Page 38 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

The man might be the Duke of Ashurst, but he didn’t act like any duke she’d ever met. On the heels of that thought came the realization that Atticus reminded her of her father, both in temperament and humor. Nibbling at her bottom lip, Octavia contemplated that revelation for a long moment, then released a sigh.

In the space of little more than a day, Atticus had upended her world with little effort on his part. From the moment he’d arrived, he’d done nothing but surprise her. Whether it was something he said or did, Atticus seemed determined to win her approval. Everything Atticus had done and said since his arrival had only strengthened his statement that he was different from all the other men she’d known.

An unladylike snort escaped Octavia. She’d known he was different the moment he’d found her tangled in the rose bushes that night in the garden. The instant his sympathetic gaze had locked with hers, Octavia had known he was a man she could trust. A man she could respect. It was one of the reasons she’d refused to see him the morning after the Ealing ball.

Atticus had represented something she’d resigned herself to never having, especially with a man as handsome as he was. She’d not been willing to risk a friendship with him because she’d known it would end with Atticus breaking her heart. When he’d apologized last night, he’d caught her unaware. What confused her the most was that he’d volunteered to come and ensure she was safe.

Not one man out of all those she’d met in the past three years would have volunteered to brave the elements to ensure she was safe. But Atticus had. The man had ridden through a terrible snowstorm to reach her. Then there was his reaction when she’d twisted her ankle and fallen to the floor. Fear had made his mouth tight with worry. The depth of his concern had surprised her, almost as much as the gentle way he’d tended to her.

But of all the things he’d done, it was his compliment moments ago that had set him apart from other men. Unlike the fawning, insincere words she’d heard for the past three years, Atticus’s passion-filled words had been authentic and genuine. The rough-edged need and desire in his hypnotic voice had made her ready to surrender to him. And God help her, she wouldn’t have just capitulated to him with a whimper. She would have begged him to touch her in every wicked, sinful way possible.

For the first time in her life, a man had made her feel beautiful, desired, and coveted. And dear Lord, the way he’d described her. Emphatic and precise, he’d made it clear he thought other men were fools for not seeing her as he did. She knew she should have been shocked, but all she’d felt was an intense arousal. Every honeyed word that had rolled off his tongue had only increased her desire for him.

A shiver skimmed down her back as she remembered the dark hunger in Atticus’s voice. With every word, he’d made her body throb with an intensity she’d never experienced, not even in her dreams. Perhaps the most heart-stopping moment of all had been his confession that he was willing to spend an eternity in hell to make love to her.

It explained a great deal about all the moments she’d seen Atticus watching her with what she now realized was intense desire. She understood now how much he’d been struggling to control his physical need for her. Not once since his arrival had he tried to seduce her. From the moment he’d stepped through her back door, covered in snow, Atticus had treated her with nothing but respect.

With any other man, she would not have been so fortunate. Not even his kiss this morning had been one of seduction. It had been wicked, teasing, and arousing. But it hadn’t been designed to secure her surrender. That hadn’t been true of his kiss moments ago. His mouth had demanded and consumed hers with a fiery passion that left her breathless and weak-kneed.

Earlier, it had been obvious Atticus desired her, but he’d held back. But moments ago, when she’d been cradled in his arms, his words and expression had left her thunderstruck. Only a man who possessed a steely self-control could have refrained from acting on the desire she’d seen in his penetrating gaze.

Although she admired him for it, she found it frustrating that he’d failed to act on the fiery emotion she’d seen in his dark-blue eyes. Atticus had her on the verge of throwing caution to the wind and doing something rash. Octavia swallowed hard as a forbidden thought swept through her head. What if she took Atticus as a lover? The wicked idea made her heart skip a beat.

Could she be that daring? After what he’d said a short time ago, she didn’t think he would refuse her. One hand pressed against the base of her throat, a tremor rippled its way through her. A soft expletive parting her lips, Octavia glared at her injured ankle. Well, this ankle wasn’t going to help her accomplish it tonight.

“Damnation,” she muttered as she reached behind her to undo her gown. Fingers fumbling with the small buttons running down the back of her dress, she found it impossible to undo more than a few buttons. Several strands of hair fell onto her face as she struggled with the dress, and she tried to blow them out of the way with a harsh puff of air.

Why the devil was it so hard undoing the blasted dress? Usually, buttoning the dress up in the morning was when dressing was difficult. Any other time, it was easy to undo buttons. Octavia grimaced as she realized she always stood while dressing and undressing every day. Sitting on the bed didn’t allow her the same range of motion she had when standing. Sliding off the bed, Octavia reached for the back of her gown while hopping on one leg to protect her ankle.

After several minutes attempting to undo the buttons, she collapsed on the bed. Exhausted from her efforts, Octavia pushed the wayward strands of hair off her face. That hadn’t proven any more successful than when she’d been sitting on the bed. If she were at the Hall, she could have a maid assist her.

A harsh breath of frustration blew past her lips. Octavia had one of two options. She could either sleep in her clothes or ask for help. Sleeping in her clothes would be extremely uncomfortable. If Atticus undid the back of her dress, it would be…she wasn’t sure what it would be.

Don’t be ridiculous, Octavia. The man desires you. He’s made that clear. This is the perfect opportunity.

“No, he’ll just push me away,” she whispered as she remembered how he’d left her alone moments ago.

You know that’s not true. Don’t deny it, Octavia. You want Atticus to make love to you. You want those large, beautiful hands of his touching you everywhere. Just like he said he wanted to do.

“Oh dear Lord,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can be that bold.” Octavia pressed her fingers to her temples. Dear God, had she gone mad? All she’d been trying to do was figure out how to get her dress undone.

You know you’ve already made your decision, Octavia. You’re just trying to talk yourself out of it. You’re worried you’ll make a fool out of yourself. But the only way you’re going to make a fool of yourself is if you don’t act.

She winced as the voice in the back of her head continued to taunt and goad her until she impulsively opened her mouth.

“Atticus,” she cried out, hoping her voice sounded calm and composed.

He didn’t knock on the door until her lips parted to cry out his name for the fourth time. The quiet rap made her muscles tense with agitation as she invited him in. The door swung open a little more than halfway, and the sight of him sucked the air out of her lungs.

Shirt still tucked into his trousers, it was undone almost to his waist. Dear God, the man was devastating. The sudden need to see all of him bared in front of her made her heart pound with excitement. She’d never seen a man’s naked chest before, and as she studied him, a frisson danced through her. It became a streak of something fiery as it raced down to the apex of her thighs, where it tightened her muscles and her sex cried out to be touched.

“What do you want, Octavia?” Although his voice was polite and pleasant, his entire body was taut, as if he was ready to bolt from the room. One hand still wrapped around the doorknob, she saw his knuckles were white from his tight grip.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I…I’m having difficulty…” she flinched at the look of impatience darkening Atticus’s features and the sudden tightening of his mouth. This had been a mistake. He might want her, but at the moment, he didn’t appear to be enthralled with her.

“Difficulty with what?”

“My dress,” she said in an apologetic voice. “I seldom have any problem when I’m alone because I’m able to bend backward quite easily when standing. I’ve tried hopping on one foot, but that proved even harder to do than when I’m sitting.”