Page 4 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

His amusement pulled something dark inside her to the surface. All the pent up fury she’d suppressed for weeks bubbled over, threatening to sweep her into no man’s land. A second later, she drew in a breath of surprise as a tear slid down her cheek. Shocked, her brain tried to process the fact she wanted to bawl as loudly as a baby.

Over her head, she heard the duke utter an exclamation, but she didn’t hear what he said because she was fighting not to sob unconsolably. How could she be so enraged, yet be on the verge of crying until her face was red and puffy?

Desperate to hold back the tears, Octavia squeezed her eyes shut. In an angry gesture, she lifted her hand to wipe away a tear that had escaped. The instant a thorn burrowed and sliced its way across her arm, she released a low cry of pain.

Warm, strong fingers clasped her hand in a gentle grip. Startled, she jumped, which made her wince as another thorn bit into her skin. Heart pounding, Octavia looked up to see the Duke of Ashurst towering over her. Bewildered, she blinked in amazement. Hadn’t he just been leaning over the patio wall, staring down at her a few seconds ago? In the back of her mind, she heard taunting laughter.

He was taller than she’d realized, perhaps even taller than her father. It was a fleeting thought. The duke’s fingers gently captured her chin and tipped her head up to study her. The light touch sent a small charge of electricity streaking across her skin. Startled, Octavia froze as she looked into a pair of dark-blue eyes filled with worry and concern.

In the back of her mind, she wondered how many women had wanted to drown themselves in his gaze. Sable-colored hair dropped carelessly over his forehead, and Octavia wondered if it would be silky against her fingers. Soft linen brushed across her skin as he wiped her cheeks dry in a gentle motion. Drawing in a shuddering breath, bergamot, mixed with a scent she couldn’t define, filled her nose. It was a delicious smell.

“Now then, let’s try and get you out of this mess as painlessly as possible.”

Quiet sympathy vibrated in that mesmerizing voice of his, and Octavia went rigid. What in God’s name was wrong with her? She didn’t want this man’s kindheartedness or comfort, and she certainly didn’t like the effect he was having on her senses. No, that was the problem. She liked it far too much.

The truth made her flinch. It wasn’t enough she had to be humiliated overhearing Elizabeth’s request? Now, she had to demean herself by appreciating the charms of the devil tasked with her public humiliation? Octavia’s mouth thinned with anger. She wanted nothing to do with the Duke of Ashurst. Although she doubted she had any worries in that direction.

It was far too likely the duke thought her a fool for getting entangled in these damned roses. Not that it mattered, she would be an even bigger fool if she forgot Elizabeth’s concern for the Ashurst family coffers. For the first time since hearing the younger woman mention her name, Octavia gave thanks she’d not made her presence known. As long as the man didn’t know who she was, she could still escape with her dignity intact.

While it was true one seldom heard anything good about themselves when eavesdropping, tonight she’d learned enough to avoid becoming an even bigger fool. Now, all she wanted to do was escape this hellish bush. When she was free, she’d end this nightmarish evening. The sooner she walked away from the duke’s sympathy and pity, the easier it would be to distance herself from this paralyzing humiliation.

Chapter 2

“It appears you’ve managed to entangle yourself quite nicely in this bush,” Atticus murmured.

His gaze swept over the thorny vines, trying to see where to begin his unusual rescue operation. While in America, Atticus had invested in a cattle ranch in Wyoming, which showed signs of being one of his smartest financial moves to date. He’d spent more than a year learning the inner workings of the Peaceful Sky ranch, and he’d once watched a small calf being freed from barbed wire. Rose bushes couldn’t be that much different. Although, what he was experiencing at the moment wasn’t anything like the pity he’d felt for that calf.

This woman was one of the most sensual creatures he’d ever seen. Everything about her created a visceral gut reaction in him at the most base of levels. Not even Aphrodite could have possessed such lush, Junoesque curves. Blue silk caressed a voluptuous body, while her lovely face displayed high cheekbones flooded with pink. Her mouth was a more delicate, rose color. But it was her gray eyes, shimmering with teary-eyed astonishment, that captured his imagination. As if she’d just collected her wits, her expression changed.

“If you intend to offer assistance, please proceed,” she said crisply, her sweet mouth now a thin line of anger. “Otherwise, stand back and let me extract myself from this fiendish bush on my own.”

Gray eyes, hard with frosty derision, scrutinized him with obvious distaste. Cold with a silent accusation, her gaze glistened with condemnation, and Atticus bit down on the inside of his cheek. She’d overheard his conversation with Liza.

Irritation drew his muscles up taut at his grievous misstep. It was obvious the woman thought him an arrogant ass. It was understandable, since his reaction to his sister’s request had been that of great reluctance. His lack of enthusiasm to consent to dancing with Liza’s friend made it appear he was a heartless bastard. Something he wasn’t.

“My apologies,” he muttered with self-disgust at her withering demand. With slow, methodical movements, he pulled a long stem away from her arm, Atticus sucked in a sharp hiss of air as a thorn punctured his thumb. Biting back an oath, he scowled at her. “How the devil did you fall into this blasted bush?”

“I was—”

He arched an eyebrow as she stopped speaking. With an imperious tilt of her head, her beautiful gray eyes flashed with an emotion Atticus couldn’t discern. Curiosity made him narrow his gaze at her. A chameleon could not have changed its color as quickly as her eyes did. Every bit of emotion vanished from her gaze, leaving him with more questions than answers. When she remained silent, Atticus returned his attention to extracting her from the prickly brambles.

“Let’s start with these.” He nodded at several thorn-covered stems spiraled around her upper arm. “Ready?”

She answered him with a sharp bob of her head. The action caused her reddish-brown hair to snag on several thorns, tugging a long, lustrous lock free of her coiffure to tumble downward. It fell over a creamy shoulder, marred and damaged by thorns before the lock continued its path downward to land against her bodice.

Moonlight highlighted the natural wave of her tresses, as the silky-looking strand of hair fell down onto her bodice. Satiny hints of dark red wove their way through her chestnut-colored hair, suggesting they would be sparks of fire in the sunlight. But it was the innocent way it curled around the spot where the tip of her breast had to be that aroused a lust inside him unlike any other he could remember.

It was the most arousing sight he’d seen in a long time—a very long time. The woman had already incited lust inside him, and the curl’s unintentional resting place stirred a dark, salacious desire inside him that threatened to harden his cock even more. Visions accompanied his arousal—images that heightened the already acute desire knotting his gut. Pain tightened her features as she winced, and he watched her gray eyes flash with angry frustration.

“Damnation,” she muttered.

The fierce oath was the last thing he expected her to say, and Atticus choked back a laugh. She had fire, and he liked that. Most women would be sobbing hysterically if they were in this woman’s position. Atticus gently pulled her arm free of a tangle of thorn-infested vines, then pushed aside several branches away from her hair and shoulders.

“If you’ll lean forward slowly, I can start untangling you.”

With a grimace, his damsel in distress moved her upper body away from the brambles. When she wasn’t met with any resistance, she tried to step free of the bush, only to have thorns rip a hole in one sleeve of her gown. It was the other sleeve that suffered far greater damage as a thorn sliced through it and dragged the material down to her elbow to reveal the top of her combination.

Brambles tore through the soft lawn material of the garment downward to just below the top of her corset. Creamy breasts rose and fell rapidly, and Atticus’s mouth watered at the sight. Christ, if these thorns continued to undress her, he was going to be harder than he’d ever been in his life.