Page 31 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

She flinched at his remark as she remembered how women congregated around him everywhere he went. Beautiful women who weren’t plump and didn’t have a large dowry. With a small jerk, she extracted her hand from his firm grasp.

“Yes, I’ve heard a number of ladies wax poetic as to how charming you can be,” she murmured with dry humor.

To her surprise, her reply made him stiffen, and what she thought might be pained frustration slashed across his features. Atticus blew out a harsh breath and leaned back in his chair. The instant his heat vanished from her skin, her body cried out in disappointment. Tapered fingers drummed against the table, and he appeared deep in thought as he studied his hand. After a long moment, he lifted his gaze to study her.

“Are you afraid to like me, Octavia?”

The question made her heart race out of control, and for a brief moment, she considered lying. Atticus’s eyes narrowed on her, and she realized he already knew part of her answer. It was why he’d asked the question. Determined not to let him intimidate her, she nodded.

“Yes…no…what I’m trying to say is that I am not afraid of liking you. It’s simply that I know a friendship between us will not end well.” Her response sent one of Atticus’s eyebrows arching upward in surprise before he chuckled.

“Not end well? That sounds quite ominous.”

Octavia’s throat closed as fear drove a spike through her. The last thing she wanted to admit to Atticus was the way his presence set her body on fire and made her giddy with excitement. Such a confession would lead to disaster. Octavia met the probing look in his gaze, then gave a small roll of her shoulders.

“Painting is not my only talent. My sharp tongue can be quite withering, and my blunt manner does not endear me to others.” A self-deprecating smile tugged at her lips as she relaxed. “I do not possess the charm or social diplomacy my sisters do. It’s difficult for me to make friends, let alone keep them.”

“I see,” he murmured, his sensual mouth twitching with amusement. “Is it safe for me to presume Lord Stanfield’s evisceration is an example of your sharp tongue?”

At his question, Octavia winced, then averted her gaze. While Lord Stanfield had proven repulsive on a regular basis, her outburst that night reflected a lack of control that alarmed her. Until that moment, she’d never understood how rage could make one oblivious to anything but the desire to obliterate another person.

“No. My reaction that night is not one I’m proud of. My bluntness can make me appear thoughtless and insensitive, however, I’ve never been deliberately cruel to anyone until that night,” she whispered as she winced with regret. “But the evening’s events, and Lord Stanfield’s blatant attempt to suggest an understanding between us where there was none, proved to be too much.”

The instant Atticus caught her hand in his, a blast of heat streaked across her skin. Octavia shifted her gaze to look at him, then trembled as he brushed a light kiss over her fingertips. Mouth thinned with anger, Atticus’s eyes were hard chips of blue ice.

“Stanfield deserved every insult you leveled at him that night.” Features hardened in outraged, Atticus continued. “If you’d not unleased your fury on the man, I would be in jail awaiting the hangman’s noose. I’ve never been tolerant of a man bullying a woman, even if she’s more than capable of defending herself.”

The harsh tone of his admission made Octavia stare at him in amazement. His anger vanished, and with a playful smile of mocked distress, he shook his head in disappointment.

“Your reaction says I would have languished in a prison cell despite protecting your honor.” His look of amused self-pity made her laugh.

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Atticus,” she scolded mischievously. “I would have called on you daily to lambast you for denying me the privilege of sitting behind bars for the viscount’s demise.”

“And I would accept your tongue lashings with pleasure if it meant seeing your lovely face every day.” Atticus caught her hand in his to kiss her fingertips, and her breathing grew unsteady as his mouth lingered on her skin.

“And there it is. The famous Ashurst charm,” she said with a breathless laugh, and a second later Atticus muttered something beneath his breath as he glared at her.

“You are the only woman I’ve ever met who has been steadfast in her ability to resist acknowledging or accepting a compliment.”

Startled by his reaction, Octavia’s eyes widened, and she stared at him in surprise. Atticus threw up his hands in a gesture of aggravated disgust. Exasperation glinting in his dark blue eyes, he shook his head.

“Did you not realize I was paying you a compliment, Octavia?” The question made her flinch, and she swallowed the knot threatening to close her throat.

“I thought…I thought you were teasing. You have been flirting with me…all day…and I…”

“God in heaven, woman.” Atticus rubbed his hand over his forehead, then pinched the bridge of his nose in a silent expression of disbelief. With a shake of his head, he released a quiet growl of aggravation. Blue eyes narrowing, he pinned her beneath his penetrating gaze. “I’ve been complimenting you all day.”

The frustration in his voice made her jaw sag. Hundreds of butterflies took wing inside Octavia’s stomach as her cheeks grew warm. Her mind flashed back to all the things he’d said to her since she’d found him in her studio this morning. Although subtle, they’d been compliments, nonetheless. She just hadn’t realized it. Feeling discombobulated, Octavia met his gaze, and the heat in her cheeks intensified.

“Then I shall say thank you,” she said with quiet humility.

“You’re welcome.” The disgruntled expression on his chiseled features made her laugh.

“Did you expect me to swoon like all the women who flock to your side?” Octavia eyed him with mock severity. “If so, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m nothing like those women.”

“No, you’re not, thank God,” Atticus said firmly. “You are not vacuous, dull, or slow-witted, and you make me laugh. In fact, you’re the only woman I’ve met since returning to England who, aside from the women in my family and yours, appears to have a mind of her own, which I find refreshing.”

Ever since his arrival the night before, Atticus’s words had continued to leave her dumbfounded. This moment was no exception. All she could do was stare at him in disbelief, while his words sent a warm sensation of pleasure spiraling through her. When she didn’t speak, he heaved a sigh of exasperation.