Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  Now he wouldn’t even speak to her, had to have gone out of his way to avoid her this morning before he left. Last night had been the first time she had slept alone since she’d invited him to her bed, but she’d tried to convince herself that was because he was busy preparing for the trip. She couldn’t pretend any longer.

  Suddenly tears threatened, a wave of grief swelling up from the ache in her chest that hadn’t gone away since the night before. She turned away from the window, not wanting to see the landscape dissolve into a blur.

  A ride. A ride would help clear her head, get her out into the countryside where she always felt better. She sent for Miriam.

  *

  The grooms had Artemis saddled and waiting for her when she crossed the courtyard, although neither of them looked happy about it. Teresa ignored the grumbles and swung herself up into the saddle, collecting the reins in her hand. Let them grumble. She had no intention of riding far or fast.

  Artemis was more than happy for a canter, although Teresa took care to keep the pace no more than that. The manor quickly faded away into the background, with all the sounds that accompanied it — the horses and grooms at work in the stable, the activity around the house. She could imagine, for just a moment, that life was simple again. That when she turned around and returned, it wouldn’t be back to Moorhall but instead to the cozy and familiar house she’d grown up in. That she wasn’t a Countess hopelessly in love with her husband.

  That her husband could no longer bear her company.

  The tears rose again and this time she let them spill, knowing there was no one here to judge her for them. The numbness she’d felt watching him leave this morning had faded, leaving pain, emptiness, and anger in its wake. If she’d just had more control, if she’d kept herself from pushing, if she’d been able to find the right words …maybe it would have made a difference.

  And maybe Artemis grew wings when I wasn’t looking and can fly. Her mother would have said there was no use in crying over the mess she made and instead to put her energy towards cleaning it up. The thought of her mother only made the tears come harder.

  She could feel Artemis slowing to a walk beneath her, the landscape nothing more than smudges through her tears. Part of her was tempted to urge Artemis back to a gallop, relying on the horse to find her way. She’d leave the estate behind forever, disappear into the countryside and make her way to …where? She had no money, no skills she could barter with. Marriage was out of the question now and she had no interest in being some man’s mistress, even if she could bear the thought of another man. Which I can’t.

  No, she’d made her bed. Time to lie in it, as best she could. Perhaps, with time, Martin would forgive her for pressing and they might find that easy companionship again. She needed to stop lying to herself. Nothing more than that was possible, Martin had made that very clear.

  The whole situation could be blamed on her selfishness. He’d been consistent from the first, willing to listen and converse with her and clearly interested in her physically — but no words of love. No gestures of courtship. Never an indication that he regarded her as anything other than his wife as the ton define d the term. She’d been the one who hungered for more, who wanted to read affection and perhaps love into his actions.

  As the tears began to slow, Teresa took a deep breath and straightened her spine. Crying had changed nothing except her complexion, which she knew would now be hideous. The birds still sang out over the hills. The sun still blazed overhead, finally offering the promise of summer. Her heart was still shattered into a thousand pieces, broken by the finality of his rejection.

  And she was still married to the man who’d done it.

  At least she hadn’t said the words last night. They’d been on the tip of her tongue, begging to be blurted out. She’d half thought that if she told him how she felt, he might reconsider. Might realize that love wasn’t the burden he seemed to think it was, that it could add to his life instead of making it more difficult.

  It’s better that he’s gone to London after all, she decided. That gave her time before she had to see him again, to pretend that his words and actions hadn’t destroyed one of the few hopes for happiness that had sustained her during the awful years in London. To pretend nothing at all had happened between them.

  To try to patch her broken heart together as best she could.

  *

  Martin could feel the sun on the back of his neck and wished, perversely, that the clouds had persisted. Although good for drying out the puddles that still filled the ruts in the road, bright sunshine hardly fit his mood.

  Granted, if the weather had truly fit his mood, it would hardly have been suitable weather for traveling. Sensing his temper, only Allsworth and Allen had dared speak to him as he’d climbed up on Ares. Even Russell had given him a wide berth that morning, with none of the usual commentary that accompanied his breakfast tray before a normal departure for the city.

  A wise decision on his part, as the disapproval Martin could sense lurking behind the impassive facade had only worsened his mood. The staff did not agree with his decision not to say goodbye to Teresa. The staff could keep their opinions to themselves.

  Teresa’s words echoed in his ears. “Oh, I must have you confused with some other gentleman afraid to take a chance on love because he’s terrified of being hurt.” His fists clenched on the reins at the memory.

  He simply wasn’t capable of love. It wasn’t in his blood. He prided himself on that, in fact, as love only served to complicate matters. Too many men had driven themselves into financial troubles believing themselves in love with their mistresses. Too many duels fought over a woman by fools who believed in stories of knights and their ladies. There was nothing wrong with celebrating one’s immunity to that.

  It certainly did not make him a coward.

  If his wife wanted to believe in fairy tales and children’s stories, he couldn’t stop her but he’d be damned if he’d let her paint him as something he wasn’t. They would talk when he got back from London, after he’d had a chance to gain control over his temper — and his cock.

