clear from the letter how ill you were.” He shifted his weight, the movement uncharacteristic of him. “I… it was too easy to remember what happened to my mother and think that might be you.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that would have mattered much, seeing how we lead separate lives. You only married me because you were out of time. For the inheritance.” The bitter words slipped out before she realized it and she realized her control over her tongue was a lot shakier than normal. She snapped her mouth shut, not wanting to let something else slip. Like the reason this matters so much to me in the first place.

  Martin winced and Teresa wished she could take the words back. Even if they were true, saying them served no purpose and would just make building a friendly relationship again harder. Bitterness would only hurt her.

  “I was wrong.”

  Teresa blinked. Of all the things she would have expected him to say in response, that had not been anywhere on the list. She struggled to push herself up to a sitting position, the sheet pooling around her hips.

  Because it had finally started to warm up outside and the fever had finally broken, she had worn only a light chemise to sleep and she couldn’t help noticing how Martin’s gaze ran down and up her body before meeting her eyes again. She flushed despite herself, feeling more exposed now than she had when they had made love to each other.

  The silence stretched between them. He probably just meant that he had realized they couldn’t lead completely separate lives, not if she was to provide him with an heir. Still, the tantalizing possibility of something more would drive her mad. She had to know. “Excuse me?”

  “I was wrong.” Martin took a deep breath. “While I was in London, I ran into an old friend of mine — Lord Edward Thornton. I believe you know him.”

  “I do. I heard he was on the Continent with his new wife.” Teresa smiled involuntarily at the memory of Edward, who had always been willing to stand for a dance and offered intelligent conversation, never discounting her intelligence just because she was female. She’d felt his absence keenly last Season and had experienced more than one twinge of jealousy that he had managed to find love, even as she’d been happy for her friend. She hadn’t realized he was a friend of Martin’s though, although she supposed she should have, since she knew Edward and James were friends.

  “They’d just returned and invited me to dinner. A chance to catch up and for me to meet his wife. A love match, it turns out, which surprised me because Edward was always opposed to the very idea. Almost as much as I was.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Of course, it was a bigger surprise to find out his wife is my half-sister.”

  Teresa frowned. That made no sense. “I thought you said you were an only child.”

  “I thought I was too.” Martin grimaced. “Or at least, I thought my father had taken enough care to make sure he didn’t sire any bastards, which was apparently giving him too much credit. The family chose to acknowledge her anyway — she’s not the heir, after all — and retired to the countryside.”

  Teresa struggled to get her mind around the enormity of what he was saying. “So it turns out Lord Thornton’s wife is your half-sister through your father, but the ton doesn’t know?”

  “Her family knows. And Edward knew. James knows now as well, and you. I suspect there will be some gossip next Season, but no one else will know for sure.”

  “But …how?”

  He seemed to understand what she was asking even if she couldn’t articulate it clearly and reached up to tap his face, drawing her eye of the vivid green of his. “The eyes. It’s a family trait, I’m told. I know my father had them. So does Cecilia. Without them, I might have doubted her story but it’s impossible to deny the evidence.”

  Teresa felt the last bits of hope crumbling beneath her feet. If he had family, there was no reason to hope he might realize he could build a family with her. She really was alone, with no family left to lean on. “You could have stayed and visited with her.”

  “Not when the news of your illness came.” He reached a hand out, capturing one of hers in his grip. “Teresa, look at me.”

  Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and met his gaze. She would not show him how much she was hurting, no matter what it cost her.

  “You were right, when you said that I was using my family history as an excuse to keep from being hurt. I had told myself that it was my heritage; that no one sired by my father could possibly love because of the man he was. The family he was from. But then there was Cecilia, clearly in love with Edward who just as clearly loves her back and I couldn’t keep lying to myself anymore.”

  “Even before that first dance, there was something different about you. Something I couldn’t explain. It’s why I kept coming back. It’s true I had to marry for the inheritance, Teresa, but what you didn’t realize is I had more time. It might have been a split-second decision but I chose you because I had to understand what it was.” He took a deep breath. “I know I’ve been a stubborn ass about it and you’ve had far more patience with me than I’ve deserved. And I may not know what love is beyond what you’ve described to me, but I know I want to see you happy. The thought of my life without you in it feels unbearable, as if I’d be losing a part of myself. I can only hope that my idiocy hasn’t damaged our relationship permanently and that you’re willing to give me a chance again.”

