Page 29 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“Stubbornness more often than not refers to one’s inability to admit being wrong. Persistence denotes one’s determination to achieve a goal, and my goal was to find you and make amends.” Atticus narrowed his eyes at her. “A task you made quite difficult for me to do.”

“I’m happy to have been of service.” Despite her cool retort, he saw a sudden gleam of amusement flash in her eyes.

“You were not the only one who happily offered up their services,” Atticus growled in irritation, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Liza allowed me to escort her to Montford Place for two straight weeks until she bluntly informed me you’d left for the country the morning after the Ealing ball. At that point, I made it a weekly habit to visit Ashland Park, while stopping at Stapleton Hall to call on you.”

“But I wasn’t there,” she said, her eyebrows arched in surprise.

“No. You weren’t,” Atticus said through clenched teeth. “And that damn butler of yours wasn’t forthcoming with your whereabouts, either. But by then I’d come to enjoy my visits with your family a great deal, and your father in particular. My friendship with him developed quite naturally and without artifice.”

“All of this simply to apologize to me?” The dubious note in her reply made him narrow his gaze at her for challenging his word.

“Yes, damnit,” he snapped. “I tried to make amends that night, but you were far from receptive to the idea, and I don’t blame you. I deserved your anger for being such an idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” Octavia whispered and offered him a repentant look. Atticus acknowledged her words with an abrupt shake of his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He remained silent for a long moment, then grimaced. “However, what I didn’t know was that your entire family knew I’d been looking for you.”

“They knew? But how?” she asked in an appalled voice. “I told them I didn’t know who the stranger was who’d helped me.”

“We have Liza and Clara to thank for telling everyone of my search for you. The two of them—”

“Oh my God,” Octavia said in a hoarse voice. “You said you didn’t tell your sister—”

“The only thing Liza, or your family, knows is that I was the one who escorted you to your carriage that night.” Atticus leaned forward to cover her hand that rested on the table and was curled into a tight fist.

“But how?” Her whisper emphasized the horror reflected in eyes that were wide in her pale face.

“Your sister, Clara, pressured your driver into confessing what he knew. He imparted enough information for Liza to realize I was the one who came to your aid. Like your family, she believes you fell into the rose bushes to avoid Stanfield, and that I happened to be in the right place at the right time to assist you,” Atticus reassured her. “No one is the wiser as to what really happened. They all think you were too embarrassed to mention me by name. And I told Liza I was protecting your from further humiliation, which was true, just not in the way she thought.”

Octavia dragged in a deep breath, then expelled it with a heartfelt relief that indicated how terrified she’d been of further humiliation. Eyes closed, the tension reflected on her beautiful face ebbed away after a long moment. When she looked at him again, Atticus shrugged, then frowned darkly.

“The truth of the matter is, I think they’ve been protecting you by not telling me where you were.” Atticus scowled with half-hearted amusement as he picked up another bar of cake. “That, and I think the lot of them have been taking pleasure in my frustration.”

He didn’t expand on Liza’s and Clara’s belief that Octavia was Cinderella and he was Prince Charming searching for her. It was too close to the truth. Although it remained to be seen if Octavia would see him as the charming hero in the fairy tale. Atticus saw her mouth twitch. The instant a smile started to curve her lips, she bowed her head. He snorted with irritation.

“I can see you enjoy the idea of others amusing themselves at my expense.”

“Given your reaction to the tear in your trousers earlier, I can imagine how annoyed you must have been.” Raising her head, Octavia laughed as he glowered at her.

“You could at least demonstrate a modicum of sympathy for me,” he groused sullenly.

“I doubt you need my sympathy or anything else from me.”

Amusement lighting her lovely features, Octavia’s cheerful reply made Atticus go rigid. If the woman only knew what he wanted, she’d lock herself in her room for the remainder of the storm. No, if anyone needed to be locked up, it was him. When he remained silent, she reached out to brush her fingertips over his hand resting on the table.

“If it makes you feel better, they delight in teasing me as well. I think they do it because they know my temper will get the best of me, which makes them tease me all the more. It also signals—”

Octavia came to an abrupt halt, and Atticus eyed her with curiosity. With a little wave of her hand, she dismissed whatever it was she’d been about to say.

“Never mind, suffice it to say that I can empathize with you.”

“Then I’m happy to know I’m not alone in my misery.”

“No, you are not.” Octavia laughed.

“I do enjoy your family’s company, though, Octavia. Your father and I often play a game of chess while we discuss bills before Parliament.”

“Oh, I’m certain he enjoys that,” she replied with obvious delight. “None of us care for the game, so Father often plays both sides of the board alone. I’m certain your willingness to play the game must give him a great deal of pleasure.”