Page 48 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When Simon stepped out of his carriage into the cool evening air upon his return, there she was—Xenia, his wife, the beacon of warmth in his world. Her eyes sparkled with delight upon seeing him, an emotion he mirrored tenfold.
He wrapped her in a hug he hated to end. “How I’ve longed for this moment.”
She offered him a playful smirk as she tilted her head in feigned innocence. “And what moment is that, my lord?”
“To bed you,” he confessed without hesitation, his voice a deep rumble of contained desire. “But alas, we mustn’t give the staff fodder for their whispers, so I can’t take you here beside the carriage.” His fingers brushed lightly up her spine, making her shiver.
“Then we shall go somewhere more private,” Xenia suggested, her eyes alight with mischief. She took his hand, leading him away from the prying eyes of their household servants.
They slipped into the study, the door clicking shut behind them. In an instant, Simon’s hands were upon her, his lips claiming hers with a fervor borne of longing. He drew back just enough to look at her, his gaze tracing the lines of her face before descending to the décolletage of her gown.
“Forgive me, I can’t go slowly.” Tender yet insistent, his fingers worked at freeing her breasts from the confines of her gown. The cool air of the study mingled with the heat of his mouth as he lavished attention upon her, drawing a gasp from her lips.
In between love bites, he asked, “Did Owen touch you like this while I was gone?”
He regretted the words as he felt her go rigid. Her hands shot out and pressed against Simon’s broad chest. She pushed, and he stumbled back. With trembling fingers, she righted the fabric of her gown, her cheeks flushed not just with desire but with a flare of anger.
“Simon, what happens in my private moments with either you or Owen is exactly that—private.” Her eyes blazed as she held his gaze, daring him to challenge her. “I do not speak to Owen of your intimacies, nor shall I recount his to you. You’ve welcomed this arrangement into our marriage, so you will respect its sanctity.”
The air was thick with unspoken words and tension as they made their way to the drawing room. Simon took his usual seat, unfolding the newspaper with a crisp snap, hiding behind the printed words as though they could shield him from the discomfort of the situation.
Xenia picked up her needlework and stitched in silence.
The quiet of the room was broken a bit later when the butler announced, “Mr. Bishop is here to see you, my lord.”
“Send him in, and have another place set at the dining table.” Simon said. His presence couldn’t make the room feel any colder.
“Owen!” Xenia exclaimed, her voice filled with what sounded too much like relief.
“I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow, Simon,” Owen said with a hint of apology in his tone. “I’ll just head home then.”
“Stay,” Simon said with uncharacteristic haste. “We’d enjoy your company.”
Owen hesitated, glancing between husband and wife, as if sensing the undercurrent of tension. Then, with a nod, he accepted the invitation.
“Good. How about a game of billiards?” Simon rose, folding his newspaper with deliberate care.
In the billiard room, the click of ivory balls filled the air as Simon took his shot, leaning over the table. Owen appeared thoughtful as he observed Simon lining up his next play.
“How was Xenia while I was gone?” Simon asked suddenly, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Did you take her in every room in the house?”
Owen folded his arms across his chest. “You know I can’t answer that, Simon. What happens when I’m alone with her is private.”
Simon released a sigh, the weight of it carrying more than just air. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he nodded. “Of course. My apologies, Owen. It’s... been a difficult return.”
“Did your grandfather recover?” Owen asked.
Simon steadied his cue and aimed for the side pocket. The cue ball rolled with a purpose, striking the striped one and sinking it with a satisfying clunk. He straightened, feeling Owen’s eyes on him.
“Yes, he is well. My presence wasn’t required, I discovered, but I’m his only family remaining, so I felt I should stay.”
He took his next shot, but missed. “My troubles are of my own making. I didn’t realize how fierce this... jealousy would grow. The thought of you with her while I was away—it gnawed at me.”
After missing his own shot, Owen leaned against the billiard table, arms crossed over his chest. “Now you see what it’s like for me most days. You’re not alone in that feeling.”
Simon took longer to choose his next move as he processed Owen’s words, his mind grappling with empathy and jealousy intertwined. A silence ensued, filled only by the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted his stance.