  His eyes blazed with sincerity and affection, a look Teresa recognized as one her father had often sent her mother. Teresa felt herself drowning in it, the green washing over her even as her heart soared. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, her emotions a whirlwind.

  “That’s what love is, Martin.” Tears threatened to blur her vision and she blinked them away, not wanting anything to break the connection between them. Taking a deep breath, she threw caution to the wind. “I know. Not just because my parents loved each other. Or because they loved me. I know because I love you.”

  Three little words and yet so much possibility to hurt. She held her breath, knowing that if he rejected her now it would destroy her. Destroy them, or at least what hope she clung to of building a relationship. His gaze turned suddenly unreadable.

  “You know I rarely make decisions without consulting those who have more experience on a topic than I do, Teresa.” A small grin quirked up one corner of his mouth. “As you’re the expert in this relationship on love, I’ll have to bow to your superior judgment and say that I love you too.”

  Laughter bubbled out of her, her joy made manifest. “I’m glad you can eventually be made to see reason.”

  His laughter joined hers and she thought it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

  Epilogue

  Martin knocked softly on the door as Russell stood next to him, holding the dinner tray the cook had prepared. Teresa might insist she was better but he wasn’t willing to take any chances, not with how easily she’d tired that afternoon. His decree that she would take her dinner in bed had met with mulish resistance until he’d said he was going to join her, at which point she’d acquiesced.

  The door swung open and Miriam offered a curtsy as he entered before slipping out the door behind Russell. Teresa was not in the bed as he’d expected but instead sat at the side table, a second chair drawn up with space cleared for the tray. She looked radiant and he wondered again at how stupid the rest of the gentlemen of the ton had been — a category that had very nearly included him.

  You got lucky. Now you work to make sure you never need to be lucky again. Fortunately, he had a lot of practice at that. With the last influx of cash from his inheritance, the estate would now be able to produce more than sufficient funds to take care of itself, even allowing for unforeseen emergencies.

  Had it been only weeks before when he’d been dreading the day where the estate could stand on its own and he’d no longer have the distraction it provided? Now he saw the time he would gain as possibilities, all involving Teresa.

  She’d fallen aslee
p again as he’d held her, her body still recovering from battling the fever even as she insisted she was alright. He’d wanted to stay with her, but logic (and a reminder knock on the door) insisted that he go clean up from his ride. Once he’d finished with the bath, he’d given instructions that one be prepared for Teresa when she awoke, if she wanted it, and then spent some time in the library with Allsworth, discussing the upcoming plans for the estate.

  He saw that Teresa had taken advantage of the bath, as her hair was still damp. She was wrapped in a dressing gown and he harbored some hope of unwrapping her before the night was over. First, however, he still had an important surprise from London.

  As Russell set the tray upon the table and withdrew, Martin went to one knee in front of Teresa. “I thought, as we get ready to really start our new life together as husband and wife, that I should mark this occasion with a gift. Something to prove my commitment to you.”

  “I thought you gave me one of those already.” She lifted her hand and the betrothal ring flashed blue in the light streaming through the windows.

  Martin shook his head. “I gave you that before I knew you. I wanted to give you something else. Something personal, that I know you’ll appreciate.” Pulling the wrapped package from behind his back, he placed it in her lap. “I didn’t have too much time in London, but I did manage to get this for you while I was there.”

  Teresa picked it up, bouncing it in her hands as if weighing it. “It feels like a book.”

  “Open it.”

  She didn’t rip the paper, which he had half-expected, but instead carefully broke the wax seals and slid the book out of the wrapper. It wasn’t a fancy book — the cover was worn, in the style of one of the blank books sold for use as diaries to the elite or middle class. Teresa’s eyes filled with tears as she ran her fingers across the cover before opening the book.

  Pages of careful script surrounded beautiful drawings of flowers and trees, brilliantly colored. Many of the drawings were carefully annotated, pointing out key details and differences between this flower and that. A few were less well-done but still recognizable. Teresa traced one of them with her finger. “I did this one.” She looked back up at him. “How did you convince my aunt and uncle to part with it?”

  “I appealed to their better judgment.” A few references to his lawyers and the headache it would be to litigate over the inheritance due a ward, especially when there was reason to think some of the money intended for her dowry had been misspent, and her uncle had been eager to hand over the manuscript.

