Page 17 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“You truly do deserve the title of Prince Charming, Atticus. It was quite wonderful of you to come to Octavia’s aid.” The note of hero worship in his sister’s voice made him quirk an eyebrow upward in amusement.

“I think you’ve been reading too many gothic novels of late.”

“And what if I have? I like them. But as for you, you like Octavia, don’t you?”

The tension that had ebbed from his muscles returned. Forcing himself to relax, he folded his arms across his chest, then leaned back into the squabs of the seat. Almost immediately, an image of Octavia filled Atticus’s head. Voluptuous curves, a tempting-looking mouth, and gray eyes that shimmered and flashed depending on her emotional state.

“Well, are you going to answer me?” The dry note of amusement in his sister’s voice jerked Atticus out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“I can tell Octavia made a lasting impression on you, but I knew she would.” Liza smoothed the silk of her gown’s skirt. “So now that you know she’s not in town, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Liza exclaimed crisply. “If you like her, you must find a way to see her again, Atticus.”

“I can hardly call on the woman if she’s not at home?” he bit out with curmudgeonly irritation. His sister made it sound as if he’d not tried to see her. Something that was not the case. His next step would be to visit Ashland Park. He could come up with some excuse for calling on her at Stapleton Hall.

“Well, you cannot possibly think to simply do nothing. Stapleton Hall is close to Ashland Park. Just make up an excuse to call on her.”

He didn’t bother to confess he was already planning to do just that. Instead, he kept his own counsel. From the frown of disappointment on Liza’s face, it was obvious his decision not to respond didn’t please her.

She appeared on the verge of speaking, just as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Montford Place. Relieved to end the conversation, he exited the vehicle quickly, then assisted his sister out of the carriage and guided her up the steps to the Montford’s front door.

Less than a half hour later, his chess game with Octavia’s father had gone up in flames. His humiliation on the board had been so bad, Lord Montford had expressed concern. The following day, Atticus had started making weekly visits to Ashland Park.

Icy air blew snowflakes around Atticus as he waited for the cottage door to open. Stomping his feet on the small house’s back stoop, he growled with impatience. Christ Jesus, he was cold. Atticus pounded his boots on the stone steps once more, trying to get his blood flowing so his feet would warm up. His entire body ached as if his muscles had become frozen like the icicles he’d seen hanging off the stable’s roof. At the moment, he almost envied Camulos his blanket and stall.

Atticus recanted the minute he peered into the window beside the door. The sight of what appeared to be a freshly baked loaf of bread on a table in the center of a small kitchen made his mouth water. He had no idea what was in the pot on the stove, but he was certain it would be hot and fill his stomach. Where the devil was Octavia? He was going to freeze to death out here.

The fact that she hadn’t already answered the door reminded Atticus how long he’d been trying to gain a few moments with the woman. She’d been more elusive than a butterfly in a meadow. Not even his meticulous plans for his visit to Stapleton Hall today had gone the way he’d planned.

Several days before the Montfords had left town to spend Christmas at Stapleton Hall, Atticus and the earl had been discussing legislation that would be brought up in Parliament when it opened for the winter session. During a lull in the conversation, Lord Montford had mentioned he was pleased Liza would be spending time with his family at Stapleton Hall until just before Christmas.

Lord Montford had then asked Atticus if he would be joining them. Startled, he said he had business to attend to, but that he and his mother would stop on their way to Ashland Park to collect Liza, a couple of days before Christmas Eve. The earl had nodded his approval, stating Octavia would be at the Hall for the holiday, and that perhaps the two of them could become better acquainted.

Laughter had filled Lord Montford’s gaze as Atticus had stared at the man in astonishment. Without missing a beat, the earl had arched his eyebrows and with a smile of amusement explained that Liza and Clara had deduced he was the stranger who’d seen Octavia to her carriage the night she’d fallen into the rose bushes.

Thunderstruck, Atticus had stared at the man as he’d been forced to accept the fact that Lord Montford and the rest of his family knew he’d been trying to find Octavia. Unwilling to look anymore the besotted suitor than he already did, he remained silent. The earl had chuckled, then invited Atticus and his mother to stay for lunch when they arrived at Stapleton Hall to collect his sister.

A moment later, the earl had returned to the topic of politics and said nothing more, leaving Atticus still floundering with confusion as to what the earl had told him. It was as if the earl had tacitly given Atticus permission to court his daughter. But, as usual, where Octavia was concerned, nothing had gone according to plan.

Earlier, when Atticus and his mother had walked into Stapleton Hall, he’d found Lord and Lady Montford deeply worried. For the first time, he’d learned Octavia had been living in a cottage a few hours away from the Hall. Octavia had told her father she would be at Stapleton Hall by midday, but hadn’t arrived.

By then the snow had begun to fall harder, and it had taken Atticus less than a minute to volunteer to bring her home. Lord Montford had said the cottage was four hours by coach, but on horseback, Atticus could make it in three. That timetable had been almost doubled by the damn snow storm.

The first two hours after leaving the Hall, Atticus had made steady progress. He had expected the elements to be unpleasant when he’d left the Montford estate, but with each passing hour, the storm worsened. Forced to reduce his fast trot to a slow walk, Atticus had somehow managed to stay on the road, despite the several inches of snow almost hiding it from view.

Atticus had veered off course more than once, and each time, Camulos had wound up chest deep in a snow drift. The last hour of his ride had been even more harrowing. As the light had faded, the wind had picked up, and the snow seemed to fall even heavier and faster. It was at that point, he began to worry.

The moment he’d seen the first rays of light radiating out of the cottage’s windows almost an hour ago, Atticus had experienced a rush of relief. Not until then had he realized how lucky he was to have found the small house in the storm. When he’d arrived, he’d seen to Camulos’s needs first.

Atticus had taken his time ensuring the gelding was well-settled for the night. After such a hard journey, the horse deserved a good rubdown, food, and a warm blanket. It was the least he could do. It was a lie, and he knew it. Taking care of Camulos had been his way of putting off what he expected to be a rather unpleasant welcome.

The sudden sound of Octavia’s voice behind the door made Atticus grit his teeth. He had no idea how the woman would react when she opened the door, but he was damned if he was going to spend the night in the barn with his horse. As soon as he ordered her to open the door, he heard the key turn in the lock.

Light spilled out onto the ground as the door swung open. Slowly, Atticus raised his head to study Octavia’s gently curved features. The instant she recognized him, the color drained from her face. When she didn’t ask him in, Atticus wondered if she was debating whether or not to toss him back out into the storm.