Page 15 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
“Of course.” She placed her hand on his. The contact sent a jolt up his arm.
As they took their positions amidst the other dancers, the music began—a waltz that allowed couples to draw nearer than the country dances. Simon placed one hand on the small of Xenia’s back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her gown, while the other held her hand gently aloft. He drew her closer than was proper, aware of every point where their bodies nearly touched, each breath she took, and the intoxicating scent of her perfume.
They moved together, steps practiced and precise, yet charged with unspoken emotions. The space between them crackled with tension, words unnecessary when their bodies communicated all too clearly. Simon searched her face for signs of the thoughts whirling behind those captivating eyes, but she was an enigma.
“Are you enjoying the evening?” he asked.
“Immensely.” Her lips curved into a smile that might have been innocent if not for the gleam in her eye.
Simon’s resolve hardened. He would show her that he, too, could elicit such responses from her—that he could match whatever Owen offered and more. He focused on the dance, knowing how much she enjoyed dancing.
As the final chords of the music played, Simon held her gaze, willing her to see the depth of his feelings. But Xenia, ever inscrutable, merely smiled, leaving him filled with doubt and desire.
Simon extended his arm with a subtle bow. She took it with grace, her hand light upon his sleeve as they moved away from the throng of dancers. Needing to speak to her without an audience, he led her toward the door. “Let’s take some fresh air.”
Her polite demeanor had him worried that something he’d done had upset her. Was she distressed about their time at the river? Admittedly, he and Owen had taken advantage of her. He couldn’t think of anything else he might have done to distress her. “I must apologize for my demeanor on Sunday. It was not gentlemanly of me.”
Her laughing response both soothed and unsettled his warring emotions. She paused, turning to face him fully in the shadows of the building. “Oh, Simon, I believe you and Owen have been reading from the same script.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Nothing happened that I didn’t wish for. We are all still friends.”
He studied her, noting the playful tilt of her head and the way her lips quirked up at the corners. She was enjoying this, the game they were all entangled in.
“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but I find myself desiring to be more than friends. You must know that.”
“Must I?” she teased, her gaze bold and unflinching. “Then tell me, what would you think if I said I found great pleasure in both your company and Owen’s... together?”
The words jolted through him like a lightning strike, igniting a fire of jealousy and desire. He was normally quiet, thoughtful, not given to flights of fancy or fits of passion, but Xenia, Xenia could unravel him with a mere look.
“You are a bold woman. I suppose I hadn’t realized just how bold.” That trait was one of his favorites of hers, a list that grew each time he thought about her.
“Life is too short for timidity, don’t you agree?” She stepped closer, her breath a warm whisper against his cheek. The scent of her hair—was it merely lavender?—was intoxicating. “And I must admit, the idea of being courted by two of Kinnerton’s most handsome bachelors is rather exhilarating.”
Simon’s heart hammered in his chest. She spoke of courtship, yet her eyes hinted at secrets and shared rendezvous. Did she want him at that moment as badly as he desired her? He clasped her arms, his thumbs brushing over her ripe breasts. She inhaled a gasp, and her nipples hardened beneath his gaze.
She leaned into him, her smile deepening, her eyes alight with challenge and promise. “Careful, my lord. One might suspect you’re trying to compromise me.”
“Would you stop me if I were?” His voice was a husky growl. He held his breath, awaiting permission to continue, although they needed to go somewhere less open. Anyone could walk outside the assembly and see them where they stood.
“Perhaps,” she whispered back, her breath hitching as his hand stilled. “Or perhaps I would simply enjoy the scandal.”
His cock jumped at her words. He would enjoy seducing her, but without the scandal. Taking her hand, he led her along the street. A soft breeze whispered through the leaves of the old elm tree that stood sentinel outside her family’s bakery. Its branches hung low, providing an adequate screen if they stayed close to the trunk.
When he stopped, she turned to face him, her face shadowed. Her lips curved in a knowing smile, and for a moment, Simon wished he had light to see her eyes.
“Simon?” She tilted her head, a lock of raven hair slipping from her bun to caress her cheek.
He took another step closer, so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. He brushed back the stray strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that belied his racing pulse.
“May I?” he whispered, though what he sought permission for, he couldn’t quite articulate—not with words.
Her nod was slight, but it was all the consent Simon needed. His hands came up to frame her face, fingers trembling slightly as he caressed the softness of her cheeks. He leaned in, his eyes flitting between her lips and her eyes, seeking reassurance, finding it in her steady gaze.
Their lips met, and the world narrowed down to the sweet pressure of her mouth against his. The kiss was a crashing wave of emotion—passion laced with desperation, as if he could convince her of his worthiness through this single act. His touch was tender, almost worshipful, yet undeniably possessive, as if by holding her just so he could claim her heart and banish the specter of his rival.
“My Xenia,” he spoke against her lips, the words a prayer, a plea, a proclamation. With each brush of his lips, he willed her to understand the depth of his longing, the silent vow that he would be the one to cherish her above all others.
She moaned when he turned her to face the tree, and she braced her hands against the trunk. His groin tightened at the need in her voice. She wanted him.
His fingers worked with swift efficiency, freeing his cock from the confines of his breeches. He was achingly hard, screaming for release, for the sweet surrender of her warmth. Lifting her skirts, he bunched the fabric around her waist, revealing the soft curves of her bottom to his hands. He cupped the warm flesh, squeezing and caressing her soft skin. He truly loved her bottom.