Page 50 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
He patted her hair and planted a kiss on her head. “You’ll never lose me, love. I’m talking about one night here or there where it can be like I was away. You and I have nights alone every week, and are free to enjoy each other’s company throughout the day while Owen works.”
“But you’ve just returned,” she said, searching his eyes for reassurance she didn’t see.
“There’s never a better time to make changes than now.” Simon looked at Owen. “I can’t promise how often I’ll offer you this boon.”
“I understand,” Owen said.
Grasping Xenia’s arms, Simon urged her away from him, and kissed her so thoroughly she was gasping for breath. “I love you, Xenia. I will see you at breakfast.”
With that, he left her alone with Owen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Owen could scarcely believe the sight before him. Zee stood rooted to the spot, her gaze fixed on the closed bedroom door through which Simon had just vanished. The confusion etched into the crease of her brow was profound—mirroring the very disbelief that gripped Owen’s own heart. Her delicate hands, usually steady with her confident nature, now trembled like autumn leaves on the cusp of surrendering to the wind.
She drew a sharp breath, and it hitched in her throat, a sign of the emotional storm Simon’s abrupt departure had conjured within her. Owen’s chest tightened at the sight of her distress, an instinctual urge to protect and comfort her surging forth.
He went to her. Without a word, he enveloped her in a hug, his arms wrapping around her trembling form. He felt her stiffen for a moment before relaxing against him, her tension ebbing away as she accepted his silent offer of solace. “Come now, let’s get you to bed.” His words were gentle, meant to soothe and encourage, but also to remind her they were still together, even without Simon.
She nodded against his chest. He coaxed her away from the door, leading her toward the sanctuary of the bed they often shared—tonight, just the two of them.
When she made no move to undress, he loosened her gown himself. She lifted her arms slightly, letting him take off the gown and chemise.
“Would you like a nightgown?” he asked.
Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. A subtle shake of her head conveyed her answer.
He guided her to the dressing table and helped her sit. Carefully, he removed the pins from her hair and began to brush it. Each stroke was measured, more concerned with calming her than removing tangles. He’d taken up brushing it at night while Simon was away, and he enjoyed the domestic feeling it gave him. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed, the tremble in her hands ceased, and her eyes fluttered closed under the spell of his ministrations.
As he brushed, Owen’s mind waged a silent battle. Gratitude for the unexpected gift of privacy with Zee warred with frustration toward Simon’s abrupt departure. It was an odd ache in his chest, this duality of emotions. His heart thrummed with the joy of having her to himself, yet that joy carried the guilt of relishing something born from Simon’s pain.
Even now, with the warmth of her body so close, with the intimacy of their actions painting a tender portrait in the mirror, his thoughts were haunted by Simon’s troubled gaze. Could he truly enjoy these stolen moments, knowing they came at someone else’s pain?
The love he held for both Zee and Simon was no simple affair. It was carved from years of shared laughter and whispered dreams, from the pact made in boyhood, and the desires that bloomed in its wake. And yet, here he was, caught between his longing and his loyalty, cherishing the touch of Zee’s bare skin while yearning for Simon to understand that their hearts could be vast enough for all.
With each stroke of the brush, Owen wove his concern into care, his frustration into tenderness, hoping that by morning, the knots in their relationship would be as smooth as the locks now flowing freely through his fingers.
Zee’s breath hitched, a fragile sound that tugged at Owen’s heart. Her hands twisted together, the knuckles white. “Owen, how can this last? We belong to each other, yes, but Simon... he’s not here. And when he is, I expect him to make the moment uncomfortable at any time.”
Her eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, darted away from his gaze. The sight of her so fraught with uncertainty sent a pang through him, sharp and urgent.
He pulled her back against him, wrapping an arm around her breastbone. Gently, he captured one of her hands, stopping its nervous dance. He held it firmly. “Look at me, Zee.”
When her eyes met his in the mirror, he continued with quiet conviction. “I’m here because I choose to be, for both of you. Simon’s heart is vast, even if his fears are sometimes greater. We must be patient, love.” His thumb caressed the soft skin of her inner wrist. “Our happiness, this bond we share, it’s worth every effort to keep the harmony.”
Zee’s hand trembled within his, but she nodded, a slight movement that gave him hope.
Her head pressed back into him and she drew in a breath. “I hope you’re right, Owen.”
He led her to the bed, and as she lay down, he undressed and joined her. He wasn’t ready to put out the candles, but he couldn’t say if that was to allow him to see Zee as he loved her, or so she’d know it was him, not Simon, touching her.
In that, he was no better than Simon.
The candlelight danced across her curvaceous form, casting shadows that played hide and seek with her most intimate contours. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the valley between her breasts, tasting the salt of her skin.
Her fingers wove into his hair, guiding him closer as if she could merge his very essence with her own. She urged him up to kiss her, which he gladly did, the gentle touch quickly turning wild as her tongue pressed into his mouth. He met her thrust for thrust until she broke away, gasping for air.
His mouth trailed lower, finding the softness of her belly, the dip of her navel, the rise of her hips. He sought to comfort her in their caresses, to bring her the pleasure she deserved.