Page 30 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“I like to think so,” Atticus said with a smile as he remembered the numerous good-natured debates he and Lord Montford had had during their games. “I know I enjoy it, although I lose more often than I win.”

“For someone who enjoys having his own way, that must be frustrating,” Octavia teased as she arched her eyebrows and laughed. Atticus scowled at her before he grinned.

“I confess, I don’t enjoy losing, but I couldn’t lose to a better man. And my game has most definitely improved.”

“Then all is not lost,” she said with a mischievous smile. Atticus noted in the back of his head that her smile was remarkably similar to her father’s when the earl was teasing someone.

“I will say your father enjoys pointing out to everyone that I’ve lost again when we’re dining together.” Atticus laughed. “But he ensures everyone knows he didn’t win easily.”

“You dine with my family?” Octavia grew still, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“Yes, my mother, Liza, and I have dined with them several times,” Atticus said quietly, then smiled. “Most of the stories your family regales me with about you are shared over a meal.”

“Good heavens. I can only imagine what you’ve been told,” she murmured with dismay. At her chagrin, he laughed.

“Everything they’ve told me was shared with obvious love and affection. They also proved Liza was correct.”

“About what?”

“My sister said I would like you, and she was right.”

Chapter 9

The quiet words hovered in the air between them, and Octavia stared at Atticus with a sense of bewilderment. How on earth could the man like her just by listening to stories her family had shared? In the back of her mind, she heard a voice whisper a warning, and a small twinge of pain tugged at her heart.

“You look doubtful,” Atticus teased, his firm lips curled in a sinful smile as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

“I…no…perplexed is perhaps a better word.”

“The Lady Octavia Stapleton her family describes is rarely, if ever, confused about anything.” He grinned with almost boyish amusement. “What do you find so perplexing?”

“Well, I’m baffled as to why you would listen to my family’s stories about me. For that matter, why would you even want to know anything about me?”

“Because from the first moment I found Aphrodite entangled in those damned rose bushes, I was captivated.”

Atticus’s piercing gaze met hers, and Octavia tried to swallow the knot that had formed in her throat. She didn’t have the courage to ask him what he meant by referring to her as Aphrodite. Admiration on his handsome features, Atticus shook his head in obvious amazement.

“The strength and dignity you displayed that night was extraordinary. Any other woman would have succumbed to hysteria.”

“You make me sound like some sort of paragon,” she scoffed with self-deprecating humor.

“Oh, your family was quick to refute that impression.” Atticus chuckled as he grinned at her. “I was warned of your fiery temper, and much to your mother’s horror, your father noted your lusty language. A fact I was already acquainted with.”

Uncertain how to respond, Octavia dropped her gaze to watch her fingers fiddling with the napkin lying next to her plate. A second later, a strong, masculine hand covered hers. Startled, she jerked her head up and met Atticus’s blue-eyed gaze.

“But that’s why I listened to your family, Octavia. The woman I met that night in the garden was someone I wanted to know better. Even if she didn’t care to know me.” Atticus paused for a few seconds before clearing his throat. “Something I hope to change.”

Startled by his announcement that he wanted her to know him better, Octavia stared at him with a hint of trepidation, then looked down at the hand still covering hers. Everything about the man shouted how dangerous he was to her heart. This morning, she’d not uttered one word of protest when he’d kissed her. In fact, she’d reveled in the way it had set fire to every cell in her body.

Panic made her tremble as she realized Atticus might have interpreted her lack of objection as a sign she welcomed his attentions. Might have? In the kitchen earlier, he’d flirted with her in a way that had been just as innocent as it had been seductive. Afraid, she started to pull her hand away.

Warm fingers wrapped around hers to prevent her from retreating. Atticus leaned forward to close the distance between them even more. Instinct told her to run, but something deep inside compelled her to remain where she was. The instant his warm male scent touched her senses, Octavia’s breath hitched.

He smelled wonderful. Desperately, she tried not to breathe in his hot, dangerous scent, but failed. It was the potent essence of everything wicked and sinful that she’d come to associate with the man. Worse, it stirred to life something deep inside her. A sensation that held the same powerful strength that assailed her senses every time he invaded her dreams, and she awoke aching for his touch.

The thought made her mouth grow dry as her gaze flitted from his firm, sensual mouth to his earnest expression. It surprised her that there wasn’t even a hint of seduction in the way he was looking at her.

“I am quite likeable, Octavia. I’ve even been called charming.”