  His cock had seen no reason why he shouldn’t have slipped through the door separating their rooms last night, after the last of the packing had finally been completed, and buried himself deep inside her. That he’d instead kept his distance had contributed to his surly mood, he knew.

  It couldn’t be helped. If he’d touched her again, he’d have canceled the trip to London — or arranged for her to travel with him. That thought only made him scowl harder. In less than four days, the craving for her had turned into something far more subtle and dangerous, even as it refused to fade.

  Grinding his teeth, he glared at the road ahead of him. He might hate traveling to London but he hated this loss of control even more. Distance was key. It had to diminish without her presence, without seeing her sitting across from him at the dinner table each night or hearing her voice an opinion as they sat in the library.

  And in the meantime, he could review the business that he would deal with in London. That should occupy his thoughts, between the inheritance mess and several pending business deals that he would take the opportunity to check on personally while in town.

  It partially worked. Thoughts of Teresa kept surprising him at odd moments. One moment, he might be considering whether he should attempt to set up a meeting with the members of the Agricultural Society and suddenly he found himself considering what she might say in response to a question or what she would think of a view as it flew by. Each time that happened, his jaw set tighter and tighter as he tried harder and harder to put her out of his mind.

  By the time they reached the inn that was the stopping point for that day’s ride, he had a throbbing headache. One look at his face and the innkeeper refrained from asking about his new wife but instead sent up a bottle of his finest brandy, with a note that it was on the house and he hoped m’lord felt better soon. Allen arranged for a private supper in the parlor — a
break from his usual habit of dining in the common room with the local men and listening to the news as they heard it. He did his best to avoid remembering dinner with Teresa in that very room, on their way to the estate following their wedding.

  None of it improved his mood, although the brandy helped blunt the headache that night. He was careful not to overindulge, well aware that his travel schedule left little space for pounding heads the morning after. Unfortunately, his headache the next morning had its own ideas and he climbed into the saddle even more surly than when he’d left it the night before.

  The pattern repeated itself the next night, and the next, and the next, until it was something of a relief to arrive in London and pull up to his townhouse, to a place Teresa had never been. Logic would have dictated that he arrange for alternate lodgings when it became apparent just how hard it was to put her from his mind but he’d resisted, feeling perversely stubborn about the whole thing. He was not going to run away from her, not like this.

  He did his best to ignore the little voice that pointed out that was exactly what he was doing with the London trip and took the steps to the door two at a time. It swung open at his approach, the staff clearly on alert to greet him.

  He pulled off his traveling coat and gloves, handing them to a footman along with his hat. “Let me know when a bath is ready. I’ll be in the library.”

  The weather had finally begun to warm, hints of what would be a warm June already in the air. The heat had encouraged the road dust, which clung to his boots and clothes now. He scowled down at his boots even as he pushed open the door to the library. They’d have to be thoroughly cleaned before he could wear them out among Society again.

  A stack of notes sat on his desk, one at the top of the pile in the familiar ducal handwriting. Breaking the seal, he scanned the note. The Duke was in town, as expected, and would be pleased to meet with him at his earliest convenience. He grunted satisfaction, pleased that at least something was going as it ought to on this trip. Hopefully with a quick visit to the attorneys tomorrow, the inheritance would be transferred to his account and he could put the whole mess behind him.

  Except for your wife. The little voice was back again. He ground his teeth and did his best to ignore it. True, if it weren’t for the codicil in the will, he probably wouldn’t be married yet — but he would have had to eventually, and Teresa had seemed no better or worse than any of the other options before him. Now, it seemed clear that it had been a good choice, even with the current misunderstanding between them. Once it was clear what the boundaries were supposed to be between them, they’d be able to settle into that easy fellowship again.

  Flipping through the other notes, he paused at the sight of more familiar handwriting. James knew that he would normally be at the estate now, not here in London. He quickly opened the note.

  Back in London for a spell before I’m dragged to Brighton by the Old Lady. You’ll likely never see this note, holed up in your estate, but on the off chance that you end up in town, there’s a standing invitation to join me at the club. Rumor has it that Edward is back from his honeymoon trip to the Continent.

  Martin turned and headed for the stairs. It wouldn’t take long to prepare for a quiet evening at the club and it would save his staff the trouble of setting the dining room for one.

  Chapter 30

  James looked up when Martin claimed the seat across from him, surprise evident in his features despite the fact that it had been his note telling Martin where he would be. “Hardly the person I was expecting to see tonight.”

  “I know.” Martin raised an eyebrow in his direction. “And yet, despite knowing my habits, you apparently keep my townhouse up to date with your comings and goings in London.”

  James shrugged. “Company in town is quiet enough during the summer that it’s worth it on the off-chance you are in town. Although, I’ll grant you, that has seemed like a fool’s errand over the past few years.”

  Given that this was the first summer he’d been in London since a year after he’d taken over the title, Martin had to bite back a laugh.

  “However,” James brightened, “it clearly paid off in the end. You’ll be pleased to hear that Edward is here in town and has promised me that he can spare a few minutes away from his new bride to join me here at the club tonight.”

