X enia stood before the mirror in her bedchamber, her hands delicately skimming over the fine fabric of her gown—one sent from London by her cousin—ensuring every pleat and lace fell perfectly for the village assembly.
The reflection staring back at her was a woman caught between scandal and splendor, the flush on her cheeks not attributed to the artful application of rouge.
Her fingers toyed with the silk ribbons that adorned her bodice, as her mind tumbled through the memories of Owen’s firm touch and Simon’s smoldering gaze.
The second intimate encounter with both men lingered in her senses like the sweet, lingering aroma of freshly baked pastries from her parents’ bakery.
Xenia felt a whirlwind of embarrassment that such a moment had overtaken her usually composed demeanor, yet she couldn’t deny the exhilarating rush that pulsed through her veins at the recollection.
Owen’s calloused hands had traced the lines of her form, his eyes alight with a playful fire.
Simon, ever the quiet storm, had regarded her with hazel depths filled with a passionate possessiveness that thrilled her.
Surely something would come from this. Both men clearly found her pleasing to bed, and they already knew they got on well in other important matters. She would make the perfect wife for either man. They must also see that.
She turned away from the mirror, pacing the length of her small chamber, her footsteps muffled by the woven rug beneath her feet.
Which one would she prefer? It was impossible to decide.
How could she choose between the steadfast heat of the blacksmith and the enigmatic allure of the viscount?
Owen, with his robust laughter and muscular arms that promised safety and excitement, contrasted so starkly with Simon’s refined gestures and the fine, fancy life he could offer her.
“Please, let one of them decide,” she whispered into the stillness of the room, the words a prayer cast into the world. If only it were that simple, if only her heart did not tug her in two opposite directions with such ferocity.
If neither of them acted, the decision would be hers alone, and as she steadied her breath, catching her own determined gaze in the mirror once more, Xenia felt that tonight’s assembly would be a turning point.
Surely one of them would reveal an affection for her that everyone in attendance would see.
With one last glance at her reflection, she adjusted the neckline of her gown, the soft material holding the warmth of the skin beneath.
She looked as pretty as she ever had, she decided.
Somehow, being pleasured by two men gave her a glow that brought out the best in her features.
A huge grin lit her face as she realized she might enjoy that pleasure again tonight.
“Xenia, it’s time to leave!” shouted her father from belowstairs.
She gathered up her reticule and shawl and hurried out the door.
* * *
Xenia stepped into the village assembly room, her heart drumming a fierce rhythm against her ribs.
The room was awash with laughter and the warm glow of candlelight, the air alive with the strains of a lively melody from the fiddler’s bow.
She paused, surveying the scene as colorful gowns twirled and feet stomped in time to the music.
From across the room, she caught the gaze of both Owen and Simon.
Owen’s eyes sparkled with an impish light, his muscular frame cutting through the crowd with determined strides.
Simon stood a little apart, his tall silhouette framed by the doorway, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that seemed to reach across the space between them.
“Zee!” Owen called out, his voice rich with warmth. He reached her side first, offering his hand with a flash of his charming grin. “Care for a dance?”
Before she could respond, Simon appeared at her other side, his bearing impeccable as always. “May I have this honor, Miss Arbuckle?” he asked, his words wrapped in the velvet of his smooth tenor.
Caught between them, Xenia felt the weight of their attentions like a heavy cloak. She was acutely aware of how her body responded to each man. Owen’s proximity sent a familiar thrill through her veins, while Simon’s quiet regard promised depths yet unexplored.
“Owen asked first,” she said, feeling the solid strength of his hand envelop hers. “I would love to.”
Simon’s lips curved into a polite smile, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of disappointment. “Perhaps later, then,” he conceded, stepping back with a graceful bow.
“Of course, the next set is yours, my lord,” she called as she walked away.
As Owen led her to the area cleared for dancing, his hand found the small of her back, guiding her movements. They found a spot amidst the other dancers and awaited the start, following the oft-practiced steps when it did.
Xenia’s laughter mingled with the lively tune of the fiddle as she twirled beneath Owen’s arm. The warmth she felt on her cheeks wasn’t just from the spirited dance. It was the exhilaration of being the focal point of such delightful rivalry.
When the set of dances ended, she followed the other dancers to the edges of the room.
“Xenia, my dear,” came her mother’s mirthful voice. “You’ll have them dueling at dawn if you’re not careful.”
She glanced toward her mother, who stood at the edge of the dance floor.
With hands folded neatly in front of her, Mrs. Arbuckle wore an expression that was equal parts amusement and affection.
Her eyes sparkled with the same blue hue as Xenia’s but held decades of wisdom that only a mother’s gaze could possess.
“Mama, I wouldn’t dare claim such power over men’s hearts,” she said, slightly breathless still from the dancing.
“Ah, but you do, love. You do.” Her mother chuckled, leaning closer to add in a conspiratorial whisper, “Just remember, a wise woman chooses not only with her heart but also with her head.”
