Page 33 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
“Damn it, Simon. I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Sharing my bed, sharing my life. Bearing my children.”
“Love is sacrifice. I know that’s easy for me to say when I’m in the position to offer her the more advantageous life, but I hope I have it in me to step aside if there’s something better for her. I’m earnest when I say I want you in her life—our life. And if some of my children have fair hair and blue eyes, I’ll still consider them mine.”
“And if your son shows a fondness for iron?”
Simon shrugged. “As long as he’s not the firstborn...”
Bloody hell. Accepting what’s best for the person you love most should make you feel happy, shouldn’t it? Then why did he feel so miserable? This was best for Zee.
“Very well,” he conceded, the reluctant agreement laced with an undercurrent of excitement. “We’ll try it your way—for her.”
Simon’s lips curled into a smile, and the stiffness in his posture relaxed. “She’ll be glad to hear it.”
Owen turned to leave, now that they’d settled the matter.
“Say nothing to her, please.” The words were a request, not a command, which surprised Owen. “We’ll propose on Sunday, when we’re all here.”
Nodding, Owen left.
As Xenia prepared to depart for her Sunday visit with Simon and Owen, she was surprised when Owen came to her home. “Good day. I was just leaving. Will you walk with me to the river?” Her parents, who were just inside, might overhear and she’d told them she was meeting the men at the river where they were fishing.
Owen’s attire caught her off guard. Normally when he fished, he wore slightly worn breeches, his jacket might be off, and the top button of his waistcoat undone. Today he had on something suitable for an assembly, or church. She hoped her parents didn’t look out the window as she and Owen left. Her mother would have questions when she returned.
“That was my exact desire,” Owen said. He brought his arm around from behind his back, revealing a rose cradled in his calloused hand.
“Is that for me?” A smile curved her lips as she accepted the delicate gift. She raised it to her nose, inhaling the subtle fragrance, a balm to the bustling morning she had endured.
“Indeed, it is,” Owen confirmed. His gaze lingered on her face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile that reached his brown eyes. “A bit of color to match the glow of your cheeks. I saw it in a hedgerow along the road and knew I must give it to you.”
The gesture warmed her, and she tucked the flower into the ribbon of her bun with care. “Thank you, Owen. It’s lovely.”
Owen extended his arm, and Xenia looped hers through it, the unexpected formality of his gesture prompting a flutter in her stomach. They began their walk to Simon’s house, a journey that was becoming quite familiar to her lately.
“You’ve certainly outdone yourself today,” she teased, glancing up at Owen, noting how the afternoon sun caught the copper highlights in his brown hair. “One might think you were off to court a queen rather than sit by the river and stare at your fishing line.”
Owen’s laugh rumbled deep within his chest, a sound that always seemed to resonate within her own. “For you, Xenia, I would outshine the sun if such a thing were possible. Besides, it’s not every day that I get to escort the loveliest baker in all of England.”
Xenia felt her cheeks warm at the compliment. She let the moment linger rather than brush it aside with another jest. They walked on, their silence comfortable, neither needing to fill it with idle talk.
As they approached the manor house, Simon emerged from the front door, his attire also capturing Xenia’s attention. He wore a finely cut waistcoat under a coat that hugged his broad shoulders and tailored breeches that accentuated his long legs—again, not fishing attire. But he had no one to fool about his plans, so she let it pass.
“Good day, Xenia, Owen,” Simon greeted. He led them into the drawing room. Xenia took her usual seat on a small chair opposite the sofa. The moment she settled in, a memory unfurled in her mind of when she sat on that sofa with the two men opposite her.
Her arousal flared at the recollection of being told to undress before them, a blush warming her cheeks as if the ghost of their touch lingered still. She’d touched herself most intimately while Simon and Owen had watched, fully clothed. She grew damp as she thought about it. Would they have her do that again?
Owen seemed fidgety, approaching her, then turning away, standing behind her, then coming back to stand near Simon.
Simon stepped forward, and in one fluid motion, dropped to one knee before Xenia. Her heart stuttered, eyes wide as saucers, breath hitching in her throat. She glanced toward Owen. Should Simon be doing this in front of their friend?
Taking her hand, Simon said, “Beautiful Xenia, I can’t think of a time when you weren’t in my life. All the happy memories of my childhood include you. And lately...” His pupils flared, and she wondered which particular memory struck him that way.
“Lately I find it hard to concentrate on anything. I want to know how your day is going, what you’re thinking. In truth, I find myself unable to envisage a future without you by my side.” The words spilled from him with a vulnerability she had never witnessed in Simon. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he held hers.
In the silence of Simon’s pause, Owen stepped forward. His declaration came as a surge, impassioned and raw. “Zee, there’s no life for me where you aren’t present. I love you, with all I am, and all I’ll ever be.”
Her pulse raced, and confusion wrinkled her brow. What were they doing, both proposing at once? Was she expected to choose one now and send the other on his way with his heart trampled? How could they do this to her?
As Simon’s formal proposal echoed in her ears, Owen’s fervent confession wrapped around her, tugging at the strings of her heart. Her trembling fingers brushed against Owen’s calloused ones, seeking solace in their familiarity, even as Simon held tight to her other hand.