  “He’s been married for over six months.” Not that Martin had gotten the chance to see him in that time, as Lord Edward Thornton and his wife had left on their honeymoon trip shortly before the start of the Season. “Surely you’re not trying to tell me that he would prefer the company of his bride to his friends at the club.”

  James blinked. “You didn’t hear?” He shook his head before Martin could respond. “Of course you didn’t. You never care for gossip during the Season, and since they weren’t here there wasn’t much of it anyway. It’s a love match.”

  As unexpected as the news of the marriage had been when he’d first heard it, that was even more so. He might have been most vehement of their trio in his distaste for love but Edward hadn’t been far behind him. Only James — sitting there now, a grinning bachelor — had never denounced the idea, back when they were young and reckless and drunk.

  The waiter deposited the whiskey in front of him and he picked it up, swirling it in the glass before taking a long sip. Fortified, he looked back at James. “You mean to tell me,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “that Edward is in love with his wife?”

  “Exactly!” The voice behind him was quietly confident. Martin sprang up and turned to find Edward standing behind him, looking tan and healthy from the aforementioned trip to the Continent. More than that, though, there was a sparkle in his eye that Martin had never seen before.

  Thornton!” Martin pushed his chair back and pulled the other man into a hug, slapping him on the back with his free hand. It had been three years since their last encounter, as Edward had been traveling the past two Seasons. The time had left no obvious marks, his figure as athletic as ever. No surprise, really, as Edward was a bit of a goer, frequently found at the boxing salon or out riding.

  As the spare for the Duke of Mountbrook, his time hadn’t been structured around lessons and responsibilities the way Martin’s had, a freedom Martin had envied during their time at Oxford. Edward, on the other hand, once told Martin he’d envied his sense of purpose. Martin might have organized the purchase of the racehorse, but it was Edward who had ridden it to its first victory.

  Edward pulled back from the hug and nodded a greeting to James before turning his attention back to Martin. “I hear you’ve joined the ranks of domesticated gentlemen. I can’t say I expected that news.”

  Martin motioned to the chair one of the waiters brought, along with a third glass of whiskey. “Sit, sit.” He took his own seat again, picking up his glass. “It was a rather unexpected development, I admit. But then, I didn’t expect to hear last fall’s news that you’d married either! I’d thought you were gallivanting across the Continent again, hardly a care in the world.”

  Edward waved this aside as he settled into the chair. “Couldn’t be helped. First I was home to pay my respects to the family and next thing I knew I was at the altar with Cecilia, on my way to being the happiest man alive. So did the dream of marital bliss drive you to the altar as well?”

  Martin laughed and shook his head. “No, merely that the old man was clear in his will what I had to do to gain my inheritance and I was loath to simply leave that amount on the table.”

  The words were light enough, but he didn’t need to be specific, not with them. They both knew how long and hard he’d worked to pull the estate out of the hole his father had dug. They both knew how close he was to finally succeeding.

  “Oh, I figured you’d marry eventually. You haven’t worked this hard to let the estate to go some far off relative you’ve never met.” Edward offered him a grin, the jab a familiar one. “Still, Miss Selkirk was hardly the woman I would have picked as your first choice.”

/>   “I didn’t realize you knew Teresa.” He frowned, doing some mental math.

  “You forget, I spend more time in the city than you think. You’re just rarely here for any of it.” Edward leaned back and sipped his whiskey. “Her aunt and uncle rarely leave the city and when the company thins it’s nearly impossible to avoid meeting those that stay. She was quiet, but sharp. Didn’t miss much. Hardly seemed your type though, what with her desire for love.”

  Martin felt his lips twist at the mention of it. “Isn’t that the truth.” He reflected bitterly on their last argument. “She was simply going to help me narrow down the debutantes available, to find a bride quickly.”

  Silence greeted his words. He braced for the inevitable laughter. It didn’t come.

  “And yet you ended up marrying her.” The question came from Edward, James tactfully avoiding any mention of the circumstances surrounding the wedding. A neutral approach Martin could appreciate. He shifted in his chair.

  “It turned out there was more of a physical connection than either of us realized at first.” There, a suitably diplomatic description of the fact that he was still struggling to keep his hands off his wife. Edward did laugh at that, a knowing glint in his eye.

  “I’m surprised you’re here then and not back at home with your wife.” Edward raised his glass in salute. “It took two months and several pillows thrown at my head before Cecilia convinced me she really wasn’t bothered by my spending an evening out. Might, in fact, occasionally prefer it.”

  “I left Teresa back at the estate.”

  Edward’s glass came back down to the table with a thump. “And she was happy about that?”

  Martin shrugged. “What does that matter? Ours isn’t a love match. Boundaries have to be maintained, and the business was urgent.”

  “In other words, no, she wasn’t happy with it.” Edward leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together, looking at Martin over them. Martin did his best to meet the gaze, aware Edward always managed to see more than Martin wanted to reveal. “I’m surprised that seems to bother you though, if it’s not a love match. What does it matter what she thinks?”