“Is that your way of saying you have a preference?” Xenia teased, her chest tightening at the hint of expectation woven into the light-hearted banter. Everyone would choose a viscount over a blacksmith, she was certain, but to her, they were simply men who owned her heart.
“Me? Oh, I couldn’t possibly say,” Mrs. Arbuckle said with feigned innocence, though her knowing smile lingered.
Before Xenia could respond, Owen’s hand gently guided her away from the conversation. His touch was subtle as he whispered, “Let’s step outside for a moment.”
He led her through the crowd, his presence a shield against the bustling assembly. They slipped through the door, and the raucous warmth of the celebration fell away, replaced by the cool embrace of the evening air.
“Much better.” Owen drew a deep breath that seemed to ease the tension in his broad shoulders, judging from his stance. He led her to a dark spot in the doorway of an adjacent shop.
“Quite so,” Xenia agreed, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill. She watched him, intrigued by the sudden shift from a playful suitor to a man seemingly weighted with thought.
The stars above glimmered like scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth, their light painting soft shadows across Owen’s face.
He drew back slightly, locking his eyes with hers.
The silence between them was filled with unspoken questions, and for a moment, Xenia’s heart quickened, wondering if he would seek answers that evening.
His hand hovered in the space between them. “Zee, about what happened.... I’m sorry if I...”
“Owen,” Xenia interjected, placing her hand atop his, stilling his words. “There is nothing to regret. That moment... it was unexpected, but not undesired. If you recall, I incited the entire escapade.”
A soft sigh escaped him as he absorbed her words, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. His features, previously tense with concern, now held a playful mien that matched her mood.
“Tell me then,” he teased, the corner of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “Who was it that left a deeper impression on your heart?”
Xenia bit her lower lip, feigning contemplation. The warmth that crept into her cheeks belied the calm she tried to project. “Oh, Mr. Bishop, a lady mustn’t reveal all her secrets. Where would be the fun in that?”
“Ah, so you keep us both guessing.” He chuckled, his voice carrying the warmth of the assembly hall they had left behind. He leaned in closer, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “Perhaps I should strive harder to tip the scales in my favor.”
“Perhaps,” Xenia whispered back, the single word laden with provocation. Her heart raced, echoing the rhythm of the distant music that filtered through the walls of the assembly hall. The idea that he could do anything better made her damp in certain places.
She gnawed her lower lip as images came to mind. “Owen...”
“Zee,” he responded, his tone rough with need. His lips found hers, capturing her mouth in a kiss that immediately had her remembering their lovemaking. His hands grew bolder as they roamed her body, lifting her gown past her knees, exposing the stockings beneath.
The cool night air brushed against her now-bare thighs, but it did nothing to quell the heat that Owen’s touch ignited. As he kneeled before her, their gazes locked. Xenia saw the hunger in his brow, an echo of the fretful emotions that surged within her own breast.
His fingers trailed over the bare skin above her stockings, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. He cupped her cunny and his thumb began a slow, deliberate dance over the sensitive nub of her pleasure.
“Oh, lord, Owen,” she gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support. Her world narrowed to the sensation of his tongue as he parted her folds and circled the bud with the tip, while his fingers pursued a relentless exploration inside her.
She trembled, quickly on the edge of something wondrous, her mind awash with sensations. Xenia fought to remain silent, knowing the thin veil of night was all that shielded them from discovery. Her efforts came in ragged breaths, each a struggle as his mouth drove her closer to the brink.
And then she was there, quivering around his fingers, her climax washing over her in waves of exquisite relief. She pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, her eyes squeezing shut as ripples of pleasure coursed through her.
Owen’s grunt of satisfaction vibrated against her flesh, a primal sound that spoke of his triumph in bringing her such ecstasy. He looked up at her, smiling as he gently withdrew his fingers, leaving her to catch her breath in the quiet aftermath of their stolen intimacy.
When he stood, she reached for the fall front of his breeches, but he drew back, his gaze holding hers as he caressed her side, over the curve of her hip, and along the softness of her thigh. The unspoken question hung between them like a charged current. She wanted to please him as he’d just done.
Owen whispered, “We’ll find time—soon. Just us.” His words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, soothing yet igniting a new yearning within her chest.
Her lips parted to speak, yet no words came, only a nod. Her fingers grazed the rough stubble along his jaw in a tender acknowledgment of the deep connection that pulsed between them. “Promise me,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Upon my soul,” he vowed, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist.
With a shared glance that sealed their secret, they straightened their attire, erasing any evidence of their tryst. As they walked back toward the warmth and revelry of the assembly, Xenia’s gait was lighter still, if that could be possible.
As Xenia entered the room beside Owen, she noticed Simon watching from across the crowded space, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Butterflies stirred at the sight of him.
He was frowning as he approached them. “Ah, there you are. I feared the fairies had spirited you away. Did you forget our dance?”
“We merely took in a breath of fresh air,” Xenia replied, feeling as flirtatious as ever. Her gaze flitted to Owen, looking for his reaction to his rival, before she turned back to Simon. “And of course I didn’t forget our dance. The next set is yours.”