Page 3 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“Damn it to hell, Liza. You and Mama are quickly becoming the bane of my existence,” he snapped. “I will not have either of you interfering in my personal life.”

“We would never dream of doing such a thing.”

“Wouldn’t you?” the man groused with skepticism. “Our mother wants to hear the echo of small feet racing through the house, and if I dance with the woman, tongues will wag. The next thing you know—”

“Mama will be relieved to know the dukedom will not languish without an heir, and I will have nieces and nephews to spoil,” his sister teased, unperturbed by his less than enthused manner.

“Christ Jesus, the man that marries you will never have a moment’s peace unless he locks himself in his study on a daily basis,” he complained with a groan. “I’m beginning to consider booking a return passage on the next ship back to America.”

“And I know you’re bluffing.”

“Do you, indeed?”

“Yes, you missed Ashland Park too much.” Silence fell between brother and sister for a moment before Elizabeth’s voice became a quiet plea. “Oh please, Atticus. It’s her third season, and if you dance with her, others will sit up and take notice. Please say you will.”

Octavia swayed where she stood. She’d now descended into the second level of hell. Why hadn’t she interrupted them the moment she knew Elizabeth was with her brother? She would have escaped into the ballroom never to have heard the duke being asked to take pity on her. Octavia knew the Marlborough Set already had labeled her a spinster, but this was different. If the Duke of Ashurst invited her to dance, it was tantamount to saying he’d taken pity on an old maid, which meant public humiliation.

“I now understand why father could never say no to you. You’re like a dog with a bone.” There was a distinct note of amused resignation in the duke’s voice.

“Then you’ll do it?”

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

The moment the duke agreed to his sister’s request, Octavia flinched as if she’d been flayed with a whip. Her stomach churned as she ached to find a hole and crawl into it for the rest of her life. The sensation lasted less than a minute, before fury stiffened her muscles.

Jaw clenched with outrage, Octavia’s hands curled into tight fists. For the past three years, she’d dodged dozens of fortune hunters. Yet not once had Octavia ever experienced a moment of self-pity, and she’d not cared how others viewed her. But this was something quite different.

Octavia refused to be an object of pity to anyone, least of all to a man who wasn’t about to give her a second look after an introduction. Unless, of course, his pockets were to let, which appeared to be the Duke of Ashurst’s current financial situation. Fury holding her limbs tight, she bit down on her lip. This just wasn’t her last season. This was her last soirée, period.

“Oh, thank you, Atticus. I know you don’t like to admit it, but you have a kind heart beneath that devil may care rakish attitude you present to the world.” Lady Elizabeth paused for a brief second, then continued with her first display of aggravation. “Don’t you dare deny it either. You buried your heart the moment Miss Bramley married—”

“I said I would dance with the woman, Liza. I did not agree to discuss my personal life.” The duke’s icy tone tugged a loud sigh from his sister.

“I’m sorry,” Lady Elizabeth’s voice seemed filled with sadness before her enthusiasm returned. “But I do think you’ll like Lady Octavia. The two of you have a great deal in common, and as I said, she has a sizable dowry.”

“Enough Liza. I’ve agreed to dance with the woman.”

“All right, will you come now?”

“I’m not ready to dive back into that bloody heat,” the duke said with annoyance. “I’ll find you in a few minutes, and you can introduce me to this latest project of yours.”

“Thank you, Atticus. I do adore you.”

Octavia heard the soft tap of the young woman’s slippers against stone across the patio as Lady Elizabeth returned to the ballroom. Anger still warming her body, she fought the urge to charge up to the brick terrace and tell the duke just what she thought of his compassionate nature. Male footsteps clicking against stone vibrated loudly through the air, and Octavia’s eyes widen with horror as she realized the man was headed toward the balcony above her head.

Panic set her heart lurching in her chest. She’d already suffered enough humiliation for one night, being caught eavesdropping would only add to her misery. Without thought, Octavia threw herself toward the dark shadows of the terrace wall, intent on flattening herself against the brick façade to avoid detection. It was a mistake unlike any other she’d ever made.

Thorns stabbed her skin, sending fire streaking across her back. Dear God, what fool had thought planting several bushes of climbing roses against the patio’s brick wall was a good idea? In the back of her head, a voice mocked her with another question.

What fool would throw themselves into a cluster of brambles to avoid being seen? Octavia didn’t know how she managed not to scream out loud. Instead, she suppressed the agonized cry with a soft whimper of pain, then swallowed the second one. Deep inside, she wondered if her cry had been one of physical pain or mortification. She didn’t want to know.

Eyes closed, Octavia remained still. She would untangle herself from the rose bushes as soon as the man left the terrace. The thorns were painful, but the discomfort they caused paled in comparison to the humiliation of the past several moments. If the duke discovered her, the overwhelming embarrassment would drop her into a hellish fire of mortification unlike anything she’d ever known. Thorns she could recover from. Her pride and dignity could not.

Octavia’s decision not to move didn’t ease the fiery assault on her back, and she bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. Heaven help her, she’d not experienced something this painful since poison oak had covered her arms and legs as a child. The footsteps stopped, and Octavia closed her eyes, hoping the man wouldn’t tarry too long. A second later, horror lanced through her.

“You may come out now, whoever you are.”

How could the man possibly know she was here? Perhaps if she remained silent, he would think she was gone. A low chuckle whispered in her ears. The sound made Octavia tip her head back to see the Duke of Ashurst leaning over the terrace with a broad grin.