Page 13 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
Surely something would come from this. Both men clearly found her pleasing to bed, and they already knew they got on well in other important matters. She would make the perfect wife for either man. They must also see that.
She turned away from the mirror, pacing the length of her small chamber, her footsteps muffled by the woven rug beneath her feet. Which one would she prefer? It was impossible to decide. How could she choose between the steadfast heat of the blacksmith and the enigmatic allure of the viscount? Owen, with his robust laughter and muscular arms that promised safety and excitement, contrasted so starkly with Simon’s refined gestures and the fine, fancy life he could offer her.
“Please, let one of them decide,” she whispered into the stillness of the room, the words a prayer cast into the world. If only it were that simple, if only her heart did not tug her in two opposite directions with such ferocity.
If neither of them acted, the decision would be hers alone, and as she steadied her breath, catching her own determined gaze in the mirror once more, Xenia felt that tonight’s assembly would be a turning point. Surely one of them would reveal an affection for her that everyone in attendance would see.
With one last glance at her reflection, she adjusted the neckline of her gown, the soft material holding the warmth of the skin beneath. She looked as pretty as she ever had, she decided. Somehow, being pleasured by two men gave her a glow that brought out the best in her features. A huge grin lit her face as she realized she might enjoy that pleasure again tonight.
“Xenia, it’s time to leave!” shouted her father from belowstairs.
She gathered up her reticule and shawl and hurried out the door.
Xenia stepped into the village assembly room, her heart drumming a fierce rhythm against her ribs. The room was awash with laughter and the warm glow of candlelight, the air alive with the strains of a lively melody from the fiddler’s bow. She paused, surveying the scene as colorful gowns twirled and feet stomped in time to the music.
From across the room, she caught the gaze of both Owen and Simon. Owen’s eyes sparkled with an impish light, his muscular frame cutting through the crowd with determined strides. Simon stood a little apart, his tall silhouette framed by the doorway, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that seemed to reach across the space between them.
“Zee!” Owen called out, his voice rich with warmth. He reached her side first, offering his hand with a flash of his charming grin. “Care for a dance?”
Before she could respond, Simon appeared at her other side, his bearing impeccable as always. “May I have this honor, Miss Arbuckle?” he asked, his words wrapped in the velvet of his smooth tenor.
Caught between them, Xenia felt the weight of their attentions like a heavy cloak. She was acutely aware of how her body responded to each man. Owen’s proximity sent a familiar thrill through her veins, while Simon’s quiet regard promised depths yet unexplored.
“Owen asked first,” she said, feeling the solid strength of his hand envelop hers. “I would love to.”
Simon’s lips curved into a polite smile, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of disappointment. “Perhaps later, then,” he conceded, stepping back with a graceful bow.
“Of course, the next set is yours, my lord,” she called as she walked away.
As Owen led her to the area cleared for dancing, his hand found the small of her back, guiding her movements. They found a spot amidst the other dancers and awaited the start, following the oft-practiced steps when it did.
Xenia’s laughter mingled with the lively tune of the fiddle as she twirled beneath Owen’s arm. The warmth she felt on her cheeks wasn’t just from the spirited dance. It was the exhilaration of being the focal point of such delightful rivalry.
When the set of dances ended, she followed the other dancers to the edges of the room.
“Xenia, my dear,” came her mother’s mirthful voice. “You’ll have them dueling at dawn if you’re not careful.”
She glanced toward her mother, who stood at the edge of the dance floor. With hands folded neatly in front of her, Mrs. Arbuckle wore an expression that was equal parts amusement and affection. Her eyes sparkled with the same blue hue as Xenia’s but held decades of wisdom that only a mother’s gaze could possess.
“Mama, I wouldn’t dare claim such power over men’s hearts,” she said, slightly breathless still from the dancing.
“Ah, but you do, love. You do.” Her mother chuckled, leaning closer to add in a conspiratorial whisper, “Just remember, a wise woman chooses not only with her heart but also with her head.”
“Is that your way of saying you have a preference?” Xenia teased, her chest tightening at the hint of expectation woven into the light-hearted banter. Everyone would choose a viscount over a blacksmith, she was certain, but to her, they were simply men who owned her heart.
“Me? Oh, I couldn’t possibly say,” Mrs. Arbuckle said with feigned innocence, though her knowing smile lingered.
Before Xenia could respond, Owen’s hand gently guided her away from the conversation. His touch was subtle as he whispered, “Let’s step outside for a moment.”
He led her through the crowd, his presence a shield against the bustling assembly. They slipped through the door, and the raucous warmth of the celebration fell away, replaced by the cool embrace of the evening air.
“Much better.” Owen drew a deep breath that seemed to ease the tension in his broad shoulders, judging from his stance. He led her to a dark spot in the doorway of an adjacent shop.
“Quite so,” Xenia agreed, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill. She watched him, intrigued by the sudden shift from a playful suitor to a man seemingly weighted with thought.
The stars above glimmered like scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth, their light painting soft shadows across Owen’s face. He drew back slightly, locking his eyes with hers. The silence between them was filled with unspoken questions, and for a moment, Xenia’s heart quickened, wondering if he would seek answers that evening.
His hand hovered in the space between them. “Zee, about what happened.... I’m sorry if I...”