Page 32 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
When Simon opened it, Owen barked, “I must speak with you, and it cannot wait.”
Stepping aside and pulling the door wide, Simon motioned for Owen to enter.
Somehow, Owen kept his piece until they were in the study, with the door closed to keep the servants from overhearing. “You know as well as I the depth of my affection for Zee. I intend to marry her, Simon. To provide for her, protect her, to be the one she turns to in joy and in sorrow.”
Simon’s gaze remained steady, yet he cocked an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be telling her father this?”
Owen clenched his jaw, the muscles in his forearms tensing visibly. “You’ve been insisting we share her affections. You know that won’t last. What if she’s with child? She could, even now, be carrying the future Earl of Staplegrove. Only he could never inherit because you aren’t married.”
“Xenia needs a husband, yes.” Simon’s eyes betraying a flicker of emotion. “But she also needs the security and standing that I can offer her. If she becomes my wife, you need not fear exclusion, Owen. You have no wife to honor, no duty that binds you. You can still be a part of our lives, our... arrangement.”
“Arrangement?” Owen’s voice rose, roughened by a mix of disbelief and anger. “Is that what she is to you? A mere detail in your grand plan?”
Simon’s expression softened slightly, but his stance remained firm. “You misunderstand me. I care for Xenia deeply, but we must think practically about her future—and ours.”
“Practically?” Owen spat out the word as if it were bitter on his tongue. He took a step forward, his presence commanding despite his lack of title. “I’ve no mind for practicality with matters of the heart, Simon. I refuse to stand aside and watch the woman I love marry another man, even if that man is you.”
“Consider it, Owen. My proposition allows for all of us to remain close. Should you wed Xenia, I would have to seek a bride to bear my heirs, and our bond—as we now enjoy it—would sever.”
“Sever? What do I care? What of my wants? My needs? I’ve spent years putting others before myself, and for once, I want to choose what brings me joy, what fuels my soul. I want Zee, a life with her, not just a fleeting closeness that could be snatched away at the whim of a man who believes he’s my better.”
“Your happiness is important to me, truly.” Simon clasped Owen’s shoulder. “But we must think of what is best for Xenia as well.”
“Best for Zee?” Owen shook off Simon’s touch, his heart pounding against his chest like the hammer upon the anvil. He kept his fisted hands at his side as a precaution, not trusting his temper. “Or best for Viscount Kinnerton?”
Simon must have seen a telltale sign of Owen’s anger, as he paced a short distance away, as if in thought, then turned back. “You misunderstand my intent. I would not ask you to relinquish your place at Xenia’s side. I find a particular... gratification in watching you with her. It stokes a fire within me as fierce as when I am the one joined with her. What kind of husband would I be to deny my wife something she enjoys so fervently?”
Owen’s brow furrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking with tension. He’d thought almost the same thing about Zee’s pleasure with Simon. At least on that, they agreed. Zee deserved to have both of them, if she wished.
Simon continued, taking a deliberate step closer. “We wouldn’t merely tolerate your presence, but desire it. If you wished, you could share our home. There would be space for all of us.” His eyes glinted with sincerity.
Snorting, Owen said, “Live with you? Do you not consider the whispers that would ensue? Zee’s reputation would be sullied by such an arrangement as badly as if she remained unmarried.”
“Kinnerton is a quaint village, and yet we are not without our secrets. Gossip is as easily managed as it is spread. We could be discreet. Our shared suppers need not raise eyebrows, nor our long evenings spent in each other’s company.”
“Discreet?” Owen scoffed, unable to mask the bitterness that laced his tone. “And what of the mornings, Simon? When the sun rises and finds me still within the walls of your home? What then of the tongues that wag seeing me ride to the smithy in the morning?” He paced before the fireplace, the heat of the flames a pale comparison to the fire of his indignation.
“Xenia is strong,” Simon said quietly, yet with conviction. “She would endure the idle talk for the chance to have us both.”
Shaking his head, Owen regained some of his composure. “Zee is already feeling the gossip. Her own mama is suggesting she marry a widower with children. Do you understand how desperate the family feels, to be considering widowers as the only possible match?”
“Think how delighted they’ll be when she marries a viscount.”
Owen’s heart cried out at the idea. He searched for reasons it couldn’t happen. “What of your grandfather?”
“I’ll take Xenia to Gretna Green and there will be nothing my grandfather can say.” Simon grinned wryly. “Or, rather, there’ll be plenty he will say, but nothing he can do.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Owen swallowed a bitter taste. “Are we at an impasse, then? Neither of us willing to step aside? Do we force Zee to choose?”
“That would destroy her.”
Acid burned in Owen’s gut. If Simon truly meant to marry her, Zee would have a much more comfortable life than she would at the smithy. She’d have servants to clean and cook, and she’d never have to knead another loaf of bread.
“Consider it,” Simon pressed softly. “For Xenia, for us. This is a way forward where no one is forsaken.”
Owen met Simon’s gaze once more, the tempest within him not quite quelled, but the edges of his resolve softening as he grappled with the viscount’s proposal.
“You could ride back to the smith under cover of twilight, and take up your hammer at the forge as the village stirs awake, none the wiser.”