  “I was unaware they had any.” Teresa seemed skeptical — with good reason, he had to admit. Her aunt had protested, although it was unclear whether she was interested in continued leverage for funds or merely a desire to hurt her niece. The woman’s animosity toward Teresa seemed to know no reason. Fortunately, his suggestion that perhaps they make themselves scarce the next Season also seemed likely to bear fruit.

  “It can be done. It helps to have the courts on your side, if necessary.” He watched as understanding crept into her eyes — but no judgment. A weight lifted off his shoulders, muscles he hadn’t realized were tense relaxing at her acceptance of what he’d done.

  Looking back down at the book, she turned it back to the front. Her eyes flew open in surprise at the lines centered under the title. “I don’t remember this. My father must have written it right before they left for London.” She peered a little more closely at it. “To our darling daughter, whose curiosity for the world inspired us to explore it. As you begin to make your own way in the world, know that you’ll always take a part of us with you.”

  Her voice trailed off, tears still silently streaming down her face. Finally, she looked up at him again. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you, Teresa.” He caught one of her hands in his. “You’ve taught me what it means to love and be a family and I love you for it. For who you are and who you inspire me to be.”

  Teresa leaned forward. “I love you too, Martin.”

  Her kiss was everything he’d hoped it would be.

  Acknowledgements

  About halfway through writing this book, I started running. I’d been running for less than a month when I signed up for my first half marathon.

  In a lot of ways, the two journeys are the same.

  While both are ultimately solitary acts, I haven’t been alone for either of them. The support and encouragement from my friends and family plays a key role in pushing me over the finish line and onto the next one, and they deserve to be recognized for their contributions, without which my name wouldn’t be on the cover.

  To Atlanta, your feedback and comments have shaped the path this journey followed and the end result is so much the better for it. Thank you for the gift of your time, your thoughtfulness, your patience, and your wisdom. You’ve honored me and I hope I can offer the same for you.

  To Pam, thank you so much for being the fresh eyes I needed when I could no longer see the trees for the forest. Any typos still here are my responsibility. Your generosity with your time humbles me.

  To Chris, you challenged me and made me think things through, but also affirmed some of the decisions I made. Thank you for encouraging me in this from the start. You’ll always be my big.

  To my mom, I couldn’t ask for a better cheerleader. When I just need to vent, you’re there. Thank you for being the outlet valve I’ve needed and never judging me for it.

  To Alan, my very own romance hero. Because I have you, I know how much work there is for a real happily ever after — and exactly how fulfilling it is to live it. You listen when I need to ramble about plot points and even read the third draft, knowing nothing at all about Regency romance. Thank you for letting me take a shot at this, and encouraging me every step of the way.

  Finally, thank you, reader, if you’ve made it this far. It’s terrifying to take something so personal — a labor of love for over a year — and release it into the world. I love the collective world we’ve made; perhaps it isn’t always period-accurate, but it’s full of life and vibrant stories waiting to be told, and I wanted to make my own small contribution. There are still days I want to hide it, afraid it isn’t my best work and insist on perfection. But reality is that there is no one book that will be perfect to everyone, and the best I can hope is that my story has made you smile and reminded you of that heart fluttering feeling love can bring.

  Here’s to the next one!

  Lisbette

  About the Author

  Lisbette Tomas’s first published work came at age 7 when a local theater printed her five scene play in the program for their Christmas production. Thankfully, the only remaining known copy remains safely buried in her parents’ basement, which is where it should stay.

  An avid reader, her more recent forays into writing started with National Novel Writing Month and have blossomed into full length Regency romances of the sort she loves to read herself. When not writing or reading, Lisbette occasionally ventures outdoors for a run and enjoys traveling with her husband. According to her mother-in-law, she is one cat short of crazy.

  For more information, including a link to her newsletter where she offers sneak peaks at upcoming titles, visit her website at www.lisbette.com. Alternately, you can find her (and possibly pictures of her cats) on Twitter at @lisbettet.

  Entangled with the Earl

  © 2017 Lisbette Tomas.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Please contact the author with questions, comments, or errors at:

  1769 Hillsdale Ave #24411

  San Jose, CA 95154

  www.lisbette.com

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ngled Threads Book 1)