Page 20 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady

Too soon, he had to help her dress, and he escorted her home. As they approached the Arbuckle bakery, the lightness of their talk gave way to a comfortable silence. He stopped just outside the door, taking her hand in his. “Thank you for the company,” he whispered, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

“Always a pleasure, Owen,” she said.

With a final squeeze of her hand, he released her, watching as she slipped through the door.

***

Once inside, the warm glow of the bakery ovens enveloped Xenia, but the heat of Owen’s touch lingered on her hand.

“Back so soon, love?” her mother’s voice carried from the back room.

Xenia gave a quick check of her hair, making certain it wasn’t mussed, but wasn’t too neat, which would reveal how she’d just put it up after Owen took it down. “Yes. We had a pleasant walk.”

“Simon was here earlier, asking after you. I told him you were out walking, but I didn’t say with whom.”

Xenia entered the bakery kitchen before going upstairs to their home. She didn’t feel like talking, but Mama clearly did.

“Those two are certainly paying a lot of attention to you.” Her mother’s words were gentle, but they struck deep, unearthing the conflict that churned within her.

“They’re my friends, Mama.”

“Yes, but this feels more like courting. A mother senses these things. Trust me, there’ll be a proposal soon. Or two. Which will you choose?”

That was the precise question that had Xenia so distressed lately.

Mama continued. “Kinnerton, of course. Owen is a nice young man with a steady income, and he’d treat you well, but a viscount... A woman would be foolish to turn her back on a man with a title. Well, perhaps if he had no money to go with it, but?—”

Xenia couldn’t listen to any more, not with Owen practically calling her wife so recently. “Do you need my help with anything?”

Her mother stopped what she was doing. “No, not here. But perhaps you could start cutting the vegetables for supper.”

“I will.” She hurried upstairs, where she found her father waking from a nap. He normally rose first to heat the ovens in the bakery, so he often napped in the late afternoon. “Would you like some tea, Papa?”

“No, thank you. Is your mother in the bakery?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He mumbled something and headed to the staircase.

Xenia went into the kitchen and picked up the basket of vegetables her mother had purchased that morning. She gathered the knife and cutting board and set to work, taking her built-up frustration out on the potatoes and carrots.

The weight of her choices pressed against her, a burden of love divided, each man holding a piece of her heart. She knew that no matter her choice, a part of her would forever remain lost to a dream that might have been.

Her loss would be nothing compared to what one man would feel should she marry the other. And that’s where her guilt lay. She started this whole mess with her foolish challenge. Never did she imagine it would turn out this way. She thought it would be a single occasion. They would enjoy their congress in the sun and would go back to their close friendship minus the fondling and fornication.

She could admit now that was ridiculous, but it worked with the other men she’d made love to. There we no hearts involved there, though, she realized. While she’d known she cared strongly for Owen and Simon, she hadn’t imagined either of them felt the same for her.

Or perhaps she hoped one of them did. One of them might feel a strong affection for her but still believed she didn’t return the sentiment, so they hadn’t approached her.

But they both did. They both wanted more of her. Simon and Owen desired her in the same way she desired them. Unbelievable.

In a perfect world, she’d continue to meet with both of them. In this world, however, she must end the farce.

“Damn it all,” she whispered into the stillness, her voice catching on a sob. The duality of her feelings, a blend of sweet yearning and bitter helplessness, swelled within her chest, threatening to engulf her. She could easily envision herself as Owen’s wife, standing by his side as they forged a life rich with shared laughter and many children. But there was also the allure of a life with Simon, one of grace and duty, where she could help others in the village while raising their family.

Neither situation appealed more than the other. She wasn’t used to fine things, and she was perfectly happy with what she had, which was the life that Owen could offer her. It would be enough.

But to never kiss Simon again, never feel the safety of his arms around her, hear him cry out with the pleasure she’d brought his body...