Page 27 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“You’re right,” he nodded as he thought about his painting. It was his best work ever, but then his subject made it easy.

“So, it’s special to you?” There was a hesitant note in her voice that puzzled him. Atticus nodded.

“Yes, it’s a painting I’ve wanted to do for a few weeks now, but I’ve not had the time to put it on canvas.”

“May I see it?” she asked softly. Octavia's gaze remained focused on the cold mutton she was cutting into bite-size pieces.

“While I made a great deal of progress this afternoon, it’s not ready for viewing,” he said. “But I’ll show it to you when it’s finished.”

“I’d like that.”

“Although, it does mean I’ll need to come back to finish it.”

At his remark, Octavia jerked in surprise, before an emotion he thought might have been happiness flitted across her face. But the emotion was so fleeting, Atticus couldn’t be sure what he’d seen. A second later, her eyes sparkled with laughter.

“At least I know I won’t need to make tea when you’re in the studio, and I’ll be certain to have plenty of gingerbread cookies on hand when you’re done.” A flush of color darkened her cheeks as she returned her attention to her plate.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen any other woman blush quite as prettily as you do, Octavia.”

His compliment made the color in her cheeks darken even more, and Atticus leaned forward to capture her hand in his. As he raised it to brush his mouth over her fingertips, a puckish smile touched her lips, and she shook her head.

“If you’re thinking to soften my resolve and let you have one of those cookies for dessert, you’re mistaken, sir.”

“So my devious plan has failed,” he said with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

“I’m afraid so. I’m not swayed by compliments. Octavia laughed as Atticus assumed a mock scowl, then laughed with her. As their laughter faded, he studied her for a moment.

“I would like to ask a favor of you,” he said as he reached for some cheese. “Every time you say your grace or sir, it sounds as though we aren’t friends, and I’d like to be your friend, Octavia. Would you please call me, Atticus?”

“I…I’m…” She hesitated, and beneath his steady gaze, she nodded almost shyly. “Yes…Atticus.” The sound of his name floating past her lips was a delightful sound, and he couldn’t help but smile with pleasure.

“Thank you,” he said with satisfaction, and Octavia laughed.

“You do enjoy having things your way, don’t you?”

“I confess it makes life all the more pleasant,” he quipped with a laugh.

She shook her head with amused disapproval, but didn’t reply. Their conversation lulled for a moment, and Atticus bit into another chunk of cheese. A quick glance in Octavia’s direction revealed she was staring into space once more, but her expression was solemn, almost sad.

“It’s quite possible we’re both wrong.”

“About what?” She jerked her head toward him, her eyebrows arched in a puzzled frown.

“You were looking sad. I thought you were thinking about not being at Stapleton Hall for Christmas. We could be wrong about the snowstorm. There’s still time for it to stop snowing so I can take you home.”

“Perhaps, but I’m a pragmatist. I believe in being prepared. While we won’t be eating like the Queen, we will still have a festive meal.” Her impish smile disappeared as consternation parted her lips with dismay. “Good heavens, I forgot. I have a surprise. I’ll be right back.”

Springing to her feet, Octavia headed toward the kitchen. Intrigued, Atticus turned in his chair to watch her disappear through the kitchen doorway. Several minutes passed, and when she didn’t return, Atticus frowned.

“Do you need any help?” he called out.

“No, I’m coming. It will only be a minute more.”

The innocent reply made Atticus close his eyes in self-disgust as an image of Octavia lying beneath him on the verge of a climax filled his head. Christ Jesus, he was going to hell for certain if he didn’t hold his desire for the woman in check. He’d only just regained control of his senses when Octavia returned to the dining room carrying a plate ladened with a small tier of sliced bars of cake.

“I was a bit worried this afternoon as to how much you liked gingerbread, but when you demanded cookies as payment for doing chores, I thought you might enjoy this for dessert.” Octavia smiled and set the plate with its treats on the table next to him. “I saved the other half for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Gingerbread cake,” he exclaimed with cheerful exuberance. “One of my favorites, and second only to gingerbread cookies.”