Page 23 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“As I said…I’m not afraid to be alone with you.”

The lie made her mouth go dry. She was terrified to remain in his presence, and it was only her determination not to show fear that held her in place. Almost as if he could tell she was lying, his mouth brushed over hers again, and she quivered at the light caress. Octavia was afraid, not of him, but of herself. She was only one kiss away from encouraging him to enter her bed. The thought was emphasized even further the moment he released her, and her body screamed a soundless protest.

“Hmm, so if you’re not afraid of being alone with me, why aren’t you going to paint today?”

“I…it has nothing…to do with you.” Octavia winced at her breathless response, then forced herself to meet his gaze steadily. “When I finish a painting…I need to clear my head. So I do something else for a couple of days while I contemplate what to paint next.”

“And what type of activities would those be?” His question was filled with simple curiosity, but there was an undefinable gleam in his eye that threw her off-kilter.

“On nice days, I enjoy riding Napoleon across the countryside, or sometimes I’ll read…but I’ve decided to do some baking today since the snow…” The instant her voice trailed off, Atticus nodded with a sympathetic expression.

“So you’ve realized it’s more than possible that I might be unable to have you home in time for Christmas if the weather doesn’t begin to cooperate.”

“Yes, I thought that might be a strong possibility.” She hesitated for a brief moment as she tried to discern Atticus’s odd expression. Unable to decipher the emotion on his handsome features, she continued. “But…if we’re forced to spend Christmas here, we can at least have a small holiday feast.”

“The perfect example of a pragmatic mindset.” Atticus chuckled as his mouth curved in a now familiar roguish, wicked smile. Fearing he might offer his assistance, Octavia waved her hand toward the second easel.

“However, as I said, you’re welcome to make use of the studio.”

Indecision clouded his expression as Atticus turned his head toward the easel he’d set up for himself. With a slow nod, he turned back to her. “Then if you have no objection, I’ve had an image in my head for a few weeks now that I’d like to work on.”

Grateful he wouldn’t be underfoot while she was in the kitchen, Octavia nodded her understanding with great relief. The tension easing out of her must have been discernable, because Atticus’s mouth twitched, while a mischievous twinkle was reflected in his gaze.

“Although, if you require my assistance in the kitchen, I’m happy to offer my services.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you would be of much help,” she said with a relieved laugh as she rejected his offer with a shake of her head.

Atticus pressed his hand to his chest in a playful gesture that suggested she’d inflicted a mortal wound. This time Octavia’s laugh was one of amusement as she turned away from him and left the studio.

Chapter 7

The moment Octavia walked out of the studio, Atticus closed his eyes and released a soft groan. Christ almighty, what the hell was wrong with him? It had been a mistake to kiss her. He was playing with fire, and it wouldn’t take much for it to consume them both. Walking toward the window, he stared out at the swirling cloud of white that was all he could see.

When Octavia hadn’t fled the studio the moment he kissed her, Atticus had wanted to release a shout of happiness. When she responded to him, it had taken a great deal of willpower not to act on his desire. That would have been an even bigger mistake. The woman had him twisted in knots.

Lust wasn’t an unknown quantity to him, but what he felt for Octavia wasn’t lust. It was an intense desire that represented something he’d not experienced before, and he didn’t want to consider what that was. What he couldn’t deny was how fast Octavia was becoming a drug he couldn’t live without.

Even as much as he ached to have her in his bed, he couldn’t do that to her. The moment he claimed her, the die would be cast. In morning’s bright light, when sanity returned to them both, she would hate herself—and him. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

Persuading Octavia to marry him was going to be difficult enough. The thought of her being forced into marrying him because he’d made love to her was the last thing he wanted. But the scandal could do irreparable harm to his plans if he failed to convince her to be his wife before they returned to Stapleton Hall. And there would be a scandal.

Atticus was certain Octavia hadn’t thought about the repercussions of them being alone together overnight without a chaperone. He could only surmise she considered herself so far removed from London society that scandal couldn’t touch her in the country. He knew better.

Last night had been more than enough to cause a stir among the Marlborough Set. Multiple nights under the same roof without a chaperone would create a major scandal. It wouldn’t matter that the snowstorm had trapped them in the cottage. The minute the Set heard they’d been together overnight, London would be filled with gossip.

Atticus was certain Octavia hadn’t considered the impact the scandal would have on her and her family. She wouldn’t just suffer humiliation at the hands of the Marlborough Set. All of it would make her feel like a cornered animal at the mercy of a predator.

Even here in the country, she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without someone whispering about her or saying cruel things. Atticus would do whatever it took to save her from that fate, which meant he had to secure her consent to marry him before they left the cottage.

The strong possibility she’d see an offer of marriage from him was nothing more than a matter of honor sickened him. She would find it horrifying and humiliating. Stanfield and others had made her believe her dowry was the only reason a man would want her. It was a lie, but convincing her otherwise wouldn’t be easy.

Octavia would rebel ferociously against the inevitable. At that point, it would take weeks, months even to convince her that honor was the bottom item on the list of reasons why he wanted to make her the Duchess of Ashurst. There were numerous reasons for marrying Octavia.

It wasn’t just his belief they were well-suited for one another, nor was it the desire Atticus experienced whenever she entered the room. Those were sound reasons for marrying her, but they weren’t the first item on the list, which was a simple one.

Atticus liked her.

That was why he wanted Octavia to become the Duchess of Ashurst. He couldn't think of any better reason for marrying her. She was fiery, quick-witted, and talented. Any woman who could paint with such skill and precision said there were depths to her that no one had touched before.